Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: TRUST (07/21/16)
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TITLE: A Rustling in the Wings | Previous Challenge Entry
By Marlene Bonney
07/24/16 -
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Midway through the mass, another joined us in praise. Softly at first, the voice began, most of us eventually—almost as one—circumspectly turning our heads this way and that to locate the visitor with the melodious voice.
“Up there!” loud whispers directing our gazes up to the cathedral structured belfry.
Sister Mary and the choir, robes rustling, stood up to get a better view of what the parishioners seemed to see. Eventually, even Deacon Phillips paused his litany, playing “follow-the-leader” by turning his eyes heavenward.
“What’s going on?” barked Brother Stanley, a war-deafened veteran.
Those sitting directly under the spire’s lofty domain were startled when a few pieces of twigs, feathers and debris floated through the air from above. At this point, the orderly mass turned into a surprising atmosphere of hushed bedlam, some of the usually subdued children even climbing to the pew tops to catch the wispy falling fragments.
By this time, the chirped singing had stopped. A bird’s tiny head peeked over its nest’s rim, pecking up and down like a jack-in-the-box gone haywire.
“Shh—listen!” someone trying to hush us all.
Echoing little peeps flowed downward from the mother bird’s birthing room where the tiny open beaks of her children pointed heavenward. As if she could sense danger, Mama Bird flapped and fluttered outside her home, a whirling barricade to protect her young. In spite of that, one of the fledglings decided to venture out to stretch his wings, tipping over the nest’s edge in the process. A collected gasp from his audience filled the now created gaps in the reciting of the Apostles Creed. Baby Bird was plummeting to his death. Like a circus trapeze artist, however, his furling wings caught the air just as he was aiming to land in the foliage of Sister Angelica’s flowered hat! His siblings were now experimenting with their own freedom as their mother hovered above to watch her offspring learning to trust in the wings God had granted them.
Flapping wings and loud chirps filled the church while a bevy of parish custodians were deliberating at the entrance doors. The intricate Fresno artwork of the belfry’s construction would not withstand a broom’s frontal attack from extended ladders, plus some of the men argued about the ethics of destroying a home of creatures God had created.
Father Andrew, our priest, arose amidst what was left of the morning’s worship. Putting aside his notes, he was suddenly inspired to conclude the service with a scripture reading of Matthew 10:29-31:
“Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.”
Even the birds seemed to pause in flight, as the homily continued,
“Brothers and sisters, may you remember this valuable lesson throughout your week, and may it give you all peace amidst the daily routine of each of your lives as you learn to trust in God’s unfailing love for you.”
I memorized the verses from St. Matthew that same day and repeated them to myself many times that week, and was comforted.
The local newspaper (that was edited by a member of St. Vincent’s) announced the special and unexpected Mass and the following Sunday, the pews were filled to overflowing capacity.
The publicity seekers would not see a repeat of Easter, however. Animal rights activists had assisted our custodians in removing the bird’s nest and placed it in a safe and secure habitat, the birds escaped through the opened doors, and the belfry nook was sealed to prevent further incidents.
What some had considered a nuisance, I thought a special blessing. I replay the scene whenever I doubt God’s sovereignty over me.
(And, if some of us lift our open eyes to the ceiling during later mass liturgies, no one blames us.)
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