Can one person be a bird sanctuary?
June 3rd marks the feast day for Irish monk St. Kevin and his legendary blackbird. T’is a fine time for admiring flight, I’m thinking. Or savoring an omelette.
Celtic legend describes Kevin at prayer in his one-monk hut, an arm extended through the window, his palm raised.
Enter the Emerald Isle’s elite songster: a blackbird (not to be confused with big-mouth American blackbirds).
American blackbirds—especially en masse—can be bullies: strident, messy, a threat to crops and property.
Kevin’s songbird, on the other hand (literally), alighted gently, perhaps on his thumb. Finding his warmth congenial, she settled in, laid eggs.
Motionless, wonder-struck, Kevin offered her sanctuary. Day after day, so the legend goes.
Why sacrifice plans (and personal space) for a bird?
At home in the Temple
Psalm 84:3-4 celebrates those who dwell in God’s sanctuary—including birds. In ancient Israel’s temple, a swallow built her nest near the altar. Religious leaders with opinions and brooms probably gathered.
What message did that nest send? Shoddy upkeep? Lazy priests?
Or perhaps, more inclusively, Creation’s feathered counterpoint to the Levite choir?
The nest remained, an audio/visual for the radical hospitality of the One who knows when a sparrow falls to the ground.
Becoming sanctuary
Kevin’s hand graciously cradled one small bird—his spirit already a sanctuary for God’s presence.
Confined to his hut, the man’s surrender to the unexpected inspires me.
St. Kevin’s Blackbird
Outstretched in Lent, Kevin’s hand
did not expect
the blackbird’s egg, its speckled warmth,
new-laid, in his uplifted palm. Think prayer
as nest: an intimate travail whereby
fledgling hopes, like birds, leave behind
a kind of grave. Amen, seeming
premature, the saint-in-waiting
dovetailed faith with knuckles.
Faithfulness takes time. We knuckle down to wait, in hope, for things as yet unseen.
Cue impatience and hunger and the cramp of muscles and numbness and pins-and-needles. Cue ongoing attitude adjustments.
Had it been me in that hut, Mama Bird would have been relocated ASAP.
Saint Laurie, however, prefers to imagine catching aphids for her with my free hand. Naming her something mystical. Learning her song (while suppressing that niggling yen for applause, modest fame, a personal feast day).
Then, having waved farewell, I would weep (beatifically).
And afterward, did Kevin save those eggshell bits,
adorn his windowsill with each goodbye
the smallest beak ever made?
He never said. Nor will he
know these hearts of ours,
more shell than shelter…
Much as I want to faithfully be a safe place for those God sends my way—human, animal, avian—I’m bound to crack, then lament my frailty.
And then begin again, remembering He who was first broken for us will always lovingly
…know these hearts of ours,
more shell than shelter
as they fissure, let in light enough
for Christ to enter. Yes,
let grief be, with every breath, a readied womb.
How do you practice offering sanctuary? I’d love to know.
Click to hear “Lord, Prepare Me”
(sung by Kent Henry, written by Randy Scruggs/John Thompson)
Click to hear the European blackbird’s song
Click to watch blackbirds feeding their young
- “St. Kevin’s Blackbird,” from Laurie’s book, Where the Sky Opens
Oh, and I had forgotten to say that St. Kevin and I share a birthday. But obviously, I am NO saint!!!
Yup, that fits. Both of you are generous, kind, and wise, ardent, gifted leaders and communicators . . .
Well, that is waaay to kind, but thank you!
Oh sweet poetic soul lady. . . This is so gorgeous. So much bird-food for thought. Goodness. How your inventive mind works. You are utterly and eloquently creative. That is one of my favorite psalms, and also a wonderful pilgrimage psalm. I copied it into my vade mecum for my recent sojourn to Iona last March. Also, without the length it would take to explain it here, that psalm was a comfort to me when Daddy entered heaven ten years ago this past May 27th. Surely, he has found peace in the sanctuary to outlast all sanctuaries. Thank you too for sharing that beautiful praise song. I had forgotten about it. Though it is repetitive, it offers the kind of truth that bears repeating and remembering. I’m afraid my own inner sanctuary is in need of renovation, Laurie. I’m working on it, with God’s direction. Yes, I’m under construction. I also love the song by Billy Joel, “And So It Goes.” I always apply this line to my own heart: “In every heart there is a room, a sanctuary safe and strong, to heal the wounds . . .” It’s in this room that the Lord and I meet. It’s in this room that He heals me and makes me strong. Oh that I could be that sanctuary, that safe room for any soul who needs to come in out of the rain. I can’t thank you enough for sharing.
Love
Lynn
Hello, dear Lynn. That psalm has been a favorite of mine as well. What lovely lines to carry with you on your pilgrimage to Iona. And yes, consolation for loss as well. Your phrase, “sanctuary to outlast all sanctuaries,” makes me sigh, close my eyes in wonder for the span of a breath.
I remembered the Sanctuary praise song shortly before I published the post and searched it out on youtube. Hearing it again after so many years brought back rich memories. Kent Henry, the singer, used to host worship conferences that we attended, and hearing his voice again warmed and moved me.
Wow, that Billy Joel line is profound. I’ll have to search out the song. Thank you.
As one also trying to cooperate with ongoing reconstruction within, I share your longing. May it be so!
Oh may it be so, then, for us both. How wonderful that you’ve heard the artist, in person. I think it adds greater depth to any creation. (I wish I’d met Bach! 🙂 ) The Billy Joel song is actually one about lost love, and I very much like it (and his work). But sometimes, I like plucking a line out of context that speaks into the context and texture of my own days. It deepens me. And this line of yours deepens me too: “And then begin again, remembering He who was first broken for us will always lovingly
…know these hearts of ours,
more shell than shelter.” Oh my, Laurie…. more shell than shelter! How often has my heart been a fragile shell, surrounding a hollow interior? How often have I not prepared my sanctuary to shelter God’s love and to shelter those who need it? Sometimes my heart has been more shell-shocked, than anything, as I battle and rebel against God. Yes, we can wrestle. Yes, He welcomes the closeness of our embrace when we do that. But I surely don’t want to war against Him. And while I’m at it, I loved this line too (what of your writing *don’t* I love??): “Yes,
let grief be, with every breath, a readied womb.” A dear, dear friend of mine lost her 54 y/o son on 26 May. Her womb was once filled with life. It is now atrophied in grief. Oh that God would breathe life into her again and that this time of grieving would birth something good and beautiful in her shell-shocked, shattered heart.
Love
Lynn
I so understand what you’re expressing. Nodding my head as I type. Sanctuary seems like a vast concept as well as a place.
You bring up the related issue of those “shell-shock” phases we pass through from time to time—hard seasons where Mercy sidelines us in the spiritual hothouse and then nurtures and prunes and tends us with such compassion that we are enlarged, have more to offer the next hurting person God sends our way. I am saddened to think of your friend’s devastating loss and join you in this wish for something beautiful to be born in her. I am thanking God for your tenderness, Lynn, such a reflection of Him.
“…let grief be, with every breath, a readied womb.”
Beautiful words to read today. And thanks for the link to the birdsong, we are greatly enjoying the return of birds this spring as the weather is at last warmed up.
You are so welcome, Diane. I’m glad the line spoke to you. It carries a wallop, for me, every time I revisit it, one of those lines I know was “given,” rather than thought up on my own. 🙂
I wish we had those blackbirds out West. No wonder Sir McCartney wrote “Blackbird.”
That poem is one of my favorites…..ah, the lessons the birds can teach us.
Never tire of them. Do you happen to know what kind of blackbird I took the picture of (she said, adding a parenthetical to draw attention away from ending on a preposition)? I still love that poem, quite an old one but a favorite. Glad you like it too. Thanks for reading!