Over the years, I have noticed that our church steeple has been a resting place for birds on their journeys. Usually, one lone sentinel will stand upon one of the arms of the cross for awhile before flying on. Sparrows, pigeons, even a turkey vulture or two have made it a rest stop. The majority, though, have been those aggravating blue-black birds known as grackles or jackdaws.

These characters are the ones that make messes on the sidewalks or preen at their reflections in the mirrored windows or doors. Never quiet, they are either hissing or squawking at something or someone. It is my opinion that these birds aren’t on their way to anywhere since they always seem to be around.

This morning was one of those occasions. I walked out of the education building to be greeted by a chorus of squawks too shrill and loud to be ignored. I looked up to see the usual leader of the flock on the cross and, this time, four or five others perched precariously on the steeple base. All of them were setting off a racket of alarm.

It took only a moment to recognize the source of their discomfort. A hawk was circling their place of rest, waiting for the moment to strike. Then, with a speed and skill that was both fearsome and admirable, he would dive toward his target. One at a time, he antagonized the grackles. One a time, they flew away in desperation until, finally, all of them were gone. I looked for the hawk, expecting it to return to claim his throne. He never did. It seemed that the hawk didn’t want to be there; it simply didn’t want anyone else there either.

I’ve always been fascinated by hawks – their speed, skill, beauty, fierceness. I’ve always imagined that if I were a bird, the hawk is the kind of bird I’d like to be. The birds that have held the least fascination for me have been those grackles, but the experience of this morning has given me some pause. I may want to be like the hawk, but I am often more like those others – sometimes aggravating, shrill, often making a mess. You have to give it to those grackles, though. When they were in need of rest and protection, they showed up at church and clung to the cross. If I’m like them in other ways, I want to resemble them in those ways, too.

Blessings, Sam

I don’t like snakes. Never have. Never will. Perhaps it is Biblical. You know – the business in the Garden. I know, I know. In the garden, it is a serpent that talks, walks upright, and thinks it’s something of a theologian (read Genesis 3 for the details). Still, when all is said and done, it winds up crawling in the dust – a snake.

Perhaps it is biological. I come from a long line of people who didn’t like snakes. They all grew up on the farm, and the only snake they liked was a dead one. Again, I know. Snakes can be beneficial, like when they eat insects, mice, and rats. Still and all, step on one in high grass and see if you like it.

All this probably explains my reaction recently when I entered the sanctuary, turned on the lights, and walked down the aisle. My mind was on several things, and I was trying to remember exactly why I had gone over there when, just as I passed the first pew, I almost stepped on a snake. I yelped, jumped sideways, and gave thanks that I had remembered to take my blood pressure medicine.

Then I realized that it was just a baby that was as frightened of me as I was of it. It zigged while I zagged, both of us trying to figure out how we were going to get out of there alive. I didn’t take the time to try to figure out if it were poisonous (probably not). I found a clipboard, scooped it up, held it at arm’s length, and, taking it to the door, tossed it onto the lawn. It landed on its back, but I didn’t bother to go put it right side up. I figured that if it could figure out how to get in the sanctuary, it could figure out how to turn over.

Safely inside, I went about my business, just as I suppose the snake, safely outside, went about his. It occurred to me that we were both happier. It also occurred to me that we both knew that there were some things that belonged in church and some things that didn’t. Like snakes. And lots of other stuff.

Blessings, Sam