Thursday November 25, 2021

I had a hummingbird around my house, last week. I shouldn’t have had a hummingbird at all – they migrated south more than a month ago. 

            But yes, a hummingbird was back. 

            One of my hummingbird feeders still had some sugar syrup in it that I, out of sheer laziness, had not emptied out. I didn’t believe my eyes when I saw this little hummingbird, wings beating invisibly, poke its beak into a fake plastic flower to sip some of the remaining nectar. 

            Then he/she/it flew over to my kitchen window. Looked in at me. Nodded acknowledgement. And flashed off to the mountain ash tree where it hunkered down, no bigger than the twig it perched on. 

            It was so personal an encounter, I felt a need to give the little bird a name. I can’t keep typing he/she/it. I decided to call him/her/it Jade. 

            Jade was back again, the next day. So she wasn’t just an accidental, passing through. 

Borne on the wind

            I wondered if she’s a leftover from the hummingbirds that live here every summer. Whenever she left my feeder, she went to the tree where our resident hummingbirds build their nests, a tree whose tangle of twigs and branches provides a labyrinth that bigger predators have difficulty penetrating. 

            If so, I wonder how she felt about missing the migration. I’ve missed flights occasionally. Like going to the airport in Saskatoon, forgetting that Saskatchewan doesn’t switch to Daylight Savings Time. Arriving just in time to see my flight taking off. 

            It made me feel foolish. 

            Can hummingbirds feel foolish? 

            I suspect it’s more likely Jade got scooped up by that “atmospheric river” that whooshed up the Pacific Coast, bringing with it a hundred-year deluge of rain and wind. The torrent that drowned the Fraser Valley, washed out highways, and flooded towns, also deposited one bewildered little bird in my yard.

            Winter does not bode well for little birds. Even encased in that miracle of warmth and lightness we call feathers, the mathematics of cold weather penalizes them. Small creatures have more surface area, compared to their body mass, than larger creatures. So they lose heat faster.

            That’s why they migrate south. If they can.

A helping hand

            One winter, we hosted a one-legged Stellar’s Jay, a bigger bird, better equipped to cope with cold weather. We called him “Gimpy” at first. Then we felt that was a derogatory name for a plucky bird, scrambling among the other birds to get his share of our sunflower seed buffet. 

            He was doing so well, hopping along on one foot, that we changed his name to “Cassidy.” For obvious reasons.

            Cassidy survived the winter. Flew away in the spring. Never came back. 

            I wished I could help Jade make it through the winter, by providing her with a warm, fully insulated little birdhouse. With a tiny fireplace and a comfortable mini-couch. But since that wasn’t feasible, I made her a cocoon out of a plastic water bottle and a thick hiking sock. 

            I hope she found it. 

            She kept coming back every day for about a week. Then she vanished. I hope she managed to catch the last flight south. 

            But I’ll keep her feeders filled with fresh syrup just in case.

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Copyright © 2021 by Jim Taylor. Non-profit use in congregations and study groups, and links from other blogs, welcomed; all other rights reserved.

            To comment on this column, write jimt@quixotic.ca

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YOUR TURN

In last week’s column, I tried to portray Advent as a time of hush, of breathless waiting for the symphony of Jesus’ life to start (and our own lives, with him). Kim MacMillan “loved that way of thinking about Advent. Being a musician I get your point about the rests. And I really like your suggestion of taking a few minutes each day during Advent to be silent and breathe, especially amid all the Christmas preparation madness.”

Laurna Tallman liked the same recommendation: “Of all the words you have written that I have read, these are most timely and feel the most important: 

‘All the more reason to take a few minutes, every day, to practice silence. For a few moments each day, to hold our breath in anticipation, waiting for the moment when the baton drops, when all heaven breaks loose.’

            “I had ended an email to a close friend bewailing my inability to hear God in my present difficulties, since my husband slipped on a stair and tore his quads tendon that required surgery to fix and a full leg brace to protect.  My email ended with these words: ‘And no matter how hectic things get, I need to set some time apart every day to listen to God.’ 

            “You have completed that determination with a glorious expectation. Thank you.”

Isabel Gibson: Your images got me to thinking about the ‘still, small voice of calm’… 

            “I remember it primarily from Dear Lord and Father of Mankind, which I tried to find in a decent online version that also used the music I knew. Tried and failed. Why do so many choirs descend into painful slowness when being solemn? The best version IMO was an a cappella one, but they inexplicably dropped the last verse (with the quote).

            “I'm not a singer, but even I can get the concept of unity in silence: We do it at Remembrance Day services, for one.”

James Russell called last week’s offering, “A lovely and poetic column, Jim.” 

            Then apologized for missing the previous week’s column on friendship, and added, “I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned my own definition:  ‘Friends are the people who show up when you need them.’  Our needs are unbounded.  If you’re open to happy surprises, friends are everywhere.”

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Psalm paraphrase

I’m taking a considerable risk with this paraphrase. The lectionary doesn’t prescribe a psalm for Advent 2. Rather, it calls for Zechariah’s song, Luke 1:68-79. It parallels, with variations, Mary’s Magnificat and Hannah’s song in Samuel 1. I can’t help wondering if a Palestinian family, somewhere in the West Bank or Gaza, might be crooning something like this to their newborn baby:

Allah is great!

Allah has seen his people’s suffering, and has acted to save them.

For unto us a child is born, unto us a child is given, who will be the saviour of His people.

The words of Allah came to Mohammed:

We will be saved from our enemies; 

Those who occupy our birthright will be displaced;

We will be restored to our ancestors’ heritage, so that we can worship Allah without fear.

This he promised to his Prophet.

And you, child, will be successor to the Prophet of the Most High.

You will stand before the Almighty to hear His voice and declare His will.

Our lack of faith will not be held against us. 

A new light will dawn on our people;

We will shrug off the darkness that has cloaked us for generations,  and take our rightful place in the sun.

Allah is great!

I need to add that I have no idea whether that song corresponds in any way to Islamic practice, or even whether I’m blaspheming in attempting this paraphrase. Nevertheless, I offer it to you, in the hope that it might encourage you to think outside the traditional Christian box. 

You can find paraphrases of most of the psalms in the Revised Common Lectionary in my book Everyday Psalmsavailable from Wood Lake Publishing, info@woodlake.com.

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TECHNICAL STUFF

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PROMOTION STUFF

To use the links in this section, you’ll have to insert the necessary symbols. Some spam filters have blocked my posts because they’re suspicious of the web links.

            Wayne Irwin's “Churchweb Canada,” an inexpensive service for any congregation wanting to develop a web presence, with free consultation. http://wwwDOTchurchwebcanadaDOTca He’s also relatively inexpensive!

            I recommend Isabel Gibson’s thoughtful and well-written blog, wwwDOTtraditionaliconoclastDOTcom. She also has lots of beautiful photos. Especially of birds.

            Tom Watson writes a weekly blog called “The View from Grandpa Tom’s Balcony” -- ruminations on various subjects, and feedback from Tom’s readers. Write him at tomwatsoATgmailDOTcom (NB that’s “watso” not “watson”)

ALVA WOOD’S ARCHIVE

            I have acquired (don’t ask how) the complete archive of the late Alva Wood’s collection of satiric and sometimes wildly funny columns about a mythical village’s misadventures. I’ve put them on my website: http://quixotic.ca/Alva-Wood-Archive. You’re welcome to browse. No charge. (Although maybe if I charged a fee, more people would find the archive worth visiting.)