Cut short

 

We’ve all shared the delight of watching the parent blue tits work hard these last few weeks, first preparing the nest, painstakingly carrying a twig or a bit of fluff in to line it, one twig at a time. There was a flurry of activity and a rising of joy and expectation.

Two cats reside with us. Ferocious hunters. We were as attentive as possible, removing anything that might make it easier for them to reach the birds. Sadly, though, after the two eggs had hatched, Indy killed one of the parents.

Saddened, we watched as the remaining parent worked feverishly to nourish his growing brood. Three or four days ago I took this picture. Eager beaks appeared at the opening whenever the parent returned, and the food was greedily gobbled.

Nothing after that. We thought they had flown the nest. We couldn’t hear any more chirruping. We didn’t see the single parent popping in and out. Don opened the door.

Horror. Two dead chicks. No sign of a parent. Is that a smirk I see on Indy or Prince’s face?

Babies need help, if they’re going to flourish, if they’re going to fly. They need others to feed and care for them. Spiritual babies need help, too. They need food, encouragement, care. They need protection from the predators that lurk all around.

Jesus gathers us into church, not to build an institution, but to grow us in understanding and maturity. I learn so much from my sisters in our weekly Bible study. We learn from each other. We go away nourished, often with a thought or two to ruminate on until the next week. We go away protected by each other’s prayers.

May our organic churches flourish and fly, demonstrating the love of the Father through our actions and words.