Red’s return

Let us know, let us press on to know the Lord; his appearing is as sure as the dawn; he will come to us like the showers, like the spring rains that water the earth.’ (Hosea 6:3)

Red's return

A sunny day this time of year has us itching for spring. Winter has gone on long enough. We’re tired of coats and eager to see the earth come alive in all its splendor.

Yes, it’s still too early to get our hopes up. Snow will cover the ground again. The temperature will dip lower than we like, but never mind. Hope wells from our depths, stirring impatience and anticipation for the first small signs of color and life to appear and wipe away winter gray.

And it happens. A familiar call interrupts a walk along a well-trekked path.  I hear spring, but cannot yet see it. Nothing in the high branches. The oaks are brown and bare as February can be.

The call sounds again, and I whistle, echoing the call, once, twice, three times, until a confused cardinal replies, likely thinking that’s the sickest bird I’ve ever heard.

But there he is, crimson fire in the low branches, alight against the blue of sky finally clear of winter’s gloom. A nearby female cocks her head at my clumsy attempt to enter her world.

I’m just glad she has entered mine.

Snows will yet come, ice and bitter winds, too. But the redbirds’ return awakens a smile of knowing that hope is not an illusion nor wishful thinking. Their call is the harbinger of tomorrow, the herald of life soon to rise from the cold earth … once more.

The message of hope is written into the fabric of creation, important to remember as we enter our annual Lenten confrontation with mortality and egoism. The message is clear. Never lose hope. Let it breathe.

The truth of Christ is etched in creation’s deepest code. Losses come, mortality is inescapable, and we are destined to fail our highest impulses.

But that which falls rises again, that which dies comes to life under the warm glow of a Love who holds each and every one. I know.

The red birds told me.

Pr. David L. Miller