Friends,
I have a world-class theological education, but there are certain responsibilities that fall unto me as a pastor about which I did not learn in Seminary. One such task in the removal of dead birds, especially when bidden by the detractor of a preschool.
Montclair Presbyterian Church is the second congregation I’ve served that has a preschool onsite, and in both churches I have been the go-to staff member when a preschool teacher or director or—heaven forbid—a student[1] finds a deceased member of the avian community somewhere on the church campus. This is true for formerly living members of various families of the rodentia order as well, but for reasons I cannot exactly articulate, I’m affected more by the birds. I want to believe I’m not, on some level, happy to witness the death of a rat or possum, but I cannot say that with the kind of honest confidence that befits the kind of pastor I want to be. The loss of birds, however, leaves me feeling a bit melancholy.
Yesterday, my particular skills were required for the disposal of a raven who had expired and was lying on the church roof,and while I find it hard to write about such things without resorting to a certain amount of levity (see above), the disposal of the raven made me sad. The humor, it turns out, is a defense mechanism.
As I pulled the raven into a black plastic garbage bag, I couldn’t help but notice the sheen of it’s feathers, and the strength of it’s beak. Nor could I ignore a startling statistic I had read only days before: the bird population of North America has fallen by 29%—or approximately 3 billion individual birds—since 1970. That is a worrisome number.
No one really knows why the birds are dying. Habitat loss and the use of pesticides are both likely culprits, but chances are pretty good that the reasons are complex and hard to untangle, which—tragically—means there are no easy answers or simple solutions.
Every living thing must eventually
die, and it may be that the bird I collected from the church roof died from old
age or from some sort of disease that was around before the industrial
revolution, but even so, the death was as disturbing as it was sad. The
population of birds can ill afford even a single unnecessary death.
[1] Here I probably should point out that while a speedy cleanup of various dead animals is done in deference to the tender sensibilities of children, I rather suspect the children handle such matters better than do the adults in their lives.
Another thing I didn’t learn in seminary was how properly to mark the passing of a winged neighbor. I did, however learn a thing or two about the Gospels, which remind us, in the words of Jesus, to consider the ravens, how they neither sow nor reap, they have neither storehouse nor barn, yet God feeds them (Luke 12:24).
God, it turns out, gives a damn about birds, and if we are going to live as ones formed by the love of God, so should we, especially when the birds around us are expiring at an alarming rate.
So, goodbye, dear Raven. God keep your soul. May you who once gave shelter with your wing, now find yourself comforted beneath the wings of the God who first gave you flight.
God’s Peace
Ben
[1] Here I probably should point out that while a speedy cleanup of various dead animals is done in deference to the tender sensibilities of children, I rather suspect the children handle such matters better than do the adults in their lives.