Learning from the birds

The fallen sparrow

When I moved into a small apartment, one of my first decisions was where to put bird feeders. Fortunately, I’m on the ground floor so I have access to dirt for a pole. Now I watch the chickadees and goldfinches as they peck away at their dinner. I hope I never have to live without the fluttering of birds outside my window.

What is it about birds that captivates us so? Perhaps it’s the gracefulness of their wings, the lightness of their being, the good cheer of their song. When I’m not watching them, I’m enjoying their chirping. My world would be much poorer without them.

Only in the past century did Quakers adopt a statement about nature, a concern about taking care of the earth. Our founder, George Fox, encouraged his early followers in the 1600s to establish gardens and to teach children about plants, but a stated concern for the environment first occurred in the late 1980s, when Quaker Earthcare Witness was established. For years this concern was stated as a call to stewardship, that we had been entrusted with taking good care of God’s creation, but today Quakers see it not as superiors over subordinates, but as a caring fellowship with all other creatures. We recognize that we are equally dependent with them on a livable planet. We are all God’s creatures.

I take care of the birds in my little corner of nature, mainly not because they need it, but because I need it. I need the uplift I get from them, the feeling of caring for something special, even the satisfaction of foiling the squirrels who want to hog all the seeds.

The birds have also taught me something. For months, it annoyed me that only uninteresting sparrows came to my feeders, flocks of them. I know there are many varieties of sparrows, but they all look pretty much alike to me, and all of them are boring. But then I remembered the scripture about God noticing the fallen sparrow, and I thought, well, maybe I should be paying attention to something here. Looking more closely, I began to see their markings, their coloring — “drab” became “subtle” — and I could differentiate a house sparrow from a chipping sparrow. As I watched them, I began to see their differences.

And then an interesting thing happened: other kinds of birds began to appear, first a pair of cardinals, then goldfinches, then cute little chickadees, even squawking blue jays. I like to think my friendlier vibes attracted them.

I wondered why the scripture writer chose the sparrow for God to notice. Not the majestic eagle, not the cooing dove, but the least attractive of them all. The least attractive at first glance, anyway. It was the birds who helped me to appreciate everyone I’m inclined to overlook. Everyone is unique, everyone has an interesting story. We only need to pay attention.