Friday, November 29, 2024
“Light the candles, wherever you can, you who have them.”
HARBINGERS OF HOPE
When my mother could no longer put up her own Christmas tree, she gave me a small box of her remaining ornaments. Amidst the faded and chipped balls was a bird made of bright red felt, which clipped onto a branch. It has become "Grandma's cardinal" to my children. For my mother, and many others of her age, the cardinal was a powerful symbol of Christmas. Why?
For one, it is a bird well adapted to the cold, and the flash of red against nature's grey or white background is striking. But there is more to the cardinal’s symbolism. Its very name carries a spiritual connotation. When the early European settlers in America encountered this brightly-colored bird, its hue and plumage reminded them of the red robes and pointed headdress worn by the Cardinals of the Catholic Church. We can imagine that they must have seen the bird as a sign of divine accompaniment. Throughout the centuries, the cardinal has retained its optimistic symbolism, even coming to stand for a message being sent from a deceased loved one.
In the middle of life's storms, something as simple and beautiful as a waiting bird can be a sign of hope. While on a solitary wilderness retreat, the author and psychotherapist Paula D'Arcy (1947- ) encountered such a red bird. She loved its song and the sight of it in the wasteland.
Her time of peaceful reflection was suddenly disrupted by a tornado, forcing her to take shelter in an abandoned bunkhouse until the storm subsided. When she emerged from her shelter, she was surprised by the bird’s continued presence: "As I am about to step out, a flash of color at my foot startles me, and I look down. There on the doorstep, waiting, is the red bird. Tears spill from my eyes and I can barely breathe... The storm was one display of power. His waiting for me, another. Such a moment is a gift."
When I am focused on some difficulty, in my life or in the weather, I often can look out the window and see a bird with a more hopeful perspective on the existence we are sharing at the moment. It is not only that she can fly and I cannot. We have common basic needs, which I approach in complicated ways and she with simplicity. She eats, finds shelter, and breeds in a natural way. And when she dies, she will exhibit the same grace. Death is not something that concerns her. It does me. Life is what the bird sings about and what I want to more fully appreciate—up to my last breath.
Gratitude for life and hope for our future enters here somewhere. That is what St. Francis of Assisi (1181-1226) was explaining to the birds one day. He and his brothers had been walking along when Francis saw a great multitude of birds. Telling his companions to rest, he went over and preached to the birds. His main point was that they should be aware of the sin of ingratitude. Were any recently-complaining brothers also listening? Probably! Francis reminded his little winged sisters and brothers that although they did not "spin nor sew," they had clothing, water, food, and all they needed for a happy life.
Therefore, at all times and in every place, the birds should sing songs of praise. The birds—and, I suspect, the brothers—seemed to understand. The birds around our farm certainly appear grateful to be participating in the unfolding of creation.
We all face difficulties in life, and sometimes they can seem more formidable during the winter months. It is natural to turn and attempt to escape a painful predicament. But it doesn't work. Our only satisfying path lies, somehow, in walking into the storm. Where there is sorrow from a great loss, or frustration from failing to live up to our expectations of ourselves, we are better off embracing the very thing causing us this pain. At least four centuries ago, a musician in Gascony looked to the birds of marsh and mountain for an example of hope. The "Carol of the Birds" begins, in one version, with "Whence comes this rush of wings afar, following straight the Noel star? Birds from the woods in wondrous flight…"
The author of the song likened these vulnerable little creatures choosing to come out into fierce winter storms to the humble birth of Jesus of Nazareth. Some versions of the carol list the birds. The lyric songs of the nightingale and finch mix with the hoarse chants of the magpie and raven. The magnificent eagle soars above the pudgy partridge. Everyone has a place in this "wondrous flight." The image reminds me of times when we all find ourselves facing formidable cliffs in life. We are all different. Yet at a moment of extreme frustration, we are all capable of flying.
Paula D’Arcy, who endured deep grief after her husband and daughter were killed in a drunk driving accident, went on to name her healing-centered foundation after the little red bird that so inspired her in the midst of the storm. Now, her Red Bird Foundation works to “assist others in the transformation of pain and the restoration of hope.”
She notes that her foundation’s mission is perfectly summarized by the words of Alfred Delp (1907-1945), a German Jesuit priest who was imprisoned and executed by the Nazis: “Light the candles, wherever you can, you who have them.” This week, as we light the first Advent candle of Hope, let us remember and take courage from all who inspire hope within us—including the birds.
- Brother Toby
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