How I learned to stop worrying and love the birds

A walk through a snowy forest watching sapsuckers and woodpeckers changed how I saw this Trump-intoxicated world.

Photo by Brian Kelly on Unsplash

I’ve recently developed, like many men in their late-thirties, a love of birds and birding. Equipped with Cornell Lab of Ornithology’s powerful Merlin app, which listens to bird sounds to help you identify them, I have learned bird sounds and developed a small knack for spotting them. Though I am but an amateur, I enjoy it quite a bit.

One of the best things about watching the birds is learning their behavior, and when they come and go. Summer brings a flurry of birds to wooded areas, the fall brings out migratory birds, and as the days grow shorter and the nights longer, the birds are less plentiful. But as the days grow longer, even as the snow falls, the birds start to come out again; they remind us of that new life awaits the cold, oppressive winter. I recently had a chance to walk through Pennypark Park, where I spotted some familiar and even some new birds, that distinctly appear on the bare branches. A red-bellied woodpecker called to me, its cousin, the yellow-bellied sapsucker was next; soon enough a hairy woodpecker joined us, and so did several white-throated sparrows.

What a lovely meditation on life birds offer us. They have their seasons, they know their ways, and they live and call out to the world in precisely the way they were meant to. Oh to be like a bird, content in oneself and one’s calling, knowing what to do and how, living as a matter of created instinct. I think the human creature is certainly more complicated than the assortment of birds we get to observe. We set apart by our intellect, reason, and rationality (or cursed by it, depending on the day you’re having). We are distinct in how we can love and care for one another, on one hand, and how we can harm and oppress each other on the other hand.

We have to work and consider how to live a symbiotic life with the creation around us. We have the power to destroy it, and to drive our very own species to extinction. We worry about our neighbors, the country, the planet itself. On a personal level, we fear betrayal, heartache, and loss. These are concerns that robins, cardinal, warblers, and jays don’t have.

God wants us to trust God the way that the birds do; even Jesus, extolling the listeners of his famous Sermon on the Mount not to worry, draws on the security of birds, “Look at the birds in the sky. They don’t sow seed or harvest grain or gather crops into barns. Yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Aren’t you worth much more than they are?”

Jesus seemed to be a bird watcher himself; just a few chapters later, encouraging his disciples to trust God, he again names the birds. “Aren’t two sparrows sold for a small coin? But not one of them will fall to the ground without your Father knowing about it already. Even the hairs of your head are all counted. Don’t be afraid. You are worth more than many sparrows.”

The challenging part of being human, and not a bird, is that we actually can observe the world and it can worry us. I love birds, but they don’t know the trouble around them. And even when they instinctively sense it, well, there’s always a higher branch, or even the great blue sky to soar into. I wish I was free to fly like a bird, and yet to be grounded on earth, in touch with realities birds will never know of.

Oh Lord, I’m not a bird, I want to be as trusting as they are. I want to believe, help my unbelief. But there are monsters all around us! They are not imaginary either. They are real and scary. And one of them was just put into the highest office of the land, and his torrent of scary executive orders and off-the-cuff remarks are frightening and distracting. His goal seems to be the scare the hell out of us too.

Steve Bannon, former White House strategist and a man with Trump’s ear, admitted it plainly, according to Ezra Klein:

“All we have to do is flood the zone. Every day we hit them with three things. They’ll bite on one, and we’ll get all of our stuff done. Bang, bang, bang. These guys will never — will never be able to recover. But we’ve got to start with muzzle velocity.”

Klein goes on: “Bannon’s insight here is real. Focus is the fundamental substance of democracy. It is particularly the substance of opposition. People largely learn of what the government is doing through the media — be it mainstream media or social media. If you overwhelm the media — if you give it too many places it needs to look, all at once, if you keep it moving from one thing to the next — no coherent opposition can emerge. It is hard to even think coherently.”

Klein offers his plain advice: don’t believe Trump. My practical advice is simply not to get overwhelmed by the torrent of bad news and focus on what is in your locus of control. Pay attention to what is happening around you, organizations that are doing good work, and collectives that make you feel less alone. In Philly, New Sanctuary Movement is one of them. In the U.S. and Canada, Mennonite Action that I serve with, gets my full endorsement.

But focusing on organizing and activism is just one thing we can do. The greater point I want to make draws on the words of Jesus and the flurry of activity in our skies. Watch the birds, find comfort in their assurance and their instincts, and find your own true self and true behaviors. We aren’t meant to stress and be anxious—God understands those feelings, but they aren’t all of us or who we aren’t meant to be. Easier said than done, I assure you, and I know from my own experience. But lean into your true self. Quiet your heart. Go on a walk. Watch the birds. Have a hot tea. Make a friend. Call your family. Change the subject. Build a fire. Watch a comedy. Go to a musical. Scream your heart out at a rock show. Sing a song. Pray quietly. Sleep early. Don’t self-medicate. Worship in creation. Worship your creator. Ask for God’s reassurance and God’s presence to not just empower you to act, but to comfort you to be, to live, to exist.

Hold the discomfort, the in-between space, the challenge of knowing what we know, and also not knowing what the future holds. Trust in God’s faithfulness. And when it’s too hard to do it alone, find a friend who you can lean on. Find support, love, relationships.

Don’t think that your stress and worry, your information consumption, and following the endless news cycle will change the weather. Focus on what you can, but also free yourself, to let your body and mind wander elsewhere. Live your life fully. Life how you are called to. Watch the birds (GO BIRDS), and yes, be as light as them. God cares for the sparrows, so God will certainly care for you. Find God in creation, in the world, in your relationships, in children, in community. Pray that God will be obvious to you. Soon, you will stop wondering where God is, and only notice that God is everywhere and with us, suffering alongside us, yearning for a better word, crying our tears, and promising us liberation.