“All of creation waits in eager anticipation for the children of God to be revealed.” (Romans 8:19)
Eastertide, the “Great 50 Days" between Easter and Pentecost, is marked by joy and the continuous singing of Alleluias! Even the birds are singing Alleluias!
We’re living in the aftermath of Easter and the joy of the resurrection. Like Mary, we would have stayed with our risen Lord in the garden, but He bids us return to the world, to the “gardens” of daily life.
In Eastertide, our joy fades somewhat and shifts to waiting and hoping. “Waiting and hoping embellish our faith and keep us connected to Jesus; however, it is hope that is future-directed, and while it points to our inheritance in heaven, its benefits fall fully in the present, where struggles and distress are woven into the very fabric of this perishing world.” ("Jesus Calling," Young)
In His mercy, He has given us new birth into a living hope, through the resurrection of Jesus, into an inheritance kept in heaven for us.” (1 Peter 1:3)
Hope keeps our faith in the resurrection and its meaning for us alive:
“Exactly at the instant when hope ceases to be reasonable, it begins to be useful. Hope is a theological virtue, not a cheerful temperament; optimism is expecting things to go well, while hope is holding on when they don’t.” (G. K. Chesterton)
'Hope' is a thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
It sings the song without the words -
And never stops - at all
- (Emily Dickinson)
In her signature, succinct style, Dickinson captures the essence of hope – in a poem, she personifies hope as a bird; her extended metaphor makes hope visible, tangible and alive. It defines hope as a virtue without sentimentality, and it exudes constancy and resilience with a powerful, yet gentle tone.
As usual, Dickinson’s poems are encased in spirituality and metaphors for living. Her bird heralds the arrival of spring; however, I’ve heard the cardinal and flicker singing in March, and their songs lift my spirits because they point to a better day to come. Those of us who live in West Michigan understand that the disagreeable elements of winter bring the arrival of new life in the spring: it takes March to produce May. The future belongs to birds who sing spring songs in wintry March. They inherently understand the Buddhist maxim: “Life creates suffering all by itself. Our job is to create joy!”
The resilience and courage of birds are amazing. Take the blackpoll warbler, for example. It weighs a mere 1/3 ounce; it’s 4 inches long, the size of your fist. It lives in the boreal forests between the Arctic and Nova Scotia. In the fall, after gorging itself on wellworms and sawflies, it flings itself into the air on a gust of wind, beginning a migratory journey of approximately 8,000 miles, skimming wooded peaks, skirting skyscrapers and vast stretches of open water without stopping for food or drink. It doesn’t soar, so it flaps its tiny wings 20 times a second, over 3,000,000 times, as it chases summer to the rainforests of South America. It’s a long-range guided missile, with hollow bones, feathers, and a heart big enough to carry it safely to its destination. In the spring, it does it all over again!
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –
There is a lesson here. Because Jesus rose again, we can rise above life’s struggles and challenges and look towards a better future - keeping our eye on the One who holds our future. This is not “whistling in the dark.” Our faith is based on Jesus’s promise: “Be of good cheer. I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33) After March comes May.
I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.
When we hear birds singing their Alleluias this spring, let’s remember: in extremity – unbearable physical anguish, totally alone and feeling forsaken by His Heavenly Father, Jesus died on the cross for us. And, He never asked a “crumb” in return.
Note: Dickinson’s poem is a defining example of American Romantic poetry and 19th-century symbolism. Her poems matter because of her unique style, the techniques, and structure she uses: Common meter, similar to hymns; slant rhyme, rather than perfect rhyme; capitalization for emphasis; dashes to create pause and ambiguity; and compression of thought – she says more in four lines than many poets say in 40.
