My Tanager Tragedy
It was over a month ago when I first noticed her… A rich copper coloured bird, flitting from tree to tree in my garden. Always with a black companion which seemed to have white markings under its wing. With the help of Merlin (credit for the photo as well), I soon discovered that they were a white-lined tanager couple. The males are black and the females are rufous-coloured. (Who knew rufous was a colour? Derived, apparently, from the Latin rufus, which means red.) They are often seen in pairs.
I was over the moon to have this ‘exotic’ couple in my backyard. Over the weeks that followed, they became my companions as I did my devotions each morning. The female, especially, would perch in the railing on the porch as if to say, “Hello friend!” while looking at me with one eye and then turning her head to inspect me with the other one. The male was much less friendly. He would keep an eye on his mate from a nearby tree. Soon, I realized that they had a nest in the palm trees right next to my porch and probably a baby or two. (I never looked for fear of scaring them off.)
Then one morning, as I was meditating, caught up in my love affair with Jesus, my friend flew right over to me and landed on my arm. Immediately, I was in tears. She landed on me! I felt like the recipient of a heavenly kiss, a feathered friendship undeserved. “What are you saying to me God?”
Soon her husband became at ease enough to also visit me in the porch, and I sooo looked forward to spending time with Jesus and my avian friends every morning. To me, they were more than just birds. They were a message from heaven. A ray of hope in a valley season.
For many years, my Christian community was informal. My wife and I had online groups (which we still do) as well as a group of seven of us that met in our home at first and then at a community centre in East Trinidad. These small, informal groups have been a place of tremendous growth and support. We have been blessed to have been able to host spaces where people feel safe, free to question and to struggle, and where there is a tangible experience of God’s presence.
A couple of years ago, I felt led to re-enter formal church. I have a lot of trauma associated with formal Christian organizations, so this was not a venture that I embarked on lightly. In the past, church has not been, at times, a safe space for me to bring my questions, unique perspectives, or failures. Nevertheless, I was optimistic. However, the challenges of institutional church have not changed, and the process has been more painful than I expected.
So, my birds… my birds were symbols of hope. Hope that fragile, beautiful creatures could find safe places to land and be met with welcome… with love… with celebration… with safety.
Then today happened…
I went out onto my porch, and there, next to my chair, was a dead baby bird. No tanagers. No “Hello friend.” Only emptiness and death.
The culprit? No doubt my cat Billee.
It felt like the final death sentence over my dream. There is no safety on this side of heaven. Not in the world. Not in the church. Only predators and prey.
“Why Lord?” “Why would you allow this to happen?”
“Why Billee?” “Why did you have to kill her?”
But I could not even summon anger toward the cat as he rubbed against my feet. All I had was sadness. He didn’t know what he did anyway. I found myself stroking his back.
Isn’t that like church? People you love hurting people you love. Not because they are cruel (most of the time). In fact, often they think they are doing what is right and good.
So, this is it then. Pain, loss, death.
I sat with my communion cup and wafer, forlorn… and as I looked at it, these words entered my consciousness. “Predators eat prey. For one to live, another must die. And then Christ says:
“I tell you the truth, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you cannot have eternal life…””
(John 6:53b NLT)
Jesus changes the script by becoming the voluntary prey – voluntarily offering up His flesh and blood that we may live.
There must be something powerful in that. I can feel it, but I don’t have words strong enough to communicate it.
The only way out of this vicious cycle is voluntary sacrifice. The willing sacrifice resets everything.
Isaiah 11:6-9 (NLT)
6 In that day the wolf and the lamb will live together;
the leopard will lie down with the baby goat.
The calf and the yearling will be safe with the lion,
and a little child will lead them all.
7 The cow will graze near the bear.
The cub and the calf will lie down together.
The lion will eat hay like a cow.
8 The baby will play safely near the hole of a cobra.
Yes, a little child will put its hand in a nest of deadly snakes without harm.
9 Nothing will hurt or destroy in all my holy mountain,
for as the waters fill the sea,
so the earth will be filled with people who know the Lord.
Maybe the baby bird will be safe with the cat as well.
I think that maybe Jesus is saying something to me through this tanager tragedy. The religious institution wasn’t a safe space for Jesus either. They killed Him, and He offered up His life willingly so that one day nothing would hurt or destroy. Perhaps this season is an invitation for me to join Christ’s sacrificial mission of transformation from violence to non-violence.
There is much violence everywhere I turn these days. In my country. In the world. Isaiah 11 seems far off. But it’s not just drones, missiles and machine guns, it’s the daily micro-aggressions of not seeing, not listening, not valuing the people around us. We may think that we can’t make a difference in Iran or Palestine, but we can. By treating the human being in front of us with compassion and kindness, we can be a part of a rising tide that lifts humanity upward. Especially in the church. Yes, I hold the church to a higher standard. Because we are the people of the sacrificial lamb. As we eat the flesh and drink the blood, let us remember who we are – the body of Christ. Through us, Christ offers life to the world – through our sacrificial love. His blood flows not through dogma and doctrine and self-righteous proclamations, but through love that stubbornly reaches out to the ones who behave like our enemies.
