I have been watching a Great Blue Heron nest at the Viera
Wetlands for more than a month now.
I was there when the herons first began building their nest.
And I watched daily there for weeks, waiting anxiously for
the eggs to hatch.
I was able to see the babies when they first arrived in this
world, looking and sounding like scrawny, screaming Jim Henson Muppets.
I watched their mama sit on them when they got too loud.
There were three babies in the nest at first, and then one
day there were only two, and I mourned that loss.
It was a short time after that that the mother
disappeared. She wasn’t in the nest
first thing in the morning when I drove by.
I worried, but as it turns out, she hadn’t abandoned her
babies.
But they had grown so big, there was no room left for her in
the nest. They weren’t big enough to fly
and feed themselves yet, but they no longer needed her for protection and
warmth.
She hadn’t abandoned them, but she wasn’t going to be around
every second to look after them.
She returns periodically to bring them food and check on
them—make sure they’re keeping the nest clean, I’m sure.
This past Sunday morning, I stopped to take the two
juveniles’ pictures. They were standing
tall, looking proud and healthy.
Suddenly, I heard a hooting, a honking and off to the right
the mama appeared, flying low, getting ready for a landing.
And oh, you should have seen those juveniles, squawking and
hollering and flapping their wings. They
were so excited to see her.
And I thought how frightening it must be to be a baby heron,
to live protected and fed by this warm, large, caring mother for nearly twenty-four
hours a day, only to wake up one morning to find she has left and not knowing
if she will be back.
What a shock that must be!
How terrifying!
But what choice do the babies have but to live on faith that
their mother will return?
They must live on faith that someone will feed them and
protect them for as long as they need feeding and protecting.
You know I find it interesting that when Jesus tells us not
worry in Matthew 6:26, saying, “Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow
nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are
you not of more value than they?” he is not saying that birds never get scared,
that birds never worry. He is simply
saying that God takes care of them, of course God will take care of us.
But much like those herons, we don’t know that. We don’t know what the future holds.
Like the herons, we can remember what happened in the past.
We know what’s happening now.
But really—the future—it’s up in the air. What do we really know about anything that is
going to happen?
Which makes what otherwise might be a throwaway line from
Jesus, in the Gospel reading today, so astounding.
It’s right there in John 8:14 when Jesus says, “… I know
where I have come from and where I am going ….”
Has anyone ever said those words to you before?
“Oh, I know where I’m going.
Follow me.”
My grandmother said that to me once and then she got her
car, I got in my car, expecting to follow her, only to see her take off
speeding down the road and running several red lights.
Or how many times have you followed someone who had no idea
where they were going?
Or let’s look at it a little less literally.
Seven years ago, I absolutely knew where I was going. I was in the discernment process. I was headed to seminary. I was going to be a priest. And then … life happened … I had health
problems that completely derailed a journey I was one hundred percent confident
in.
Any belief we have about the future is at best a hope. It is never a certainty.
It’s why when Jesus says, “I know where I am going,” it
should mean and does mean something completely different than when we say it.
Jesus has one hundred percent certainty.
Nothing in our lives is certain.
So how do we survive in such a world?
I think the most honest and true words ever spoken in prayer
belong to Thomas Merton who begins his prayer with these words, “My Lord God, I
have no idea where I am going.”
Surviving in a world where we do not know the future starts
right there, by admitting that we have no idea where we are going, that we are
powerless, that we are helpless and therefore can only do one thing …
surrender, give our lives over to God, He who has one hundred percent
certainty.
This is the nucleus of faith.
This is the DNA of faith.
This is what faith is made of … the admission that we have
no control over our lives and that we cannot do this thing called life without
God, the one who reminds us in today’s reading in John 8:12 that “Whoever
follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life.”
Thomas Merton’s prayer encourages us to humble ourselves, to
accept our limitations, to put God first.
What if this is all God wants from us?
An admission, an attempt, a humbling that puts God first,
not just because He knows best, but because we have no clue, because only He
knows what we truly need. And only He
knows where we are going.
Merton concludes his prayer with this, “I know that if I do
this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about
it. Therefore will I trust you always
though I may seem to be lost ….”
In Matthew, Jesus compared us to the birds for a reason.
Even though God may value us so much more than the birds, it
is not because we are all that different from the birds.
Like those baby herons at the Wetlands, we are
vulnerable. We are needy. We are desperate. Can you imagine what would happen to one of
those baby herons if they lost faith, if they believed that no one would come
for them to feed them and keep them safe?
They would leave the nest too soon.
They would fall before they learned to fly.
They would not survive.
Faith keeps those birds alive as they wait for their mother
to return.
Faith keeps us going as we also wait … for Jesus to return.
Amen.
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