On Sundays I cook a roast at my father-in-laws house. It’s a ritual that involves peeling potatoes while he watches Songs of Praise. I happened to be taking a cup of tea to him as the chirpy presenter mentioned something about Sunday worship, about Sabbath. The program moved on, and I moved to return to the kitchen, but noticed my father-in-law leaning towards me, which tends to indicate that he has a thought, a story, or something to say. We have learnt to enter the pause with him, guessing that he is taking a moment to choose the most economical way to relay what’s on his mind. The fewer words the better. Rationed or not, his delivery is always dry, sparse, and followed by a chuckle that lasts longer than the telling.
“In Millom.” He said Then paused again to summon up the reserves for the whole telling:“In Millom, when I was a boy, my Dad would tell me about a lady who went to our church. She had a bird that she kept in a cage, and it had a swing. Every Sunday she would take the swing out of the cage, and replace it when the Sabbath ended.”
I waited for the chuckle and joined in. Leaving him to the TV, the cuppa, and the hymns. But while a was waiting for the water to boil I asked google :
Why do we put swings in bird cages?I read about the essential mental stimulation that birds need when they are caged, and the physical exercise that a swing provides. That adding a swing to a cage offers a comfortable place for both resting and sleep. It encourages natural behaviours like climbing and balancing, and that it reduces stress by mimicking the natural movement of trees in the wild. Mimicking natural movement. I often feel like I’m the little bird. Especially on Sundays peeling potatoes and listening to Songs of Praise. Disconnected.
It is as if I’m often in a simulation of the environment I was born to inhabit. The performance of work and rest, purpose and sabbath, simulating holy rhythms, but disconnected from Source. From myself. The only connection is a hand that I believe takes swings away so I might appreciate the distraction more when they’re returned. Like the lady in Millom who thought she was extending the arm of the Lord by removing the swing to honour the Sabbath. I forget that God didn’t create birds to swing in cages, and He didn’t tell us to serve Sabbaths, or anything else.
The birds though. Consider them.* He said. Not through the bars of the cage, but here and there. See how they don’t toil, and still He tends to their needs. That’s real. That’s true. Consider them, and His attentiveness, then consider how much more He attends to you.
I love watching birds and their different and enchanting ways. But my own babies… there’s no comparison. They took my whole heart and attention. He loves the birds, but me? I am His little one. Consider this. I have no need of cages or play that merely mimics this life I was designed for. The wild world awaits and He is waiting for me there. I can trust him.
In Psalm 46 we read: Be still. Literally : drop your weapons! The Hebrew forms a word picture of hands that are clenched tight then on hearing the command to be still, opening palms up.Be still! Open up! Let go.
Let go and know that He is God. Know, Yada, in Hebrew this doesn’t refer to head knowledge, or intellectually understanding. It is an intimate knowing. Knowing because you are connected. Truly. A shifting from a defensive posture where I am immersed in the simulation and disconnected. To truly knowing. Palms open, connected, open.
This is Sabbath rest. Not a one-in-seven, but an everyday-of-the-week realm of work and play, resting and running, hearts, minds and spirits alive and awake. Brave and joyful in pain and pleasure because our Heavenly Father knows what we need in each moment. Consider this.
My father in law will be 90 next. I’m guessing that neither the lady from his story nor the bird she kept are still living in Millom, and that she now permanently inhabits the rest she tried to earn. That’s the promise, and its true, but its also true that the cage door was never closed, for her at least. And its not for you, and its not for me. The swings will always look like fun, and the simulations will always offer to fill our days I guess but the wild world awaits, no weapons needed. His eye is on us.
It’s the summer solstice in the Northern Hemisphere today. I read that its the day when the earth is at its maximum tilt towards the Sun. I tilt with it, towards light, truth, beauty, warmth and revelation. Towards peeling potatoes for as long as needed, and remembering that no cages, swings or distractions are necessary. I can just be still. Let go. Know.Then go.
Go where? Anywhere. Everywhere.
*Matthew 6. Also, Millom is a small town in Cumbria.
Leave a Reply