There is a common house finch eating in our front yard the moment I learn the United States had bombed Iran. I had just pulled into the driveway after an afternoon hike when the radio announcer interrupted the typical programming to tune in live to a BBC report. I wind down the windows, and leave the car accessory on to listen. Then I notice the finch lands in our front yard, just a few feet away from me.
While gender is a construct, I know this finch is ‘male’, based on an image in the laminated bird-identifying pamphlet my wife recently acquired. For the last few weeks, I have tried to join her in taking more notice of these winged critters. My hope is that it will help me be more present, and therefore more attentive to the people in my community who need me. I don’t know how successful I’ve been, but I have spotted a woodpecker over the laguna, a white-tailed hawk on the mountainside, and now this – a house finch in our own front yard.
This sighting, though, feels like a bit of a cheat, because the bird is eating from our garden. My wife is so intentional with the small amount of land that is in our care. She has surrounded the garden with pollinators and California natives. We harvest greens and strawberries all summer long. The broccoli we planted, however, went to seed before yielding anything edible. But when I asked if we should tear it out, she said, We can leave it for the birds. They’ll enjoy it.
And they do. This one does anyway. He shreds the flowers with his tiny beak, while I learn that American B-52 bombers have struck Fordow, Natanz, and Esfahan. And I can’t help but marvel at the strangeness of it all: For someone to be so careful with the tiny creatures who live on this tiny plot of land, while halfway around the world, someone else is so careless with the lives of so many. Is it possible that clearer thought was given to this bird’s dinner than to the fate of nation states?
The bird chirps. Maybe he’s calling to his friends, There’s plenty here for everybody. Never mind the broccoli that never was – this moment is a miracle.
That said, would we not give this bird’s life a thousand times over for one child in Gaza? For one person in Tehran? For one future in which we do not surrender to insecurities and in so doing recreate the horrors of our past? Despite what the announcer said, this is not breaking news, because this is nothing new. Even if we could set aside the American sins before my lifetime, we would still have generations of tragedy to reckon with: Gaza, Afghanistan, Iraq, El Salvador, Iraq, and too many others for me to draw to mind.
I turn off the radio. The common house finch flies away. I hope that when he comes back, he’ll bring his friends. I hope that he can be more present to the others who need him. I hope that we can do the same. I hope that we can stay tuned in, and still notice the beauty around us. I hope that next time will be different.
Parish on Fire 