I asked Santa to bring me an alarm clock for Christmas. I haven’t used one for years, and I’d like to have the need for it. But during these dark-morning December days I’ve discovered Santa’s answer in a strange and delightful fashion. An early-morning, deep-dark-dank morning bright light. In the shape - or rather the sound - of birdsong.
It started about a fortnight ago, and initially I just rejoiced to duvet-deeper-snuggle and enjoy its mellifluousness. Then, becoming transfixed by its eerie beauty I stumbled dressing-gowned downstairs and in the darkness sought the source in the dark branches of the trees around the house. At first, nothing discernible; then as dawn approached a dark shape began to be silhouetted against the greyness of the approaching day. Somehow the contrast of dismal December darkness made the song even more piercingly lovely. I was bewitched, and went in to Morning Prayer to thank God for the delight of this blackbird - as I thought.
But blackbird it wasn’t. As the day dawned even more lightsomely, it turned out to be a bird of a different feather, and I scurried to my ‘Book of British Birds’ (and my CD of birdsong) to discover that a mistle thrush had daily beaten me to morning glorious prayer and praise of God its maker.
Soon I will approach the crib, and bend low to discover again in the winter darkness God’s sweet song in his newly-birthed Son. And in these late Advent days I seek again the enlightenment in his Holy Word in daily liturgy the discovery of the plumage of the swaddling-wrapped nestling, Not a cuckoo in the nest, but the radiant Song of God.
Surely our Father’s sweetest alarm-call.
Fr Don Bowdren
Diocesan Director Nottingham SPA, APF
