The songs bursting outside my windows were the sounds of a fleet of birds, obscured by night to my curious eye. It seemed as if all the winged mammals from across the vast expanse of Earth had traversed land and sea and convened here, at this midnight hour, in Jerusalem. I listened with wander how so many birds could unite their melodies in one place, for their captivating sounds seemed to come from thousands of them. I will never know if these winged songstresses had left other lands for that fateful night in Chronos, on a hill in the beautiful city. My ears had not experienced such a burst of happy sound from so many birds uniting their song in one place, and I suspect such an experience will not repeat itself in the parcel of space I call home.
At some point, I heard the voices of a group of women raised in a beautiful hymn whose words I couldn't decipher, yet whose melody moved my soul. Later I learned that sisters from the Evangelical Sisterhood of Mary have sung on the Temple Mount, and maybe it was these sisters that raised their worship that midnight hour in Jerusalem.
Every spring I wait for the song of the birds whose anthem heralds greater things to come. Their cheerful tunes remind me that, very soon, the sun will linger longer than the night, and in its light the earth will breathe again. From the womb of summer, berries of all varieties delight our palates and replenish our vitamin levels drained by winter. Vegetables of many colors transform meals into feasts, and fruits of many kinds follow each other in rapid succession to satisfy our tastebuds and restore our mineral reserves.
One of the (many) reasons I don't like winter is the absence of birds. Only crows remain, and their nagging tone is devoid of pleasure or melody. Black, bleak and menacing, the crows remind me that all is not well outside Eden lost, and that one day we shall return to the City "whose builder and maker is God", to a new heaven and a new earth where birds will never cease to sing and the sun will never dim its light.
The soul experiences the bleakness of winter as well, or "the dark night of the soul". Fears, worries and doubts rush like the troubled sea into the inner chambers of the heart, seeking to drown out the coals of faith barely flickering in the night. We toil and labor in our minds, our pillows drenched with wet sorrow. Like Job, we dread the rising of the sun, for day renews our toils under the merciless threats of Pharaoh's henchmen. But rise we must, and move, and find the light in the numbing darkness encompassing the land within. In days and weeks like these, only the Breath of God will quicken our bony, lifeless forms into an "exceedingly strong" army. His Breath is His Word, and the Words He speaks "are spirit, and they are life" (John 6:63). In the thick of darkness' assaults, the fire of His Word will light our path, scorching the enemy within even as tribulations remain without. "Fear not, for I am with you", His Words sound in our ears as the Spirit burns them on our hearts. If we lean close enough, we will hear a song rising from the heart of the Father, the pledge of His love rekindling the dying embers of hope.
Summer is here, witness of winter's ended dominion, just as day testifies to the flight of night. One day, when the eyes of the soul will be eternally dimmed and the doors in the streets are shut for the last time, God's children will enter eternal summer. The rains will no longer beat their weary bodies, the sun will not scorch their unprotected limbs, and Pharaoh's henchmen will not frighten them with heavy burdens. Until then, the Father's love will quiet our souls through life's storms and His joy will be our strength through all our toils.
"The LORD your God in your midst, The Mighty One, will save; He will rejoice over you with gladness, He will quiet you with His love, He will rejoice over you with singing.” (Zephaniah 3:17)