Sunday morning, Lord,
one of your fine feathered friends,
a mourning dove,
joined us for worship...
I heard her mourning, plaintive coo
and then her high-pitched chirping chatter
as she flew across the nave up to the choir
and then settled in the eaves...
She didn't respond to prayers at the designated times
nor did she follow the numbers on the hymn board
but, instead, sang her own hymn of praise or -
was it a plea to be set free
from the sanctuary's confines?
Her prayer in the rafters was far more spirited
than anything we below were sending up or -
was she simply far more desperate for freedom
than we who shelter in the shadows,
escaping the world, its beauty
and the challenge of skies inviting us to fly...
Today at sundown, I paid a visit to the church,
perchance to chant an evensong with Frances,
for so I'd named her,
but she was nowhere to be found...
So I'll listen in the morning for her melancholy coo,
her psalmody, just outside my window where,
free again to fly, she'll lift herself and her sweet voice
in praise of you, her Lord and God...
Protect me, Lord (and Frances, too) while we're awake
and watch over us as we sleep
that awake, we might keep watch with you
and asleep, rest in your peace...
Amen.
Frances in flight in Saint Luke Church
Fly Like a Bird by Ken Canedo
Fly like a bird to the Lord, my soul
I want to soar like an eagle
Though I may journey far away from home
I know I’ll never be alone
Oh, God, you know who I am
you know my hopes and my dreams
in my pondering & fears
in my joy and in my tears
O God, your presence is real.
When I am down and afraid
when I am falling away,
you extend a gentle hand
and I know you understand,
O God, your presence is real.
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