‘But ask the animals, and they will teach you;
    the birds of the air, and they will tell you;
ask the plants of the earth,and they will teach you;
    and the fish of the sea will declare to you.
Who among all these does not know
    that the hand of the Holy One has done this?’
Job 12:7-9

For as long as I can remember, I have been fascinated by those who have been named as Saints. Certainly, I have known many humans who I would call saint but here I am talking about those who have been named by the Church as those who have lived a life extraordinary enough to be somehow set apart a bit from the rest of us. For this Protestant this is something to admit I realize. Yet it is true. I have any number of amulets and icons scattered about my house that speak to this fascination. In the places I travel I am always on the look out for images that celebrate these sources of wisdom and devotion.

Perhaps the most well known is, of course, St. Francis of Assisi. A few years ago I was privileged to travel with a group of people to the places in Italy where he lived, walked, taught, and urged simplicity. Even writing these words brings a flood of memories and feelings that were imprinted upon my soul in those places. Walking the streets of Assisi and Gubbio which still seem to carry the essence of his simple yet profound spirit can wash over me in a flash. Somehow the people who live there carry forward the light and wisdom in his honor. Or so it seems. 

I was reminded of this last week as I was walking along Summit Avenue in Saint Paul. It was one of those crazy days we had when it was 50 degrees and the humans making their way down this historic, stately street, had the goofy look on their faces of those who did not know quite where they were…what month it was…how this temperature was even possible. In February. In Minnesota. As I passed one of the row houses built at the turn of the 20th century, I saw flittering and fluttering of the winged kind. As I got nearer, I saw that it was not only the humans who seemed ecstatic in their praise of the day, so were the birds that swooped and swarmed around a bird bath and several feeders. These feathered creatures were simply giddy with the prospect of taking a dip followed by a snack. I stood and watched and laughed out loud at their enthusiasm. What lessons were they imparting?

Watching them I remembered a dear friend who left us this year and his love of birds and the above verses from the Book of Job. The idea that we are taught by the birds of the air was the sermon he preached anytime he was given the chance. Just as St Francis did. Francis was said to have remarked “Preach the gospel at all times. If necessary, use words.” and also “While you are proclaiming peace with your lips, be careful to have it even more fully in your heart.” Watching what appeared to be a joyful sermon from those little birds brought a peace and grounding to my day. In all the turmoil of our world, these feathered teachers proclaimed a kind of peace from their very tiny hearts.

Francis was born in the tiny hilltop village of Assisi, Italy in 1182 and died in 1226. The writer and historian Coleman Barks said of him that he “was so empty of nervous haste and fear and aggression that the birds would light on him.” And when he died at twilight on October 4, 1226, it is said the larks rose up to the roof of his cell and circled it with wing beat and song. What a wonderful image!!

Teachers come to us in a variety of forms. On that particular day on a street far from Assisi, the birds and the spirit of St. Francis offered lessons. Of how to be present. Of how to be joyful. Of how to celebrate the gift of warm temperatures and blessed sunshine. And above all, how to be grateful.

****Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love. Francis of Assisi