I Couldn’t Hear the Screams


…Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care.

I saw it fall from the sky, a little bird, and crash into the pavement below a telephone pole. Through the car window I peered, trying to make sense of what I had just witnessed. The little sparrow rested behind the raised curb of the sidewalk, out of eyesight, but its mate stood by the body screaming.

There is no end to these birds, and I have often watched them on a lazy morning feeding at our window. I have seen them chirp and dance and fight and kiss; today I saw one scream. If I were an artist I would draw that bird’s torment and capture the very heart of pain in an image. By its dead bride, or groom, it continually wailed. The beak was split open as though the creature was about to tear itself apart along the seam of its mouth. It would look at its partner and cry to it, it would stare into heaven and call. Its beak never closed, screaming always.

And I couldn’t hear the sound. Engine’s roar, traffic’s din, radio’s talk, it all silenced that mourning bird. I watched its screams, watched it stop hopping by the corpse and just stand with its gapping mouth held up to heaven. I watched its heart breaking, and why not, I had watched its heart slam into the ground, in the care of its lover.

In time some other bird descended, and away flew the mourner. Sparrows die every day, and it’s not a tragedy. But even little birds are loved and mourned for, and not one of them falls outside the sight of heaven. By the Logos were each one made before this earth was old, and does Jesus not love creation and weep at death?


Listen to my beautiful voice:


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