A Young Finch Died In My Hands Today
Why do I feel such a sense of loss?
I had just finished a morning bicycle ride and decided to stop by my elderly father’s house to check on him. Dad was sitting under his balcony sipping on some coffee while his springer spaniel, Beatrice, was exploring the yard.
As we chatted, a young house finch landed awkwardly on the chair right next to Dad. It was obvious the finch was just learning to fly. We could hear the anxious mother calling out commands as she sat on a branch in the tree above.
I said, “Dad, turn slowly and take a peek at the little finch sitting next to you.” Dad turned and got a good look, then the little bird fluttered off and made another clumsy landing in the sill of the window nearby.
Beatrice could hear us talking, and she could hear the rapid tweeting of the mommy bird. Sensing that something had gotten our attention she trotted over and began sniffing under the window where the young finch was resting.
Just then the little bird lept off the edge of the window, but her attempts to fly to her mother fell short. Her little wings slowed her descent as she landed just under Beatrice’s nose.
In a split second Beatrice pounced and scooped up the fledgling in her mouth. She pranced over to us, proud of her conquest.
It’s what bird dogs do.
Dad moaned, and I shouted “BeBe! No! Drop!” Beatrice immediately dropped the bird on the ground. I ran over, shooed Beatrice off, and scooped the injured finch into my hands.
The little thing was traumatized, as was its mother who was squawking and flapping her wings in the branches above. I cradled the miniature creature, spoke softly to try to calm its nerves, and stroked its feathers with my fingers.
She was quivering in obvious pain. It was pitiful. After about fifteen seconds she gave a quick, convulsed jerk, then her head went limp. No more signs of life were evident.
Dad was comforting Beatrice, whose conscience seemed to be crossed because of my loud reprimand. I held the bird for a moment as I studied the feathered perfection and the design that was evident before my eyes. My emotions, a mixture of grief and awe, almost got the best of me.
After a short time, at Dad’s suggestion, I placed the lifeless body on the ground in a fenced-in flower garden in the shade under the tree. Nature would take it from here.
The miracle of life
As I have reflected on this event, several thoughts have settled in my mind.
First of all, life is as precious as it is mysterious. What is life anyway? What does it mean to be a living creature?
There is an obvious difference between the kind of life that causes plants to grow and flourish and the life contained in creatures who bear sentience (self-awareness).
I don’t wish to minimize the undeniable miracle of plant life — the bearing of seeds, the breathtaking process of photosynthesis, growth, roots, and even the self-protective mechanisms God has built into members of the plant kingdom.
But animal life is in a category all its own. Animals can make autonomous decisions. They make rudimentary calculations and plans. They care for their young. They show signs of loyalty to mates and other creatures. Where do this autonomy and self-awareness come from?
I ridicule the efforts of atheistic evolutionists who create fairy tales to explain how inanimate elements came together, designed themselves, then started to think.
The sheer faith it takes to believe in these scientific-sounding processes is wasted on such nonsense. It seems that random elements crashing into themselves over eons of time can work truly amazing miracles. Unbelievers make desperate and illogical attempts to explain the mystery of life.
The fool says in his heart “There is no God.” (Psalm 14:1a, ESV)
Perhaps those who scoff at the idea of a Creator-Designer should take time to deeply consider the question “What is life, what is sentience, and how did it come to be?”
The 6th Commandment
“Thou shall not kill.” Most people who revere God and His commandments will be quick to clarify that this commandment should be translated “You shall not murder another human being.” And I would agree. The taking of human life is a serious thing indeed.
The 12th-century mystic, St. Francis of Assisi, held a deep reverence for God’s created order, especially for his fellow living creatures of every kind. Legend has it that Francis preached to the birds he encountered along the way as he encouraged them to give all praise to their Creator God.
I am continuing to develop an appreciation for his passion.
In my youth, I owned a pellet gun as did my brother. Dad taught us to be very careful with our guns, and he only permitted us to shoot a few species of birds — sparrows, blackbirds, and catbirds. I killed my share of these birds, and I didn’t have much of a conscience about it.
We graduated to shotguns and hunted ducks, quail, grouse, deer, and rabbits. We would even go to cornfields and shoot dozens of blackbirds in a single evening. Dad would always say “Well, we saved that farmer a few bushels of corn.”
But in recent decades I’ve not had much interest in killing anything. I find no pleasure in hunting for sport. My wife gets upset with me because, instead of killing spiders in our home, I capture and release them outside our front door.
I’m not holding myself up as any kind of example to follow. But since I am staunchly opposed to the abortion of pre-born humans, and as I converse with those who are “pro-choice,” I am perplexed about their random respect for living creatures.
Most pro-choice individuals would be appalled at the killing of a puppy or a great horned owl. They would consider it an unforgivable crime to crush a bald eagle’s egg. But the murder of a human fetus is justified if the mother chooses that option.
It makes no sense. None at all.
All life is precious
As I was considering this story and working at my computer a gnat landed on the screen. My first thought was to smoosh it under my finger. But I stopped long enough to consider the structure of its body as the light from the screen gave me an almost x-ray view.
The complexity and design were no less evident in the gnat than they were in the fledgling finch. What magnificent engineering in the tiny veins of its translucent wings! Look at those legs with their intricately-functional joints! How awesome is our Creator God!
I spared the gnat’s life.
Even in my amazement, one question I want to ask in eternity is…why? Why was it necessary to put so many annoying little insects on this earth? Perhaps finches don’t dine on gnats, but maybe swallows and sparrows do?
God has His reasons. I’m sure of it. And if I knew those reasons, I’d have even more respect for all living creatures than I do now.
Life is precious. We should not kill living things unnecessarily. It is right to regret the loss of life. Especially the loss of human life in whom the image of God dwells.
O LORD, how manifold are your works!
In wisdom have you made them all;
the earth is full of your creatures. (Psalm 104:24, ESV)
