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SPIRITUALITY
Hearing the Voice of God on Easter Sunday
The essence that unites writers, artists and mystics of the world
“For such a tiny bird, the wren has a surprisingly loud song.”
I can almost hear the narrator’s voice, almost five decades after I stood in front of the museum’s dusty taxidermy display and pressed the button once again to listen to the heartbreakingly sweet song of the wren.
The narrator’s description of the song as “surprisingly loud” did not come close to capturing the aching beauty of that ethereal trill.
I spent hours in that dimly lit, musty museum as a boy, staring at the badly stuffed remains of various birds and mammals, and gleaning all the knowledge I could about them from the brief information signs attached below each display.
I can almost feel the cold, smooth pane pressing up against my nose as I recall standing in front of the glass-fronted display all those decades ago, staring at the tiny stuffed wren wired onto the dead branch, almost willing life back into her.
The memory comes back to me clearly today as I listen with delight to the song of the resident wren in our garden at home. It’s a warm, bright Easter Sunday and we have the back door open, so the notes fill the house…
