A couple of weeks ago, a pair of magpies started building a nest in the plum tree outside my office window. It’s been a fascinating distraction. We’ve enjoyed watching them work together bringing sticks to the tree (some of them 12-15 inches long or more!) and working and working and working with them to weave them into place amongst the branches and other sticks…. with just their beaks. They have no hands with opposing thumbs to help them. Their feet are dedicated to holding them in place and helping them move around through the branches. They work together, one bringing the sticks and the other putting them into place. They’ve left a pile of sticks set aside on the ground under the nest. Sometimes we’ll see them on the ground picking through the sticks, looking for something they might use at this point in the process.
I’ve never watched magpies build a nest before. I’ve never paid attention to the arrival of baby magpies, maybe because they’re not the most pleasant of birds. But, with the arrival of this pair creating a nursery to hold their next generation, I’m a bit more drawn to them. The internet has helped me discover what magpie eggs and baby magpies look like. I’ve learned that this nest is going to be something quite substantial. I’ve learned that magpies are quite intelligent. They can imitate human speech, can make and utilize tools. They grieve and work in pairs. They mate for life but will pair up with someone else if one of them dies.
As the nest began to grow, the church staff started watching and keeping an eye on the progress. We pointed it out to the lawn care folks so they would be careful not to disturb the birds or rake up the stash of sticks underneath the tree. We noticed that once or twice a day, they would disappear and come back to continue the work. We figured they’d gone out to lunch or someplace to rest from their labors. We have all been anticipating the new life that would soon be just outside the windows of our day-to-day world.
And then the magpies stopped showing up. The nest in its early stages is still there. The stash of sticks sits silently on the ground. We keep looking out the window to see if we can catch a glimpse of the flash of a black tail of hear the caw of their voice. It’s been two days since we last saw them. We think maybe they’ve been visiting family. We keep looking and hoping.
Looking and hoping. It becomes such a part of loss and grief. Looking for glimpses of what was once so full of life and is then shrouded in death. Hoping that what we know has happened might just not be real. We know that Easter will come and we will sing the Alleluia’s again. Knowing that tends to rob us of the practice of feeling the weight of waiting for life on Good Friday and Holy Saturday. Instead of waiting in the shadow of an empty cross and a closed-up tomb, we jump right into the empty tomb and neatly folded grave clothes. Hold on. Don’t be so quick to let our 2000 years after the resurrection diminish its impact.
Jesus had been in the midst of folks longing for a messiah, a savior, a teacher who would point them to God’s realm on earth. The hopes were built, one stick, one story, one healing, one parable at a time. People were starting to notice and watch and wait. People started learning more and more about Jesus and God’s new covenant (even without the internet). And then he was gone. Just gone. Dead. Gone. He left behind what might seem to be a job unfinished and a pile of people longing for more. This is the essence of Good Friday and Holy Saturday. This is where I invite you to be until Sunday morning. In the loss. In the grief. In the longing and the hoping.
And know that God is in it all with you. Blessings on the journey and… (eventually) Happy Easter.
Rev. Lynne
