Soaring with eagles or squawking like parrots

My neighbour has a parrot, a vicious bird that bites and squawks and is generally bad tempered, scowling at you from the safety of his cage. His one redeeming feature is that he speaks: words, phrases and swearing screech from his mouth, repetitions of sounds he has heard clearly mimicked as he swings contentedly on his perch.

Contrast this encounter with another I had last year, that of a young golden eagle. Tethered to his handlers arm, this magnificent bird with its keen eyes wanted to fly. It stretched out its wide wings, tugged cords with its sharp beak, restless and driven by that inborn desire to soar and hunt.  It wanted to fly, to be free, to glide and find fresh quarry and mountains, to be Lord of all it surveys.

Reflecting on these birds, I am aware we are lacking eagles in the church but have an abundance of parrots. Leaders content to sit safely on their evangelical perches and repeat the latest tweet, blog or book content with parrot-like gusto. Parrots like the predictable and are easily satisfied with a few seeds and loud admiration.

The church is short on eagles, those leaders who fly; folk brave enough to break free of material cages, financial safety nets, religious traditions and to soar in wonder and worship in the Holy Spirit, eagle-eyed to God's word, open to new perspectives and fearless in their desire to reach new horizons.

We need more eagles: eagle writers, eagle prophets and evangelists, eagle pastors and eagle church planters. 

Parrots are colourful fun birds to keep in cages.  Eagles need to be released, and if you are an eagle, what are you doing on that perch?

Moving...

Today is the day our daughter Hannah, husband Mike and grandson Max, make a move.  Four months ago these "refugees" from their house sale arrived on our door step with all their worldly goods tied up in brown paper bags!  Since then, we’ve had a glorious summer of shared BBQs, gardening, walks and the endless march of the toys towards every room and under every piece of furniture. Grandpa, Grandma, Great Grandparents, uncles and aunties - all in their element cooing and adoring, desperate to get their five minutes Max-Moment.

Today the chapter ends, these the last words on this happy time. I feel joy, gratitude and truthfully a little sad. But no time for long farewells…all hands on deck. Bags, boxes, furniture clog the hallway and fill our living room. Stuff and more stuff: shoes, toys, blankets, books and those boxes in endless rows awaiting their deliverer, a man with a van. In so many ways, a moving experience that feels right and downright prophetic. Our TVs and newspapers are filled with images of migrants carrying all their worldly possessions on their backs.  It is reported that 40 % of the entire Syrian population has been displaced.  If this was England, then goodbye London, Birmingham, Liverpool and Manchester.  I cannot imagine what this must feel like but I do know that we in the West are blessed and churches carry a responsibility to reach out with the love of Christ using our stuff.  Answering Christ's final day challenge of "when did we see you hungry, in need of clothes?"

Moving house is a dress rehearsal for the big day, the final chapter, the great finale.  And all our stuff goes off to landfill as we enter a recreated world with such beauty, majesty and permanence. Home with Christ, which is better by far.