On Birds and the Body of Christ

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My sister was visiting from out of town last week. She’s not a birdwatcher, but she enjoys seeing them when she’s out walking. Earlier this year, I had sent her a photo I’d taken of a bluebird, and she said she’d never seen one, so while she was here I suggested we go for a walk along the Round Valley trail in Park City, where bluebirds frequently are seen.

We set off a little after 3 p.m., which isn’t a prime birdwatching time in the summer, especially when the temperature is hovering near 100 degrees. In that weather, our fine feathered friends tend to hide in the shade, just like us humans. That fact became painfully obvious during our hike; we covered two miles and saw only a couple of sparrow-type birds flitting through the sagebrush and one turkey vulture floating high overhead. Nevertheless, we continued on, because we both wanted to get our aerobic exercise for the day.

Another half a mile farther on, a flock of maybe half a dozen little gray birds descended into the bushes in front of us. My sister and I stood still while the UFOs fluttered, twittering, from one branch to another. I tried to get a good photo of them, but they refused to stay still for more than half a second. Meanwhile, my mind was racing through the numerous possibilities for identification, a task made more difficult by the fact that all I had to go on was size, shape and behavior. The birds had no identifying wing bars or color markings; they were uniformly gray, small, long-tailed, very vocal and – light-bulb moment!

“They’re bushtits,” I exclaimed. “We’re seeing bushtits!”

“OK,” my sister said, with little enthusiasm.

Keeping my eyes on the birds, because I knew they’d soon fly off, I explained, “They’re not a rare species here, but you hardly ever see them because they’re so peripatetic; they stop for a minute, and then they’re off. If we came back here tomorrow, we probably wouldn’t see them.”

That day marked only the third time I’d ever seen bushtits, but even though my sister was standing right beside me and understood my excitement, she was less than impressed. We joked about the fact that I was having a memorable experience while she was unmoved by the moment, then continued our hike, and I didn’t think anything more about it until I went to confession, and the monstrance was set on the altar for Adoration.

As I sat there in prayer, a quote from Saint John Vianney came to mind: “If we really understood the Mass, we would die of joy.” For some reason, that reminded me of birdwatching with my sister. There on the trail, I had five years of study and experience with birds, so I appreciated the bushtits in a way that she didn’t. I knew how unusual it was for us to encounter a flock, and I knew some fun facts about the species, such as that females have light eyes and males have dark eyes. My sister didn’t have this knowledge, so all she saw was an unremarkable flock of little gray birds.

In some ways, I’m like that with the Mass. Even though I’m a cradle Catholic and have a degree in theology, with many elements of the Mass I feel I see only the equivalent of an unprepossessing bundle of feathers, not a noteworthy encounter with the Lord God, Heavenly King, Almighty God and Father.

Which is one reason I’m looking forward to our diocesan Eucharistic Revival. Starting next week, we’ll have a series of reflections on the Eucharist; these will be read from the pulpit and also be printed in the pages of this newspaper. I’m also planning to do a formal study of the Mass. My hope is that by next July, when we have the Diocesan Eucharistic Rally, I’ll be closer to dying with joy when I receive the Eucharist, the source and summit of Christian life.

Marie Mischel is editor of the Intermountain Catholic. Reach her at marie@icatholic.org.