By Greg Austin.

In Celtic hearts, the goose is the visible representation of the Spirit of God. Much of the Church has reimagined the Holy Spirit as the dove; gentle and pristine, issuing forth a soft and peaceful cooing so unlike the raucous squawk of the goose.

It is as though we want to tame God’s Spirit; we want to make Him manageable, we want Him to be gentle and quiet and acceptable to our more sophisticated sensibilities.

But the Spirit of God will have none of that. Like the wild goose He may enter our silent reverie unannounced, even uninvited. He may shake us, violently uproot us, He may shock us with His suddenness and His untamed, unfettered behaviors.

More than two thousand years ago, on a certain Day of Pentecost, like the loud and insistent geese of today’s experience, He arrived, unannounced and certainly without observation of mans’ sensitivities. He came as fire and as a violent, crashing wind. He disturbed the environment of His visitation. They had prayed together, meeting in a room with walls and floor and roof. They sought Him, but they forecasted the manageable, they expected the controllable. Their anticipations were for sweet reflection, peaceful manifestation. What they received was dynamic power; earth-shattering explosiveness, inordinate shaking. Flames of fire appeared, seated upon carefully coiffured heads. Disruption, disorganization, divine disturbance is what they received. Surely, to the thinking mind, this could not have been God in their midst! But it was, and when we distant relatives of those first brothers and sisters become hungry enough, sufficiently devoid of our own resource and empty of the results of our own religious attempts, perhaps, like the train of sqwuaking, interrupting geese this morning, He will come once again, and fill us with Himself. The season is changing. Are you listening?

“Be not drunk with wine wherein is excess, but be filled with the Holy Spirit.”

Spending more time outside in nature lately, I’m discovering new things.  Strange new things.  Like how all the birds suddenly disappeared. They aren’t singing anymore!

For days I was mystified. Every visitor heard my complaint. “There’s something wrong! Haven’t you noticed?”

I love waking up early to God’s natural alarm clock. The sound of singing birds comes as early as 4:30 . But now I’m sleeping later and later. They just aren’t as numerous.

And it’s not just birds. The obnoxiously loud frogs in our pond have gone quiet too!  The only consistent sound I hear in the warm summer evenings are crickets humming, sort of like a constant white noise.

Today I’m relieved, however.  I found out it’s just August being August.

Yes, it took a several weeks of being puzzled over this mystery to find out what was going on. The birds haven’t died. I didn’t kill them with my cheap bird seed. They are just resting and doing as little as possible – and August is an important month for this!  You see, in the Spring, when birds return from their migratory southern vacation, they sing their heart out to attract mates. This is followed by weeks of nest building, child-rearing, and defending territories.  And all the while they are feeding themselves, and several hungry mouths, too!  It’s all very exhausting.  And, it takes a toll on their feathers.

This is why in the hot month of August, (or as early as July) most birds molt. For some it’s not a pretty sight to shed their old, dead attachments, and it’s not easy to fly well during this time, either.  Some studies think birds get depressed during this time, or at least a bit grumpy.  But the fact is, they are going through a needful transition. When the season is over, they will have grown new feathers, and gained their strength back. Then, when it comes time for their long southern trip back south, they’ll be rip-roaring to go!

Personal Application:

Nature teaches us that there’s a time for work, and a time for rest. A time for being productive, and a time for being a seed buried in the ground.  Do people go through seasons together, even as the birds go through them together? I believe so. At least with the people I am most spiritually connected to–my experience is we are often in the same boat together, going through similar ebbs and flows.  Plus, there’s a good example of a season we universally go through together, and at the same general time: sleep.

Unlike birds, however, we aren’t as tuned into seasons. We bypass our internal clocks and force ourselves to do exhausting, unnatural (anti-nature) things that don’t truly satisfy or rejuvenate us. We stunt our growth. We make ourselves sick. And then we wonder why we are still tired after a vacation, after a weekend, or after a night’s sleep!  Instead of operating from an inward guidance that is in tune with our truest selves, and our Maker – we often resist the need for “pulling away” and truly resting.

Why do we do this? I think sometimes when our bodies and spirits suddenly call us to this deeper place of rest, it feels like a “death” compared to the more stimulating and productive season we may have just come from.  The idea of death doesn’t feel so great, at least not in the beginning. We know we have to operate by faith, instead of sight, and we won’t be in the limelight. Nobody will be waking up to our songs. It just isn’t as glamorous.

Being more like the birds, however, let’s accept the darker and more quiet times of our life with hopeful resolve.  Listen more.  Go inward more.  It might not feel like anything is happening, but if we trust in God’s love for us, and patiently submit to a walk of faith during this time – we will come through.  And not just come through, but come through with fresh strength for a fresh season!

P.S. After discovering this information about birds and molting, this verses from Isaiah 40:29-31 came more alive:

He gives power to the faint; and to him that has no might, he increases strength.
Even boys grow tired and weary, and young men collapse and fall,
but those who wait upon the LORD will renew their strength.
They will mount up with wings like eagles;
they will run and not grow weary; and they will walk and not faint.