The Birds of the Ark

“There is a sense in which, of all the things that are related to the body, wings have more of the divine in them.”^[1]
– Plato

These days, many may be personally and intimately familiar with this question: “Where is God?” It seems like everywhere we turn, there is a tragedy right around the corner, ready and waiting to afflict our eyes, our ears, and our hearts. Perhaps those tragedies have struck our own person, our families, or our communities. However we are affected, it would be good to remember that God did not make us to suffer forever. He came to the world so that we may have life and so that we may have life to the full.^[2] In His Sermon on the Mount, it is Jesus Himself who reassures us that He is intimately aware of all of our needs, and that if we seek first the Kingdom of God and His justice, all things will be given to us.^[3]

Jesus tenderly illustrates His liberality and providence by reminding us that He provides for even the smallest forms of life, inviting us to consider how He cares for the lilies of the field, the grass, and my personal favorite—the birds of the air.^[4] While the Sermon on the Mount is not the first time Jesus uses the material world to reveal spiritual truth, I find it particularly helpful, especially on the darkest days, to heed Jesus’ call to behold the birds. After all, these little creatures are not only beautiful to behold, but they also reveal some of the most critical truths of our faith—truths that have real power to lift up our spirits, to heal them, and to transform us from the inside out.

On Candlemas this year, two particular birds in the Bible came to mind when meditating on the sacred liturgy commemorating the Presentation of Our Lord in the temple, as well as the Purification of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Forty days after giving birth to Our Lord, Our Lady fulfilled the requirements of Mosaic law to bring two young pigeons or turtle doves to the temple as a sin offering.^[5] But those weren’t the birds that I was thinking of. The feast of Candlemas, replete with blessings, processions, and rituals of light and darkness transported me back to the very beginning, to the story of Noah’s ark, and to the first birds mentioned in the Bible by name: the raven and the dove that Noah sends out from the ark to see if the flood waters had subsided. These birds have always puzzled me, and, admittedly, I’ve spent many an hour in adoration pondering them, asking God to help me understand their significance. But this year, when I viewed them in light of Candlemas—amidst the symbols of light and darkness, life and death, prophecy and fulfillment—the raven and the dove started to take on a deeper meaning.

As the Catechism highlights and as Saint Peter tells us in his first epistle, the entire story of Noah’s ark is a prefigurement of the Sacrament of Holy Baptism.^[6] The waters of the flood prefigure the waters of baptism and tell us what it does—namely, that it cleanses us from sin. The ark prefigures the Church and tells us who ministers this sacrament. And the birds? By their color, natures, and movement to and from the ark, the birds prefigure the very essence of baptism and visually narrate how the human soul is affected by the sacrament and how she lives it after it is received.

As Saint Paul writes, holy baptism is a “burial” with Christ in His death and a walk with Him in newness of life,^[7] and both birds depict this twofold reality. First, Noah decides to send the raven out of the ark to discern the state of the flood. But the raven does not return.^[8] Quite the mystery, this lack of return reflects the permanence of baptism as death—part of the real, irreversible change the soul undergoes upon receiving this sacrament. Once baptized, the soul dies and is born again, thrust into a new way of being as a completely new creature.^[9] This new way of being is marked by the “indelible spiritual character of belonging to Christ”^[10] which nothing, not even sin, can erase. That said, baptism doesn’t make the soul perfect. A baptized soul still has to work out her salvation with fear and trembling^[11] because she can still choose to sin and extinguish her baptismal light. But she can never return to her pre-baptismal state wherein she is not held by God as one of His own. Rather, baptism spiritually transforms the soul and gives us the opportunity to live life differently with God—to reject the darkness and sadness of a life lived without—without abundance, without refuge, and without a personal and intimate relationship with our Creator.

Upon receiving the sacrament, then, the soul is remade and lives now like the dove. Through baptism, the soul becomes gentler, more delicate, and more aware of its limitations and its needs. Doves, dependent little creatures, rely on steady provision, unlike the raven, who is able to live quite independently on his own terms. Doves need rest, dry land, safe branches, and plant life to live. So when Noah sends the dove out after the raven only to realize that the waters are still covering the earth, the dove returns^[12] because doves cannot survive a flooded world all on their own. When the dove is unable to find a safe place to land, she is welcomed back into the ark to rest. Noah puts forth his hand, catches her, and brings her inside,^[13] a tender and loving act that points to the many later instances in Scripture where the Lord Himself expresses this same paternal care and saving grace.^[14]

Our Lord, like Noah, is a father who never forgets or abandons us,^[15] and it is through this most necessary sacrament that we are incorporated into the Church^[16] and claimed as God’s beloved children.^[17] The reliance we have on our Creator finds its rest in Him, and the loving paternity God has for each of us finds its home and takes root in our very being. This supreme, ontological change that the soul undergoes means that we are forever bonded to God and vice-versa, a relationship which no man can put asunder.^[18] Psalm 138 reflects this so poetically and fittingly for this reflection on birds: If I ascend into heaven, thou art there. If I descend into hell, thou art there. If I take my wings early in the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there also shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me.^[19] Through baptism, the soul no longer needs to journey alone. Like the dove, we can always rely on the Lord who seeks us, catches us immediately when we fall, and offers us shelter in the ark until the world outside is safe enough to fly in.

Another aspect of this story that I find very moving is the continued journey of the dove. When Noah sends the dove out a second time, she returns to the ark again, but this time she brings a fresh bough of an olive tree in her mouth,^[20] illustrating that, through baptism, we are not only welcomed into the ark once, but we are continually welcomed back with compassion and mercy whenever the waters in our lives rise to the brim or overflow. As children of God, we are generously granted fresh starts again and again through the ministry of the Church and through the other sacraments that we receive as well. The fresh bough depicts baptism as the gateway to a new life of grace with Christ—a life that unfolds and matures and bears fruit slowly over time, but one that stems from a real, enduring promise of peace, mercy, reconciliation, healing, and, of course, the promise of wings to fly onward and upward toward whatever particular mission the Lord has in store for each one of us.

These days, when we feel the waters rising around us, the birds of the air should give us hope that we can know where God is and have confidence that He has not abandoned us and never will. Though God is not a thing among things, He is in all things as the cause of their being^[21] and in them innermostly.^[22] God is in the waters of baptism that wash us clean. He is in the shelter of the Church that carries us through the storms of life. And He is in the small, often overlooked signs of His care: the birds leaving their nest, the lilies growing toward the sun, and the silence in the quiet moments of life that persist even when everything around us seems to be falling apart.

As we transition into the Lenten season and prepare our hearts to renew our baptismal promises this Easter, let us consider the lilies, the grass, and the birds, and come to really trust God when He says that we are worth more than many sparrows and that we have nothing to fear.^[23] Let us pray fervently for those entering the Church as well, so that we may, together as one body,^[24] interiorly embrace what the birds make manifest exteriorly, living life as true partakers in the divine nature^[25] and heirs of eternal life,^[26] working with God—the One with Whom we have died and been born anew—to ensure our baptismal robes remain spotless, so that our souls may shine with Him through every darkness, now unto eternity.

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