Our God is an Eternal Songbird Who Keeps Us Under His Wing
Our God is an Eternal Songbird Who Keeps Us Under His Wing.
(1.) Before everything,
When emptiness was waiting to be filled, and
Nothingness was silent in the formless deep,
The Spirit of God flutters over the thick eggshell of the watery abyss.
A songbird hovering over her brood to come.
God is waiting until the right moment to sing a universe into being
And take it, all of it, under His wing,
The wing of the Dove.
(2.) Creation was inevitable, wasn’t it?
How long could a God of ordered beauty and intricate design
Dwell in a world of chaos?
When the world was nothing to look at,
Did God not find that unacceptable?
The Bird of Shalom could brood over empty disorder for only so long.
(3.) After an eternity, or was it only a second,
The fluttering Spirit warms the formless waters,
And the first creature, LIGHT! invades the dark abyss.
The New Song is warbled in three-part harmony.
(4.) The songbird continues His fluttering
To hatch new life into being,
The wings of God giving shelter in the shadows,
Refuge in its feathered embrace,
Bearing His image on those tireless wings,
Shielding and saving, protecting and rescuing,
Like the birds who choose to never touch ground.
(5.) In time the Dove alights on the Chosen One
And touches ground at last,
Placing on Him
His Spirit of wisdom and understanding,
His Spirit of counsel and power,
His Spirit of knowledge and reverence and delight.
(6.) And not long after overshadowing a virgin in a forgotten village,
The holy bird soars from the Falconer through a crack in the measureless sky,
And hovers once again over the waters,
This time the Jordan,
And alights gently on the waiting Rescuer,
Singing the New Song in His ear,
Empowering Him for a kind of re-creation
In a dark wasteland hostile to light,
The same old story.
(7.) Soon enough, soon enough,
The Brother of the Dove waits on a hilltop
And longs to be a mother hen,
Collecting her frightened, confused chicks,
Once again taking his loved ones under His wings.
(8.) A reprise…
The spirit hovers over her new nest till the right time
And then descends,
This time with tongues of fire never to be extinguished,
Only multiplied.
The bird is beckoned again to come alongside and warm the icy waters,
This time of the heart,
Bringing lively life to a wasteland valley of dry bones.
(9.) Is it right to ask for the wings of a dove,
So as to finally rest near the breast of the ageless songbird?
Yes, it is the perfect thing,
For we have a God who has always taken us under His wing,
Since before the beginning,
Never to fly away in fright or dismay
Like a skittish little bird.
Because the Dove is our very help,
we sing in the shadow of His wings.
(Steve Larson, 2026).