First, there is no sermon, or homily. Or at least, not with words. But the wordless messages are many and obvious. The tall deacon pines speak of aspiration, of reaching toward golden sunlight and glory and blue skies. They speak of persistence and endurance in the face of adversity. They teach the essential truth that roots are necessary for sustenance and survival; that all is community and none stands alone. And other stuff.

Meanwhile, each bird and animal adds its own truths as well. And none is too small or insignificant to go unheard or unnoticed. All know and understand the importance of simple survival; of weathering storms; of tolerating and celebrating one another’s differences, and the marvels of diversity. And, always, there is an abundance of good cheer, of acceptance of the realities of life, and somehow going forth with strong spirit.

When spring comes, the flowers will speak of the simple reality of beauty in the world; of sharing your own special gifts and colors, of somehow adding your own breath to the fragrance of life.

So, we were speaking of differences. But, come to think of it, perhaps these attributes are not so very different from those of your church, wherever it may be. But one great similarity we have not mentioned is the singing. Every fine church must have hymns. And choirs. And soloists. We have all in abundance. Oh, we have our silent members who only mouth the words (Brother ‘Possum comes to mind). But among our choir members—cardinals and bluejays and chickadees and doves and nuthatches and woodpeckers and finches and siskins and owls and, in the warmer seasons, catbirds and thrushes and orioles and robins and… well, the list is too long. But all add their voices to the daily hymns of praise, the Sustaining Anthems of faith and endurance. Messages of life.

So, that’s our Church. Wherever you may find sustenance and hope and life, we wish you… Good Sabbath.