
Narrow the Road with Fr. John Girotti
Recently, while working in my garage on a late afternoon, I began to notice a faint buzzing sound. Ignoring it at first, it grew louder and softer with humming intervals. Looking up finally to investigate, I soon discovered that a hummingbird had flown into my garage! I watched it hover from rafter to rafter, all the while searching for nectar from a flower. Finding no sweet flowers but only motor oil, sweat and dust, it searched and searched, and soon became disoriented, fearful and then trapped.
I have always been intrigued by these smallest of birds and the miracle of their flight.
Hummingbirds need to feed often to sustain their fast-beating wings — even a brief disruption in their feeding can place them in peril. Feeling sorry for the creature, I got a broom and tried to gently guide it toward the open garage door. It only flew higher, hiding behind a beam. I then climbed a ladder, trying to get closer. The hummingbird then flew toward the other side of the garage. I tried clapping, using a fan, and various other techniques to help it escape. Nothing worked. Exhausted, I sat down and watched it circle about the garage, hiding near the roof, far away from the wide and open garage door by which it could escape to freedom.
Then some friends arrived — a father and his two sons — who noticed that my garage door was open and who wanted to visit. I quickly explained my dilemma to them, and even though the father had recently been seriously ill, he and his sons jumped into action to help the poor hummingbird. At the four corners of the garage, we clapped, swung, grasped and missed trying to guide this poor creature to freedom in the open air. Nothing helped.
After they left, sweaty and tired, I needed to leave for a brief time. I left the garage door open, hoping that the bird would simply calm down and fly away. I returned later to find it still circling the upper rafters of the garage. Frustrated with this beautiful yet seemingly foolish creature, I wondered aloud, “Why didn’t it simply drop down and fly away?” Freedom was so close and easy to achieve. And yet it circled, ever more slowly, fatigued from the heat and its fright, trapped in a place where it should never have been.
And so sometimes are we. We, like that hummingbird, are so often trapped by our addictions, our fears or our sins. How wonderful it would be if we could simply fly away and be free? So often, though, we grow weak, trapped by these or other similar things. Many of us have had the experience of being with family members, loved ones or friends, and seeing how they are trapped. If only we could guide them to freedom!
“Stop drinking…,” we say. “Break the cycle of poverty, abuse or sin…,” we beg. Perhaps we could reconnect a few wires in their brains, erase some traumatic memories or lead them to repentance. These are all possible, of course, but difficult. We see them hovering about, so close to freedom. If only they would fly lower near the wide-open door! If only somebody could come to save them.
The Good News is that Jesus has come to save us from sin and death! This is why we call him Savior. He alone leads us to authentic freedom in our lives. He alone can break our shackles and chains. The more we try to solve life’s problems solely by ourselves, the more enslaved we usually become. But when we invite God into our troubles, whatever they may be, a graced solution will come. We know this, of course, as Christians. But do we believe this? Or do we wear ourselves out, like some poor trapped creature, trying to save ourselves?
I decided to leave the garage door open until the early evening. I returned later that night and discovered that the humming sound had gone. I hoped and prayed that the tiny creature had calmed down, seen the open garage door, and flown away to freedom. I sat on a stool, in the coming twilight of a beautiful summer night, and pondered what had taken place that afternoon. How simple it is to fly away to freedom! The world, the flesh and the devil make it seem difficult. But God makes it easy.
