The Heart of Horatio's Matters

It was a nuisance really.  At first we simply noticed an unusual amount of nastiness on the patio.  My flatmate Olivia, whose favorite hobby is cleaning, was even a bit disgusted.  I was concerned for my plants.  I had been watching them grow for a while now, even if I forgot to actually water them.  Just because I'm not the best plant mommy doesn't mean that I don't care afterall.


Another few days and we realized he wasn't just "dropping" by, but he seemed to be spending longer periods of time on the patio.  We gave him some bread crumbs and such, since we often throw them out there anyway.  We are charitable like that you know.  Let him have some crumbs and then fly away.

When he began tapping on the door,  I knew this was going to be involved.  I named him Horatio.  I began noticing he had some health issues, occasionally flying to low to make the landing properly, or sometimes holding up his one leg.  I found myself going out to meet him every time he showed up, with some bread in hand.  He was skittish to be sure, but he would eat from my hand if there was no distraction or perceived threat.  Once he let me pet him and seemed to be falling asleep, but a gust of wind shuddered through and he panicked and took off.  Once he even let me hold him, but not for long and never again.  He was building trust, but was still lost.

As an obvious racing pigeon, I assumed he was leaving at night to go back to his coop since he didn't stay here.  When I found out that he was actually just moving over to the more covered patio of our neighbors for the evening I began to get worried.  Someone must be missing him.  I would.  I had afterall developed a fondness for Horatio.  I knew something must be done.

One of the youth knew a lad who could find the owner through the racing registry with the bands on Horatio's ankles. What a day that was, Horatio came by and I rang the lad but by the time he came H. was gone again.  The new plan was that we simply had to catch him and deliver him ourselves.  The lad provided special food and we had a box set up.  That day it caused delays in our worship practice and plenty of distractions for me in everything else I did, and yet I didn't care.  All I wanted was for him to be safe.

Horatio in the corner of the box, ready for transport.

Our youth who knew the lad arrived to take the box and Horatio to his friend.  I have not seen Horatio since, and yet I know he is finally at home.  What could some pigeon possibly have to do with the missional life?

Declan transporting Horatio back home, even the box is smiling.

What is our job if not to help people find the real home that is Christ?  They come along at the worst possible times, they mess on your stuff, they take and take and take and yet the next thing we know, we love them.  With all the rejection they throw back, we love them.  It's not a love earned by them and not a love based on pity from us as some social structures would imply.  It's simply a love we can give freely because that's how it was given to us when Christ died for us.  It's a love that seems inconvenient to many, but to those who receive it, it couldn't be more aptly timed.  It is all that matters.