Fifteen years ago, I taught a bird how to “pray”. Now with the era of the New
Evangelization upon us, I wonder if teaching a bird how to “pray” is
evangelizing of some kind.
Assisting me in that endeavor were my nieces, Katarina and Florence,
aged 5 and 6, who were then vacationing with us. That time we had a mynah—yes, a black “talking” bird which
we’d had at home for a couple of months.
I had no idea of its gender but I had named it “LILY”—acronym for “Lord
I Love You”—a name I would have wanted my parents to give me. So, I wanted to test if it was time to
teach Lily to “talk”. I asked the
two little girls to “come have fun”, to stand with me near Lily’s cage and
alternately say to it “Lord, I love you!”
The girls complied with gusto, exchanging declarations.
After the seventh time it was uttered, a third voice joined them—the
mynah’s: Lord, I love you! Lord, I love you! Lord, I love you! Allelujah, we were overjoyed to hear
the bird talk! And for the rest of
the girls’ stay, the mynah’s ejaculations would be the chief source of the
girls’ giggly entertainment.
But, long after the girls had gone back home, the bird still
wouldn’t be stopped! It would in
its little girl voice “declare its love for the Lord” on its own, without any
prompting from me. Do birds have
“free will”—I’d muse—or was it because this mynah just couldn’t help talking?
Consider this: There were times I’d be too lazy to get up
for my daily 6 a.m. Mass; then I’d hear “Lord…” Just one gentle word from the bird,
“Lord…” but it would prick my
conscience and spur my lazy bones to action. “Ok, ok, you win!” I’d talk back, and the bird would burst
into a triumphant “Lord, I love you!” over and over again when I’d get up.
I’d heard a mynah (owned by a socialite) greet guests with “Wow, sexy!” or “Kumain ka na?” and another (in a seminary garden) say “Panget!” to all passersby, but I’d
never heard one that said “Lord, I love you!” So you understand why I would be so proud of my
accomplishment that I’d prompt my bird to speak whenever we’d have guests—yeah,
like a proud mama urging her daughter to play the piano for the guests. The thing is—my mynah wouldn’t be
coaxed against its will, it seemed.
Without prompting it would repeat several times to the carpenters
repairing our kitchen: “Lord, I
love you!” Of course, it excited
the workers—“A praying bird!”—and the whole time they’d be hammering away, the
mynah would be tirelessly “adoring the Lord”. Same with our 60-year old laundry woman who exclaimed upon
hearing the bird: “Nungka sa buong lintek
na buhay ko ako nakarinig ng ibong kumakausap sa Diyos! Milagro yan!” (Never in my blasted life have I ever
heard a bird talking to God!
That’s a miracle!)
And so family and friends and strangers would be
amused. But why would the bird
make one exception? No matter how
hard I tried to prompt it, it remained tight lipped. That was the day a born-again cousin visited us. I was eager to have her hear my
“praying bird”, because she likes talking (and arguing) about religion but, nada. The bird wouldn’t make a sound the whole time despite my
prodding, not even a respectful “Tao po!”
(which it had learned on its own), or a fierce “Woof, woof!” or a shy “Meeeow!”
which it had picked up from my dog and my cat.
When my cousin left, I confronted the bird: “You embarrassed
me. Why were you so quiet when
your chatter was most needed?”
Then it broke its silence, repeating “Lord, I love you!” several
times. I reprimanded it, “You
should have said that and calmed down my cousin when she was trying to nit pick
about Catholic confession and celibacy!”
But as I suspected, this mynah must have had a will of its own. Well, my speculations notwithstanding,
that incident has remained a mystery to me.
One morning I missed its “holy noise”. I found it wounded and stiff, dead in
its cage. I was sad but thankful
that in its short life Lily reminded people about the love God has for us, or
the love we do not have for Him—I’ll never know. Most of the time, the Holy Spirit is depicted in art and
literature as a white dove; but who can stop the Holy Spirit from choosing to
come in the form of a black mynah?
Mysteries are best embraced, not scrutinized. And that’s the truth.
