Oriole Sighting in Baltimore

It is Friday, June 16, 2017. My wife and I have taken our dinner out to a park. There is, written in chalk, on the cement beneath a pavilion, the words “Free Bill Cosby”. The jury is hung at the moment.

But, I tell my wife later as we are walking, “You know who they did let go? Officer Yanez, the man who killed Philando Castile.”

We walk in silence. “I wonder what it’s like there now,” I say. When I first saw the alert, I felt a little like turning out. I know if it had been here, in Baltimore, I would be have been out there. I had read the words of Philando’s sister, how she could no longer put her faith in the system.

I wondered if they would talk about it on Sunday at Woodland Hills Church in Minnesota. I listen to their sermon podcast weekly. When Philando was killed in 2016, Greg Boyd, the pastor of Woodland Hills, gave a sermon addressing it.

Greg Boyd is white. One of his children is married to a black man. In the message that he gave, he addressed the double standard that exists in these United States of America when it comes to law and the justice system and skin color. He talked about how he will have to incorporate this double standard into his talks with his grandchildren, some white and some bi-racial, about how to deal with the police. He talked about how his own son-in-law, or his grandson could be a Philando, a man trying to comply, and be forthright with law enforcement, and still being killed by them, legally.

And then he talked about how Yanez could be his relative too. His heart was really heavy during that message. Sympathy for both the slain and the killer.

I wondered if he would talk about it on Sunday.

I wondered how many other churches would.

It is June 16, 2017, Baltimore, Maryland. The murder rate is record level high this year. It is not just the murder, but the manner.

I am turning over the not guilty verdict for Officer Yanez in the killing of Philando Castile and the murder of Charmaine Wilson in my head. I am turning that over with the hopes of the Cease Fire weekend, the work of its architects and advocates. I am turning that over with the event that took place just a few days ago in Towson, a screening of Walking While Black. After the viewing, police Chief Melvin Russell spoke. I am turning that over with the prayers prayed for the city, before the death of Charmaine Wilson. I am turning over the hopelessness in the words of Philando’s sister. I am turning that over with the reality that so many Americans are not mourningg with those who are mourning. I am turning it over with the feelings of Kendrick channeling Pac, “the feelin’ of an apocalypse happenin’ but nothin’ is awkward”. I turn it over with a feeling of powerlessness. I turn it over with the prayers I prayed.

When Chief Russell spoke, he did not speak as if hope was lost. He did not speak as if the city as an entity had failed, had fallen and it was over. He did however, speak of the struggle. An active struggle, not a hopeless one.

At the park, on Friday, June 16, my wife and I were walking on the path, and I saw a rabbit, and another one in the distance. And then I saw a tiny one nearby the others and another baby one, these about the size of a fist further away, across a grassy mound.

We stood there, looking at them for a while. Then we got off of the path so others could keep moving, and so we could get closer. No one stopped to see what we saw, they just kept going.

We walked a little further off the path, nearer the little rabbits. While standing there an orange blur of light flew past us and into the canopy of a tree.

I pointed to it, “I think that’s an oriole!” I exclaimed.

The significance is this: The Oriole is supposed to be Maryland’s state bird, but I don’t know that I’ve ever seen one before, living in Baltimore my whole life. I’ve seen robins. I’ve seen a million robins. They are black and they are orange, the colors of the oriole, and they are everywhere, but they are not orioles.

 This a robin. It is orange and it black and it’s fine as a bird but it is not my Maryland’s state bird! (image source: Wikipedia American Robin entry)

Now this is the real deal! Look at that oriole! Look at that orange and black pop! So vibrant! (Image source: harrier at flickriver via birdnut.wordpress.com Baltimore Oriole entry)

And I had never seen an oriole bird before. And, at that moment, turning over so much uncertainty and discomfort, feeling  such heaviness, I saw this.

We moved closer to the tree it had flown into and walked under it. The tree was full with leaves and it was hard to see through all of the foliage but branches shook wherever the bird landed. Its presence was marked. It had impact.

We couldn’t always see it, but we saw its effects, and every now and then it moved through a section of leaves and we saw it. It looked like an orange disco ball in a club it seemed so bright.

And I felt like it was a sign of hope. It was God, trying to ease the burden that I was feeling.

He reminded me that the real beauty of Baltimore, the identity He is speaking over it, however elusive it seems, is in fact here. And it may take focusing on one thing which will lead to another and another and another until it becomes clear.

And I am reminded that my prayers are not the first for the city, nor will they be the last. But I have to believe that there is an effect.

Not always so apparent or obvious but something will come, is coming, has come already, while not yet seen. And the Oriole was that sign, that reminder that, suddenly, almost from nowhere, glories of Baltimore will come into view, and not just for myself, but for the whole world to see.