Hummingbirds, Jesus, & the Body
In our backyard, we have a hummingbird feeder. It is made of red glass, with small red flowers at the base where hummingbirds eat. It is an ordinary object, and yet it attracts extraordinary creatures. So far this year I’ve seen at least three different kinds of hummingbirds: Ruby-throated, Black-chinned, and Rufous.
The bird feeder hangs on our back porch, and you can see it from our living room. The other day, I walked into the room and noticed a hummingbird sitting on the base of the feeder, not eating, just resting. It was content to sit there until it was hungry again. It stayed put for probably a full minute before darting away.
I find hummingbirds fascinating. They move with such speed and ease. They are so small and yet they travel great distances. Their feathers glisten in the sun. According to the Smithsonian’s National Zoo and Conservation Biology Institute, when a hummingbird is in motion, its heart will beat up to 1,200 times per minute. When it is at rest, it is closer to 225 beats per minute. The speed of their flight is 25-30 mph, and their wings beat 70 times per second in flight and nearly 200 times per second when diving.
A hummingbird cannot ignore the needs of its body. It has to eat and rest so that it can continue to live. According to the University of California Agriculture and Natural Resources, a hummingbird eats anywhere from a half to eight times its weight in food every day and can decrease its heart rate to a mere 70 bpm when it needs to go into a deep sleep to conserve energy.
While recovering from my recent concussion, seeing these birds in motion has reminded me of ways that I still live disembodied at times. Even though I know my body needs nourishment and rest while it is recovering, there have been days I wanted to push past those limits, or ignore them altogether.
Recovering from an illness or an injury reminds us of the fragility of our bodies. I make assumptions, often faulty ones, about my body. I assume it will handle whatever I throw at it and won’t let me down. I assume it will always work the way I expect. I assume that it can still function at the pace of my 20 year old self.
And when it doesn’t do these things, I find myself disappointed or frustrated. I notice that the words I say to myself about how my body is working can be unkind.
I was recently asked if I am a friend to my body. And I thought, some days, absolutely. Other days, not so much.
Then I was asked if I experienced Jesus as a friend to my body. That question took me by surprise. I realized I hadn’t ever thought about what it could mean for Jesus to be a friend to my body.
In the faith spaces I grew up in, bodies were either set aside and ignored, or they were worshipped.
When they were ignored, emotions were largely unwelcome, and rest was considered optional. Bodies were pushed to their limits, and if they broke, they were discarded as no longer useful.
When they were worshipped, all the focus was on improving them, making them look a certain way or work a certain way. They were put on pedestals and often found wanting.
Jesus being a friend to my body was never a part of the conversation.
And yet, we see Jesus demonstrate friendship to bodies in Scripture. He invites bodies to rest. He invites bodies to be nourished. He invites bodies toward community. He protects bodies. He rescues bodies. He shows love to all bodies.
Jesus never asks us to abandon our bodies. In fact, Jesus had a body just like ours. Jesus understands the immense joy and deep suffering of having a body.
The hummingbirds, flitting about in their bodies, remind me I cannot ignore mine. Jesus reminds me my body is good. All the time. No caveats.
May you experience Jesus as a friend to your body this week.
~ Melissa