I get lucky. I witness a feeding frenzy. Not in a zoological garden where these things are time-tabled. Not in South Georgia where the penguins put on a show of their own. But back here in the UK, where a bit of magic (or perhaps an imitation banquet) conjures a storm of gulls (of the herring variety, I imagine), that beat their great wings and would cry ‘Hitchcock!’ if they knew how.
Two or three minutes and it’s all over. Something else has attracted attention. But the contrast between the short-style frenzy and the calm deliberation outside the church door is something remarkable.
Of course, we have to say that the Church offers nothing novel and enticing. We’ve heard it all before. But then we don’t stop eating if eating lacks novelty. We may not enjoy a varied cuisine every day, every week, every season. We eat because we have to. To increase the flavour and enjoyment is a bonus.
It is no disappointment, then, to find an absence of frenzy outside the church door. Rather we should see that as proof that the church menu is doing its job. The Church has no novelty to offer but it sustains the worshippers who enter soberly and purposefully to pay homage to a Creator and Provider.
The pursuit of novelty is exhausting and degrading. It leads to fresh measures of razzmatazz. For the birds to expect us humans to take part with them in their feeding habits is misguided. For creatures with highly developed navigational powers it is a bit of a let-down.
But, all the same, I enjoy the spectacle.
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