It was a nice quiet summer's morning at the Chapel. The meditative trance was soon broken by a rap, rap, rapping on our kitchen door. Actually, Mr. Poe, it was more of a hammering, so much so that Glenna and I assumed that John, our saint fixer was hammering something back together.
It wasn't. We were being invaded by crows. Having seen their reflection in the kitchen door they began attacking their image with gusto. They were relentless, mean, determined to extinguish their rivals, who in this case just happened to be them. Running at them and screaming like a banshee had the affect of chasing them off for a period of 7.4 seconds. Before I could walk the length of the hall back to my office they were on their maniacal mission again.
This can't continue. No one can work. No one can study. No one can pray. No one can think. No one can write sermons. No one thinks about anything but the crows. How long before they give up? How many pecks per minute on the door can three crows execute? Will they break their beaks? Will they break their necks? We can only hope....
Action is demanded, action I take. I proceed to place a large trash receptacle in front of the door. They still see their reflection on the side and continue their onslaught even getting behind the trash cart to continue their war on themselves. Round 1 goes to the crows.
Not to deterred I find a trash sack and cut it to the appropriate size and tape over the door\mirror. The crows apparently now determine that the other crows they are trying to dispatch are now behind the black curtain of the trash sack. They begin to tear it to pieces. Round 2 goes to the crows.
I rescue the trash bag and tape it on the inside of the door. The reflection returns enough for them to see and escalate their battle. Noise, noise, cawing, cawing....oh did I mention their steady, relentless battle is only matched by an equal amount of bowel movements right by the chapel's kitchen door. Round 3--to the crows.
I have now battled the crows for an hour. For the past hour creatures with a brain the size of my thumb joint have bettered me. Glenna doesn't seem surprised. I am insulted on several counts. The rap, rap, rapping on kitchen door continues. Let them kill themselves, no wait, another thought occurs---if they want in church so badly, take church to them.
I search the cupboards and find a boom box. I set it up outside the door and have 2 cds of our worship services ready. I pop one in and the crows leave in a hurry. They stay away as long as the worship recording plays. Round 4--Cos!
A dispute arises within the staff, the chasm may well split the church. I say the crows didn't like the traditional choir music; Tom defensively believes it was the announcements that Betty made that drove off the crows. Betty says it is the sermon that keeps them away. Larry says it is having an effect on them as they are lining up in rows like pews to listen. Mike P. wonders if they are sleeping as they listen. God please save Betty and Mike.
The recordings work but we can't play the worship service 24-7. I bring in the boom box at lunch and when I return after lunch the crows are at it again. Ron W said to try a stuffed cat or lion positioned looking out the door. I look, we don't have a cat or a lion or a tiger or bear at the chapel. We've got a
God often uses the small and seemingly insignificant to accomplish His work so don't ever count yourself out or doubt He can use you. There are spiritual battles taking place right and left of which we have little knowledge but can play a great role. In fact, if Walker and Schwarz lose their touch, you may be called on very soon.