Mourning Dove : Second Guessing

This is a Mourning Dove. I rarely see just one. I’d just climbed a smallish mountain, and this dove was the only bird I’d seen on my entire trek. A function of elevation? Time of day? The season? Not encountering more birds was certainly sufficiently noteworthy to me, even in the moment, that I questioned my decision to follow that particular route. Perhaps I should have stayed lower, gone elsewhere. Desert hiking, even well-prepared, is the type of experience that causes second-guessing. Why in the world would I come out here, to this most elemental of places? Aren’t there more productive venues? Then I saw my second bird, flying off into the distance, a raven.

From atop Mt. Ararat, Noah sent out two birds: a raven and a dove. The raven flew off into the distance. The dove made two trips, first returning with an olive sprig and then finding its own place. Noah was asking the obvious question: “Is it time to begin again?” The raven was an indeterminate response, neither yes nor no. The dove’s first flight confirmed “not quite yet;” more importantly, the dove demonstrated it could be relied upon to provide an answer to the question. Its second flight told Noah he could begin his mission of reestablishing civilization. This progression: from unknown, to no, to yes demonstrates how faith evolves.

To have deep faith does not mean to be certain of the rightness of one’s actions. On the contrary, our tradition teaches that questioning and debate are fundamental, and “losing” arguments are given great deference. Faith is far more subtle than merely questions of right and wrong, yes and no. Faith, understood more richly, is the surety that there are answers - whether we know them or not. The challenge to faith is asking a question and getting no response, sending out a raven, and it simply disappears. The anxiety of living unmoored, of being at sea, is the genesis of brutal doubt. The Dove was grounding, for both Noah and me, confirming our faith that answers are available.