The moment Jesus came up out of the baptismal waters, the skies opened up and he saw God’s Spirit—it looked like a dove—descending and landing on him. And along with the Spirit, a voice: “This is my Son, chosen and marked by my love, delight of my life.” (Matthew 3:16-17)

They landed at the edge of our backyard bird bath. Silver-gray feathered, with black spots and bills, two plump bodies squatted for a drink of rain water. I watched through the window for awhile, then took a photo on my phone. I’d never seen them there before, a pair of doves. We have cardinals and blue jays and robins and black birds and eagles at our home, but never doves. I had to ask google, and my husband, what kind of doves they were and I was equally surprised and comforted to find out. Mourning doves.

Mourning doves are seen as a symbol for peace and hope, sometimes equated with reminding humans of the watchful eyes of loved ones, now gone, looking over them. Like butterflies, and ladybugs, and hummingbirds and other animals—we often search for signs in God’s creation that those who have died are still with us. But in the Bible, the dove reminds us of the Holy Spirit, it tells of doves as companions to Noah’s search for new land and beginnings. There is a dove at Jesus’ baptism, the spirit of God descending like a dove upon him.

The fact that the pair of doves happened to land at the bath just as I was moving my parents’ pictures around the house—gathering some to take to my sister, and shifting the ones that flanked their urns—does not seem like a coincidence. The fact that yesterday we finalized the design for our parents’ tombstone (after a whole year): a cross on the left and a dove on the right (as our dad wanted), is not one, either. As you know, I don’t believe in these types of coincidences, but rather, in God-incidences. 

Yes, after over a year missing my dad (and three for my mom), I am still in mourning. But, as of late, I have been feeling a shift in grief’s status. Maybe it is the warmer weather, greener grass, abundance of flowers and chirps of birds that have helped me move out of my winter of intense sadness. Or, maybe, it is because I’ve been reading the Bible again and listening to my favorite praise songs on the radio. Or, just maybe, this is the natural progression of grief—from constant agony into ocean ebbs and flows. But the arrival of the mourning doves was perfect timing. 

Whether it be the Holy Spirit nudging my into happier times, the presence of my parents still with me in a metaphysical way, or God reminding me that I’m not alone…as I looked into the eyes of the two mourning doves, I felt comforted. I felt hope. I felt peace. I felt seen. And, I felt finally ready to enter into the next part of my life, the next part of my grief. Of course, I am still apprehensive of what that might entail, and I worry that I might forget more and more of my parents…their voices, their stories. But with the arrival of the mourning doves, like the dove on my parents’ tombstone, I am reminded of my connection with all that is greater than this earthly world. I am connected to the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end, the eternal and the unseen, to those I’ve lost and those who I am still making memories with. And, through Christ, and my own baptism, I can be certain of this.

Amen.