The Night the Canary Sang

There was a time when coal miners would take a canary into the mines with them. They would listen for the song of the little bird as they worked. As long as the canary could sing it reassured them that the air was safe to breathe. I recently saw a similar situation, how the hearing of a song showed the health of its listeners.

The group held its breath as the woman with a childlike mind rose and walked to the stage. She stood there holding the mic expectantly. She was dressed in a golden gown. On her feet she wore tennis shoes and anklet socks. She had a childlike expression on her face. It often seemed that she lived in a world set apart from those around her, but tonight she wanted to share with us the song in her heart.

But something was wrong; the disk that held the music to accompany her song would not play. So she stood before us vulnerable and waiting. She waited, we waited, and all the while there she stood in her golden dress, anklets and tennis shoes with an expression of childlike faith. We were all knit together in a moment of discomfort and uncertainty.

Then it happened. A kind man in his eighties stood and began to approach the stage. Slowly he climbed the steps to where she stood. He took a chair and placed it beside her. Then, taking her by the hand, he gently invited her to rest.

Tears were streaming down my face as the would-be audience began singing, “Jesus loves me, this I know.” Then one love song followed another and were sung as a gift to the woman seated on the stage. Finally, she stood and in a beautiful soprano voice she sang, a capella, “We Shall Behold Him.” Earlier in the day this group had been questioning its viability. I believe that the health of this organization was shown by the way they responded to one of their most vulnerable members. That was the night I felt like I heard a canary sing.