There are certain sounds that belong entirely to summer.
The laughter of children in the distance.
The hum of a lawn mower that seems to begin at precisely the moment one sits down with a cup of coffee.
The enthusiastic but slightly confused robin that starts singing somewhere around 4:47 in the morning.
And then there are wind chimes.
I have always found wind chimes fascinating. They spend most of their lives doing absolutely nothing at all. They hang there from a porch beam with every appearance of being decorative, slightly optimistic, and perhaps just a little overconfident about their importance.
Then comes the breeze.
Without warning, the entire neighbourhood discovers that the wind has arrived because somebody’s collection of polished tubes has decided to perform a brief outdoor concert.
Of course, there are different kinds of wind chimes.
Some produce gentle music that sounds like a monastery hidden deep in the mountains.
Others sound as though someone has accidentally dropped a cutlery drawer down a flight of stairs.
One quickly learns which neighbours invested in craftsmanship… and which simply found a clearance sale at the garden centre.
Still, whether elegant or enthusiastic, wind chimes all have something rather beautiful in common.
They cannot create music by themselves.
They require the wind.
That strikes me as remarkably close to the Christian life.
Jesus once compared the Holy Spirit to the wind. “The wind blows where it chooses,” he said. “You hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes.” (John 3:8)
The Spirit has always had a delightful habit of refusing to fit neatly inside our carefully organized schedules.
We cannot manufacture the breeze.
We cannot command it.
We certainly cannot invoice it.
All we can really do is remain open to it.
Perhaps that is one of the quiet lessons of Ordinary Time.
Much of discipleship is not about frantic activity.
It is about availability.
A wind chime never strains to make music.
It simply hangs where it has been placed, ready for the slightest movement of air.
Likewise, the Christian life is often less about forcing spectacular moments of faith and more about remaining open enough that the Holy Spirit can gently move through us.
Sometimes that movement is dramatic.
More often, it is wonderfully ordinary.
A kind word spoken almost without thinking.
A patient response instead of a sharp one.
A prayer that quietly rises while washing dishes.
A decision to forgive when no one else even notices.
The Spirit often creates music in lives that appear quite ordinary from the outside.
The older I become, the more I appreciate that.
As a younger priest, I occasionally imagined that faithful ministry required the volume of cathedral bells.
After thirty-three years, I have become rather fond of wind chimes.
They remind me that grace often announces itself softly.
Not every act of holiness requires a trumpet.
Sometimes all heaven asks is that we remain available to the breeze.
So today, if you happen to hear a wind chime singing somewhere on a porch, pause for just a moment.
Listen carefully.
The sound is not really about metal striking metal.
It is a quiet reminder that the most beautiful music often comes when something ordinary becomes wonderfully responsive to an unseen wind.
And that, I suspect, has always been one of the Holy Spirit’s favourite compositions.
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Companion Prayer
Gracious and life-giving God,
thank you for the gentle ways your Holy Spirit still moves through our lives. Keep our hearts open to your unseen breeze, and make us ready to respond with kindness, patience, generosity, and love. May our words and actions become a quiet song of your grace, bringing hope and encouragement to all who hear them. Teach us to trust your timing, to welcome your movement, and to rejoice in the beautiful music you create through ordinary people like us.
In the name of Jesus Christ, who sends us the Spirit anew each day. Amen.