Birds in Church

Some commotion outside startled a pair of birds into the church, its doors flung open to the warm spring morning. They flew back & forth, frightened & disoriented, from one end of the nave to the other seeking escape in every stained glass window, feathers & down falling softly into the pews below.
"The church is our bulwark against the dark superstitions of yesteryear," the pastor said quietly. Someone hurried to find the "duster", an ostrich plume duct taped to a long pole. Anything to usher out the birds, who would be noted themselves by any reasonable observer, as uncomfortable in church. Or at least this one.
"You see how they search for God just as we do?" he continued. "By looking upward? Like Icarus they would be safer in the embrace of their cautious father but no, up, up they go. Farther & farther from actual salvation."
"How will they go?" I asked.
"As they came. As do we all. Through the front door," he smiled & watched as Mr. Bekens shooed them down & away from their exhausted perches on the tops of the tallest organ pipes & back to the entry hall where they found their way back out, a few feathers the worse but some tale to tell.
"A pastor must watch over his flock & open the doors to all those in need. But I don't think those birds were Baptist" he laughed, winking at us wryly. "Carry on, then. Is this a Sunday School or an aviary?!"