Blessing and Butterflies

A couple of weeks ago I attended some of the Calvin Institute for Christian Worship’s annual Worship Symposium. Most of it was virtual, and this year’s theme was The Beatitudes. I’ve been drawn to the first Beatitude, ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven,’ since preaching it a few years ago at Boston Square and reading Eugene Peterson’s translation of it in the Message: “You’re blessed when you’re at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and God’s rule.” I have that ‘end of your rope’ feeling pretty often these days as we navigate another pandemic winter, and various family illnesses. I find the song ‘Come with me for the journey is long,’ often on my lips and in my heart.

One of the worship services I attended was the one based on ‘Blessed are the poor in Spirit,’ and the opening of the service was led by Kate Williams. She is an editor for GIA and a musician and she spoke these words of blessing at the service:

Blessed are those who are ready for change.

Blessed are those with their eyes squeezed shut, hoping it hasn’t started yet, waiting for it to pass.

Blessed are those with the freedom to embrace it as it happens.

Blessed are the colors and smells and crinkling sounds that remind us that time is still passing.

Blessed are those who are fading.

Blessed is the welcome coolness of a world on fire.

Blessed is the sacred cycle that teaches us rhythm and balance, of letting go and making room.

Blessed are those who dare to believe that their days will brighten again, someday. Blessed are those who do not know what will be next.

Blessed is the wisdom that teaches us to quiet, to listen, to allow the darkening days to do their work of renewal.

Blessed are those who are falling, who are weeping, who are waiting on bated breath, who are fearing to find that fragile hope once more.

Blessed is the God who catches all who fall, who is weeping with us, waiting with us, fearing with us, hoping with us. Always with us.

Blessed are those who bear witness to the love story of rising again, over and over.

I’ve been sitting with these words, finding myself in various lines, various days, holding on to the promise that God is always with us, remembering the love story of rising over and over.

Earlier this week I visited Fredrick Meijer Gardens. I noticed on Facebook last week that they had received their first shipment of chrysalises for the butterfly exhibit that officially begins in March, and I wanted to see if any of the chrysalises were moving yet. And some of them were! I heard a small child next to me counting the butterflies that had already emerged in the butterfly trailer– 17! – waiting to be strong enough to be released into the conservatory. I spent a long time staring at those freshly-emerged butterflies – their deep stillness as they wait for their new wings to dry. The slow beating of their wings when they can move them reminded me of breath – open/closed, in/out. Such fragility and beauty and newness and vibrant life. A few had already been released into the conservatory, including this one, getting its bearings on the ground not far from the trailer.

Butterflies are such powerful images of change, of dying to the old and rising to the new. Teresa of Avila writes about this, and talks about being held in the cocoon of God’s love as we die to our selves and emerge transformed.

This week may you remember that you are blessed, wherever you find yourself, and that you are held in the cocoon or chrysalis of God’s love.