The Golden Rose Unfolding

Song of the Butterfly

Long ago in ancient China there was a great sage named Chuang Tzu who once dreamed he was a butterfly.  When he awoke, he realized he was not a butterfly, but only Chuang Tzu.  However, upon reflection, he was not quite sure.  Was it he, he asked himself, who dreamed of being a butterfly, or was he a butterfly who dreamed of being Chuang Tzu?  Thus it was that, in dreaming and waking, the song of the butterfly came to be Chuang Tzu’s constant companion to his life reflection and to his zestful living.

Did you know that butterflies can sing?  Of course, one must be a butterfly to hear their honeyed song.  You and I are invited to become butterflies, and not just in our dreams.  True, we must start out as caterpillars, plodding slowly along life’s journey, some starting out by crawling from word to word, thought to thought, discursive prayer and meditation. 

Caterpillars feed on leaves and other foliage and drink water muddied by the ground, while around them butterflies alight on fragrant flowers and drink their sweet nectar.  And as for appearances—not even Solomon in all his glory was arrayed like a butterfly!  As they are carried along by the ruah, the breath of their Creator, they sing their silent sweet psalmody of contemplation. Sad to say, through ignorance or indifference, most caterpillars prefer to remain so, crawling along the ground, content with their slow progress, yet feeling secure.  Caterpillars can see ahead of them and on both sides, having six eyes on each of their sides, thus eliminating risks as they plod along.  Butterflies have no idea where they are or where they are going.  They are like the tiny English sparrow that takes off each year into the unknown, migrating over vast spaces and even the ocean itself where no landmark ever appears, buffeted by storms and risking the elements.  Yet their Father who provided for them always leads them safely and unerringly home.

No caterpillar can ever hear the song of the butterfly, nor ever taste the nectar from the Garden of the Lord, nor ever know what it is like to be borne aloft by the ruah, the Holy Breath.  If you don’t believe me, then listen to one of the most beautiful and exquisite butterflies who ever flew:

If you desire I tell you about the way that leads to contemplation, you must bear with me if I enlarge upon such matters.  If you don’t wish to hear about them, and put them into practice, then stay with your mental  (discursive) prayer for all your whole life, for I assure you—and all persons who aim at true contemplation—that you will not thereby reach it.

                                                                                                                                                                -Teresa of Avila

For a caterpillar to be transformed into a butterfly, it must allow the dark night of the chrysalis to enshroud it.  There, it must wait patiently in trusting passivity while the work of transformation is being darkly, secretly accomplished.  It must not attempt to analyse what is happening or think or make judgments.  It must simply “be” in darkness, waiting peacefully in Christian hope, for the day—which it has not been given to know beforehand —when it will emerge a winged adult and effortlessly lift itself on painted wings to heights above.

                                                                Not too fast, not too fast

                                                                let it grow, let it last

                                                                Nature knows when and where . . . the butterfly

                                                                I remember one morning when I saw a

                                                                cocoon in the bark of a tree.

                                                                I remember I marvelled that imprisoned inside

                                                                was a butterfly waiting to be free.

                                                                I was very impatient so I warmed the cocoon

                                                                with the breath of my sighs

                                                                And the butterfly trembled and began to emerge

                                                                like a miracle right before my eyes.

                                                                                                                                --Sr. Therese Even,

                                                                                                                                       “The Butterfly”

 The poem goes on to say that because the birthing process of the butterfly was rushed, the butterfly died.  This wondrous work of God takes time—God’s time. No wishful thinking, no study, no meditation or ascetic exercise can transform us into butterflies.  All we can do is prepare ourselves and remain open in Christian hope to the Giver of Gifts, trusting of Merciful Love.

All we can do with any spiritual discipline is produce within ourselves something of the humility, the silence, the detachment, the purity of heart and the indifference which are required if the inner self is to make some  shy, unpredictable manifestation of its presence.

                                                                                                                                --Thomas Merton

Contemplation is the gift of One who deeply desires us to posses it (although, in fact, it possesses us).  Yet we must cooperate and contribute our share.  It is the praxis of our prayer, meditation, recollection and lectio divina and the practice of the Christian virtues (the greatest asceticism that prepares our inner soil for the planting of the seeds of contemplation). My brother, my sister:  your parish, your diocese, your Church is overpopulated with caterpillars!  Your Church needs more butterflies.  Come; let us be one of them!  Let us sing the song of the butterfly!  It always has been the butterflies who have renewed the Church, who have changed vast regions of the planet.  Though ever so delicate and vulnerable, butterflies are the most powerful of God’s creatures.  One day, on the wings of countless butterflies, the earth—the cosmos itself—will be transported to the Omega point.  Then will the Lord of the Butterflies say:  “Father, together, we have finished the work You gave us to do.  Now all is truly one, all has been perfected in unity.  Now, Father, let them share in My glory, your gift to Me, for You have loved us before the foundation of the world” (see Jn 17:4-5, 24).

Let those who are great actives and think to girdle the earth with their outward works, take note that they would bring far more profit to the Church and be far more pleasing to God if they spent even half this time in prayer.  Of a surety, they would accomplish more with one piece of work than they now do with a thousand and with far less labour.  A very little of this pure prayer is precious in the sight of God and of greater profit to the Church than are all works together.

  -John of the Cross 

 EPILOG

The message of hope the contemplative offers you…is not that you need to find your way through the jungle of language and problems that today surround God; but that whether you understand or not, God loves you, is present to you, lives in you, dwells in you, calls you, saves you, and offers you an understanding and light which are like nothing you ever found in books or heard in sermons.  The contemplative has nothing to tell you except to reassure you and say that if you dare to penetrate your own silence and dare to advance without fear into the solitude of your own heart, and risk the sharing of that solitude with the lonely other who seeks God through you and with you, then you will truly recover the light and the capacity to understand what is beyond words and beyond explanations because it is too close to be explained.  It is the intimate union in the depths of your own heart of God’s Spirit and your own secret inmost self, so that you and He are, in all truth, one Spirit.

    - Thomas Merton, “Message of the Contemplative to the World.”    

 Requested by Paul VI and read to the Synod of Bishops, Rome, 1964

                                      A CHINESE LEGEND

Look at that curve in the River of Ch’I with the green bamboos so luxuriant.

The Book of Songs (Waley)

ONCE upon a time, in the heart of the Western Kingdom, lay a beautiful garden.  And there in the cool of the day was the Master of the Garden went to walk.  Of all the plants of the garden, the most beautiful and most beloved was a gracious and noble bamboo.  Year after year, Bamboo grew yet more noble and gracious, conscious of his Master’s love and watchful delight, but modest and gentle withal.  And often, when Wind came to revel in the garden, Bamboo would cast aside his grave stateliness, to dance and play right merrily, tossing and swaying and leaping and bowing in joyous abandon, leading the Great Dance of the Garden which most delighted the Master’s heart.

Now upon a day, the Master Himself drew near to contemplate His Bamboo with eyes of curious expectancy.  And Bamboo, in a passion of adoration, bowed his great head to the ground in loving greeting.  The Master spoke:

            “Bamboo, Bamboo, I would use thee.”

Bamboo flung his head to the sky in utter delight.  The days of days had come, the day for which he had been made, the day to which he had been growing hour by hour, the day in which he would find his completion and his destiny.  His voice came low:

            “Master, I am ready.  Use me as thou wilt.”

            “Bamboo” -- the Master’s voice was grave –“I would fain take thee and—cut thee down!”

A trembling of great horror shook Bamboo.

            “Cut . . . me . . . . down!  Me . . . . whom thou, Master, hast made the most beautiful in all thy garden . . . . to cut me down!  Ah, not that, not that. Use me for thy joy, O Master, but cut me not down.”

            “Beloved Bamboo” – the Master’s voice grew graver still – “if I cut thee not down, I cannot use thee.”

The garden grew still.  Wind held his breath.  Bamboo slowly bent his proud and glorious head. There came a whisper:

            “Master, if thou canst not use me but thou cut me down . . . . then . . . . do thy will and cut.”

           “Bamboo, beloved Bamboo, I would . . .cut thy leaves and branches from thee also.

           “Master, Master, spare me.  Cut me down and lay my beauty in the dust; but wouldst thou take from me my leaves and branches also?”

            “Bamboo, alas, if I cut them not away, I cannot use thee.”

 The sun hid his face.  A listening butterfly glided fearfully away.  And Bamboo shivered in terrible expectancy, whispering low.

            “Master, cut away.”

            “Bamboo, Bamboo, I would yet . . . cleave thee in twain and cut out thine heart, for if I cut not so, I cannot use thee.”

Then was Bamboo bowed to the ground.

            “Master, Master . . . . then cut and cleave.”

So did the Master of the Garden take Bamboo and cut him down and hack off his branches and strip off his leaves and cleave him in twain and cut out his heart.  And lifting him gently, carried him to where was a spring of fresh, sparkling water in the midst of His dry fields.  Then putting one end of broken Bamboo in the spring and the other into the water channel in His field, the Master laid down gently His beloved Bamboo.  And the spring sang welcome and the clear sparkling waters raced joyously down the channel of Bamboo’s torn body into the waiting fields.  Then the rice was planted, and the days went by, and the shoots grew and the harvest came.

 In that day was Bamboo, once so glorious in his stately beauty, yet more glorious in his brokenness and humility.  For in his beauty he was life abundant, but in his brokenness he became a channel of abundant life to His Master’s world.

In the Shadow of Nine Dragons, Eric Hague.  London:  Highway Press, 1958.                                                                        

The Dragonfly Story

Down below the surface of a quiet pond lived a little colony of water bugs. They were a happy colony, living far away from the sun. For many months they were very busy, scurrying over the soft mud on the bottom of the pond. They did notice that every once in awhile one of their colony seemed to lose interest in going about. Clinging to the stem of a pond lily it gradually moved out of sight and was seen no more.

"Look!" said one of the water bugs to another. "one of our colony is climbing up the lily stalk. Where do you think she is going?" Up, up, up it slowly went....Even as they watched, the water bug disappeared from sight. Its friends waited and waited but it didn't return...

"That's funny!" said one water bug to another. "Wasn't she happy here?" asked a second... "Where do you suppose she went?" wondered a third.

No one had an answer. They were greatly puzzled. Finally one of the water bugs, a leader in the colony, gathered its friends together. "I have an idea". "The next one of us who climbs up the lily stalk must promise to come back and tell us where he or she went and why."

"We promise", they said solemnly.

One spring day, not long after, the very water bug who had suggested the plan found himself climbing up the lily stalk. Up, up, up, he went. Before he knew what was happening, he had broke through the surface of the water and fallen onto the broad, green lily pad above.

When he awoke, he looked about with surprise. He couldn't believe what he saw. A startling change had come to his old body. His movement revealed four silver wings and a long tail. Even as he struggled, he felt an impulse to move his wings...The warmth of the sun soon dried the moisture from the new body. He moved his wings again and suddenly found himself up above the water. He had become a dragonfly!!

Swooping and dipping in great curves, he flew through the air. He felt exhilarated in the new atmosphere. By and by the new dragonfly lighted happily on a lily pad to rest. Then it was that he chanced to look below to the bottom of the pond. Why, he was right above his old friends, the water bugs! There they were scurrying around, just as he had been doing some time before.

The dragonfly remembered the promise: "the next one of us who climbs up the lily stalk will come back and tell where he or she went and why." Without thinking, the dragonfly darted down. Suddenly he hit the surface of the water and bounced away. Now that he was a dragonfly, he could no longer go into the water...

"I can't return!" he said in dismay. "At least, I tried. But I can't keep my promise. Even if I could go back, not one of the water bugs would know me in my new body. I guess I'll just have to wait until they become dragonflies too. Then they'll understand what has happened to me, and where I went."

And the dragonfly winged off happily into its wonderful new world of sun and air.......

Thank you God, for the story of the water bugs and the dragonflies

On the evening of 30th September, 2000 during a "silent retreat" at St. Emma Benedictine Monastery in Greensburg, Pennsylvania, we were all sitting on the floor praying silently around the Tabernacle in the circular Chapel.  The Tabernacle was in the form of a beautiful large bronze Holy Spirit Dove suspended from the ceiling.  I was inspired to read "Song of Songs" during this meditation time.

As I read Chapter 6 verses 2-3;

"My Beloved has gone down to His garden, to the beds of spices, to pasture His flock in the gardens, and to gather lilies.  I am my Beloved's and my Beloved is mine; He pastures His flock among the lilies."

 As I was contemplating these sweet words in Scripture, I was given the thought in the form of a simple prayer; I wonder what Jesus really looked like when He walked this earth....I no sooner had the thought/prayer when to my surprise my friend sitting across from me, slid this beautiful prayer card in my direction...a precious gift from Heaven.

Prayer of Surrender to the Good Shepherd
Lord, all is vanity but to love and serve You. I desire not to offend You because You are such a loving Saviour. I offer You my will so that I choose all that You choose. Jesus, You do not demand great deeds, but only self surrender and gratitude. My Jesus, I offer myself to You, that You may perfectly accomplish in me Your holy designs, and I pray that nothing be an obstacle to their accomplishments. I believe that You are my Shepherd and "I shall not want."