Fireflies and God's Presence

 

Our Education for Ministry (EfM) group had an interesting theological reflection the other night. The presenter brought a picture of a Raggedy Ann doll to share and begin the discussion. What emotion did the image bring to our minds?

Her emotions were about collecting Raggedy Ann dolls and also spending summer vacations with relatives in North Carolina. She began describing things she remembered with fondness. She mentioned things like cheese biscuits, ham, cornbread, and various regional foods. It made some of us with similar experiences suddenly feel very hungry. She had another memory of seeing her first fireflies, little black-and-red winged bugs whose abdomens flashed a greenish glow to signal with other fireflies. I immediately thought of the willow tree in my childhood front yard with fireflies (which we called lightnin’ bugs) blinking under the trailing whips and leaves. I needed the joy that memory brought me that night, and I continue to think of it with pleasure and fondness.

I needed the pleasure my own memories brought me. Two days earlier, I had gotten up to find the last of my “boys,” my little girl Phoebe, had crossed the rainbow bridge overnight. She was buried next to the shed with Dominic and Gandhi. I had said good morning to them since Gandhi passed just before Thanksgiving, so I added Phoebe to the morning greeting. Going back into a house devoid of cats yet with the toys, litter boxes, dishes, and the like wasn’t easy. It’s the first time my house has been empty of furry companions since before I moved here fifteen years ago.

I am slowly getting rid of the things I may never use again, but I might. Making those decisions is hard, and my heart aches for my furry bundles of joy. Now and again, though, I get little flashes of joy that pop up. One is my afternoon rainbows. They result from light in my western-facing window shining through many prisms that catch the light and project it in little bits of a rainbow on the opposing wall and ceiling. I do love those; they bring me peace and thoughts of God’s closeness.

Today, as I was washing dishes, the breeze caused three blossoms off my bougainvillea to chase each other over the black asphalt of my driveway. It only lasted a minute before they blew onto my neighbor’s lawn and just sat there. It was like watching three children playing – or three kittens. Maybe they were being batted around by three kittens I could not see, three tuxedo kittens that lay just a few feet away from the dancing blossoms.

There have been other moments of joy, like the memory of the lightning bugs, that help take the pain of my loss away, even if it is just for a few brief moments. It is not surprising that others pop up. For instance, a dear friend’s mother is having medical issues and is anxious about it. She is involved in a Bible study that seems to occupy her mind most of the time, but still, when someone thinks or mentions the C word, it tends to wipe other things away for a while. I had knitted a white prayer shawl with triangles (the number three again), so I sent it to her via my friend. It seems it was a very welcome gift, precisely the right color, and was very comforting. I got a lot of joy out of knowing that. Having gone through a bout of cancer myself more than a decade ago, I know how much things like that can help.

I know God was with me when I found Phoebe’s little body that morning, just as I remember God being present in the lightning bugs, the cancer diagnosis, and even with the dancing bluish-red flowers chasing each other for a brief time. It is easier to see God’s hand in the little joys, but perhaps when I need to feel God’s presence the most, I cannot feel it through the pain I or someone I care about is going through.  

I feel guilty when I forget God’s presence when sad, harmful, or awful things come along. I do have a feeling, though, that God understands I am only human. After all, even God let God’s grief show when Jesus, the beloved son, died on the cross. Hundreds of thousands, if not millions, have died both before and after that Friday afternoon, but God had never before acted from grief rather than anger. I guess I should consider that God made us in God’s own image, complete with the ability to feel joy, anger, despair, and even grief.

Meanwhile, I still have the three outside boy cats I feed daily. I love them, but in a slightly different way than I did Phoebe and the indoor boys. It’s my way of caring for a little bit of nature and God’s creation. The purrs I get from at least two of them (the third is too new and skittish to approach yet) are my thanks and another bit of joy. I am glad I have that reminder too.

Rule #39, Spiritually Speaking

 

There is one glory of the sun, and another glory of the moon, and another glory of the stars; indeed, star differs from star in glory.

So it is with the resurrection of the dead. What is sown is perishable, what is raised is imperishable. It is sown in dishonour, it is raised in glory. It is sown in weakness, it is raised in power. It is sown a physical body, it is raised a spiritual body. If there is a physical body, there is also a spiritual body. Thus it is written, ‘The first man, Adam, became a living being’; the last Adam became a life-giving spirit. But it is not the spiritual that is first, but the physical, and then the spiritual. The first man was from the earth, a man of dust; the second man is from heaven. As was the man of dust, so are those who are of the dust; and as is the man of heaven, so are those who are of heaven. Just as we have borne the image of the man of dust, we will also bear the image of the man of heaven.

What I am saying, brothers and sisters, is this: flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable.  – 1 Corinthians 15:41-50

 

Those who watch the TV program NCIS are familiar with Leroy Jethro Gibbs’ numerous rules. They are words of wisdom that often help the agents (and Gibbs – and, incidentally, fans of the show) see a situation in a different way. One of the often-quoted ones is Rule #39, “There is no such thing as a coincidence.” Really? Reading the lesson from 1 Corinthians today would seem to refute that, given that today I will attend the funeral of a lovely woman. I was pleased and honored to call her  “friend” for some time, although not nearly long enough, to my way of thinking. Granted, it was often hard for Gibbs’ agents not to see coincidences given their line of work. Still, Rule #39 showed up frequently in their episodes.  

One thing I can be sure of is that L will undoubtedly rise in glory, spiritually, if not physically. She lived a good life, practiced love for her fellow human beings and four-footed friends, worked hard, and comforted those who needed a shoulder to lean on. She used her gift for crafting to delight those who received those items made with love and beauty. Watching her decline rapidly due to cancer was heart-wrenching for those who knew and loved her. Still, I know most of them feel relief that her excruciating suffering is over. As St. Paul noted, the first human was made of dust, a physical body covering a spirit like all of us. Jesus, the second man, was a spiritual man in a physical body. He rose from the dead, having shed that physical body and in full custody of his spiritual (and visible) person.

We have been taught that we may have been born of dust but bear the spiritual image of Christ once we shed that shell of dust and clay. We hope to rise from the dead on Resurrection Day, just as Jesus rose on Easter. We also hope to be reunited with those who have preceded us into the kingdom of heaven (which I devoutly hope includes four-footed loved ones).

I cannot entirely agree with (or understand) Paul’s words sometimes, but I have no problem in this case. It is a hope that I cling to. I have lost so many friends and family members that I hope to see again. More certainly is that I will probably lose more before I, too, join those who have, to quote Shakespeare’s Hamlet,”…[S]huffled off this mortal coil.” I believe in the resurrection of the dead, as the Prayer Book assures us, and I have faith that God will be generous.

I may not agree with Gibbs’s rules one hundred percent of the time, just as I do not agree with Paul. Today, though, I cannot totally call this a coincidence, but it is closer to one than not. Maybe there needs to be Rule #39A – “Occasionally, two things happen together that make you wonder.” I think I can subscribe to that one. Meanwhile, I will just keep believing.

A Story from a Wood Carving.

 

When will I ever learn? I scroll through Facebook daily, sometimes several times a day, and often leave a comment or a rating on posts I see, like, or dislike. Today, I saw a picture of a most striking and masterful wood carving of a warrior-type man beside a cliff. His foot was placed on a rather evil-looking creature with bat-shaped ears and an evil face, lying almost prone on the ground but with its head raised from the dirt. It occurred to me that it could be a modern St. George, but instead of a slain dragon, it was an unearthly creature that was defeated but not dead. I clicked on one of the choices but did not remember which one. The vote was based on the skill and detail of the carving rather than the story it was conveying. I wish now I had copied the image and the attribution.

It was not until I got into bed that I started really thinking more about that carving. I still saw St. George in it, but then I thought it should be Jesus defeating the foes of hell. That was when my mind started telling me a story.

I saw Jesus walking down a road alone, with only a staff. His path left the main road and wound through the hills and scrub of the surrounding desert. He sat down beside a huge boulder to rest briefly in its shade when suddenly he found he was not alone. A man stood in front of him.

"I have looked for you, brother, and here I find you," the stranger said. "I serve a great and powerful person who has heard of you and your skill with words and deeds of power. My master has sent me to find you and bring you to him. He has a great task for you, and you will be rewarded richly."

"I know who your master is, and I have all the worldly goods I need. I do not need rich rewards. I serve the One my heart, body, and soul loves and honors. I need no other master," Jesus told him.

"Ah, but my master can give you the whole world and all that is in it if you simply come with me and yield to him," the man cajoled. He knew that failure in his task would mean severe consequences when he returned to his master.

Jesus retorted, "I serve One for whom the whole world is His Kingdom. He created it in love and oversees it with that same love and care. Your master can only offer a crumbling shell."

"Ah," the man replied, "But my master can make you his sole heir. He can give you charge over the multitudes that look to him already and promise you success in recruiting more to his side. The earth's treasures will be yours, and all the people of this world will look to you as their god. They will sing your praises and bow to your name. They will offer you sacrifices and bring great gifts to your temples. They will fear your wrath and worship you with great adoration. You will want for nothing, and nothing will be denied you."

Jesus stood up. "I know who you are and who you serve. I can and will serve only the God of Heaven and Earth, Creator and Ruler of the Universe, God of love and trust. He is my Father, and I owe all that I am and have to Him. I need nothing you can offer."

Bending over, Jesus picked up a small handful of dust. Opening his hand, he blew on the dust and dispersed it. "This represents the promises of your master. My Father offers living water and fertile fields. His children are as numerous as the stars in the sky, and the very Sun and Moon obey His commands. What does your master have that can compare?

"I cannot kill you, but I can defeat you with the Word and Power of my Father. Turn your ways toward the true God and away from the evil you and your kind wreak on the children of God. Only by doing that is your life ensured."

The man began to collapse on the ground. His countenance changed from the human form he had assumed and became more like the skin and ears of a bat. As he writhed on the ground, he raised his head as Jesus set his foot on his back. "You are correct, you cannot kill me, and I cannot change my allegiance to my master even though he can destroy me easily. One day we will meet again in a final battle. You have defeated me this time. I  look forward to our next meeting, Jesus of Nazareth."

At this point, the story stopped. The image of the carving began to fade, bit by bit. Still, I clung to the account my mind had created from it. Only by loving and following Jesus and obeying the commandments of God would I gain eternal life, a life that I was promised as a Child of God.

As I, and all other Christians, approach Holy Week and the days leading up to the joyous celebration of Easter at the end, the lesson is clear. We must believe, but we also must act. It is not enough to think of eternal salvation as an individual pursuit. We have to consider all the words of God that tell us to treasure and care for the earth but also to do the same for all the people of this earth. Easter seems a good time to rededicate ourselves to our Baptismal Covenant and acknowledge that God has given us work to do. Belief is empty without it fostering action. Only then can we genuinely claim all God has promised us through Jesus.

Originally published on Episcopal Café as part of Episcopal Journal, Tuesday, April 3, 2023.