The "Slime Stage" of Metamorphosis

 I haven't written on this blog in more than six months.  In that time, a lot has happened.  I moved to Austin, Texas for seminary in the middle of a pandemic.  I began the formation process for becoming a priest (although, I guess you could say I was already in the process but this is a more intentional, intensive stage).  With all the things I'm learning and ways I'm being shaped, you'd think I'd have a lot to write about.  But I have found myself struggling to put anything into words.  

Partly, I blame COVID-brain.  I've had great difficulty over the past year in concentrating and focus, especially when it comes to reading and writing.  Somehow I've been able to do well in my classes at seminary so far, but I often feel like my brain is in a fog.  So many aspects of seminary have been online, and the disconnect has caused a lot of strain.  This was especially strong during Encuentro, our January term which, in a normal year, would involve an immersive trip to the U.S./Mexico border and several Episcopal parishes that do ministry with Latinx people.  Obviously we could not go in person, so we spent a week and a half listening to Zoom speakers and attending virtual worship.  We learned many difficult things about the border wall, racism and xenophobia, that were mentally and emotionally exhausting.

One thing that made a big impact on me was the film "Ay Mariposa".  It was about the National Butterfly Center in the Rio Grande Valley, which was about to be seriously threatened by construction of the border wall.  The national wildlife preserve is home to native plant species, many of which are the only particular species that a particular butterfly can use to lay their eggs.  If that species of plant disappears, so do the species of butterfly that are dependent on it.  Throughout the film we were reminded of how delicate and yet tenacious the butterfly is.  

I'm finding myself coming back to that image of the perilous journey the monarch butterfly makes to get to the border in order to lay her eggs.  I feel a sense of affinity with her.  When a caterpillar begins the metamorphosis into becoming a butterfly, she forms a cocoon, like we've all seen in school.  The life cycle of the butterfly is familiar to pretty much all of us.  But what is usually not mentioned is the fact that inside that cocoon, the caterpillar dissolves into a pile of goo, then goes on to form into the beautiful butterfly.  

Maybe going to seminary during a pandemic is kind of like entering a cocoon and dissolving into slime before you can become something beautiful.  Maybe that's meant to be the process anyway, but the pandemic reminds me of the fragility of the entire situation.  The monarch butterfly is a delicate creature, that could easily be destroyed by predators or humans at any time.  Yet she perseveres, in order that she can give her life for her young.  

 "The Spanish word for butterfly, “mariposa,” finds its roots from the Virgin Mary — its literal meaning “Maria posing” — for the resemblance to her hands in prayer."  To me, Mary is an icon of priesthood: she is asked by God to follow a particular vocation, to be the Mother of God.  She gives of herself, offering her body, her soul, mind, tears, blood to bring God Incarnate into the world.  As the famous quote goes, "we are all called to be mothers of God, for God is always wanting to be born into the world."  In Baptism all Christians are called to be part of the priesthood of all believers.  Mary is the first of all the saints to bear this honor.  

And Mary also was subject to perils on her journey.  Like the butterfly, she had to go a long way to have her child.  Then she had to flee a mad tyrant who was threatening her child, and was forced to be a refugee in a strange land.  So many things could have prevented the journey from being completed.  Humans are fragile too.  And yet, also tenacious.

As hard as things have felt lately, I'm starting to see the blessing in being reminded of how fragile everything is.  It makes me ever more grateful and in awe of the Holy Spirit, the connective thread that holds all of this together like fine strands of a spider's web, somehow seeing us through as we continue the process of metamorphosis.  

So, maybe at this point in the process I'm a pile of goo.  And maybe that's ok.  It's just a matter of time before the spring comes, the pandemic subsides, and the cocoon splits open.

https://www.kcet.org/shows/link-voices/five-things-we-learned-from-watching-ay-mariposa