THE WONDER OF BUTTERFLIES

Years ago, Ruth Lefkovits, my good friend who was a Reformed Jew, shared with me a poem written by Pavel Friedmann, a 21-year old man who was born in Prague and died during the Holocaust. The poem dealt with the last butterfly he saw while imprisoned at Terezin, a Nazi concentration camp. Friedmann later died at Auschwitz in 1944. I thought about this poem last week when I attended a Friday evening candlelight service entitled “The Wonder of Butterflies” at the Convent of St. Mary, Sewanee. Although Friedmann’s poem was not among the poetry read, I left a copy of it with a friend who read a Native-American story during the service.

“The Butterfly” is preserved in the National Jewish Museum as a typewritten copy on thin paper in the collection of poetry by Friedmann and is dated June 4, 1942. A few lines from the poem will suffice for readers to see why any mention of literature about butterflies would bring up an image of Friedmann’s butterfly: “The last, the very last,/So richly, brightly, dazzlingly yellow./Perhaps if the sun’s tears would sing/against a white stone…/Such, such a yellow/Is carried lightly ‘way up high./It went away I’m sure because it wished to/kiss the world goodbye…/The dandelions call to me/And the white chestnut candles in the court./Only I never saw another butterfly…That butterfly was the last one…”

The uplifting butterfly service at the Convent contrasted with the stark poem that I’ve just quoted and was probably one of the best Friday evening experiences I’ve enjoyed in quite a spell. Sr. Madeleine Mary had engaged a quartet to play in the background as we entered the candle-lit chapel, and they played at intervals during the hour-long service. In silence, we enjoyed a video presentation of butterflies Sr. Madeleine Mary had photographed, followed by a lecture that focused on the importance of butterflies as pollinators. Sr. Madeleine Mary emphasized the decline of the monarch butterflies, including “the destruction of breeding habitats in the U.S. through use of toxic herbicides and genetically-engineered crops and illegal logging in Mexico’s fir forests, as well as ecotourism, extreme weather, and diversion of water.” An arresting quote by Paul Erlich on the back of the program folder underlined Sr. Madeleine Mary’s reflection: “The fluttering of a butterfly’s wings can effect climate changes on the other side of the planet.”

Sister Elizabeth read three poems about butterflies, including one about the metamorphosis from caterpillar to butterfly, and the poems, as I said, were in sharp contrast to the stark one written by the poet who was a victim of the Holocaust. One of the highlights of the service was a reading by Alice Ramsey, a story entitled “Butterflies – Papago” by Buck Conner, a member of the Turtle Clan of Lenni Lenape Society, a Native-American Society commonly known as the “Keepers of the Earth.” Alice, reading in her soft Alabama drawl, told the story of how the Creator gave butterflies their myriad colors and, at one time, had given them the voices of songbirds, but birds complained that their own singing should be exclusive, and the Creator had already given the butterflies these brilliant wing colors and patterns… so the Creator took away the butterfly’s voices. But what short-lived creature with such fluttering beauty needs a voice?  

At intervals, the quartet played classical music that helped us come down a tone or two, followed by either prayers or hymns. Programs of this quality were initiated last year at the Convent, and they focus on raising spiritual consciousness about environmental concerns and the natural world through music, prayer, meditations, and visual presentations.

After 30 minutes or so of engagement in the service, I got very quiet inside and realized that I was again in the “thin place” that is the Convent of St. Mary and that I’m blessed to live and worship in this sacred space part of every year.

PENNY’S CALL

Penny at Mass

While the U.S. ponders whether it should cut off aid to Egypt’s military, Manila struggles with the aftermath of a typhoon that dumped two feet of rain, the stock market dips, and intermittent storms blow through various parts of this country, here on The Mountain, those of us who attend services at St. Mary’s have begun pondering the serious question of what to do about Penny’s "call."  Penny is an orphaned, mixed pitbull/retriever who found a home at the Convent a few years ago – a brown dog with an equable disposition who wanders through the halls, refectory, and, lately, onto the altar at St. Mary’s chapel. 

I’m sure that those who could be termed “preciousnists” or people who are obsessive-compulsive about liturgical matters, will recoil in horror as I present this question of what to do about a dog’s call to ministry, particularly when it involves liturgical functions. I’m one who appreciates dogs even though I’m allergic to animal dander and have to limit my petting privileges.  I inherited this fondness for them through the Greenlaw strain, a strain that has produced numerous dogologists who claim to speak in dog tongue, and I’m among those who have witnessed a dog being “called,” a call that should be given human and humane consideration.

As usual, the via media is at work among Anglicans who always try to hold two opposing viewpoints in tension as they attack theological questions–there are those who dismiss this canine’s call to ministry as nonsense and advocate banishing the dog from the chapel, and there are those who favor her at least answering an altar call and coming up for a blessing.

Penny normally lies in a dog bed behind the chair of Sr. Madeleine Mary, the Sister-in-Charge of St. Mary’s, who has been a strong force in the discipline of the dog’s behavior up to this point.  Several weeks ago, Sr. Madeleine Mary went on a short vacation, followed by a doctor’s visit in New York, and Penny began to stray from her bed during services, sidling up to various dog lovers and asking them why her mistress had abandoned her.  Those of us who understand dogs saw that Penny was questioning the strength of her mistress’s affection for her – she had been abandoned by a previous master and suffers from post traumatic stress syndrome, as well as certain separation issues that require a support team trained in petting, feeding, and walking pets who have been mistreated or abandoned by masters or mistresses lacking in sensitivity regarding the emotional lives of canines.

When Sr. Madeleine Mary returned, Penny began to shadow Sister even more than she had before Sister went on vacation, and she refused to tolerate any more schisms in their partnership.  Now whether Penny suffered so much psychological damage that she was driven into considering the ministry (this sometimes occurs, and people get ordained before the Commission on Ministry realizes that the aspirant's "call" is really an act of desperation) or just had a valid call to serve on the altar, we don’t know, since there's no canine Commission on Ministry or Discernment Committee, no dog Bishop to disavow this call.  But the fact is that during Friday Healing Service, Penny followed Sr. Madeleine Mary onto the altar and stood waiting to be anointed like the rest of God’s creatures, great or small.  However, she wasn’t given the oil or a blessing, and she went away to ponder the so-called healing practices of humans.

I don’t know if Sr. Madeleine Mary read aloud portions of The Wounded Healer to Penny, or if she simply went into a mini-retreat to ponder what she should do with her newfound desire to participate in the Episcopal services offered at the Convent, but during the Eucharist last Sunday, Penny exhibited her call and decided to help me prepare the table and carry out my diaconal duties.  It was evident she really felt called, and had I been invested with more authority than a deacon (defined as that “inferior order” in the 1928 Book of Common Prayer), I would’ve ordained her a subdeacon on the spot…

However, I just went home and re-read an interview I once had with the famous Louisiana painter, George Rodrigue, whose blue dog appears in the foreground of almost every painting he renders.  In part of the dialogue with Rodrigue, I comment: “There is a book called Dictionary of Scripture and Myths, and the definition of a dog is this: the dog is a symbol of the higher self and the going forth of the self as will.”

 Rodrigue answers, “When my dog Tiffany died, she came back to find her master.  The spirits of  dogs travel – there is no time – they travel from the first century to the present, and their job is to try and find their way back to their masters, but they have a difficult time because every situation is a human situation and they’re caught in these human situations…”   Hmmm.

This dialogue goes on several hours, and I tell Rodrigue about the old legend that took place after Adam, the first man, appeared.  The legend relates that after the creation, a gulf opened up between Adam and the animals that he had given names.  Among them was this dog who kept looking at the ever-widening breach.  The separation was almost complete, but the dog suddenly leaped across the gulf and took his place beside man.

Maybe, just maybe, Penny thinks that like George and his blue dog, she and Sister Madeleine Mary should take their places side by side on the altar, or perhaps she even envisions serving as a subdeacon with me, despite my allergies.  It’s a thorny question, but I wouldn’t want this kind of "inclusiveness issue" to be deliberated at General Convention because I'm certain that Penny would become a dog with white whiskers before the warring factions made any decision about her “call” to serve or celebrate at The Table.