Butterflies and Theology

“God saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good” -Genesis 1:31

Last week I took little Theo to the Meier Gardens to see the butterflies in bloom. It was a beautiful sunny day. Little Theo rocked his Mickey Mouse sunglasses, and sat happy as can be in the back seat, talking my ear off all the way to the East Beltline.

We got there just after the doors opened, but the parking lot was already packed. As we walked inside, we were overwhelmed by crowds of happy children moving about. Theo clung to my hand with big eyes.

We paid the outrageous price to get in, and headed towards the butterfly room. If you have not been there, it is an absolutely enormous greenhouse of exotic plants, flowers, vines, streams and waterfalls. It is bright, humid, and simply beautiful, like stepping suddenly into a tropical rainforest.

As soon as we walked through the door, we couldn’t move because there were so many people. I’m talking stepping-on-the-backs-of-your-shoes kind of crowded. I’m talking I-can-smell-your-breath-because-we-are-standing-so-close kind of crowded. I’m talking I’m-going-to-lose-my-son kind of crowded. I’m talking I’m-going-to-spontaneously-combust kind of crowded.

The bigger kids knocked into my little Theo, stepping on his toes and shoving their way in front of him. Someone’s stray one year-old was tearing the wings off of a butterfly. A butterfly fluttered past us, and my Theo screamed and clung to my leg.

As a parent you think you have a good idea, and you create this expectation of an event which will lead to priceless and picture-perfect snapshots to remember forever. I imagined my Theo, in his bright blue sweater, smiling his magical smile, reaching candidly for a gorgeous fluttering butterfly, under a perfect canopy of vines and flowers, and with heavenly sunlight shining through the greens to create the most perfect picture anyone has ever seen.

Instead, I got a 3 year-old screaming terrified of butterflies while getting shoved by bigger kids who are simultaneously stomping on my toes. Really? I just paid to do this? Totally overrated.

As we shuffled down the winding path, the crowd began to thin out, at least enough so that you take a breath without having to share the oxygen with someone else. Theo was finally able to stop and get a good look.

We were standing by a waterfall, and enormous tree-leaves were drooping near us, covered in bright butterflies. Something caught my eye, and I looked up to see two enormous butterflies chasing each other, fluttering happily behind the backdrop of the waterfall, bright rays of sunlight streaming through the water and reflecting on their bright blue happy wings. Picture perfect.

It was so beautiful my pulse skyrocketed, and I actually gasped out loud as it took the wind right out of me. I was, in an instant, in the midst of my cynicism, confronted with all things creative, beautiful, unspeakable, and inexpressible. 

It pointed to God, His creation, His gifts to us, His handiwork, His immeasurable and all-surpassing awesomeness summed up in a fleeting dance of butterflies. It was a glimpse of Heaven, of Jesus, of all things made right and perfect and unblemished.

And in the middle of this giant crowd of people and disorder, I burst into tears. There was just no way around, it was too beautiful and I just couldn’t even pretend to stay composed in the face of God’s wonder. My irritated heart was melted, and remolded into something more whimsical and childlike.

For the rest of the day and on, things looked different. The sky brighter, and the air fresher. The curls on the heads of my boys sweeter, their little bodies more precious. The soft sense of God with us more real. Details viewed through the lens of grace.

I used to be tough. Tough, and smart. And arrogant. A couple of years ago, if I was reading about someone crying over some stupid butterflies, I would roll my eyes right out of my head and write it off as useless emotionalism. Smart, strong, respectable people don’t cry over silly things, especially butterflies for crying out loud. Smart, strong, respectable people also don’t see God in such little useless details. Don’t they know that God is way bigger and more important than that? Butterflies. Give me a break.

But here I am, writing about butterflies and getting the lump in my throat again just thinking about it.

In the Old Testament, God promised to restore the world to how it was supposed to be, to restore it to His normal. Not the normal of sin and disorder, but the normal of harmony with God, with ourselves, with each other, and with Creation.

Jesus has begun this process of the new normal, and we know He will return to finish it. We live in the in-between time, seeing glimpses of God’s completed perfect normal which we will know and live when Jesus comes back again.

Paul puts it this way, saying, “For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known” (1 Cor. 13:12). What we see is imperfect and incomplete, a foretaste of what will become much more. 

It is strange, sometimes, the ways we can come face-to-face with glimpses into God’s perfect normal. Jesus chose to be present to me via butterflies that day, and it certainly changed me, but I do not know why He did it by these means, at this time, in this way. Apparently He knew that I needed something, and gave it to me without explanation, in the same way I give my boys what they need because they don’t know what is good for them. Just receive, child! 

I don’t have the whole picture, and I am not sure that I can articulate a coherent theological connection between butterflies, and the presence of Jesus. But I know Jesus melts my heart, heals my vision, and corrects my perspective. And that is enough, enough to make me want to stay very near to Him. Because I want more. 

Time and time again, from person to person, I have seen that Jesus melts the heart of stone. For me, it has been a process of healing, and it is still incredibly unsettling to realize that the presence of Jesus and His great love can knock me off of my square and turn me into a weeping whimsical child crying over butterflies at any moment. I have come to believe that Jesus loves us in more intimate, detailed ways than we realize. I hope you have your own beautiful Jesus butterflies today, your own glimpse and foretaste of God’s normal for us.