The Permission to See
“The barracks were full of them. The image was repeated over and over again. Butterflies. They were everywhere I looked. Some were crude. Others were quite detailed.” In 1946 Dr. Elizabeth Kubler-Ross visited the Maidenek concentration camp. The children’s barracks were particularly sorrowful, with toys and shoes scattered and left from lives now gone. But there was something else, too. The walls were covered with hundreds of butterflies, scratched and etched with fingernails and pebbles.
Why butterflies? Kubler-Ross said it took her 25 years of working with dying patients to fully understand. I get how—on a physical level—the butterfly reminds us that at death we physically leave our bodies the way that butterflies leave their cocoons. Or, how—on a spiritual level—the butterfly reminds us of the potential for transformation that we go through on an ongoing basis, as we evolve, grow and change.
But this story goes way beyond that. These were children, living in camps where they knew they were going to die, and yet found something within them to leave a message of hope; while their bodies might not make it, the butterflies somehow represented their souls, and they would live on in a different form.
Yes. This is somber stuff. The kind of thing I prefer to talk about cerebrally, uneasy when it—quite literally—touches my heart and my life.
And yet. While it is not easy, it is empowering and life-giving to know that transformation happens only when I embrace my life as fragile, temporal, and ephemeral. Yes, I’d rather my life be irritation free. And I don’t do well when my spirit weighs heavy.
But this I do know; we need stories like this, now, more than ever.
Stories that invite us to say no to our script (loaded with expectations that life will be predictable and unsurprising). Stories that invite us to say yes to a grounding in hope.
Today, these children teach—and inspire—me.
The butterflies inspired and bolstered them; and teach us to be unafraid to embrace the realization that life is interwoven with loss, disappointment, pain and the bittersweet. And yes, they teach us about learning to say goodbye.
And here’s the deal: I love re-reading Kubler-Ross’ butterflies story, because it always does my heart good and makes my spirit lighter.
The butterflies remind us of our beauty even when we see mostly or only darkness.
The butterflies remind us that we can be emissaries of the gifts of connection, and change and transformation.
This is true. Life hurts, pain is real, cruelty happens. Let’s not pretend otherwise.
Although truth be told, I often pretend it doesn’t hurt. I “close my eyes” and tell myself that I can live without it or that it wasn’t important, or that it didn’t really touch my heart. But, when I do, it is at the loss of the very beauty in life I so desperately seek.
What if? What if embracing the temporal nature of our life—that butterfly nature within—is about the permission to fall shamelessly and wholeheartedly in love with this life? And this moment—whatever it may bring? And what if this permission to fall wholeheartedly in love with this moment is about hearing the voice of grace?
Know this my friends: God’s grace is our ballast.
But grace does not appear only where we imagine, because with our selective blindness we can be easily derailed. When we are given the permission to see, we know that grace infuses the gentle beauty of the ordinary, in our every day.
Life stretches us all. Sometimes to the breaking point. Life is difficult, and sometimes, unjust. So. This week, here’s our invitation: let us remember the butterflies and savor their dance.
Rabbi Abraham Heschel’s reminder, “I would say an individual dies when he ceases to be surprised. What keeps me alive—spiritually, emotionally, intellectually—is my ability to be surprised. I say, I take nothing for granted. I am surprised every morning that I see the sun shine again.”
Yes and Amen. To savor the dance. In this morning’s NYT Nicholas Kristof writes, “At Times Like These, Take a Hike.” “I’ve backpacked my whole life, including three trips this summer, but in recent years, as world and national events have become dispiriting, the wilderness has become particularly important to my sanity. Some people see therapists; I visit mountains.”
And let us never forget that our capacity to give, and to care, is born in those times we have come face to face with our own vulnerability and what feels like intrinsic powerlessness and brokenness. But these are not undesirable traits. No… they reveal the full measure of our humanness, and point to an internal reservoir of generosity and courage and compassion that is too easily buried.
The reservoir of generosity and courage and compassion that is so needed in our world today.
Let us never forget that light spills from our vulnerability. I love hearing people tell stories about gentle acts of kindness. You realize that you never know the impact of a simple gesture. You have no idea the power of compassion and camaraderie that will allow us to not only get through, but to thrive.
And stories help us to remember. It is reminiscent of an Old Testament tradition. When the People of Israel wandered the desert, and began to lose their way or find their morale flagging, they would build an Ebenezer, a 12-stone altar, one for each tribe. (Then Samuel took a stone and set it up between Mizpah and Shen. He named it Ebenezer, saying, “Thus far has the LORD helped us.”) And then, around the altar, they would tell stories. (Not a bad idea to do in our communities these days.)
With the children in the story, I see unimaginable suffering. And yet, with their butterflies and their stories, they see, and spill to us the light of grace. This is not a matter of positive thinking or denial or extraordinary faith. It is about embracing the sacrament of the present, and messy, moment.
Speaking of savoring the dance, this morning I enjoyed soaking in choral music, listening to the 22 Great Hymns from St. Paul’s Cathedral Choir, London, England. I wish it was in St. Paul’s, but even in my living room, with the CD player turned up, it filled me with gladness and hope.
Quote for our week…
“If I were to begin life again, I should want it as it was. I would only open my eyes a little more.” Jules Renard
Note: Kubler-Ross from “The Wheel of Life: a memoir of living”
BULLETIN BOARD
Today’s Photo Credit: “Geeeeez, Terry. This SM hit a bunch of nails on the head. Forgiveness is saying, ‘I give up my right to get even.’ How ‘simple’, how helpful. I’ll be thinking on this one for a good while. A recent day trip to Point Reyes National Seashore with my partner was filled with joy and wonder. There was a small pod of harbor porpoises at Drake’s Beach, photo of the beach attached. The Tulle Elk were plentiful and the echoing sounds of the bugling males accompanied our visit. As birders, we walked around with binoculars and met other binocular-wearers and camera-bears embracing the day and eager to share what marvels they’d encountered and where. The joy being out in nature was palpable in every soul we met. It was awesome! As always Terry, thanks for Sabbath Moment.” Mary Ajideh… Thank you Mary… Thank you to all, I love your photos… please, keep sending them… send to terryhershey.com
Yes, your gift makes a difference… Donation = Love…
Help make Sabbath Moment possible. I write SM because I want to live with a soft heart; to create a place for sanctuary, empathy, inclusion, compassion and kindness… a space where we are refueled to make a difference. SM remains free.
(Address by check: PO Box 65336, Port Ludlow, WA 98365)
Sabbath Moment Audio — Hear your own music
Join us every Wednesday… Audio Sabbath Moment
Letters that do my heart good…
–You write and live so beautifully. Charles
–Thank you, Terry. There are times when your email is more…more needed, more helpful, more healing. You are a gift and I’m so grateful. Patti
–Hi Terry, You have gone beyond good this week. Such wonderful stories. The Jean Houston story alone moved me to tears. I shared it with a friend who copied it for her thirteen-year-old granddaughter. My being a “cluttered house that hides the Holy One” was especially powerful. And today’s Here Comes That Rainbow Again was perfect. Thank you for all you are doing to get us through this difficult time. I am very grateful. Nancy
–So many thanks to you for Sabbath Moment. A good friend shared it with me one day that was actually my birthday. What a perfect way to go forward into my 71st year. I now start every day reading the special words and thoughts you share with us. I am so grateful you found this calling. You are able to make sense of so many things we struggle with, and educate us in past and current events in the world. Your inspiration is both comforting and motivating. Thank you for all the love compassion and hope you share with us. Lori
–“A cluttered house that hides the Holy One” reminds me of Rumi’s The Guesthouse. All parts of us are sacred and long to be embraced and shine. I always enjoy your new songs and old favorites Terry. They move us to dance and sing and be Joy. Thanks, Deb
–A delightful story. A focus on the little subtleties in life, is to live in the sabbath moment. Time to start a day anew. Lots to look forward to that have not yet been revealed. Good morning! Julie
