by Jonathan Bunday
Why was I born so slow?
Why did the Holy One… All seeing. All knowing. Perfect in wisdom. Supposedly! See fit to encase my free and dancing spirit within this lumbering carcass? That creeps, and crawls, and trudges with rhythmical torpidity; That takes an eternity to get the shortest distance. A twig across my path seems like a Giant Redwood A stone like Butser Hill A puddle like Heath Lake. Even the busy wood louse scuttles past like an Olympic sprinter With a cheery “Morning, slowcoach! Nice day!” as he leaves me trailing in his wake. Why did the Creator choose to incarcerate me in this now fat and ever more wrinkled body? That crawls inch by painful inch across the damp earth Up the brown plant stem All to reach the life sustaining leaf – My daily bread, my nourishment that nourishes me less and less As this geriatric body stiffens and crumbles, and finally gives up the ghost. Why? What is it all for? I have never doubted how loved I am. His love throbs and pulses through every cell of my body. His delight in me; His tender care; His passion, and compassion, for me, even me Surely the slowest and least important of His creatures. And yet, His purpose in creating me remains a mystery - At least to me. Soon I shall breathe my last, and die. Die, knowing I am so loved; But die without knowing my deeper purpose. If only I could know. If only I had even some faint inkling of why He made me like this. Ah well. He knows. That has to be sufficient. He gives, and He takes away. Blessed be His Holy Name. The Word saw, and He smiled. As creation was unfolding on that seismic fifth day; All of heaven gasping with wonder and delight As each new creature burst into life upon the Virgin Earth. Each one revealing something of the Divine Mystery, Divine Wisdom; Divine Glory; The elephant’s strength; the gazelle’s grace; The eagle’s pinioned, breathtaking beauty in flight; Each one a mirror, a reflection, of one small part of the Holy One. Then heaven paused; intrigued. The humble caterpillar appeared; Brought into being by a word from The Word. “Now what reflection is this?” whispers one to another. “What part of Him does this slow and tiny creature reveal?” And now, Heaven sees, the caterpillar - having lived so briefly, Stops, dies, and is encased in a funeral shroud of its own body.
The Word saw, and He smiled. There are no mistakes. All are so loved; so precious; so cherished. All reveal something of His Divine Nature. “Arise, my love,” whispers The Word. Heaven holds its breath. A tremor of movement in the dead pupa. A flash of colour.
The new creature arises, phoenix-like, called into life by the Beloved. It gasps with wonder as it soars, and swoops, and flutters on the gentle wind. The sights, the smells, the delight, the freedom - Set free from that stiff and plodding body into a glorious burst of dancing speed and energy. Ground that once took a tortuous day to cover Is now crossed in a breath and a flap of iridescent wings. The Redwood beneath me now. Butser? Hah! A stone! Heath Pond? A mere puddle! The greatest mystery of all time; The prophetic forerunner of the Incarnate Word And for every ransomed child of God until the end of time - Revealed through an insignificant grub? Truly, for the foolishness of God is wiser, far wiser, than man’s wisdom; And nothing is insignificant To Him. © Jonathan Bunday 2013