A Fly Made Me Cry

Today's title sounds a bit like one you'd see on a Dr. Suess children's book, doesn't it?  I realized later that there was another children's book, from the same time period, which I had, as a child, called A Fly Went By, by Mike McClintock. 

I remember reading it regularly with great contentment every time.  I actually still had my original copy until I gave it away to the family of a new born. I have done that over the years, since I never had a child, alas. 

But this is my Thursday tale. I guess, if I had the talent, I could write my own children's book based on the brief moment in which a fly made me cry. They were not tears of sadness. They were tears of recognition and of joy and gratitude. So. Here's the small story.

I was sitting out on my terrace in the early afternoon. This is the place where I think, I watch hummingbirds, read, work, and pray, not necessarily in that order. Suffice it to say that my terrace is my most used space. 

Oh, yes, I also eat there, today a late breakfast of corn flakes and strawberries. And a fresh cup of pour over coffee. As I finished and placed the not completely empty bowl on my table, a fly began to buz about, not unlike the Fly Above that Went By. My fly, however, did not go by. . .

He seemed to be looking for something. He landed on my hand. The thing about this fly was that it seemed smaller than most and I determined with complete lack of scientific evidence that this was a young fly, even a baby fly. And unlike what happens usually when you move your hand, this fly did not dart away when I did. Yes. I began to talk to the fly. And I know, this is crazy, but the fly seemed to be aware of me. And it was not afraid. It moved from my hand to my shoulder, in a crease of my hoodie. I looked at it. He did not run. I was convinced. The fly is hungry. So. I moved my bowl from the table, with a few pieces of corn flake soaking in almond milk and I placed it nearby on the arm of my Adirondack chair. 

Sure enough. The fly dropped onto the outside of the white dish, following a small trail of milk that had dripped. And then. The fly went to the rim, walked to the top of the spoon in the bowl and used it as a ladder down to the morsels. It seemed completely unconcerned that I was there. And usually I would swat at a fly at that very moment, as one would do at a picnic. But then, I thought, I am finished with my meal; what harm does it do to let this tiny creature over whom I effectively have the power of life and death as a member of creation in the top of the hierarchy to have a safe meal? 

Creation. I have been spending time of late in learning to pray deeply, not in my usual,sporadic, hit and run style. I have been exploring, again (I have done in the past, but then with less intensity) the richness of my Catholic faith and its Transformative essence. Meditating on Creation is a part of it. 

As I watched this fly, I found tears coming to my eyes, not only for the unusual nature of this particular encounter with a tiny insect, but because of the sudden intensity of my sense of creation, His Creation, both of us, this fly and I, Creations of the same God. I want to be clear. It wasn't some New Age, pantheistic sense of the divine in everything that sometimes leads to the idea of man as self-divinizing. That sounds great but it is a mistake, or it's not precise. God isn't in Creation. He is the Author of Creation. He isn't part of it, though it reflects His Glory, and His abounding Love. We can see Him as in a mirror--the complexity and beauty reflects Him. But I am as much made as was the fly in my bowl. I think perhaps that was what St. Francis was saying in His Canticle of the Sun.

Most high, all powerful, all good Lord! All praise is yours, all glory, all honor, and all blessing. To you, alone, Most High, do they belong. No mortal lips are worthy to pronounce your name.

Be praised, my Lord, through all your creatures, especially through my lord Brother Sun, who brings the day; and you give light through him. And he is beautiful and radiant in all his splendor! Of you, Most High, he bears the likeness.

Be praised, my Lord, through Sister Moon and the stars; in the heavens you have made them, precious and beautiful.

Be praised, my Lord, through Brothers Wind and Air, and clouds and storms, and all the weather, through which you give your creatures sustenance.

Be praised, My Lord, through Sister Water; she is very useful, and humble, and precious, and pure.

Be praised, my Lord, through Brother Fire, through whom you brighten the night. He is beautiful and cheerful, and powerful and strong.

Be praised, my Lord, through our sister Mother Earth, who feeds us and rules us, and produces various fruits with colored flowers and herbs.

Be praised, my Lord, through those who forgive for love of you; through those who endure sickness and trial. Happy those who endure in peace, for by you, Most High, they will be crowned.

Be praised, my Lord, through our Sister Bodily Death, from whose embrace no living person can escape. Woe to those who die in mortal sin! Happy those she finds doing your most holy will. The second death can do no harm to them.

Praise and bless my Lord, and give thanks, and serve him with great humility.

In a way, don't laugh, (though I know exactly who might if they read this!) my experience was of Brother Fly whom we forget is among the necessary pollinators, who cleans up our waste and even has medical uses. He is an indispensable stitch in God's tapestry. The fly, as I am, was formed out of nothing, by an Invisible Hand. That is what makes us brother and sister.

I didn't realize it immediately but my tears were thanking God. His Creation manifests His desire for us to share in HIS Divinity. We don't make ourselves divine. Especially through God made Man we are offered to experience, to partake in, His divinity. But we will always be His creation. We will be His Creation united to Him. And I don't know, the fly that I watched comfortably take pieces of my remnant Corn Flakes, made me cry for the implicit recognition of the Wonders of the Wonderful God that was manifest in the moment.