Butterflies are free

I serve in a small, family-style parish with an average Sunday attendance of about 50 people and 105 on the membership rolls. There is something unique about a small parish that draws you closer to the people in ways a larger parish cannot (and yes, I have served in both).

Behind our parish church walls sits a community garden where we grow vegetables, herbs, and wildflowers—tomatoes, peppers, potatoes, basil, and even tall sunflowers. One day, I hope we can expand it into the front so that it becomes more visible to the wider community.

Today, however, something happened in that garden that made my heart soar in a rare and beautiful way. An array of monarch butterflies—six or more, maybe even more than I could count—were dancing among the flowers. Monarchs are rare now, threatened by climate change and habitat loss, and I found myself thinking about their upcoming migration to Mexico. I pondered on the current injustice to our Hispanic sisters and brothers and the freedom of the monarch to fly without repercussions from intrusive structures.

In their fragile presence, I saw a powerful symbol of hope—at a time when it can feel easier to slip into a dystopian view of the world. As one who believes in hope, I must admit that I too have wrestled with despair and spiritual blockage: global crises in Sudan and Gaza, political unrest at home, the personal struggles of parishioners facing job loss or illness, and the ever-present weight of death and not to forget my own personal disappointments.

Yet, those butterflies reminded me of something deeper. They rekindled in me the core truths of resurrection, hope, grace, and above all, love—a love that still has a place in this world and flies freely as the monarch does.

Erika Lowe