Completely liquified. While suspended in the chrysalis there is a time when the caterpillar's body is entirely broken down before it takes new shape. All of it's form, function and familiarity is dissolved, and I wonder how those liquified molecules find their new shape, and what happens if the chrysalis is stirred even a tiny bit from the wind or another insect lighting on the suspending leaf.
The dissolution of familiarity, form and function is a fearful wonder. We, who've seen the process from the time we were children, know that what emerges is truly beautiful. But when Hollywood has imagined the process of going from one shape to another, either in classic films like The Fly, the modern dark romances like the Twilight series, or even the comic book turned television series The Incredible Hulk, it's typically filled with pain. The transmorgifying flesh rushes through unnatural contortions, popping and tearing it's way to a new horrible form.
On the one hand there's a natural, silent and mysterious process of one flesh yielding to a new form of fragility and beauty. On the other is a gross and painful becoming where the emergent beast contradicts and overpowers the host's self-control.
I wonder if part of what keeps us from pursuing this metanoia, this becoming like Christ, is the fear of becoming someone we don't recognize. Would we lose our sense of self? Will it hurt?
The loss of form, function and familiarity threaten our sense of stability. Even if that stability is established in destructive patterns, we're more likley to stick with what's familiar than move to a healthier sense of self. We like the predictability of ourselves just the way we are. So what if our knee-jerk reactions to the stuff of life are less than patient, gracious, forgiving or truthful? At least we're predictable. So what if we meet anger with anger, defend the indefensible simply out of pride, or ignore wisdom to indulge our appetities? At least we're consistent. It may be hurting us or others around us, but that's just the price of being you.
Now, there are plenty of people in the world who know they're deeply flawed and are trying to do something about it. So they read self-help books, join accountability groups, seek the counsel of trusted friends or professionals, and set to work. They intentionally dismantle themselves in a controlled way, engaging the process when they have the time and energy. In Christian circles this is understood to be repentance, but it isn't. This person, though noble in her pursuit of self-improvement, is still struggling to maintain control of who they are becoming by choosing what to shed and what to adopt, seeking punishment or reward from the guides they've chosen.
Even though this path of improvement is rooted in control, God can certainly do wonderful things through this person who is seeking to change. Scripture encrouages us to bear each other's burdens, to find a community of the faithful to support our journey in faith, to work out our life together. We are supposed to work on our selves with a bunch of others who are working on their selves. I just think this can lead us to depend more on other Christ-followers than on Christ himself.
Letting go of self to willingly dangle patiently before the Lord while he surrounds us, breaks us down, melts us, and molds us into a new person founded in Christ, is frightening. We don't know what that means. We don't know what of our self God will choose to dismantle, liquify and re-form. We don't know how it will feel. We don't know the outcome, or how long it will take, or what it impact this will all have on the life we've established. We want a semblance of control, and we want a map, and we want a schedule, and we want to negotiate our position along the way. And maybe that's why it hurts - not because we're changing, but because we're fighting it.
Caterpillars trust God better than we do.
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