The title for this inspirational piece is meant to be funny. Without context it is also meaningless. It does not fit into our normal imaging of worms. The idea came to me when I was reading a collection of “best stories” of the past year. This particular story comes from the pen of a Catholic sister, Mary Bilderback, who lives in New Jersey. I don’t know her, but I would like to meet her. She entitled her thoughts, “I would never help a worm cross the road.” It is a good story, so let’s dive into the heart of it.
Her story is actually a reflection on creation and leads to the God who is responsible for this universe. In that sense, it is quite spiritual. But we will get to that. It is a story that opens by recounting a spring day after some hard rains. Sr. Mary is headed to the compost pile only to encounter a worm on the way, too. Quickly, she sets up the story with her comments. “You may have seen, wherever you live, worms pushing and pulling the pinkish extents of themselves, up a sidewalk or across a street. You may have wished to be of some assistance in their journey or merely wished to avoid doing them any harm … (oops …squish).” Of course, I have seen worms and, indeed, wanted to help them.
Soon it becomes clear that our author knows about biology---indeed, she teaches it. I knew it when I read this line: “We understand why worms surface in the rain … they want out of soggy soil. They breathe through their skins and need to be moist, but in too much water they suffocate. On the road it's no picnic either. Desiccation or worse.” I had to laugh; who knows the word, desiccation! I know it means to dry out. That would be a fear of worms.
This is the point at which Sr. Mary said she would never help a worm cross the road. But she says this now, after too many failed times trying to help worms. She confesses, “Not that I haven't tried. Compassionate techniques include: the stick method, where I sought the perfect stick — not too long and not too prickly — strong enough to carry the weight of a worm.” I laugh at her catalogue of ways to help a worm across the road. She soon elaborates.
The stick method is pretty easy to imagine. My favorite one from Mary was what she called the leaf method. Here is her account. “I've also tried the leaf method — snow plow action, approaching client lengthwise. But the worm merely rolled and resisted as if the leaf were why it had left the territory it was fleeing in the first place.” All of this, of course, was designed to prompt her deeper into the discipline of reflection and meditation.
We can eavesdrop, as it were, on Sr. Mary’s thoughts. “I look and watch as this creature, aimed at the compost pile, manages what I presume might be its morning commute, quite innocent of my attention. I look and look, and then comes tenderness, and as with any stranger, whose eyes you let meet yours — loving kindness. I see life pulsing through each segment of its luminous, limbless body — the same un-dis-connected force I feel in me. I know we are kin.”
Some things stand out for me. I like her focus on “looking.” This is a very good way to describe an important part of the spiritual process of growth. Looking is a way to explain why paying attention is key. If we don’t pay attention to life, we become robotic. We allow ourselves to be driven by our routine. We become pinballs of our destiny---impacted on the outside, but no inner depth. We react, but don’t know how to respond.
When Sr. Mary looks closely, gradually the worm assumes qualities it probably always had, but of which she was unaware. Mary discovers tenderness and this moves to loving kindness. We can truly say a form of revelation is happening to and for her. As she exclaims about the worm, “This is no "’it.’" The worm garners from her respect and praise as a creature of God. The worm has done things which make our lives better than we deserve.
In a telling summary of the powerful effect worms have had on life, pay attention to these words. “For hundreds of millions of years they've sculpted Earth's hostile rock into forest floors and garden beds — laid out welcome mats with menus for strangers who would never breathe, or eat, or see, or think without them — complex-er beasts who regularly, mindlessly swallow or squash them, and worse — think of them ‘lowly as a worm.’” It never occurred to me to be thankful for worms---but now I am!
And I am grateful for the eyes and curiosity of a biology Catholic sister for teaching me more about God and our amazing world. Her curiosity and effort at describing come as gift to me. It may not be biblical, but it is more revelation. Through the worm God spoke to this woman. In turn she transformed the worm into a story of God that inspires and instructs.
This is as good a reason as any to be reminded that we are traveling this journey through life together. It is a blessed journey. And there are more travelers than we might have guessed. Here and there we may be called to cross a road. And we might just see a worm doing the same thing.
If so, salute the worm, give thanks, bless it and go on your journey to God.
Her story is actually a reflection on creation and leads to the God who is responsible for this universe. In that sense, it is quite spiritual. But we will get to that. It is a story that opens by recounting a spring day after some hard rains. Sr. Mary is headed to the compost pile only to encounter a worm on the way, too. Quickly, she sets up the story with her comments. “You may have seen, wherever you live, worms pushing and pulling the pinkish extents of themselves, up a sidewalk or across a street. You may have wished to be of some assistance in their journey or merely wished to avoid doing them any harm … (oops …squish).” Of course, I have seen worms and, indeed, wanted to help them.
Soon it becomes clear that our author knows about biology---indeed, she teaches it. I knew it when I read this line: “We understand why worms surface in the rain … they want out of soggy soil. They breathe through their skins and need to be moist, but in too much water they suffocate. On the road it's no picnic either. Desiccation or worse.” I had to laugh; who knows the word, desiccation! I know it means to dry out. That would be a fear of worms.
This is the point at which Sr. Mary said she would never help a worm cross the road. But she says this now, after too many failed times trying to help worms. She confesses, “Not that I haven't tried. Compassionate techniques include: the stick method, where I sought the perfect stick — not too long and not too prickly — strong enough to carry the weight of a worm.” I laugh at her catalogue of ways to help a worm across the road. She soon elaborates.
The stick method is pretty easy to imagine. My favorite one from Mary was what she called the leaf method. Here is her account. “I've also tried the leaf method — snow plow action, approaching client lengthwise. But the worm merely rolled and resisted as if the leaf were why it had left the territory it was fleeing in the first place.” All of this, of course, was designed to prompt her deeper into the discipline of reflection and meditation.
We can eavesdrop, as it were, on Sr. Mary’s thoughts. “I look and watch as this creature, aimed at the compost pile, manages what I presume might be its morning commute, quite innocent of my attention. I look and look, and then comes tenderness, and as with any stranger, whose eyes you let meet yours — loving kindness. I see life pulsing through each segment of its luminous, limbless body — the same un-dis-connected force I feel in me. I know we are kin.”
Some things stand out for me. I like her focus on “looking.” This is a very good way to describe an important part of the spiritual process of growth. Looking is a way to explain why paying attention is key. If we don’t pay attention to life, we become robotic. We allow ourselves to be driven by our routine. We become pinballs of our destiny---impacted on the outside, but no inner depth. We react, but don’t know how to respond.
When Sr. Mary looks closely, gradually the worm assumes qualities it probably always had, but of which she was unaware. Mary discovers tenderness and this moves to loving kindness. We can truly say a form of revelation is happening to and for her. As she exclaims about the worm, “This is no "’it.’" The worm garners from her respect and praise as a creature of God. The worm has done things which make our lives better than we deserve.
In a telling summary of the powerful effect worms have had on life, pay attention to these words. “For hundreds of millions of years they've sculpted Earth's hostile rock into forest floors and garden beds — laid out welcome mats with menus for strangers who would never breathe, or eat, or see, or think without them — complex-er beasts who regularly, mindlessly swallow or squash them, and worse — think of them ‘lowly as a worm.’” It never occurred to me to be thankful for worms---but now I am!
And I am grateful for the eyes and curiosity of a biology Catholic sister for teaching me more about God and our amazing world. Her curiosity and effort at describing come as gift to me. It may not be biblical, but it is more revelation. Through the worm God spoke to this woman. In turn she transformed the worm into a story of God that inspires and instructs.
This is as good a reason as any to be reminded that we are traveling this journey through life together. It is a blessed journey. And there are more travelers than we might have guessed. Here and there we may be called to cross a road. And we might just see a worm doing the same thing.
If so, salute the worm, give thanks, bless it and go on your journey to God.
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