Jellyfish: A Preparation for Living

Scientists have discovered a jellyfish species called the Turritopsis dohrnii that is technically immortal. When under enormous stress, or predatory attack, this particular jellyfish species reverts back from its present “medusa stage” to a squirmy little blob that’s called a “stationery polyp stage.” Essentially, this process can continue over and over, allowing them to be reborn over an infinite amount of time, resulting in scientists deeming the Turritopsis dohrnii, “the immortal jellyfish.” I find this to be such an interesting phenomenon. When reading, I started to think about how I’m not so different than this particular kind of jellyfish at all. In times of stress, in seasons with no clear direction, I began to revert back to a blob, a helpless creature whose tentacles are holding on for dear life, in order to escape death. I take on control, because I have a sudden lapse in judgment and forget that God is in fact good.

I think of Peter gliding across a sea, with glimmering eyes and a stolen breath, slipping between the waves as he momentarily takes his eyes off Jesus, forgetting that He is in fact good. I am Peter. I’m taking steps towards Him, hoping that he will soon teach me how to dance, when he’s really just trying to teach me how to walk again. I’m limping, but I’m still moving forward. The dance steps come later. Life is extremely difficult right now, but I’m learning to accept it, but it doesn’t take away from the difficulty of it. I’ve found that suffering creates chaos, and I don’t like chaos. I don’t like it at all. Sometimes my life feels chaotic, especially right now, walking and slipping, attempting to move forward, but continuing to slip and immerse myself in ice cold water that I’d hoped was frozen. So I tread water, looking up at the stars, asking for God to give me a personal sign from one of those galactic blemishes as I impatiently wade in a cold, black pool of ambiguity.

Sometimes I try to manifest that goodness or control from inside myself. I start to believe that my futile attempts of trying to control this situation are worthy of attempting again and again. I tell myself that I can somehow manifest goodness out of this, all on my own. This is something that I quickly realize that I’m incapable of doing. My attitude in these seasons are a different story altogether. I may not be able to control this situation, but I can still know contentment if I stretch the creases on my heart wide enough. I realize that one thing I know I can do is once again remind myself that God is good, that I am loved, and allow the syllogism to complete itself. Usually after, contentment starts to drive a hammer of trust into my heart. This is God’s M.O. after all, after creating a lamb and a few avocados, He looked at all of His creation that had once been chaos, and said that it was good.

Suffering is complex, it’s that thing that we speak so highly of, but if we’re honest, it’s hard to find the true virtue in it. I twist it and turn it on it’s head in order to make it’s reality of suffering seem almost pleasant to myself, and more meaningful, but for me, suffering is something I like to avoid at all costs. I’m learning that Jesus thought so differently, another reason why I find the man so strange. Jesus saw suffering as a preparation for living, real living. In Matthew, Jesus tells the disciples (and us) that in order for us to be his followers, we “must give up your own way, take up your cross, and follow me.” Jesus’ cross is a reminder of His suffering and complete death for us, which we know is good news. It’s the best news. A dim and gruesome death that leads to experiencing a fluorescent life. A life illuminated, a life in light, after a soul’s senses have deprived. This price was paid for our sins, in order for us to find true intimacy and reconciliation with him again, all wrapped up in His scandalous Grace. He urges that the crosses we take up, suffering and all, will help us to die to ourselves, in order to truly live. Suffering, can help spark these deaths, these moments to take up our crosses. There is nothing like a swift execution of pride to lead to a necessary relinquishing of control. Christ invites us into His suffering, so that we know real life. As a result, our feet land on altars we never knew he built beneath us, as we reclaim a posture of surrender. I believe those immortal jellyfish will never understand this redemptive brilliance. They revert back to their blob-like existences, in order to protect themselves from pain and inevitable death, a survival technique that has become a biological rhythm.

This is not unlike what I’ve done in the past, selfish tendencies and all. I think God is showing me that it’s important not to allow myself to become a blob, but maybe there are things he needs to show me along the way. When I revert back to my “blob life” I’m moving backwards towards a superficial life, one that I’ve created and tried to sustain, all in an attempt to avoid pain. But maybe that’s the point, maybe our seasons offer suffering because there are things that need to die in us, in order for us to truly live. Maybe Jesus knows what he’s doing, and we don’t, and that’s okay. It’s funny that we can truly live only after we die to ourselves. It’s a conundrum, but it’s necessary. It’s only after the death of a guitar that the bass line starts to groove again in stride, and the percussion follows suit, then the guitar again, and the horns, and then we’re off again. The hum hum hum bango and pop! Like jazz, or flamenco, a new kind of music begins to percolate through us, coursing through our veins like caffeine after a long draw of coffee. First we’ll walk, and then we’ll roar. One step, then two steps, and then before you know it we’re cutting a rug on a floor that is a season of life we don’t quite understand, but we’re just happy to be dancing again. Our limbs might be swollen, but our hearts are full, our eyes wide open, our tongues stretched wide. Jesus thank you for teaching us how to dance, Abba thank you for teaching us how to live, tentacles and all.