There are bees in our chapel. We have no idea how they are getting in or how to keep them out. They don’t seem to like being there any more than we like having them with us. Some mornings the floor is littered with the little corpses of bees who have worn themselves out trying to escape; and the next day a whole new crop is buzzing at the window. Finally, in the desperate spirit of if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, I decided to look up the symbolism of bees.
I learned that over the centuries bees have been used as images of industriousness and of purity. I found that for the Latin poet Ovid, bees symbolized metamorphosis. But what really stayed with me was a passage from a poem by Antonio Machado:
Last night, as I lay sleeping,
I dreamed — blessèd illusion! —
that I had a beehive inside my heart.
And the golden bees
were making white combs
and sweet honey
from my old failures.
(Anoche cuando dormía
soñé, ¡bendita ilusión!,
que una colmena tenía
dentro de mi corazón;
y las doradas abejas
iban fabricando en él,
con las amarguras viejas,
blanca cera y dulce miel.)
Isn’t that what God does in us? The Spirit of Jesus, in the darkness of our hearts and the messiness of our lives, transforms our failures into sweet honey.