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I had been looking forward to escaping the smell of exhaust and the noise of traffic in downtown Ottawa, to trading the chaos of the city for the tranquility of the blue skies and quiet nights of Madonna House in late June.
When I arrived at Vianney House, the priests’ guest house in Combermere, I contentedly got out of the car, stretched my legs, and took a deep breath.
Immediately, I felt a tickling on the back of my neck. Then behind my ear. Then in the small of my back. And on my stomach. Then I saw around my head a cloud of black flies* that were assembling for the feast. Those little black devils!
Black flies must have an advanced system of surveillance to detect the presence of city slickers on vacation. When one of them finds you, he calls together his family and friends to say, “Rejoice and be glad with me, for I have found fresh meat from the city!”
I grabbed my luggage and fled inside Vianney House and barred the door. With a screen on it. Without holes. With very fine netting.
We know by faith that the devil is incapable of creating anything at all, and that God is incapable of creating anything evil. Which does not help explain black flies.
I will begin my reflection by trying to be grateful, by admitting that things could be worse.
For one thing, black flies have a season, a mercifully short life-span. They come around mid-May and are usually gone by the end of June.
Can you imagine if their swarms blocked out the sun all summer? Canadians would cry out to God. We would despair.
We can handle the long, cold winter because we know we will have a break in the summer, a chance to sit outside on those long summer evenings, time to sun ourselves on the beach or at the lakeside, soaking up the warmth our bodies crave.
All winter we cover our bodies in furs and wool and various insulating synthetics to protect ourselves from the cold. But very soon after we are able to remove those protective layers, we have to cover up again—every inch of our skin—in long-sleeve shirts, head scarves, hats, socks with our pants’ bottoms tucked into them. Or the black flies will get us!
Like the Israelites in the desert who complained against God, Why have you brought us out of Egypt only to die of thirst in the desert (Exodus 17:3), Canadians might be tempted to complain, “Why did you bring us out of winter only to be tormented by black flies in the summer?”
Some theologians speculate that black flies are the result of the Fall, that the evil they do—biting our skin, sucking our blood, annoying us half to death—was not part of God’s original plan for creation.
In those original plans, men and women would be lords of the earth, and our humble, trusting obedience to God would be mirrored in the submission to us of all lower creatures.
According to this theory, without the Fall, black flies would have been benevolent. Perhaps they would have eaten hay like the ox. Or perhaps they would only suck the blood of other irrational creatures, as if the Creator himself had warned them, “Do not touch any of my anointed ones.”
Does all this provide us with some measure of consolation?
Rather than complain to the Creator about the black flies, we might consider that in some mysterious way it is our fault—like all those other bad things that resulted from the sin of Adam and Eve.
After all, ultimately God is not to blame for any of our sufferings. He has only loved us, and works good for us from every suffering. From the beginning of time, he has been laboring ceaselessly for our salvation, deeply desiring for all of us to share in His eternal happiness.
The Israelites who sinned in the desert and were bitten by serpents were healed by looking at the bronze serpent Moses erected. Our potential anger over black fly bites—or any other of life’s sufferings—can likewise be healed by gazing at the Cross.
In this world, we indeed experience a mixture of good and evil. There are creatures who suck the life, love, and blood out of us. But greater by far is the Creator who gives His life, love, and blood for us.
As I write this safely ensconced in the screened-in gazebo at the priests’ guest house, I am admiring the green hills and blue skies of the Madawaska Valley.
From my current residence in downtown Ottawa, I can see one tree; here, I behold 50,000. Such lavish love, such boundless and bountiful goodness, such exuberant energy in creating, is for me an image of Paradise.
All evil is passing. Like with the black fly season, it knows its time is short. One day, the dawn from on high will visit us (Lk 1:78), the warm summer sun will rise and never set, and all evil will evaporate like the morning dew in the presence of our God and Father, whose mercy endures forever.
*Black flies are tiny, soundless, biting insects that infest many Canadian forestlands in early summer. Last year, when this was written, because of flooding waters, they were more abundant around here than anyone remembers.
