Butterfly Decline

In our chapel grounds last week, there appeared to be dozens of butterflies at any given time. The buddlejas are in full flower and the previously mentioned flowering privet is doing a roaring trade. My favourite breed is the aglais io or peacock, whose rich markings render it a pleasure to see. Yet in all my time looking for them, I saw but two. Red admirals, cabbage whites and small tortoiseshells were all fairly plentiful, but not my favourite. Cursory research shows a serious decline in British butterfly numbers. Gardeners rather like butterflies but kill off their caterpillars; we enjoy planting cultivated garden flowers like the French marigold rather than the wilder, native flowers which give them the nectar they most crave (buddlejas excepted). I was pleased to see the garden area behind Barnoldswick’s main bus stop given over to wild flowers, below. Although a cynical rate-payer might conclude that the council is saving itself the trouble of maintaining it, the local butterfly population will certainly benefit the most.

I marvel at ‘spiritually-minded’ Britons' quest to find enlightenment and happiness by importing eastern mysticism, Buddhism and Indian meditation. These foreign and exotic religious outlets appear attractive from without, but they can never really satisfy. It is traditional, Bible-believing, plain Christianity by which Christ’s gospel is shared in which authentic hope is found; it is neither colourful nor exciting, neither novel nor extraordinary, but it preaches the words and saving power of Jesus Christ. Look not to India or Tibet, but to the old native flowers, much out of fashion; not neatly or tidily arranged, but still offering deepest, richest, life-giving nectar.

Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath no money; come ye, buy, and eat; yea, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. Isaiah 55:1