Worm Theology

Worms normally come to my attention in one of two ways – I’m teaching Blake’s “The Sick Rose” to my students, or it’s raining. The literal worm evoked in Blake’s poem is likely to appear first to be one of those tiny green caterpillar-like creatures (actually the larva of the sawfly) which eats into the heart of a rose and destroys it; then, when the worm is said to “fly through the night,” it’s likely to evoke the image of a dragon. These creatures leave only ruin in their path, and they work in the poem metaphorically to lead us to see the destruction caused by the “dark secret love” that is lust. I have no sympathy for such worms, literal or figurative.

Earthworms, on the other hand, stay underground eating dirt, decently out of sight and mind, until it rains, when they appear in multitudes on the sidewalks. I hate walking to class in the rain because of these pale grayish snaky little creatures; invariably there are so many I can’t avoid the disgusting squish of several beneath my shoes before reaching my destination. And when the sun returns, the shriveled corpses of those who waited too long to return home continue to unpleasantly litter the walk until the groundskeepers’ leaf blowers scatter them into the grass. Living or dead, they seem of no particular value, worthy only of being crushed beneath our shoes as we go about our important business.

It’s earthworms, in fact, that give us the phrase "worm theology," the image suggesting that we human beings, too, are just wretched worthless worms in the dirt, deserving nothing more than to be ground under God’s foot. I have always rejected this conception of human worth. We are indeed desperately fallen, but we were created by God Himself – whose creation was, by His own affirmation, "very good" – and are redeemed by the sacrifice of His Son: and that means we were and are not wretched worms (even if we foolishly choose to live in the dirt sometimes). We were originally destined for glory and eternal life with God, and we may still receive that destiny in Christ, who loves us even in our fallenness and delights in us when we become His brothers. As C. S. Lewis puts it, we would tremble before the least and worst human being if we truly understood that each of us is an immortal soul.

Lately, however, I've been doing some thinking about worms. I remember the topsoil my daddy used to sift through, knowing by its dark, rich texture where he would find earthworms to bait his hook to catch trout for our table, where they had done their job well so that our garden would grow a rich harvest. And now, after a bit of research, I’ve decided that worm theology is not just unfair to man, it's unfair to worms. In fact, earthworms are greatly slandered if we think of them as wretched, useless creatures deserving of no regard. Rather, they are a lovely example of true servanthood.

The earthworm, a simple, blind, not especially appealing creature, lives underground and is seldom seen (and greatly abused by bird and man when he is). He goes quietly, and mostly unremarked, about his job of improving our lives by aerating our soil so it will allow the roots of plants to grow deep and strong and more readily receive the nourishing rain. He eats dirt and organic matter, both dead and living, increasing the earth’s fertility by mixing these elements and thereby enriching the soil with his waste and, ultimately, with his very body. He may not look like much, his work may seem mundane and even disgusting, but our lives would be far different and more difficult without him.

He is indeed a picture of serving at its best: fulfilling one's purpose, whatever God has made it to be, without complaint, without show, without striving after prestige or reward; giving one's life solely for the benefit of others. Of course, the worm does this without thinking about it, without agonizing over the temptation of sin and trying to rationalize his duty away. He simply does what he was created to do; he “selves himself,” lives the inscape poured into him by the Creator.

“Worm theology,” as it’s usually intended, indeed fails to capture man’s dignity as a creature made in God’s image; but real worm theology shows us the excellent way: to live out that image in daily, unassuming service that glorifies God without regard to self.