The Chameleon's Easter Lesson
An Easter Phantasy
Perched high in an olive tree, a chameleon watched the scene below. It was early morning, and the air was still. She observed a group of people gathered near a tomb, their faces filled with confusion and sorrow. They spoke in hushed tones, pointing at the stone entrance.
Suddenly, a woman named Mary approached the tomb. The chameleon noticed how she hesitated, her eyes wide with hope as she reached out to the stone that had been rolled away. The chameleon blended into the branches, her colors shifting to match the leaves, remaining unseen.
Mary stepped inside the tomb, and the chameleon felt the tension rise. When Mary emerged, her face lit up with joy. She began to shout about something incredible—about finding Jesus alive! The chameleon was intrigued, her tiny heart pounding as she watched the transformation from despair to elation.
While she continued to observe, a crow flew down and landed near the tree. The crow, with its sharp eyes and cawing voice, began to speak.
"I know what happened before this moment," it said, cocking its head.
"They arrested him.
They whipped him.
They killed him.
This is the story of betrayal and pain, but also of hope."
The chameleon listened intently. The crow explained how some people were good, like Jesus, while others were selfish and cruel. The chameleon reflected on this idea; she had seen some humans act in surprising and strange ways.
After the crow finished, the chameleon shared her observations from her perch. "People are unpredictable," she said. "Some show love and kindness, while others inflict harm. I will teach my children to watch them closely."
The crow nodded, understanding her wisdom. "Yes, teach them to stay still and observe," it replied. "Humans can be dangerous. Their hearts are complex. They can bring hope, but they can also bring despair."
From that day forward, the chameleon made sure to teach her young ones to watch the world carefully, to recognize the goodness in some and the darkness in others. By being silent observers of humanity, they could learn to understand the strange and unpredictable nature of the beings that walked beneath the olive trees.
Epilogue
In the year 1880, in a modest apartment located in the heart of Frankfurt am Main, sat a 36-year-old German zoologist named Dr. Oskar Böttger. Due to his agoraphobia, he found himself confined to his surroundings, unable to undertake his work directly at the bustling Senckenberg Museum, despite being honored to lead its esteemed herpetological collection. The museum was renowned worldwide for its dedication to the study of reptiles, a passion that coursed through Böttger's veins.
As he sat at his sturdy wooden desk, surrounded by shelves lined with glass-fronted cabinets, the afternoon light spilled through the window, illuminating an array of specimens meticulously organized before him. His assistant had just came from the museum, delivering a precious collection of reptiles and amphibians gathered from Syria, Palestine, and Cyprus. The specimens had been carefully collected by esteemed colleagues: Hans Simon, Friedrich Lange, Wilhelm Schlüter, and Dr. Jacob Vladimirovich von Bediaga—all relentless in their pursuit of knowledge and discovery.
Among the collection, two specimens caught Böttger's keen eye—chameleons from Palestine that resonated with an ancient history. He marveled at their distinct features, aware that these creatures were descendants of the very witnesses who had stood in the presence of Jesus Christ and his apostles. It was extraordinary to think that these chameleons had survived through centuries, their existence a testament to resilience and continuity.
As he examined the chameleons closely, Böttger observed subtle differences that set them apart from other populations of the same species. Their unique features hinted at a heritage steeped in the narratives of faith and transformation. Inspired by this revelation, he assigned them the subspecies epithet "recticrista," meaning "straightened crest" in homage to their distinct physiological traits.
In that moment, the connection between the past and present surged through him. These humble reptiles had witnessed monumental changes in the world, just as they had once silently observed the wonder and turmoil surrounding the events of Easter. Drawing parallels between their nature and the dualities of humanity—good and evil, light and darkness—Böttger reflected on the lessons of observation and caution he had learned from the stories of the chameleon.
Though he may have been confined within the walls of his apartment, Dr. Oskar Böttger understood that even in isolation, knowledge could transcend barriers. The chameleons, descendants of the silent witnesses of history, inspired him to continue his work with renewed vigor. He felt a profound duty to honor their legacy, committed to studying the extraordinary stories encapsulated in their scaly forms.
Enlightened and filled with a sense of wonder, Dr. Oskar Böttger stared down at his notebook, where a miracle seemed to unfold before his eyes. The letters he had just inscribed with his goose feather quill—precisely aligned as German writing should be—began to dance off the lines, swirling and regrouping as if they were whispering secrets to him. It was an unearthly moment, imbued with the majestic story he had been contemplating.
Suddenly, the word "recticrista" revealed its deeper meaning. He recalled that "rectus" did not merely mean "straight," but also "direct" or "directly." The word echoed in his mind, intertwining with another thought. "Regnum," he remembered, meant "the Kingdom." The sound of the second part of his writing reminded him of "Jesus Christus"—the German pronunciation hinting at a connection he hadn't fully appreciated until now.
His thoughts raced as memories of his friend, Dr. Jacob Vladimirovich von Bediaga, passed through his mind. A Russian scholar with a keen intellect, Bedriaga might have illuminated this realization: "Hey, Oskar, do you know that the Russian word 'крест' (krest), similar in sound to 'Christ,' actually means 'cross'?" He envisioned Bedriaga continuing, "Moreover, the verb 'крестить' means 'to baptize.' "
Moved by the profound implications, Oskar felt a wave of emotion wash over him. The act of naming the Palestinian chameleon "recticrista" had turned into something much larger—a coded message for future generations. It was as if he were proclaiming, "This is the chameleon coming directly from the Kingdom of Jesus Christ on the Cross."
In that moment of revelation, a deep conviction surged within him. He decided to keep this insight a secret, hoping that someday, future scholars of biology and linguistics would uncover the spiritual significance behind the name. He felt that he had unwittingly participated in a divine dialogue, and that the Highest Superpower had supervised this act of creation.
Oskar took a moment to pray, feeling gratitude swell in his heart. He relished the beauty of this unexpected spiritual journey before he gently set aside his notebook and returned to his work, inspired by the intertwining threads of science and faith that had unexpectedly revealed themselves in his life's pursuit.
As night fell and the stars began to twinkle over Frankfurt, Böttger closed his journals, content with the knowledge that the stories of the past continued to live on through the creatures of the present. With every chameleon he studied, he recognized the beauty in their complexity—a reminder that understanding the natural world required patience, observation, and an acknowledgment of the countless tales that shaped it.
Boettger, O. 1880. Die Reptilien und Amphibien von Syrien, Palaestina und Cypern. Ber. Senckenb. Naturforsch. Ges., Frankfurt/M., 1879-1880: 132-219