and Jeremiah 4:23-28; Romans 8:18-23; Psalm 96
by Nick Utphall, preached July 29, 2018
This Social Statement is a sixth as long as the one
on education, but death penalty and racism are shorter. Still, this gets bonus
points in my book because it’s got to address—by definition—Everything.
This isn’t a confineable topic,
even compared to the not-so-narrow topics of how society relates to the half
the population of one gender, or what to do about wars that take up billions of
dollars of our federal budget. Not that those are piddly things and this is
frying bigger fish. It’s that they’re all in the same barrel. By definition,
creation means everything that’s not the Creator. So it includes fish and
barrels and humans of whatever gender doing whatever we do to each other on
this little planet amid the inconceivably vast universe and maybe multiverses.
All of that in 12 pages of Social Statement.
Remarkable economy, if you ask
me. I appreciate lots crammed into little space, though I can’t quite manage in
this sermon the proportion of this Social Statement to the long ones, because it
would be shorter than the mini mini sermons for midweek worship and I’d already
be done. So I’d better get going.
I explicitly connect this to
other Social Statements so we don’t wind up with a sense that this is something
separate, that when we talk about creation we mean gardens and forests and giraffes
and climate change, but don’t as clearly mean farmers and women who have to
walk farther to haul water and national security and genetics and how we treat
people in prisons. But this is all connected. I really appreciate this Social
Statement for understanding that. When Pope Francis’ environmental encyclical
came out in 2015, it made a splash for tying together ecological concerns and
human rights. Well, the ELCA has known intersectional ecojustice for a quarter
century at least, not only caring for animals or separating out human needs as
if they’re extraterrestrial, somehow disconnected to life on this planet.
Though the MCC regularly
recognizes such relatedness of God, neighbor, and creation, still I expect the
Jeremiah reading felt uncomfortable and kind of bleak. But don’t think of it as
God’s wrath to start. Instead observe consequences to misbehavior and living
apart from God’s intentions: God wouldn’t be very loving if there were no
repercussions for how we lived, no possible mournful result, and having license
to mistreat others wouldn’t do well to fulfill God’s intentions, either. When
we ignore God, farm fields do indeed dry up and wither. When we attend to God’s
ways, life flourishes.
At the Capital biergarten Bible
discussion on Wednesday, Kathy Henning said Jeremiah reminded her of the start
of Silent Spring, Rachel Carson’s
groundbreaking 1962 book. Here is an excerpt so you can hear what Kathy meant:
There was a town in the heart of America where all life seemed to live
in harmony with its surroundings, in the midst of prosperous farms, with fields
of grain and hillsides of orchards where, in spring, white clouds of bloom
drifted above the green fields. Even in winter countless birds came to feed on
the berries and on the seed heads of the dried weeds rising above the snow.
Then a strange blight crept over the area and everything began to
change. Mysterious maladies swept the flocks of chickens; the cattle and sheep
sickened and died. The farmers spoke of much illness among their families. The
doctors had become more and more puzzled by new kinds of sickness appearing
among their patients.
There was a strange stillness. The birds, for example where had they
gone? It was a spring without voices. On the mornings that had once throbbed
with the dawn chorus of robins, catbirds, doves, jays, wrens, and scores of
other bird voices there was now no sound; only silence lay over the fields and
woods and marsh.
No witchcraft, no enemy action had silenced the rebirth of new life in
this stricken world. The people had done it themselves.
Do you hear the resonance with Jeremiah? Rachel
Carson wasn’t writing a spiritual fiction about punishment from God. She was describing
the detrimental effects of our use of pesticides like DDT. Certainly we people
of faith would say that God continues the creative work of songs and colors and
life and so strongly disfavors the causes of mysterious maladies and sick
children or dying chickens, the barrenness and blight that Jeremiah also
pictured. The effects of our actions were harming God’s good creation. The
Social Statement describes this as rebellion against God, which leads to experiencing
“disrupted nature [as] a judgment on our unfaithfulness as stewards.”
But it doesn’t end bleak. Like
the Social Statement, Rachel Carson moved from a description of destruction and
lack of faith toward life restored, freed from the bondage to decay. Paralleling
the glimmer of prophetic hope, where Jeremiah sees all has not been completely
destroyed, the vision of Silent Spring
fostered the turning of culture away from DDT, re-filling spring days in the countryside
with song.
The book provoked a revolutionary
environmental movement, eventually calling us into things like Earth Day, the
Endangered Species Act, the Environmental Protection Agency, and Clean Air and
Water Acts. We should remember, much of that was signed under a not-very-eager
President Nixon.
Since then, other cries and other
crises have arisen. When the Social Statement was written in 1993, the hole in
the ozone was seen as a catastrophic problem. Yet a global agreement meant that
what was eating away at our atmosphere to allow in harmful radiation would be
banned and the air could begin to heal. God’s intention could be restored. Destruction
was not the end.
Again, in 1993, global warming
was seen on the same level as the ozone hole. We managed to address one problem
with a global agreement, and needed another revolution on the scale of
prohibiting chemical corporations to profit from DDT, but in climate change have
chipped away at the edges. We read the—not bleak but urgent—words in our
Confession that “action to counter degradation, especially within this decade, is essential,” but two and a half
times that span has passed and we are still needing to compel ourselves and
others to the essential action.
A revolution producing global
agreement to preserve the life of vulnerable humans and prevent the extinction
of thousands of species is certainly not easy. As with the other Social Statements,
that’s recognized here. But our faith is never about simple solutions to small
potatoes problems. This is always big stuff, life-and-death, enormous tragic
wrongs countered with even more powerful love, destructive evils versus
creative life, and all founded in our God who is “deeply, mysteriously, and
unceasingly involved.”
Though facing similarly weighty
and fretful ethical dilemmas as other Social Statements, this one may even more
recognize despair, the sense that we can’t make a difference, that the crisis
is too big, that the resolution is too far off.
Yet we are people of hope. The
creation waits for us, groaning with eager longing. It is not only we who have
faith, but the stones crying out, and dogs going into the kingdom of heaven,
and valleys waiting to bloom and rejoice, and the trees to clap their hands,
and everything in the seas with their coral reefs acidifying. They wait in
hope, a glorious hope that may be unseen but will not disappoint.
And so we act. We act, Romans
reminds us, even through suffering.
Now, I don’t know if Peter Bakken
would say it was suffering to help write this social statement, but it
certainly has helped bring important actions to birth. Rachel Carson faced
loads of ostracism and even threats for her work. President Nixon probably had
some of his own disgruntled suffering. For me, I can’t say that my biking to
reduce fossil fuel use has been too much suffering this past week, with such
pleasant summer days. It was no great struggle to be out with Kids in the
Garden this week. My decision not to eat much meat doesn’t feel fitting for a
metaphor of labor pains. Neither is my suffering of choosing to act analogous
with those who suffer from inaction, whose homes are inundated by hurricanes or
wildfires, whose song goes silent as they are overrun by a greedy economy,
whose bodies are poisoned to the confusion of doctors or veterinarians or
biologists.
But I do trust my kinship with
all of these, knowing their need from sound science, trusting our relationship
through Christ our sibling, with compassion breathed into us anew by the
life-giving Spirit that compels our concern and energizes our action, the
creative possibilities that stretch in front of us, founded by and resulting in
God’s goodness, our true and vital source and goal, our sure home. That is the
end.
We heard in the Social Statement’s
conclusion: “The prospect of doing too little too late leads many people to
despair. But as people of faith, captives of hope, and vehicles of God’s
promise, we face the crisis. We claim the promise.” Vehicles of promise. That
sounds like the most environmentally-sensitive vehicle there could be. And I
rejoice in being aboard with you.