Eco-Justice
Commentary on the Common Lectionary for the Sundays after Epiphany, 2017
By
Dennis Ormseth
Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany
(January 29)
Micah 6:1-8
Psalm 15
I Corinthians 1:18-31
Matthew 5:1-12
“Hear,
you mountains, the controversy of the Lord, and you enduring foundations of the
earth; for the Lord has a controversy with his people and he will contend with
Israel” (Micah 6:2). The prophet's
evocation of mountains and “enduring foundations of the earth” in the opening
verses of our first reading this Sunday invites consideration of the texts for
the day as material for the quest for what Larry Rasmussen calls an
“Earth-honoring Faith.” (Earth-honoring Faith: Religious Ethics in a New Key. Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 2013). With his metaphor of a trial in which God
contends with God's people, the prophet couples testimony concerning God's
works on behalf of Israel to the judgment of the mountains and the earth's very
foundations. The significance of this
linkage of God's testimony and the mountains' judgment lies deeper than mere
rhetorical device, however. The passage
is one of three texts that Walter Breuggeman cites in an exposition of Jahweh's
“righteousnesses.” Following Paul Ricoeur, Brueggeman argues that the “matrix
of trial-witness-testimony” provides a powerful perspective on the theology of
the Hebrew bible. Memories of past
events are “all now regarded as acts of transformation wrought by Yahweh on
behalf of Israel, all making it possible for Israel to have a chance of well-being
in the world” (Brueggemann, Theology of the Old Testament: Testimony, Dispute, Advocacy.
Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1997, pp.131-32).
In its worship of Jahweh, Brueggemann writes,
“Israel engaged the
great memories of its core testimony in which the God of Israel's most
elemental testimony is taken with definitional seriousness in the present. That core testimony includes both Yahweh as
the One who intrudes into Israel's public experience in dramatic ways, and
Yahweh as the One who sanctions and maintains Israel's life-giving home of
creation” (p. 679).
Here is faith, then, that honors the earth,
even as it honors Earth's Creator. It is
worth noting that according to Micah's oracle, such well-being is not merely a
matter of acquiring great wealth. The
cultic sacrifice of “thousand of rams' and ten thousands of rivers of
oil,” which would presuppose such
wealth, is not what God seeks from God's people. What God requires, and not just of Israel,
but of all humans (“O mortal,” adam,) is “to do justice, and to love
kindness, and to walk humbly with your God.” (6:8). “It belongs to the character of the human
creature, ” Brueggemann concludes with respect to the relationship of humans to
the creation,
that humanness means to hear and obey the
elemental, world-defining, world-sustaining, world-ordering will of Jahweh for
justice and holiness.
The practice of holiness concerns the
disciplined awareness that life is to be ordered with the profound
acknowledgment that the core of reality lies outside self and is not given over
to human control. . . . The practice of justice, in concrete ways, is the
enactment of Yahweh's sedaqah, whereby the cosmos can be ordered for
life, and whereby the human community can be kept viable and generative.
Accordingly, the verbs in Genesis 1 and 2
which authorize humans to “have dominion” over creation “suggest not
exploitative, self-aggrandizing use of the earth, but gentle care for and
enhancement of the earth and all its creatures” (Brueggemann, p. 460-61).
Thus the prophet's oracle does indeed
adumbrate an “Earth-honoring faith”, a faith, in Rasmussen's definition, that
“is life-centered, justice-committed, and Earth-honoring, with a moral universe
encompassing the whole community of life, the biosphere and atmosphere together
as the ecosphere.” And it is the mountains of the prophet's metaphor that carry
this meaning. While the specific mountains which the prophet might have had in
mind perhaps include only those from the great narrative of God's works ( the
Ark lands on Ararat, God tests Abraham on the mountain in Moriah, God reveals
Godself to Elijah on Mt Carmel and Mt. Horeb, and prominently here in Micah,
Moses received the Torah on Mt. Sinai, “up from Egypt”) what renders them
trustworthy judges of both human and divine affairs is not limited to such
associations. It is in their universal nature that mountains transcend the
plain where life is normally lived, and they endure through all generations as
well. Additionally, their remoteness from human community is also surely
significant. They are part of that “wild nature” that compels us (in
Christopher Southgate’s phrase), to “quiet the thunder of our own ambitions,
our own worship both of God and of idols”, so that the mountains’ praise of God
“can be itself without our distorting it.” Ideally, their witness can be
counted upon to be free of human taint, as Southgate comments: “We should long
to hear that praise as the earliest humans heard it, and make space in our
lives and our world to ensure that we do” (The Groaning of Creation: God, Evolution, and the Problem of Evil. Louisville,
Kentucky: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008, p. 114).
Indeed, when approached from the viewpoint of
contemporary ecology, “making space” in nature is an essential aspect of what
mountains “do.” A mountain constitutes a
special, whole ecosystem that incorporates in a representative way many biotic
subsystems—ranging in some instances from arctic to subtropical and
tropical—into a life-giving and sustaining whole that passes through the
several ranges and seasons of life. What one learns from reading that ecology
is relevant not only to the immediate site under examination, but can be
extended to other regions as well, indeed in some aspects to the entire globe. The measurements taken by ecologists of the
decline of mountain glaciers and the river systems that flow from them, for
example, contribute to their understanding of the dynamics of global climate
change. Thus to those who know how to listen, the mountain speaks, as it were,
about the possibilities of well being, in Rasmussen's phrase, of “the whole community of life, the
biosphere and atmosphere together as the ecosphere.”
Does the mountain which Jesus' ascends to
teach his disciples in this Sunday's Gospel bear such significance? The linkage of these texts in the lectionary
suggests this possibility, and in Warren Carter's view, the Evangelist appears
to recognize this significance of the mountains as well. As Carter notes, the
mountain is “a location invested with multiple meanings” in the Gospel. Jesus' ministry is in fact a mountain
oriented affair: after feeding five thousand Jesus retreats “up the mountain by
himself to pray” (14:23); having passed
along the Sea of Galilee, he again ascends “the mountain” where he heals “the
lame, the maimed, the blind, the mute, and many others' and again feeds a great
crowd, this time four thousand (15:29-39); it is “up a high mountain” that
Jesus leads Peter, James and John where he “was transfigured before them” (17:1);
he initiates the events of his final confrontation with authorities from “the
Mount of Olives” (21:1 and 24:3); and it is from “the mountain to which Jesus
had directed them, that he commissions their great outreach “to all nations”
(28:16-20).
Mountains thus signal dimensions of justice,
mercy, holiness and universality in Jesus ministry. Just previous to this ascent to teach, Carter
emphasizes, from the mountain “the devil offered Jesus 'all the kingdoms/empires
of the world',” and by contrast, “on this mountain, Jesus will manifest God's
reign/empire.” As Jesus recapitulates
Moses' and Israel's experience, escaping from Egypt (2:15), passing through
water (3:13-17), encountering temptation (4:1-11),” That Jesus now goes “up the mountain” to teach
his disciples thus alerts us to the significance of the event: Jesus is to
deliver a new law that will be as important for life in the coming kingdom of
God as the law given to Moses was for the people of Israel, as they prepared to
enter their promised land. Jesus’ followers will appropriately remember this
teaching as “the Sermon on the Mount.”
If “the mountain” which Jesus ascends carries
the significance of Micah's “mountains,” as we have suggested, can we hope that
the teaching he offers would also provide support for an “Earth-honoring
faith?” We of course cannot expect the
teaching to directly address aspects of the environmental crisis of our
day; we seek rather to “interrogate”
this particular “past tradition of spirituality,” as Rasmussen puts it, in a
reexamination of the “'normative gaze' that frames and guides feeling and
thought alike” (Rasmussen, p. 45).” Does
the teaching “alert us to past pitfalls?”
Does it “illumine our responsibility, offer wellsprings of hope, and
generate renewable moral/spiritiual energy for hard seasons ahead?” (Rasmussen,
p. 81).
In order to carry out this “interrogation”
with respect to not only this Sunday's Gospel, but those of the following three
Sundays which also belong to the Sermon on the Mount, and then the “summit” of
the Sunday of the Transfiguration, it will be helpful first to draw out more
broadly what Rasmussen means by “Earth-honoring faith” for our time.In his
chapter on “The Faith We Seek,” he draws these several insights from the
Christian theological tradition, represented preeminently here by Saints
Augustine and Ambrose, and Reinhold Niebuhr: such a faith, he writes, not only
savors life, but seeks to save life. It
sees in a “redeemed Earth as paradise” an alternative to the false paradise
offered by human empires. It regards as fundamental to “common Earthly good”
the “'minimal livability necessary so that [the] individual good' of every
creature can be pursued.” Such faith
grants “moral citizenship” to all God's creatures, as key to addressing our
denial of empathy for them. It
acknowledges the “species pride and arrogance” of humans that denies the
“profound interconnectedness of all life processes and creatures.” It sees that
the great imbalances of power in society correlate strongly with the
destruction of nature, as one group seeks to exploit nature for the resources
to dominate over others. Often more covert than overt, the exercise of such
power “nurtures self-delusion” on the part of those who wield it. Such faith thus recognizes in democracy both
the means of checking on “the ever-present imperial impulses in human nature,”
but also a source of the delusion of innocence which fails to recognize that
imperialism, as it flows from disproportions of power. It will see in “our present Earth/human
relationship” . . the modern/eco-modern version of perhaps the longest-lived
and most oppressive ethic of all: the
ethic of master and slaves,” “applied now to other-than-human nature. As it grasps the core reality that “the Earth
belongs to all and all belongs to Earth, which belongs to God,” it will
“rightly name the injuries of nature at our hands 'sin' and the abuse of power”
Matthew will also report that Jesus “went up the mountain” six times, referring
to Mt. Zion (Carter, Matthew and the Margins: A sociopolitical and Religious Reading. Maryknoll,
New York: Orbis Books, 2000, p. 129-30).
(Rasmussen, pp. 80-104). Finally,
Earth-honoring faith lives by grace. Life is a gift and a sacred trust. We did not create it, not a single blade of
grass, nor do we earn it. It bears its
own power, an energy that courses through the cosmos and nature as we know it.
It is a power by which life creates the conditions conducive to its own
continuation, a rooted confidence that life has what it takes to press on in
the face of assault and uncertainty (Rasmussen, p. 105).
Thus we can ask: Does Jesus’ teaching
constitute support for such justice for the whole of creation? Does it foster
“a loving kindness” for all creatures? Does it promote a humility appropriate
to life lived in the presence of its Creator?
Warren Carter, whose exegesis of the Sermon
we follow here (Matthew and the Margins, pp. 130 –37), proposes that the
beatitudes concern “primarily God’s favor for certain human actions and situations
(Ps 1:1-2) . . . Beatitudes are directed to the present and future ages.” The
nine blessings of the Sermon identify and affirm certain situations and actions
as signs of the coming of God’s reign, present or future. They “reassure those
who already experience the circumstances or manifest the particular behavior
that God’s favor is or will be on them.” Our question, then, is does that favor
reflect an awareness of the implications of those circumstances and behaviors,
beyond the human, for all creation? In other words, does God really care about
the well being of the mountain and the Earth which it represents?
“Blessed are the poor
in spirit,” Jesus begins. The “poor in spirit,” argues
Carter, “are those who are economically poor and whose spirits or being are
crushed by economic injustice. They can see no hope, but they know the
corrosive effect of hopeless poverty. They are described in several psalms as
oppressed by the wicked” (Carter, p. 131).
We recognize here the imbalance of concentrated power, which renders
“spiritless” those who suffer such deprivations. The issue here is one of
totally negative expectations regarding the fulfillment of the promise of
well-being, which from time to time dominates the spirit of an individual or
community. This is a condition experienced by people who are “without resources
and hope, subject to larger forces that seem beyond reach,” but also by their
advocates which the powerful in an oppressive political arena refuse to hear.
It is, significantly with respect to our concern for care of creation, the
condition often experienced in our culture by people who care passionately
about Earth and its non-human inhabitants. Their advocacy on behalf of the
‘non-human other’ seems so entirely futile, because the lives of the creatures
that are the focus of their concern and love are threatened so relentlessly.
The powerful appear so thoroughly indifferent to their fate, maintaining
policies that are completely controlled by their own self-interests. The
judgment articulated by Carter fits both oppressed humans and dominated nature
equally well: “Denied justice, adequate resources, wholeness, and subject to
the power of the ruling elite, there is no hope of change. Unless God
intervenes” (Carter, p. 132).
Will God intervene? Jesus promises not only
that God will, but that God is intervening: the poor in spirit are
blessed because the kingdom of heaven is now theirs. The deficit of
spirit is made up with the presence of God in the very company of Jesus' in
which they participate. The hopeless poor are blessed (see 5:3) because
in their very struggles God is in the process of liberating them. Indeed, even as they mourn what they have
lost to “the destructive impact of imperial powers,” they are lifted out of an
oppression that is seen to be against God's gracious will, and thus should be
greatly and deeply mourned. Their mourning is in fact a sign of the enduring
vitality of their spirit, however diminished in strength. They mourn because
they love, and have suffered the loss of what they love. The Comforter, the
Spirit who is the giver and sustainer of all life, comforts them in their
mourning.
While these first two beatitudes thus respond
to the spiritual deficit experienced by mourning humans, the next one addresses
more squarely their embodied situation in creation, and suggests a course of
action to address and remedy their loss. Jesus continues: “Blessed are the
meek,” those who give place to others and thus show appropriate respect for
their need of that place for their existence, or more precisely in Rasmussen's
careful phrase, they act to foster that
“minimal livability necessary so that [the] individual good' of every creature
can be pursued.” The behavior of “the meek” is an implicitly but nevertheless
profoundly “ecological” way of being in community. It is the human analog to
the manifold space-creating ecology of the mountain. Indeed, it is what God
does in creation. The blessing is appropriate: “they shall inherit the earth.”
As Carter insists, ‘this is not to be spiritualized. God, not the meek, will
overthrow the elite so that all may use the earth (Ps 37:10-11).” But neither
is this to be limited anthropocentrically. “The present inequitable access to
land, based on exploitative societal relationships will end. The earth and its
resources belong to God (Gen 1; Ps 24:1).” “humans are to nurture it (Gen
1:28-31) as a basis for a community in which all have access to necessary
resources . . . Earth, then, refers not only to the land of Israel but to all
of God’s creation” (p. 133).
So also, accordingly, blessed are those “who
hunger and thirst for righteousness”—understood here as existence in the
community of creation characterized by right relationships, including adequate
resources for living (space, water, energy, sustenance)--they “will be filled.”
And, we would add, fulfilled: “for those who show mercy will receive
mercy,” not just from God, but reciprocally in a community of practical and
active love. The “pure in heart,” humans whose external actions are consistent
with internal commitments and motivations, but also in relation to non-humans
whose external life conforms to the purposes God has installed in their very
nature—they will all together “see God,” as God inhabits these righteous
relationships. And, finally, blessed are the makers of peace: certainly not the
peace of the Roman Empire’s “order, security, and prosperity”; nor, for that
matter, the peace of the American empire
with its exhaustive quest to secure resources that now extends out into the
cosmos beyond Earth. Rather, the reference is to God’s “cosmic peace in
which all things are in just relation with each other and their creator.”
Called children of God, the identity of peacemakers is shaped by neither
ethnicity nor species-being, but rather by conformity to the self-giving
pattern of the triune God.
Which brings us to
the final two beatitudes: “Blessed are those who are persecuted for
righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are you when
people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you
falsely on my account. Rejoice and be
glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted
the prophets who were before you” (5:10-11). Jesus returns here to the power
struggle identified in the first two beatitudes, that of encountering the
overwhelming opposition which the forces of the status quo, with “its
commitments, power structures, and beneficiaries,” mount against the just and
reconciling way of life envisioned in these beatitudes. “The empire will
certainly strike back” warns Carter. But the reward of those persecuted on
account of Jesus is, again, “the kingdom
of heaven.” Indeed, says Jesus, “rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great
in heaven,” that is, in God's presence, God’s own righteous response to the
faithfulness that such action exhibits. The reviled participate in the
“completion of God’s purposes, enjoying the fullness of God’s presence and
empire” (Carter, p. 136). These last two
beatitudes thus clearly anticipate Jesus' own persecution and death, in which,
as our second reading from I Corinthians reminds us, “the power of God and the
wisdom of God,” divine “foolishness”
that is “wiser than human wisdom,” and holy “weakness” that is “stronger than
human strength,” are manifest in
“righteousness and sanctification and redemption.” It is in this power that the restoration of
all creation will be accomplished; and to share in this power is to be
empowered in God's love for the creation.
