- You will forget that you are wandering. One day you will be walking through Matagalpa and give someone directions without thinking and you’ll know which is the best bakery and you will walk through the city without a jacket when it rains.
- You will know who your friends are. This does not mean that you will discover who is not your friend—instead you will be buoyed by your beloveds from afar on tough days. They will send you cat photos and jokes and good articles, and remind you of your spirit.
- You will walk through Matalgalpa at night by yourself and suddenly everything you’ve been working on in therapy for the last three years will click into place and you will feel the strength of your heart and will not be afraid.
- You will make friends whenever you open your heart up to new people. You will meet Megan at an art gallery when she asks “Gringa or Nica” and then you will spend a week trying to figure out how you didn’t know her before. You will meet Itsel and her family on the side of a mountain when you can’t breath and your heart needs a boost. You will have dinner with Erika the night when all you want is a friend to have ice cream and a beer for dinner with and that is what you’ll have and you’ll remember that no one really knows what they’re doing anyway.
- You will drink too much Coca-Cola with real sugar and small loaves of bread. You will forget to bring water on your runs and you will get dehydrated.
- You will forget the English words for indignity and suffering and tolerance.
- You will walk down a mountain barefoot, remembering that every rock is sacred. You will take your time and fall in love with the dirt that gets ingrained between your toes.
- One day you will be sitting in the garden and the sun will be peeking over the roof and you will get an email with a poem from your mentor and you will burst into tears in gratitude for this space and time… and for emails with poems that always arrive just when they are needed… and you will be grateful that this mentor has spent hours sorting out concepts of place, home, earth, and self.
- Your heart will break open with fear and mourning and grief. You will hold onto a longing for what cannot be, and you will offer that pain to the earth again and again, not because it will not take it but because you keep snatching it back.
- Your heart will hold so much joy that you feel like your skin might burst.
- You will be lonely some nights, so much that the tears you hold back will be a flood. You will sit with that loneliness and find strength in your own vulnerability. You’ll still be lonely, but then you will remember to text your people and Skype your parents, and you’ll be grateful.
- One night you will be painting a llama and singing to yourself and discerning some big questions, and your mentor will send you a poem at that moment and you will realize that you are grateful beyond words for a mentor who has almost singlehandedly reshaped your sense of people of a certain gender and age.
- You will run up a mountain and walk next to a river and count bridges. Dogs will bark at you.
- You will yell in Spanish at a man who thinks you need help. You will dream in Spanish about ecofeminism. You will bless the work of the land in Spanish.
- You will cut open your foot, skin your knee, get the flu twice, fall down the stairs twice, split your toe, and burn your eyebrow. You will keep getting back up, ready to face the world.
|
0 Comments
originally published at http://justiceunbound.org/carousel/dont-let-the-stones-cry-out-in-your-place/
co-authored with Aric Clark. There is no debate about climate change. We’re not talking about the fact that the scientific consensus is overwhelming (though that’s true). We’re talking about the fact that climate change wasn’t the subject of a single question during the presidential debates. Our political discourse right now is deafeningly silent about the gravest danger facing our entire species. This is a silence that must be broken. And if this election season has taught us anything about climate change, it’s that neither major presidential candidate sees it as a political priority. Which means it is up to the church to start making some noise. Average atmospheric energy is increasing, dramatically. The words “existential threat” having been employed hyperbolically for so long now seem quaintly inadequate to describe the scale of the challenge climate change poses to the world. In just the last month, global air pollution passed the 400 parts per million (ppm) of emissions in the atmosphere, an irreversible benchmark of the catastrophe we’ve created for ourselves. We can now anticipate sea-rise and temperature increases that will change the state of our living and the lives of our future generations. No longer can we hope to pass legislation that will keep pollution at the 350ppm level, the level climate scientists believed was the limit of what could be reversed. So we’ve played God and created a new Earth for ourselves – and not a better one like the Earth envisioned in the Biblical Prophets and the Book of Revelation. Furthermore, it is the most vulnerable people on the planet who will suffer first and worst. That makes this a specifically Christian challenge. As a church, we are called to love and serve the “least of these,” understanding that our own salvation is bound up with their deliverance from bondage. Christ, himself a refugee at birth, calls us to serve the poor and to ease their suffering. Out of this call to love each other and care for creation and the poor comes a mandate to respond politically as well as spiritually. As Reformed Christians we know that our faith and actions, including our votes, should actively contribute to building the kindom of God on Earth. If we are to mitigate the worst impacts of climate change, those of us committed to creation care will have a lot of work to do building a sense of urgency, whoever is elected in November. One would think the church would be well situated for this sort of consensus-building work. Churches are often intergenerational gathering places; communities where commitment to volunteerism and organizing toward the common good thrives. However, churches can also be places that are conflict averse, or places where analysis paralysis reigns. When that happens, the church falls as silent as our political leaders. In order for the church to play the role it is called to play in the movement for climate justice, we who comprise the church will need to build up our tolerance for conflict and hone our sense of purpose. But even as we do build up that tolerance for the long haul, we can still find places of substantial agreement in the conversation about climate change. As Christians we believe in a common and a particular call to care for people who are vulnerable. So, let us begin there. In broad strokes, we suggest thinking about caring for creation in relationship with refugees, the poorest two-thirds of the world, and children as places where the church can and must raise its moral voice about climate change. RefugeesWhile climate change has received almost no attention during this election cycle, refugees have been a continual subject of interest. The xenophobia which has driven the debate around refugees and immigration has obscured the fact that climate change is part of what starts these crises, as in Syria, for example. Starting in 2006, Syria suffered the worst drought it has experienced in 900 years. The drought drove people from the agricultural countryside into the city and increased tension. Climate scientists have argued that the drought was caused by permanent changes in precipitation patterns brought on by climate change. But it is not just Syria. All of the refugee and migrant crises happening in the Middle East and Europe have been heavily impacted by conflicts over fossil fuels in the region. The same is true here in the Americas, where we recently faced the need to resettle the first American climate change refugees. At this very moment a dramatic standoff is occurring in North Dakota, where indigenous people are resisting the construction of a new pipeline which endangers the entire Missouri River watershed. As our demand for fossil fuels increases, so will the often-violent conflict over supplies and the number of people trying to escape that violence. As sea levels rise, coastlines will shrink. More and more refugees will need to seek out new homes because of political pressure caused by the deterioration of the environment. Will the church in America be silent as the largest migrations in human history take place? We who have been commanded to welcome aliens, who indeed believe that the stranger and the Christ are one and the same, will we not make hospitality our hallmark? The Poorest Two-Thirds of the WorldIn 2015, National Geographic wrote a piece on how climate change will affect the world’s poorest, particularly through increasing food prices as climate change makes it harder to grow food. We already know that people who are poor and people in developing countries will suffer the worst from climate change, even as they have contributed the least to rising carbon emissions. For example, Hurricane Matthew – which wasn’t necessarily intensified by climate change – still shows us the future of climate change’s impact. In Haiti, nearly 1000 people were killed, and those who survive now face the loss of crops and an outbreak of cholera. In Florida and other parts of the United States, about three dozen were killed. Any loss of life from a hurricane is devastating, but the stark contrast in these numbers shows the difference in resilience between a country without much infrastructure and a country with the economic and social capacity to survive. Will the church in America be silent while the poor bear the brunt of the consequences for our over-consumption? How does this square with our biblical mandate to care for the poor? Will we not make economic justice the centerpiece of our public lives? ChildrenFinally, we both have children in our lives who we love very much. Aric has two children and Abby has three nephews, two nieces, and a godson. When we dream of a world for these little growing ones, we wonder how climate change will affect them. As the climate changes, how will that impact their ability to live safe, healthy, and abundant lives? What hopes will they be able to trust in? Who will make local, regional, and global policies which will take their futures into account? What is our responsibility as people of the United States and as Christians as we seek a world for them? In September, China and the United States ratified the Paris Accords, landmark because these are the two largest carbon emitters. Their (our) commitment to work to keep the planet under a two-degree increase in temperature is imperative if we are to see meaningful and effective global response to climate change. But, as we approach the presidential election, we are faced with a choice between a candidate who will support climate action and a candidate who believes climate change is a hoax. It is necessary for us to speak up if we want a world that’s inhabitable by our descendants in one hundred years. Will the church in America be silent while the hope of future generations is squandered? We who have been commanded not only to care for the little children, but to become like them, will we not prioritize their welfare over our comfort? ***** The fact that climate change will disproportionately harm the vulnerable of this world – refugees, people who are poor, children, and others – places a strong obligation on the church to act courageously. However, as people of faith, it is important that we recognize the devastation of creation is a theological crisis as well. God has not only created this Earth and declared it good, God has also summoned us to love the Earth and to spend our lives in harmonious enjoyment of God’s good gifts. Our vocation to love creation is a full-self call: to love creation with our whole heart and soul and bodies, with our buying and moving and voting. When we fail to love the Earth as an end in itself, and instead treat our only home as a bottomless well of mineral wealth, we pollute God’s creative vision, reject God’s providential care, and imperil God’s forthcoming shalom. The Bible reminds us that if we do not do the work of the Gospel, even the rocks will cry out. In fact, the ecological crisis is so bad that the rocks do cry out – in earthquakes. The seas cry out in rising tides and melting icebergs. The air cries out in those 400ppm of carbon. All of creation’s cries and groans are the echoes of the cries of refugees, people who are poor, and the children of the planet. Our work in responding to these cries must be taken up in the church and in the world through prayer, organizing, protest, and in the voting booth. The author would like to note that the opinions expressed here are the author’s alone.
When I came to General Assembly, I’d already spent three years of my life working on divestment from fossil fuels. Fossil Free PCUSA was born in 2013, and in the last year we’ve worked with Presbyterians around country to organize 31 presbyteries to concur with the overture On PC(USA) Fossil Fuel Divestment(9-01). Nine moderators of past General Assemblies have also signed a letter in support of divestment. A couple of months ago at the NEXT Church Conference, I ran into my friend Rob Fohr, a staff member for Mission Responsibility Through Investments (MRTI), the committee that was tasked with responding to the 221st General Assembly overture on divestment. Rob and I talked about how we wanted to make the conversation about divestment from fossil fuels a faithful and civil conversation. So Rob introduced me to Mike Cole, from New Covenant Presbytery. New Covenant Presbytery had put together three overtures that offered alternatives to divestment. ___________________________________________ If we make money from fossil fuel companies, it doesn’t matter if we put that money back into local food or hybrid cars or recycled paper—it’s money that comes from companies that burn fossil fuels and wreak havoc on the planet. ___________________________________________ Abby Mohaupt and Mike Cole Photo: The Presbyterian Outlook Mike and Rob and I (and several others) talked and worked together to prepare for General Assembly. And since we’ve been here, together (with Kerri Allen), we presented to the Young Adult Advisory Delegates. Together we prepared to talk to the Theological School Advisory Delegates. And Mike and I bought donuts for the whole committee 9 when we met with several committee members to talk about the overtures we supported. It continues to be a gift to know each of these people, and I’m honored to call them my friends. Later in Committee 9, I spoke as an overture advocate for 9-01, on behalf of 31 Presbyteries with almost 400,000 members saying: As a teaching elder, I often talk with Presbyterians about how the authors of Genesis put forth our original vocation as human beings—to love creation—and that that love for creation is a response to God’s love for us. In the New Testament, Jesus reminds us that the greatest commandment is about love: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your being, and all your strength.” (Matthew 22, Common English Bible) We have to love God and creation with our whole selves. Climate change means we must change how we treat creation, with all our hearts, all our being, all our strength…and for us in the United States, a great symbol of that is our wallets. Where we put our money defines us and has great power. That power is why it matters what we buy at the supermarket (buying organic and local food creates greater demand for more organic and local food), why it matters what kinds of cars we buy (buying less gas for a hybrid vehicle creates less demand for fossil fuels), and why it matters what products we fill our lives with (even changing to recycled toilet paper changes demand for paper!) Where we put our money shows where our hearts are. And so it matters where we put our investments—how we make money is a symbol for who we are as people who follow Jesus, people who are called to love with our whole selves. If we make money from fossil fuel companies, it doesn’t matter if we put that money back into local food or hybrid cars or recycled paper—it’s money that comes from companies that burn fossil fuels and wreak havoc on the planet. But again, it’s more than just about money. Money is symbol of where our hearts are….for where our treasure is, so are our hearts. After other overture advocates presented, the committee deliberated for many hours. They wrestled with how to respond to the overtures, particularly paying attention to how to care for people working in the fossil fuel industry as well as for people who are already directly affected by climate change. In the end, the committee voted to approveOverture 9-01 without amendments (the vote was 31-25). They then removed any mention of divestment from 9-02, 9-03, 9-04, overtures that together with 9-01 create an incredible package of overtures that call us to do everything we can to care for creation. Finally, the committee recommended that 9-01 be a response to the report from MRTI (9-09). The committee will report to plenary on Friday afternoon. Since the committee met, there was been a minority report filed. Additionally, two former moderators, Rick Ufford-Chase and Susan Andrews—who have in the past been divided on issues of divestment—penned a pastoral letter to the 222nd General Assembly, saying that they had heard the voices of concern for people. In addition, the letter says: This overture came to our Assembly with support from thirty-one Presbyteries and represents a grass-roots movement of Presbyterians across the country who place this concern at the heart of their faith. We must not shrink from the call God has given us to care for creation. Our action to divest sends a strong message to these companies that we cannot and will not ignore this threat any longer. And… Even as we act to divest from companies dedicated to fossil fuel extraction, we can and we must stand in solidarity with those who will feel the greatest burden. That is what it means to be the church of Jesus Christ. If we divest without a commitment to support one another, our action will fall short of God’s deepest desire for God’s people. But if we seize this moment to live boldly and with love, our care for one another can strengthen the whole church even as our prophetic action can make a critical difference in the global effort to stop climate change. Their letter reminds us that as we go into a plenary discussion about divestment from fossil fuels, we must care for creation—and each other—with our whole selves. God calls us to it. Originally published at http://justiceunbound.org/carousel/divestment-loving-creation-and-each-other-with-our-whole-selves/ written with Colleen Earp
In the shadow of the Paris Accords, rising global temperatures, and changing climates, we are thankful for the many voices discussing climate change in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.). We recognize that our denomination has suffered and survived turmoil in the wake of the last General Assembly, which made the prophetic decisions both to support marriage equality for lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer people and to divest from several companies causing harm to Palestinians. We know that this work of the church has led to division and heartache, and we grieve with our denomination over brothers and sisters lost and estranged. So now, even as we approach another potentially contentious and divisive decision – whether or not to categorically divest from fossil fuel companies – we celebrate that the collection of overtures and reports related to environmental issues and specifically fossil fuels agree on number of points: that climate change is urgent and real, and that we as a church must find appropriate ways to respond. In his recent Unbound article “Divesting from the Sins of Our Past”, Ben Perry analyzed the overtures concerning fossil fuel divestment and some alternatives thereof coming to 222nd General Assembly. Perry discussed the reality of climate change and the need for a “prophetic breakthrough”, which he (and we!) believes the PC(USA) might be poised to offer. Comparing the language and rationale of the different overtures addressing climate change, Perry gives careful attention to the moral message we can send by not only divesting from fossil fuels, but also addressing our own behaviors, particularly our personal consumption of fossil fuels. ___________________________________________ This is not an either/or conversation. The situation is simply that urgent. ___________________________________________ He rightly ends with the sentiment that this conversation needs to be centered not on an attitude of “Should we do something?” but rather “What is it that we should we do?” This is not an either/or conversation. We as Presbyterian Christians, as citizens of Earth, need to respond to climate change in as many ways as possible, as soon as possible. The situation is simply that urgent. It requires us to do everything possible as quickly as possible to respond. Co-Author Rev. Abby Mohaupt We believe that divestment needs to be part of that broad array of actions because it aligns our investments with our values, our treasure with our heart, to paraphrase Jesus. While divestment is often labeled as hypocritical (how can we truly divest from fossil fuels if we still drive a car?), it is far from that. Divestment is not hypocritical when paired with other practical actions to reduce our carbon footprint and mitigate climate change, to the best of our abilities. It is a chance to add to our denomination’s long history of environmental justice, which includes education on environmental issues (the work of our brains), policies on carbon neutrality (the work of our policies), earth care congregations (the work of our hands), liturgy (the work of our souls), and shareholder advocacy (the work of our voices, and of our treasures). Together, we are able to love creation with our hearts, all our minds, and all our strength, just as we are called to love God (Mark 12:30). Divestment from fossil fuels is a critical opportunity to be bold about our morals as stewards of God’s creation. Fossil fuel divestment is certainly not the sole solution to climate change, and on its own, it will not make fossil fuel companies stop their business model that relies on wrecking creation. Divesting from fossil fuels is not a statement against those who have worked in the oil, gas, and coal industries. Their contributions to progress and development are undeniable. Nor is it a moral reprimand against the people who have worked as laborers in the industry. However, we cannot ignore what we now know: that these energy sources have caused harm to land, water, air, and living things. Job availability in these sectors of the energy industry have been volatile for some time, in large part because of worldwide conflict and rapid changes in prices due to subsidies, inflation, or availability at different times. Fossil fuel divestment makes a statement that we are dissatisfied with our dependency on these industries, unhappy with industry leaders in their slow response to climate change, and wish to seek an alternative. Our divestment from fossil fuel companies allows us to put our money where our hearts are. It means we will not profit from the destruction of the planet and from our failure to love creation as we are called to, as the Presbyterian Church has affirmed again and again. ___________________________________________ We believe that divestment needs to be part of that broad array of actions because it aligns our investments with our values, our treasure with our heart, to paraphrase Jesus. ___________________________________________ A brief aside about the science: we are well aware that the term climate change makes some people uneasy. However, even if we set aside the lingo, it is difficult to deny that weather patterns are different than they were not too long ago. Places that relied on consistent climate patterns of regular, seasonal rainfall, dry spells, or moderate temperatures are now experiencing extended drought (California, India), sudden floods (South Carolina, France, Malawi), and unseasonable spikes in temperature, both high and low (which Colleen personally noticed as she tried to plant her garden in Virginia, where a late frost and early heat wave came within the same stretch of weeks that saw one of the wettest springs on record there). Weather today is more severe and less consistent. We mentioned above that we celebrate the points of agreement that the majority of Presbyterians have reached in in our conversation surrounding climate change and fossil fuels, particularly that human-caused climate change is real, that the situation is urgent, and that we are called to respond. Even for those who find themselves still debating the veracity or cause of climate change, the environmental damages caused by the fossil fuel industry are real and measurable. Excavation for pipelines and drilling equipment has eroded wetlands. Mining for coal has forever changed the shape of the mountains of Appalachia. Fracking has polluted groundwater sources and lead to unusual geologic activity. Leaks and spills are inevitable. Waste products have to go somewhere. The situation is urgent, and we as a church need to do all we can to preach, teach, and practice good stewardship of God’s creation. The results of climate change promise to be devastating. Public health, economy and jobs, food sovereignty, global peace and security—these will only continue to deteriorate as natural disasters increase and we struggle for the flourishing of all life on this planet. As we look to General Assembly, we see with eyes of hope. Hope that our denomination will respond to climate change with the urgency needed. Hope that our denomination will repent of the damage we’ve done as individuals and as a community of faith in our reliance on fossil fuels. Hope that our denomination will do everything it can to stand in favor of caring for God’s creation—because it will take everything. Originally published at http://justiceunbound.org/carousel/fossil-fuel-divestment-strengthening-our-response-to-an-urgent-crisis/ For me, divestment from fossil fuels has never just been about money.
It’s about living into our God-given vocation to be ourselves. As a teaching elder, I often talk with Presbyterians about how the authors of Genesis put forth our original vocation as human beings—to love creation—and that that love for creation is a response to God’s love for us. In the New Testament, Jesus reminds us that the greatest commandment is about love: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your being, and all your strength.” (Jesus quotes the Torah, Deuternomy 6:5, Common English Bible) We have to love God and creation with our whole selves. I remember when I first fell in love with creation as a child in Northern Illinois and when I first had emotional reactions to the devastation of climate change in Northern California. I remember when I first realized that the destruction is so bad, that we must do and change everything or everything will be lost. We must change how we treat creation, with all our hearts, all our being, all our strength… and for us in the United States, a great symbol of that is our wallets. Where we put our money defines us and has great power. That power is why it matters what we buy at the supermarket (buying organic and local food creates greater demand for more organic and local food), why it matters what kinds of cars we buy (buying less gas for a hybrid vehicle creates less demand for fossil fuels), and why it matters what products we fill our lives with (even changing to recycled toilet paper changes demand for paper!) Where we put our money shows where our hearts are. And so it matters where we put our investments—how we make money is a symbol for who we are as people who follow Jesus, people who are called love with our whole selves. If we make money from fossil fuel companies, it doesn’t matter if we put that money back into local food or hybrid cars or recycled paper—it’s money that comes from companies that burn fossil fuels and wreak havoc on the planet. But again, it’s more than just about money. Money is symbol of where our hearts are. We’ve forgotten our hearts and being and strength as people of faith—we’ve forgotten that we do have power to make change and to protect the earth. We have to change everything—we have to do everything—as individuals and as a denomination—to change the world we’re called to love. With courage and God’s grace, we may still have a chance. Originally published on http://www.fossilfreepcusablog.org/blog/where-our-hearts-are Christians are mad about Starbucks cups. Really mad, just because Starbucks has moved to plain red cups... and that somehow makes a statement about how the corporation is anti-Jesus and anti-Christmas. I think this is a ridiculous conversation. For one, I don't go to Starbucks to go to church; that's what the ocean is for. But more importantly, I think this conversation takes us away from the larger conversation of what is wrong with Starbucks and with all of us. I've written elsewhere about some of the problems of Starbucks. It's corporate and often disconnected from the neighborhoods around their stores. It's commercialized the coffee shop community space, and while many locations offer composting to neighborhood gardens and their cups are recyclable, there's still so much waste associated with going to get a grande sugar-free vanilla soy latte (and even their blueberries come packaged in plastic). I know, because I drink Starbucks. But I also believe in a God who calls us to work for just economic and food systems and to love one another. I also believe in Jesus, who overturned tables in the Temple when people who were poor were swindled. I also believe in the Holy Spirit which moves us to act on behalf of people on the margins. And while Starbucks has reported some good things about their economic connections with Latin America for the good of their coffee empire, they still don't use their buying power to ensure fair trade practices in an industry that has been ravaged by la roya (coffee rust), a disease that has wiped out 70% of crops in some parts of the Latin America. (To be fair, Starbucks has promised to buy coffee in a program that supports local farmers as they recover from la roya, and to be even more fair, they've created their own system to ensure responsible and ethical coffee growing.) Last spring, the class I co-teach at Stanford went to Nicaragua to learn about neo-liberalism and liberation theology. We also went to a coffee cooperative and a roastery and a tasting. We saw first hand how the crops had been destroyed by la roya as we walked through the brush and over the hills. We listened to why the cooperative was necessary: so that workers could actually make money, and we talked with them about how if they were paid a fair wage, we would have to spend much, much more for a cup of coffee. More than the $6 I spend on that grande sugar free vanilla soy latte. And we are not willing to pay more. Those farmers do not get paid fairly to put coffee in those offensive red cups, or any cup really. Whenever we buy coffee, we buy into a system that does not value the bodies and lives of the farmers who risk their livelihoods to grow a crop that Starbucks has played a huge role in commercializing. This is not just Starbucks' problem. It is our problem. As Christians, we should be pissed off because our purchasing of coffee contributes to poverty and back-breaking work. That's not loving others and it's not seeking justice--and that IS anti-Jesus. As people, we should be pissed off because we are whining about coffee cups instead of working against neo-liberal policies that allow corporations to continue to impoverish farmers and workers. As people, we should be pissed off that we're talking about disposable cups instead of a system that says that people and planet are disposable. And we should be pissed off that climate change will make coffee harder and harder to grow--no matter how much we pay farmers. But that's a post for another day.  This is a season of discernment for me. I'm so grateful for the work I'm doing and for the people I get to spend my days with, and yet for all this gratitude and love, I know it's time for me to be looking at PhD programs. It has been an entirely affirming process, because I am lucky to have so many people to reflect with, to weigh the possibilities and the consequences with, to dream about the future with. And yet whatever/whatever I choose next, I'll have to grieve letting go of many things that have become foundational to my identity. I'll have to move into something new and different, trusting that the newness is good, that the letting go doesn't necessarily mean that the old is bad. Even in the crowd of people who have been so good about reflecting with me, I have felt so alone (and I'm aware of how irrational and real that feeling is). The gift of having so many people willing to walk with me, willing to cheer on whatever comes next, does not outweigh the reality that eventually I alone will be the one who chooses. It will be my decision. On Tuesday I texted a friend (obnoxiously, incessantly) about how terribly lonely that realization was, how I felt so alone, that I was terrified and excited and scared. and alone. and scared. And finally he called me (probably because he was tired of getting one word texts of just "scared." "alone." "terrified.") and reminded me that it is a privilege that I get to do this discernment, that it is a choosing I want to do, that it is a terribly terrifying thing--to choose a new season--and that he could only just tell me that all would be well. All would be well. It was then that I remembered that spring only comes after winter, that the beauty of the new is only possible after the death of what has been. This analogy is often lost on people in Northern California, perhaps because they have blessedly been spared three feet of snow in January. But my tears turned to giggles when I heard myself say, "I don't want to go through winter. I just want it to be spring." I said that. out. loud. I really did laugh at myself then and gave myself some grace. Winter is not fun. Another (midwestern) friend and I had just been talking about how we have all our good winter clothes with us because we cannot bear giving them away--sturdy boots, thick coat, warm hat and gloves. Winter is harsh and hard and I do not miss having my breath and snot and eyes freeze. This morning, I walked on the beach, listening to the waves and watching the birds. In the distance, there was a mound on the sand, and as I got closer I recognized it as the corpse of a seal. Crows were picking at it, and I stopped to take in the life of this creature. The waves lapped against its body, ready to reclaim it when the tide was right. Its life is over, yet it's sustenance for the crows and for other parts of creation. We do not have harsh winter here, but death always means life, no matter where we are. I don't want this part of my life to die so that the next part of my life will live. I don't. But somehow, all will be well. I'll cry more and listen more and I'll hold this discernment in perspective. And then, then it will be spring.  This afternoon I got an email from our property manager saying that one of our plants was growing over and through our fence. She asked if I wanted to take care of it or if I wanted the landscaper to do it. I said I would do it, because, frankly, it was a chance for me to get my hands dirty.  In that conversation, I was pissed. I didn’t make climate change start. I’m still pissed. I didn’t start the Industrial Revolution and I’m not on the board of fossil fuel companies. I’m pissed because the roots of this big problem are outside my fence and they’re intertwined with lots of other issues and I don’t know what I’m doing. A little while after that conversation, I wrote an apology to my conversation partner. I apologized for yelling but not for getting mad. I’m still pissed. I want a world that is full of joy and I want a world where people do not have to fear. I want a world in which I can hope to have a child and a world in which my child can hope to pick apples from the trees her mother planted. I want to live with a hope that plants those trees. But for that world to exist, we have to do all we can, together. We have to work on these problems that we didn’t plant and that aren’t really our fault but, still, are our responsibility. I finished pulling up the plants. I didn’t do a perfect job, and there’s still more to work on, but it’s enough for today. And now, sitting in my apartment, my hands are dirty and my arms are tired and my skin has a layer of sweat and my heart is grateful.  Every Sunday, two to four Tupperware containers appear (like magic) under my desk in my office. These containers are filled with rinds and coffee grounds and banana peels and apple cores.
Two members of my congregation used to sheepishly try to sneak this garbage into my office in paper bags and leftover lettuce bags, until I presented them with their very own reusable containers, and said for the millionth time that compost is wonderful. I take these containers home to my compost pile, letting their contents join the weeds and worms, stems and stalks, pits and peels from meals ago. This is real resurrection. Turning the new earth and the earth-to-be—mixing past and present and future—soil invades my fingers nails. The scent of earth fills my nostrils. The heat of decomposition warms my skin. O God, this earth is so good. I could eat it. These peels and rinds and pits—they are reminders of death and what has been. They transform in the ground, resurrecting into dark earth—full of new life to give to the meal that has not yet been planted. ++ Every Monday, I rise before the sun and walk a block to the yoga studio to breathe deeply and let my body transform into new shapes. Joining my class, we sit on our mats and set intentions for our practice. I always try to focus on how strong and wonderful this body of mine is. Breathing in, I remember the breath of God. Breathing out, I give thanks for the Spirit. My fingers—still muddied from that new earth—spread across the mat and I push my hips up and back, my toes curling under. I give thanks for these muscles and this skin, stretching and moving. And rising into mountain pose, I give thanks for the ground beneath me. That beautiful, eatable ground. These are moments of God—of grace--incarnate. I didn’t believe my body could be transformed into crow or warrior or eagle. +++ Home again. I wrap my hands around my mug filled with coffee. My mug from one of my budding composters. Not grounds. Not compost. Just coffee. Breathing in, I can smell the delicious earth. +++ Originally posted for "Landscape of Powerful People," at Eye of the Sparrow by Ashley Goff. http://godofthesparrow.com/landscape-of-powerful-people-abby-mohaupt/ I’m coming over the last ridge, after a forty-five minute drive through the redwoods and along a twisting road through the hills. I’m engrossed in a podcast from NPR’s “Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me,” and already considering my to-do list for work. I’m feeling the lack coffee in my system and the readiness to get out of the car.
|
Responding to the climate crisis is an act of faith. If we are to survive, as humans and as Christians, that act of faith is necessary. What the story of the rich man coming to Jesus reminds us is that it is not enough to know the law or to know that we are called by faith to care for creation and for each other. We must act in love and in faith — even when that act feels like a sacrifice.
Archives
August 2017
Categories |
RSS Feed