April 22 is Earth Day...
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| Earth, from a lunar point of view. Source: NASA's Apollo 8 mission |
An impetus for the first Earth Day (in 1970) was the famous Earthrise photo taken by Astronauts onboard Apollo 8 in 1968. This was one of the first times that human beings could look back on the great blue marble we call home and see clouds floating in a thin veil of atmosphere set against harsh blackness of outer space.
Seeing Earth from a lunar point of view seemed to increase our awareness just how fragile the Earth was. The image captured our collective imagination as a society. It opened our eyes to see the state of the world as it was—and then to employ our best efforts to make it better.
Not long after that first Earth Day, we created the Environmental Protection Agency. We enacted Federal legislation to protect the air we breathe, the water we drink, and endangered species, and to clean up hazardous waste sites. In the ensuing decades, we’ve realized that the Earth’s resources are not infinite and that we have a responsibility to future generations to preserve the natural world. Thanks to Earth observing satellites, we’ve learned much more about the condition of the planet we call home. We’ve been reckoning with the environmental impacts of rising concentrations of carbon dioxide (primarily from burning fossil fuels to fuel our industrialized economy) as well as declining concentrations of stratospheric ozone (from the use of products containing chlorofluorocarbons, or CFCs).
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| Air quality over the Northeast U.S. improved during COVID compared to other years. Source: NASA's Aura mission |
The pandemic also gave us another glimpse of our future. In March 2020, as COVID-19 was spreading like wildfire around the world and indefinite lockdowns were mandated, we had no choice but to move many activities that we've traditionally conducted primarily in person to online. (While this shift had started to happen before COVID for some activities, the pandemic accelerated it to warp speed.) Work, school, faith communities, sports, and entertainment—all of these had to make a quick shift from "business as usual." And although there was certainly a steep learning curve for some, for the most part we've done it remarkably efficiently and effectively.
And now that we've gotten used to conducting so much more of our lives online, it's unlikely we're going back—at least not entirely. This shift to interacting with one another in the virtual world, made out of necessity at first, is here to stay. Social gatherings in the post-pandemic world that is starting to emerge will need to evolve to accommodate a hybrid of in person and virtual participants on a regular basis.
Is this glimpse of a renewed Earth just a blip in time, or is it a preview of things to come? if society can pivot quickly to embrace new "normals" during a pandemic, can we also do it in response to the climate crisis?
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I think our 21st century conundrum regarding our response to climate change has something in common with how those disciples on the Emmaus road responded when they encountered the Risen Lord (Luke 24:13–35). The Resurrection (John 11:25) literally came and walked beside them. However, trapped in the gloom and grief of their current reality, they could not see. Once they shifted their perspective to imagine a new possibility—one that includes the reality of resurrection—then they could “see” who had been walking with them all along.
To be fair, it’s hard to blame the disciples for their lack of imagination. Rome was the dominant power of their day. When Rome executed someone, they were “really most sincerely dead.” The Roman Narrative defined the way things were for most ordinary citizens of the Empire.
Then along comes Jesus, proclaiming an alternative Kingdom (of God) Narrative. Ordinary people are attracted to this counter-Imperial message. The men walking the Road to Emmaus had been followers of Jesus. They believed Jesus was the Messiah—the “liberating king” that the Jewish people so long anticipated would save them from the dominant power of the day.
When Jesus went to Jerusalem during what we know as “Holy Week” his followers thought this was when he would finally take action against Rome. He did act—just not at all in the way they expected. Never in their wildest imagination did they expect their “Messiah” to die. Frankly, it was a major disappointment. As of Good Friday evening, it looks like the little movement Jesus started has failed utterly. Jesus appears to have joined countless other false Messiahs crushed under the heel of the Empire. On Holy Saturday it sure seems the Roman Narrative is the only one that matters. Thus, when they walk that road on Sunday, they are in a state of despair.
Given that context, we can imagine why the men are skeptical of the women’s incredible claim that when they visited the tomb on Sunday morning, they found it empty! Albeit from a safe distance, they’d watched their Master die. They knew that no one comes back from the dead—and most certainly not from a Roman crucifixion. Even though Jesus repeatedly told them to expect exactly what happened, they are completely absorbed in the Roman Narrative and not yet able to grasp what was happening.
As Luke tells the story, we encounter these two downcast disciples as they walk the Road to Emmaus, trudging along toward an uncertain future. At some point the Risen Lord joins them on their walk—but they don’t recognize him. The mysterious stranger strikes up a conversation as they walk, getting them to recount the horrible circumstances of the last 36 hours. The traveler seems to know the Scriptures. He explains that what happened is precisely what the Prophets predicted would happen. The disciples stop to camp for the night. At first Jesus seems to be continuing along the road, but the two disciples “convince” him to stay with them.
And that’s when the shift happens. There was something about entering in, breaking bread together—seeing Jesus up close—that broke through the gloomy fog of the Roman Narrative. Suddenly resurrection was no longer just an abstract idea—the Resurrection was eating dinner with them. Something totally new was set free—and Rome could not stop it. Suddenly, it dawned on them that the Kingdom Narrative was rewriting the whole story!
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Now, if resurrection of one man sometimes seems impossible to believe, how much more does resurrecting—of, if you prefer, transforming—the Earth seem hard for our society to fathom?
Climate change is a complex and nuanced issue that defies an easy solution. However, even the deepest skeptic finds it increasingly hard to deny that such change is happening—and that it bears a distinctive human footprint. Climate change is inexorably linked to other complicated issues like racial injustice and economic inequality. We can’t truly address one of these issues without addressing all of them. Given all of this, it’s easy to assume there’s nothing you and I can really do to make a difference.
This attitude comes in part because, just as the disciples lived under a dominant Roman Narrative, our society lives under the influence of a dominant Exploitation Narrative. Even though we often don’t give it a second though as we go about our daily lives, entire economies—and Christian doctrines (e.g., the Doctrine of Discovery)—have been set up to justify our [1] exploitation of Earth’s natural and human resources. Fossil fuel extraction (e.g., oil, natural gas, coal) has provided a convenient means to fuel the fires of our relentless engine of progress. But we’re now starting to realize that these resources have limits—and that the unregulated burning of fossil fuels has caused harm to our environment.
Still, a world immersed in an Exploitation Narrative struggles to imagine alternative possibilities to fossil fuels. In the same way the women’s initial claims of resurrection were dismissed as impossible by the skeptical men, those who have the audacity to suggest an alternative Sustainable Narrative (e.g., the “Green New Deal”) are called “crazy dreamers” who are out of touch with reality. We probably react that way because we fear the changes suggested would wreck the economy as we know it, or otherwise disrupt our lives beyond what we consider convenient.
Perhaps, like those disciples on the Road to Emmaus, the time has come for us to look a little closer at what might be possible. The Exploitation Narrative is failing us; the status quo simply isn’t sustainable for planet Earth. The evidence is all around us for those that have eyes that choose to see. Though the situation is grave, there is reason for hope if we can shift our perspective and embrace a new Sustainable Narrative. This new “Green Way” (which I think is what Joe Biden would have the U.S. follow) would allow us to take meaningful action to protect the environment while still maintaining a robust economy—but we would do it in ways that are ethical to all people and ecologically just to all of God’s Creation .
In much the same way the Apollo Program’s audacious goal of landing on the Moon by the “end of the decade” galvanized the best creative energy and collective imagination of the U.S. in the 1960s, intentionally embarking upon a “Green Way” in the 2020s could harness our world’s intellectual and imaginative power to decisively respond to the existential threat posed by climate change.
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Resurrecting the world would require a shift in our collective thinking. What we did during the pandemic would need to be done on an even bigger scale to respond to climate change. We’d have to make an intentional choice to defect from the dominant Exploitation Narrative to embrace a new Sustainable Narrative and embark upon the “Green Way” discussed in this essay. This “Green Way” I’m envisioning can’t be accomplished via a massive top-down government initiative alone. I think it will emerge more like a Clematis vine, composed of many strands of individual and small group environmental efforts around the world coming together to create a lattice of green that transforms the world and resurrects the environment. (In this analogy larger government climate initiatives can serve as a trellis to help direct the growth of the vine.)
Each of us will have to do our part to forge this new “Green Way.” For example, last December I was commissioned as a Global Ministries EarthKeeper through the United Methodist Church. A group of us met via Zoom and learned about the interface of issues related to the environment and climate with issues of racial and economic justice. As part of the training, each student chose a project to work on so that we could carry what we’ve learned back into our communities. My goal is to eventually compile an EarthKeeper Compendium to chronicle our activities. I also hope to raise awareness of these issues where I live. I would like to see a “Green Team” at my church to think about how our faith community can respond to the climate crisis.
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| Clematis vine climbs a trellis in my backyard. Source: Photo by Alan Ward |
The world that our children and grandchildren will inherit is counting on each of us to do our part to make it a better place. It won’t just happen. We must act decisively—now. We must come together for the common good of our common home. I hope you’ll use Earth Day 2021 as an opportunity to ponder to how your Creator is calling you to embark on the “Green Way.”
[1] Historically, our has mostly meant white males.
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