2023-04-17
Brooke Strong
Sermon Text...
April 16, 2023 Hamilton Coe Throckmorton
John 20:19-31 The Federated Church, UCC
In the late 1970s and early 1980s, a movement for creation care and racial justice began to take shape. In Warren County, North Carolina, the slow awareness began that toxic landfills were almost invariably placed in or near communities of color. There in Warren County, a landfill had been designated for the disposal of PCBs, a toxic chemical substance that had been banned by Congress in 1979. And the community in which it had been placed had the highest percentage of Black people in the entire state. It was also among the poorest counties in the state.
With that recognition, a resistance began to grow. In September of 1982, “the first trucks carrying PCB-contaminated soil drove into Warren County but were met by hundreds of protestors who laid down on the highway to prevent their arrival.” And while the first Earth Day was more than a decade earlier, on April 22, 1970, the events in Warren County marked the awakening of a movement that was determined to undo the pernicious effects of humanity’s callous disregard of this earthly home on which we live. That action began a determined resistance to a double layer of injustice. The placement of this landfill was a poisoning of the earth. And at the same time, it was a blatant exploitation of Black people as it was placed in a community that had little political power to resist it. And now, finally, there was a belated awakening to the human race’s long and unjust relationship with the earth, and to our need to undo that destructiveness.
Part of what’s important for us to know is that that movement of resistance was driven by the commitment of leaders and members of our beloved denomination, the United Church of Christ. Dollie Burwell, the Rev. Leon White, and the Rev. Ben Chavis spearheaded the nation’s increasing recognition of the injustice in the placement of that and other landfills. In 1987, the UCC’s Commission for Racial Justice issued a landmark report which “found that race rose to the top among variables associated with the location of a toxic waste facility.” In a documentary about the work of that racial justice commission, Chavis said, “The issue of environmental racism is an issue of life and death. It is not just an issue of some form of prejudice where someone doesn’t like you because of the color of your skin. This is an issue that will take your life away if you don’t get involved” (https://www.ucc.org/what-we-do/justice-local-church-ministries/justice/faithful-action-ministries/environmental-justice/a-movement-is-born-environmental-justice-and-the-ucc-united-church-of-christ/).
As Earth Day approaches this Saturday, this need to care for the earth is as urgent a mission as we have as followers of Christ. Remember that in the gospel of John, after Jesus has died, the risen Christ returns and appears among the disciples. In an arresting scene, one that is always heard on the first Sunday after Easter, this risen Jesus appears first to the large group of disciples and later to the Thomas who is not shy about expressing his doubts. But before that happens, this risen Christ says to the disciples, “Peace be with you. As God has sent me, so I send you” (20:21). And then Jesus breathes on them and gifts them with the Holy Spirit.
While in other years we deal with Thomas and his doubts, today we’re going to pay attention to the first part of that scene. And what we’re left with as we hear that story is two things: the first thing is we’re sent. And the second thing is we have received the Holy Spirit. We’re sent to do the same work that God has sent Jesus to do. And, with the bodily Jesus now gone, we’re empowered by the Holy Breath Jesus has breathed into us. We’re sent and in-spirited, or inspired.
And part of the issue for us is what it is that we are sent to. Our earthly home is in serious trouble—it’s difficult to argue with that. Toxic waste, excess plastic, methane, fossil fuels and carbon emissions—they’re all contributing to an alarming degradation of the planet. This is not news to any of us. And given the need to do something, we may well ponder what it is Jesus sends us to do. Because our words convey our theology, this is, at least in part, a language issue. One way to frame it is to say we’re sent by Jesus to care for the “environment.” Another way we could express it is to say we’re sent to care for the earth, or sent to attend to “climate change,” or sent to try to reverse what has pithily and alarmingly been termed “global weirding.”
For me, and for us as children of God, my sense is that we’re sent on a mission of caring for “creation.” The words “environment” and “climate” and “global” sound somewhat antiseptic to me, as though this planet is just a chance collection of lifeless surroundings. “The Earth” seems like a more evocative word than those others. For me, though, the word “creation” highlights the fundamentally spiritual character of this world of ours—that is that it is, indeed, created. I have heard church people say they don’t like that word “creation,” and I’d be happy to hear what about it seems off. For me, though, it matters to lift up the notion that we are here, and we have life, because the God at the heart of the universe has seen fit to give us life. God has created us. We are dependent on the beneficence of the One in whom we live and move and have our being. We are not just random, arbitrary figures on a bleak landscape. We are creatures who have been given life by God. And the Earth itself is, likewise, a creation of God. We exist simply and solely because God has made it so.
And my sense is that we have been given one task that precedes all others and gives shape to all others, and that is that we are sent to see the richness and love of God in everything God has created: in every tree and bird and rainy day and mountain vista and beach and garden and pea and blade of grass and monarch butterfly. We are beckoned to see all of what God has created, not as instruments for us to use, but as the very body of God. We human beings are creatures of God. And the Earth is the creation of God. And as we are reminded in the very first story in the Bible, it “[is all] good” (Genesis 1:4, 10, 12, 18, 21, 25, 31).
And here’s the thing: if we really get that we are creatures, and the Earth is the creation, all given life by God, desecration of that Earth, and of each other, becomes unimaginable. If I see God in you, and if I see God in the community of people in Warren County, North Carolina, and if I see God in each blade of grass and earthworm and aardvark, each lake and river and ocean, each garden and backyard and forest—if I really take seriously the role God has played in creating every molecule and atom and Higgs boson, how can I do anything but treasure these living beings as precious gifts of the God who has made it all possible? The word “namaste,” ubiquitous in India, means literally “The God in me sees the God in you,” or “The God in me recognizes the God in you,” or maybe even better, “The divine in me bows to the divine in you.” Once we recognize and bow to the sacredness of the Earth and everything in it, it’s pretty hard to treat it as our plaything. None of it is our plaything. We are sent by Jesus to acknowledge that it is all the unique and splendid creation of God.
Daniel Cooperrider, who will be our guest preacher in two weeks, has written a book called Speak with the Earth and It Will Teach You. His title alone conveys that the Earth isn’t just some inanimate object that can be used for our desires and whims and profit. It is itself a living, breathing being. That title reflects a sense that the Earth, as a creation not unlike ourselves, is not a lifeless force to be used in whatever way we’d like, but is rather a precious creation of God’s, to be addressed as one who matters, to be bowed to in a posture of namaste: we are sent to see and honor the divinity that lives in the earth.
Given that magnificent holiness of the Earth, maybe our very first call is to take in the aliveness of this created wonder in some of the places in our lives that have meant the most to us. The ancient Celts talk about “thin places.” Thin places are places in which the barrier between heaven and earth seems especially slender. I want to show you some spots on Earth that strike me as especially thin, especially revealing of God’s presence. These are places in which I feel enlivened. They’re places in which I sense the unutterable wonder of the Earth and this life God has given us. One way to put it is that these are places that seem “enchanted.” “Enchanted” means literally possessed of a song, animated by a kind of deep and gorgeous and holy music. Some places I’ve been strike me as especially revealing of God’s magnificence. They’re enchanted, they’re thin places, and they have the effect of reminding me that every bit of this unfathomably grand universe has been fashioned by God’s endlessly loving hand. They remind me that this entire creation is all good. Indeed, it is very good (Genesis 1:31).
The first of these enchanted thin places is in the coastal Maine town of Scarborough, where a part of the beach is in what’s called Pine Point. Mary, who grew up near there, has been going to Pine Point all her life. I have been going there for nearly forty years. You can walk for miles on that beach. Its endless vista and smooth sand make you think you can walk forever there. There’s a sandbar that juts out from the beach, and each summer it has a different shape and feel to it. At dead low tide, you can walk out into the ocean on that sandbar for probably a mile. I feel light there. It’s a thin place. It’s an enchanted creation. God has sent me to take that in.
There’s a spot in central Vermont that has a similar effect on me. Stowe Pinnacle is a rather short mountain nestled into the Worcester Range and the Green Mountains. Mary and I have climbed that mountain many times. The climb itself is a languid and verdant climb. And when you reach the top, the view of those ranges and the valley between fills me with an inexpressible joy. Mary and I will sit on the craggy rocks at the top and enjoy a snack of nuts and fruit and feel the most marvelous connection with the earth. It’s a thin place. It’s an enchanted creation. God has sent me to take that in.
A third place that has been a thin place to me is the island of Iona off the west coast of Scotland. When I was on my last sabbatical in 2015, Mary and I spent a week there in the Abbey that hosts a religious community. Living as part of the community for the week, we were assigned jobs to do. Every day, I mopped the floors in the entry way, and Mary chopped vegetables for the fresh and delicious soups that were served at every lunch. And every day we would walk the land. On one of the days there, the custom is to go on a hike around the entire island. It’s about an eight-mile walk over rough terrain, and takes much of the day. We stopped for a pack lunch at a place that overlooked the ocean. It was pouring rain the entire day, and seldom have I felt so exhilarated and thrilled. And I think it’s because Iona and its land and its ocean have about them such a deep sense of beauty and mystery and wonder. They give me a sense of awe. In a unique and special way, Iona is a thin place. It’s an enchanted creation. God has sent me to take that in.
I’m going to invite you now to take a moment of silent reflection, and to bring to mind and heart someplace on the earth that you find to be a thin place, an enchanted place. It could be a spot in your garden, a trail in the Metroparks, a magnolia that’s flowering now. It could be a river or a beach or a mountain. It could be a place in Ireland or China or South Africa. Bring it to your awareness. Bask in its richness. For a few silent moments, let it sing its enchanted melody to you . . .
And then may we all remember that every spot on earth is that enchanted, that thin. And that our work, our vocation, what we are sent to do, is to hear that song in every corner of the Earth. For it is all a created wonder. And we are its partners in showing forth the beauty and grace and love of God.