Genesis 1:1 - 2:4 "Creation Care: A Celtic Perspective"

Genesis 1:1–2:4

         Whether you are most comfortable embracing Celtic Christianity, or if you are grounded in the theology of Martin Luther, or if you are still seeking a spiritual path within a Jesus framework, you can be assured that we all share a common beginning found in the Book of Genesis in our Bible.  Listen….

Eons ago before time was time, God began to create—all you see, all you don’t see…..Before it was anything else, earth was a soup of nothingness ….a bottomless emptiness….. an inky blackness.  As far as the eye of God could see, darkness covered everything, blacker than a hundred midnights deep in the woods of Maine.

         God’s Spirit brooded like a bird above the dark and watery abyss…like a mighty eagle or a wild goose, like a mother hen guarding her nest.  It was the same Spirit that fluttered down as a dove at Jesus’ baptism.  It was the same Spirit that drove Jesus into the wilderness for 40 days to figure out just how to do what God had called him to do, that is, to make God’s sacred dream for the world come true.  It was the same Spirit that blew out windows, created little eddies of dust and debris, and went on to surround the apostles, causing a spontaneous and joyous surrender in that upper room in Jerusalem at Pentecost.  It was the same Spirit that, from the beginning, has breathed itself into each and every human heart – even yours, even mine.  God’s Spirit. Holy Spirit…..

         Then God smiled, and the darkness rolled up on one side, and the light stood shining on the other. When that light materialized out of the deepest night, and order emerged from chaos, love and blessedness prevailed, and God said, “That’s good!”

         We all want to know where we came from.  We all want to hear the stories of our beginnings, stories that shape who we are today and offer guidance on who we should be in the future.  These stories are where we find our roots and our wings. 

         The tale I just paraphrased is the start of one of two creation stories in our Holy Scriptures. They are told without using scientific jargon because there was no scientific jargon when they were first told and eventually written down.  These stories that found their way into Genesis were in a setting and language that would have been familiar to the first ancient listeners.  Just imagine them sitting around a campfire in the cool of the evening asking life’s most persistent questions.  Who am I?  Where did I come from?

         These early listeners would have intuitively understood that their story, our story, this tale of the beginning stood in stark contrast to other creation tales bandied about in ancient days.  One might even say that, as UCC pastor Kathryn Matthews writes, their story, our story is “a counter-cultural protest of the people of Israel against the creation story of their Babylonian captors. While their oppressors saw the origins of the universe as violent and bloody, the Israelites told their children a different story, a story rooted in goodness and blessing.”  

         Lutheran pastor Kathryn Schifferdecker puts it this way.  Their story, our story “does not describe the world of ancient Near Eastern creation myths, where the gods have to defeat the sea or the sea dragon in order to create the earth. There is only one God in Genesis, and that God is the Creator of everything, including the sea monsters themselves. There is no chaos-monster in Genesis 1 that must be defeated.”  

         Ours is not the story of a cosmic clash between good and evil that characterizes so many creation stories.  In stark contrast, it is the story of what goodness and love can do.  And so, throughout that first ancient narrative, we are reminded that the earth and all that is in it is good – and blessed by God.  Before original sin, then, there was original blessing.

         Our story is a beautiful theological poem - mythology at its best - because it offers in imaginative language a reflection on the world and the nature of its creatures (including us).  It is a poetic ode to the God whose love lies at the heart of all creation, making that creation nothing other than good.

         Contrary to what the flat earthers and religious fundamentalists say who insist that all of this magnificent creation occurred in six 24-hour days about 6000 years ago, this passage was never meant to be taken as literal fact.  Its truth lies far deeper and is far more complex.  

         But let’s continue this story, our story…. 

 God separated the water under the sky from the water above sky.   “Water-beneath-Heaven, gather into one place; Land, appear!” And there it was.  God named the land Earth and the pooled water Ocean. And God smiled and said, “That’s good.’

         God spoke: “Earth, green up!”  Then the green grass sprouted, and the little red flowers blossomed, the pine tree pointed her finger to the sky, and the oak spread out his arms.  And God said, “That’s good.”

         God spoke: “Lights! Come on! And God set the sun blazing in the heavens. And the light that was left from making the sun God gathered up in a shining ball and flung against the darkness, sprinkling the night with the moon and stars. And God said, “That’s good.

         God spoke: “Swarm, Ocean, with fish and all sea life!  Birds, fly through the sky over Earth!”  Fishes and fowls and beasts and birds swam the rivers and the seas, roamed the forests and the woods, and filled the air with their wings. And God said: That's good!

         God spoke: “I will make human beings in my sacred image, full to the brim with goodness and light. They will reflect my love for this world and be responsible for the fish in the sea, the birds in the air, the cattle, and, yes, even for the Earth itself.”  

         Imagine:  God Almighty who lit the sun and fixed it in the sky, who flung the stars to the most far corner of the night, who shaped the earth gently: This great God formed us – male and female - in that holy image. Then into us God blew the breath of life, and we became living souls. 

And God blessed us and gave us one command: “Be responsible.  Be responsible for the fish in the sea and the birds in the air, for every living thing that moves on the face of the Earth.  Be responsible.” And God said one more time, “That’s good.”

         Be responsible:  Those are powerful words that will continue to haunt us down through the ages when we realize that we are answerable not only to God, but to one another, to our children, to all the generations yet to come.  Be responsible as God is responsible.  Love the world as God loved the world.

         I think the ancient Celts who lived principally in Britain and Ireland understood that command to be responsible for creation.  

You see, their theology was founded on a respect for and love of the natural world.  These ancient Western Celts were animists.  That is, for them, God was found in the world around them and was manifested by everything in it.  

However, unlike so many ancient animists, they did not fear the wildness of creation.  Rather they were fascinated by it and embraced the natural world. For the ancient Celts, everything was sacred and worthy of a blessing.  

They did not at first accept orthodox Christianity which emerged out of urban Rome.  However, when they did, they did so on their terms, retaining that reverence for the natural world, for all of creation, and weaving it seamlessly into their Christian faith.  

Though some of Jesus’ parables may not directly touch our experience, the ancient Celts would have related easily to them – lost sheep, vineyards, fig trees.  All of these images were aspects of God’s amazing creation for which, down through the ages, we are responsible to love and sustain and bless.  

 But what about us today?  I fear that we have done a pretty effective job of abdicating our responsibility for creation care in the name of unbridled economic growth, religious fundamentalism, and political expediency.  

Call it what you will – global warming, climate change, climate dis-regulation. We are in the midst of a crisis, and we humans are the root cause.  We consume more than we care.  We take more than we share.  We feel entitled to far more than our due.  

What will happen to our grandchildren - and their children - if we do not take our responsibility seriously today? What will happen if we fail to see that we are part of a sacred web that includes all of creation, something the ancient Celts intuitively understood.  What will happen if we have forgotten that God said it was all good?

         What will Maine be like when we no longer have maple trees to tap for syrup in the spring?  What will Maine be like when most of our children will contract Lyme disease at some point in their lifetime – but that will be the least of their tick-borne disease worries?  What will Maine be like when the Southwest becomes a desert wasteland?  Will we welcome the great migration northeastward to our towns and villages and neighborhoods where there is still water?

         We may argue with enormous intensity about whether the earth was created in six days or a billion years, but, when we do, we miss most important point in this creation story.  As Kathryn Matthews blogged: “We were created, by whatever process and whatever length it took, by a gracious Creator, in love and goodness, and we are called to care for this earth, this good creation, not to dominate or abuse it. We are responsible for its care.”  

         My prayer is that we will wake up and face the world that we have made.  However, prayer is not enough, and so that prayer is coupled with a challenge to you.  It is simple.  It is this:  Understand and act upon your God-given responsibility not only for what has happened to creation, but also for what will happen in the years to come.

         Care for your own little spot in the world. Know your carbon footprint and be prepared to offset it by planting trees and moving away from fossil fuels.  Leverage your privilege.  You may not feel affluent, but you are. Leverage your privilege through what you choose to buy – where it is from, how it is packaged - and, for those lucky enough to have money left over, in what you choose to invest. Vote for politicians who are wise enough to embrace creation care.

         We may not have all the answers, but surely we can affirm that we are on this precious planet together, committed to God’s command uttered in the very first chapter of the Book of Genesis:  Be responsible.  

         Our younger son once asked me about his relationship with his then serious girlfriend (now his wife and our wonderful daughter-in-law).  “When do you move,” he queried, “from things being about “me” to being about “us”?”  

That is a good question about serious personal relationships but also a good question when it comes to our relationship with the earth and its creatures, when it comes to defining our responsibility. When do we embrace all of creation as the ancient Celts did?  When do we acknowledge that we too are part of a sacred web, that we are part of the warp and woof of a marvelous tapestry that God began weaving at the very beginning of time? When do we understand that all of life is worthy of a blessing?  When, as our son asked, does it move from being about “me” to being about “us”?

         

            

 

 

 

Homily on Maple Trees

         I usually base my Sunday sermons on the assigned Bible readings.  However, on this first Sunday of Spring, here we are outdoors on Maine Maple Sunday at Jo’s Sugarbush.  The odor of syrup-in-the-making is wafting about, and we are surrounded by trees. 

How could I talk about the Prodigal Son as I would have if we were worshipping in the sanctuary – except to wonder whether the younger wayward brother might have wistfully recalled Springtime on the family farm as he tried to scavenge bean pods among the swine in a distant country.

How could I talk about the Prodigal Son - except to wonder whether the older hardworking brother might have been better off putting down his hoe for a time and simply soaking in the change of season, appreciating the natural world around him, breathing deeply the newness of Spring and the clean slate it brings the world.  If he had, perhaps he might have uncovered a new understand of his place in it and a different perspective on his relationship with his brother.

         Those first signs of spring – birds returning, crocuses sprouting - do that for us – for me at least.  They remind me of new life and a new start.  

However, though I did see about 30 robins in our side yard the other day, but nary a crocus, I look less to the birds and early blooms for insights into Spring and my life and more to the trees, to which I am partial. 

         We have a lot of trees on our 33 acre farm.  Joe cuts our firewood – ash, oak, birch. Birds nest in them, and they provide shade on hot summer days.

          Trees are amazing.  Did you know that trees communicate with each other through a network of root connections? Many biologists believe they can communicate their needs, and even send one another nutrients via a network of fungus buried in the soil. They seem to “talk” to each other, sending warning signals about environmental change and transferring their nutrients to neighboring plants before they die. The forest is a cooperative system.  

It all makes me wonder whether we as humans are meant to be the same, a cooperative system - not just to survive, but to thrive – as a forest can.  Would we thrive if we shared rather than hoarded?  If we created and expanded our own networks in order to care for one another in these trying times?  

We can learn a lot from the trees around us  That is why I love them, but I am particularly partial to maple trees. You see, like the Hartwell’s, Joe and I tap some our maple trees.

         I love that maples freely offer us some of their lifeblood each spring. I love to look up into their branches – now bare but soon to be filled with leaves.  I love to run my hands down their nubbly gray bark and imagine their roots holding firm under the ground.  

         If I would take the time when Joe and I are collecting sap – and unfortunately I rarely do – I would think about the life cycle of the maple tree.  I would ponder what I might learn from this marvelous creation.

         I would imagine one of those butterfly-shaped seed pods fluttering to the earth and becoming buried in the soil and muck.  I would imagine the seed finding enough warmth to germinate and one day pushing its way out of the darkness of the humus and rotted leaves. 

I would imagine the seedling becoming a fragile sapling and somehow surviving blustery spring winds and the frosty gales of a Maine winter.  I would imagine that sapling over time bending more easily into the wind and, over the years, developing a strong trunk, its growth rings expanding as its branches continued to reach toward the sky.  I would imagine its leaves providing a canopy of shade and a protective home for birds and squirrels in the summer.  I would imagine the very first tap hammered gently into the trunk one future spring, and the sap flowing generously. 

It is mind-blowing to me that such a fragile seed could one day become a strong and sturdy tree, offering so many gifts to the world, playing out that yearly cycle of re-creation over and over again.  It is such a hopeful symbol for us humans, perhaps one to hold especially close as we near the end of Lent and anticipate Holy Week where death and life intersect in a new way.  

That  repetitive life cycle of a maple makes me ever more assured that we too – you and I - have the capability to constantly re-create – even resurrect - ourselves, with the Spirit’s help.   And so I ask myself:  Might we too, like the maple tree, learn to live lives of possibility with the expectation that the inevitable change we encounter means growth?  I know full well that the answer is yes.

Might we too have it in us to survive the wintry chill of disappointment and difficulty, intuitively trusting that warmer, sunnier days lie ahead, days when we would offer shelter to all who need it as the maple tree offers shade? Again - yes.

 Might we too someday offer some of our lifeblood (whatever that might be) to whomever needs it with the same unquestioning generosity that a maple tree offers its sap in the spring? Oh, yes.  I hope so.

So much to learn about human possibility from trees, especially the maple tree!  And so I challenge you in the weeks ahead to notice the trees.  Take note when the maple trees leaf out – and later when the apple blossoms bloom. And remember the ways that trees care for each other and thrive because they are interconnected.

I challenge you also to have some fun and pretend that you are a tree.  Spread your arms and imagine that they are branches bursting with lilac flowers. Wave them in the wind, noting that they bend and sway, but when healthy do not break.  

Let your body be a firm trunk, feel the blessed earth beneath your feet, connecting you to the ground, connecting you to our faithful God who nurtures us always and roots us in hope for the future as we send out tendrils of comfort and love to those around us.  

Revelation 21:1-6 "Hope"

         It begins in a garden and ends in a city. It begins in Eden and ends in the New Jerusalem.  It begins with Genesis and ends with Revelation.  Our Bible, our root of our religious heritage, that is.

         Most of us are pretty familiar with the beginning, with the garden part and its sacred stories.  For those of us who went to Sunday School, there we first encountered the marvelous myth of Adam and Eve, the serpent, and the apple.  

That is where we also first heard the other creation story in the Book of Genesis.  In our mind’s eye, we imagine the leafy canopy of trees, all measure of colorful blooming plants, and seemingly infinite numbers of creatures great and small.  We remember the water flowing in abundance: cool rushing streams and quiet clear pools. Nourishing life-giving water.  And above all, we remember that the Holy One, the Creator, proclaimed in no uncertain terms that it was all good. 

         When it comes to the Bible’s beginning, the garden part, we are well-versed.  However, most of us know far less about the end, about the city part.  The Book of Revelation whose climactic image is that of the New Jerusalem is somehow elusive, perhaps because we either we take this apocalyptic piece of prose too seriously, putting our own stamp of literalism on it, or we do not take it seriously enough and toss it aside as so much claptrap with little relevance to us who pride ourselves in our progressivism.   

         Either way, we tend to focus on the more dramatic middle chapters of the book.  We zero in on the Armageddon images and the horrors that accompany them – the dragons and wild beasts, the smoke, the fires, the lightening, the earthquakes, and all those puzzling numbers. 

         If we take Revelation literally, we probably have books like “Left Behind” and “The Late Great Planet Earth” on the nightstand next to our bed. We may even have convinced ourselves that the author of Revelation surely had us – you and me - in mind when he wrote his apocalypse nearly 2000 years ago. 

Yet, as theologian Bart Ehrman (himself once a Christian literalist) wrote, “In every generation since the book [of Revelation] was written, Christians have argued that its vivid description of catastrophic events would happen in their own day. So far, none of them have been right.”

         And even if we do not take this Biblical book literally, we still look to its middle chapters, like our fundamentalist counterparts.  However, instead of matching its images with current events, we “pooh pooh” it all, bothering neither to delve into its historical context nor to search for more promising reasons for its inclusion in our Bible.  

If truth be known, too many of us  disregard the Book of Revelation as the dubious work of man named John who was probably tripping on some hallucinogenic substance as he sat on his solitary island beach and wrote this apocalypse, an erstwhile Timothy Leary. 

         This morning, however, I challenge you to put aside all those pre-judgments and look with new eyes at this Book of Revelation.  First, let’s understand why it was written, and, second, let’s ponder whether the verses I just read, which come so close to the end of the book, say something worth remembering.

         Like all books in our Bible, Revelation was penned at a specific time in history and was written to a particular group of people.  The book is attributed to John, but we really do not know the author’s name. However, we do know that he wrote to a community of Christians who were suffering and feared for their lives.  

         Revelation is a letter of support and encouragement in the literary style of an apocalypse to people enduring tremendous, heart-breaking hardship, people so thirsty for hope.  In spite of all the crazy and otherworldly images, this book was designed to comfort as it related the dreams and visions of its author, an author who himself was also victimized because he was an exiled prisoner.  For the next few moments then, let’s entertain the possibility that John (or whoever wrote this book), as one blogger maintains, wrote it as a “document that describes the attempts of a community to deal with unspeakable loss.” (Magdalene’s Musings”)

         The community that first heard this letter, this Book of Revelation, lived in a world rife with persecution directed at them.  Life had changed on a dime and was spinning out of control.  Nothing was the same anymore. John’s listeners were desperately afraid – for themselves, their families, and their communities.  

         It was like the day after the attack on Pearl Harbor.  It was like the hours after 9/11. It was like seeing the recent bold headline that Russia was invading Ukraine and wondering how NATO would respond. It was like just this past week when the CDC announced that the COVID death count in this country had surpassed a million people.  It was like this morning when you read about the 18 year old boy responsible for a mas hooting directed at black Americans in Buffalo.

It was the kind of world that made you ask all those questions you never in your wildest dreams thought you would ever ask.  What do we do now?  How can we be safe?  How can I protect my family, my children?  I am so tired of this pandemic….Would Putin ever use nuclear weapons?  Wil Congress ever pass adequate – if any – gun control?

         As the author of the blog “Magdalene’s Musings” writes:  “For the early Christian community, which we must remember was also, largely, a Jewish community, there was at least a twofold trauma: first, Roman armies had destroyed both the Temple and Jerusalem in the year 70 CE. And second, in the aftermath of that destruction, followers of Jesus had been singled out for persecution.”

         The Book of Revelation was written at a time of tremendous loss. The annihilation of the Temple was like death itself. It was the symbolic destruction of more than 500 years of sacred ritual.  A way of life was gone forever.  A holy site that had been central to generations of Jews as well as to Jesus was a pile of rubble.

         And the losses spread relentlessly, like tentacles reaching into each home, every life. Parents, children, spouses, friends… everyone was touched by death. Everyone was touched by loss. Entire communities struggled with how to face another day of persecution, another day of uncertainty, another day of impending disaster. 

The early followers of Jesus were living in a frightening world, one that caused them to ask all sorts of questions they’d never faced before. What do we do now? My family, my community, those I love… are we safe?  And where in heaven’s name is God? 

Who can blame this little Christian community for its crisis of faith? The author of Revelation wrote his apocalypse in response to that historical reality, a reality devoid of hope.

         With that in mind, listen to John’s words again, this time in “The Message” translation:

“I saw Heaven and earth new-created. Gone the first Heaven, gone the first earth, gone the sea.  I saw Holy Jerusalem, new-created, descending resplendent out of Heaven….

I heard a voice thunder from the Throne: “Look! Look! God has moved into the neighborhood, making his home with men and women! They’re his people, he’s their God. He’ll wipe every tear from their eyes. Death is gone for good—tears gone, crying gone, pain gone—all the first order of things gone.” The Enthroned continued, “Look! I’m making everything new. …Then he said, “It’s happened. I’m A to Z. I’m the Beginning, I’m the Conclusion.  From the Water-of-Life Well I give freely to the thirsty…..

         After all, (he might have continued), I am the garden with its quiet pools and rushing streams.  I am the city with the water of life.  

What would it have meant to first hear those words? What does it mean today to realize that the same message of hope that began our Holy Scriptures also concludes it, closing a loop, completing a sacred web?

Revelation is a powerful message of hope for us today because, when you come right down to it, we are not all that far removed from John. Like him, we are all prisoners because we all live in some sort of fear and insecurity.  We are all exiled in one form or another. 

Like him and the community to whom he wrote, we thirst, we thirst for hope in a broken world. We may not have lost someone we love to COVID.  We may not fear for our teenaged sons because they are black, but in one way or another, we are all victims, thirsty victims. So much of the time recently, in one way or another, we all are just trying to survive in circumstances beyond our control. And if you do not feel like a victim now (not to suggest a downer), but someday you will.

And so John’s words are as much for us as they were for the struggling Christian community to whom he wrote.  And if you only remember only one thing from this sermon, remember that John’s purpose in writing is to restore and renew and heal and to quench an unbearable thirst for hope in a sometimes cynical and jaded and often confusing, fearful, and imperfect world. It is as if we have been invited into the author’s vividly imaginative and creative brain to catch a glimpse of God’s dream for us and for the world that once long ago the Holy One called good.  

         And what do we find? Well, I can tell you this.  We will not come face to face with that sacred dream by being beamed up to heaven in some glorious rapture.  Nope - we do not need to sit on some desert mesa and wait for the end times!  

         John tells us instead that God is descending to earth, moving into the neighborhood (as The Message translation puts it), making a holy home with us, right now, ready to wipe away our tears and embrace us in our pain.  As a blogger I read noted: “When we are oppressed by a sense that our losses are too much for us, Revelation beckons us to that place where we can find that we are already part of a new heaven and a new earth.” (Magdalene’s Musings)

         John tells us that God is not starting over again.  God is not about destroying.  God is about restoring, renewing, resurrecting, healing.  How hopeful is that! 

We should not be surprised really.  After all, God has a long history of using the world and all that is in it to make new things happen.  There were the Hebrew slaves that ended up a chosen people.  There was Jesus’ crucifixion that ended up in resurrection, and for us who are Christians, we trust that, in the aftermath of Easter, all the sacred promises of the past as well as our hopes for the future have already begun to take shape. Deep in our hearts, at least a part of us trusts that God is taking all our shattered pieces and making us whole again.  How hopeful is that!

         Oh, we are not a bunch of Pollyanna’s, holding hands and singing Kum Ba Yah.  We know all too well that we do not live yet in the New Jerusalem.  No - we live where life is cheap, and the innocent often suffer. We live in Poland as Ukrainian refugees.  We live in Portapique, Nova Scotia, trying to comprehend how the worst mass shooting ever in Canada could have happened in our little town.  We live in a nation where more than 100,000 people died of drug overdoses last year. 

         But still, we hear John the exiled prisoner whisper…“Look! Look! God has moved into the neighborhood, making his home with men and women! They’re his people, he’s their God…, “Look! I’m making everything new. … “It’s happened. I’m A to Z. I’m the Beginning, I’m the Conclusion.  From the Water-of-Life well I give freely to the thirsty…..

Such words of hope – enough to keep in our own hearts – with some left over to share.  Isn’t that what we as Christians do with the hope we find tucked away in our hearts?  Share it?

As Methodist pastor David Haley remarked, “Having seen John’s vision of the world God will bring, of the new world God is struggling to bring, is it too much to ask that we work for it as best we can, by seeking justice and peace? Where, in emulation and anticipation of our God, we dry the tears from human eyes, in the name of Jesus Christ?” 

Is it too much to ask that we share the waters of life and abundance with others who thirst for hope? Is it too much to ask that we follow the Risen Christ, the Living Water, and walk with him who proclaims the resurrecting power of God?

It begins in a garden and ends in a city.  It begins with quiet pools and rushing streams and ends with the endlessly deep well of the water of life.  It begins with creation and ends with re-creation.  It begins with hope and ends with the same.