Ash Wednesday March 1, 2017

"Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return." (Genesis 3:19)

Today many of us will venture to our churches, approach the pastor, and allow her to place the sign of the cross on our foreheads. The ash is meant to remind us that we mourn. When marking a loss or death (like Job in his lament) or when repenting before God (like the people of Nineveh recognizing their sinfulness), it was a custom of our ancient fathers and mothers to cover themselves with ash.

The oil that makes the ash stick to our foreheads, though, is meant to remind us that we're healed. Oil is what the Good Samaritan used to treat the wounds of his beaten brother on the road to Jericho. It's what burns in the lamp in Exodus, bringing light to a people in darkness. In Leviticus, it's placed on the heads of those seeking cleansing and atonement.

It's fitting, then, that we begin the season of Lent this way - reminded both of loss and light. Of mourning and of healing. Of death and the promise of redemption. Journeying toward both Good Friday and Easter Sunday.

When wildfires burn in the southern United States or British Columbia, they destroy almost everything. The air turns black, forests and grasses and animals of all kinds are reduced to ash. Death is all around. And yet. Certain pinecones rely on the heat that comes only from a blistering wildfire to break open and release their seeds. New life can only come in the wake of destruction.

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May this Lenten journey find us willing to be marked with ash - may we mourn the extinction of species, the desertification of land, the loss of forests and native plants, the ever-expanding dumps filled with the cast-off remnants of our consumption. We have a lot of repenting to do, and may our ash be mixed with oil, so that it will stick. But may we also find the ability to hope. We are a people marked by a promise, and that promise includes all of creation. New life is springing up. We are in good hands. The God who created us - out of ash - has promised not to let us go.

Pray: God, we remember that we are but ash. We confess that we have failed to love you and the rest of your creation in the way we should. Take our meager efforts and bring them to new life. Amen.

Take the next step: Walk, carpool, or take the bus to the Ash Wednesday service today. As you're marked with ash (carbon!) take the time to name and repent for your own use of carbon which is contributing to a warming planet.

Friday March 3, 2017

“Dust you are, and to dust you will return.”

I don’t know about you, but every year as I kneel and hear these words spoken to me on Ash Wednesday, I walk back to my seat puzzling over their meaning. The puzzling usually goes something like this: “I’m dust? No I’m not! I have complex emotions. I’m a husband and a son. I have bones, a circulatory system...I’m a divine image bearer! Dust is the stuff that collects underneath my bed when I forget to vacuum. Dust? Really?”

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I think there is something buried deep within us that resents our limitations, our creaturehood. Maybe that’s why the first time these words are spoken, they come at the end of God’s heart-wrenching description of the consequences of humanity’s rebellion. After God finally finishes his litany of innocence lost in Genesis 3:14-19, he takes one more opportunity to remind his creatures exactly who they are. We can almost see him grabbing their shoulders and shaking them, wracked with grief but intent on getting his final point across. “Remember, dear creatures--you are dust” (the Hebrew here literally means “ash”). He then expels them from the Garden, with this reminder of their mortality ringing in their ears. It didn’t take long, however, for humanity’s hubris to push God’s warning from its memory. Indeed, our arrogant attempts at reaching beyond our ashen-creature limits have continued all the way from Gen. 4 until today.

Even as humans have imagined newer and more creative ways to ignore our ashenness, the mortality of the rest of creation has come into sharper and sharper focus. Once we start looking for ash in the non-human creation, it’s everywhere. It’s carried on the Santa Anna winds as they stoke some of the worst forest fires the world has ever seen. It blows out of massive smoke stacks, contributing to climate change and settling into our children’s lungs. It floats filmlike on the top of oceans and rivers, poisoning ecosystems and collapsing food chains. Yes, the fragility of creation has never been more clear, in large part thanks to the very human arrogance that exiled us from the Garden in the first place.

Does it have to be this way? Why was God so intent on reminding Adam and Eve about their mortality? Why must we recognize our limitations? What can creation teach us about our own vulnerability; our own identity as creatures 3 |

of dust? As we follow Christ’s journey to the cross, we might reflect: are there sins towards creation that weighed on his shoulders that dark Good Friday?

Thankfully, ash isn’t the end of the story, for with ash comes oil. Oil not only heals and restores, but it makes the ash stick. During this Lenten season, may we have the courage to be reminded of our dustiness, and to let it stick-- even as we await the fully realized reign of the Anointed One.

Monday, March 6, 2017

Speak out, judge righteously, defend the rights of the poor and needy. (Proverbs 31:9)

In the month of April 2013, the community of Kijabe, Kenya received rainfall levels equal to their total average annual rainfall. This extreme rain event reached a climax at the end of the month, when the saturated land could hold no longer, and a massive mudslide ripped through the village, killing three children in its wake.

This level of destruction likely would not have happened without the effects of years of deforestation on the surrounding hillsides. Fewer trees in a given area means the land is less able to absorb water, and cleared hillsides means there are no plants to slow water rushing downhill. The water piles up and up, and mudslides from the hills with greater ease.

It is a vicious cycle: Poor Kenyans are clearing the trees, cutting down forests to make pasture land for cattle, collecting firewood to cook and keep warm, or getting 4 |

involved in illegal logging enterprises. Without other opportunities available to them, the poor take from the natural resources around them, which then destabilizes the land and leaves them even more vulnerable when the rains and storms come again--and with the realities of climate disruption manifesting in places like Kenya, the storms always come back, and they are usually stronger and more damaging than before.

World Renew is working to turn the tide of environmental degradation in Kenya by partnering with organizations seeking to implement agriculture and training programs that provide healthy, effective alternatives for poor families previously clearing the forests for farming and fuel. One such organizations is Care of Creation Kenya (CCK). Based in Kijabe, CCK is working with local farmers to farm more sustainably and with local villagers to learn to value and protect their surrounding forests.

Bringing lasting change to Kenya and other nations in similar circumstances will require more than relief, and more than workshops. It requires addressing the extreme poverty of the country. If we are concerned for those who struggle in poverty, we must be concerned about a degraded creation that deepens and perpetuates poverty. Similarly, if we are concerned about creation, we must also address issues of poverty. It is impossible to address one without the other.

Pray: Lord, help us see connections – between our actions, and our inactions, and the lives of others. Open our eyes to the connections between the well-being of the non-human creation and the well-being of your people. May we not become overwhelmed or complacent, but energized for the work ahead.

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Take the next step: Go to climate-conversation.org and check out the new Climate Conversation: Kenya videos series. Learn more about Kijabe and hear more stories about how the impacts of climate change are being felt by our brothers and sisters in Kenya. Watch the videos, look through the discussion guide, and consider organizing a group to go through the 4-part series together during Lent.

March 8, 2017

So then, a sabbath rest still remains for the people of God; for those who enter God's rest also cease from their labors as God did from his. (Hebrews 4:9-10)

It's Wednesday. Which is not our Sabbath day. But I find myself thinking about Sabbath on this Wednesday anyway - which seems fitting. Sabbath isn't, after all, really about one of the seven days. It's not really about which day during the week we don't mow our lawn or avoid shopping malls. Sabbath isn't really about piety at all.

Sabbath is meant to be a gift. When we read of God creating the world, it's noteworthy that the creation of humans isn't the climax of the story - the climax comes on the seventh day: Sabbath. The story of creation isn't all about humans. It's all about God - a joyful, loving, capable, creative, and celebratory God. As Steven Bouma-Prediger writes in For the Beauty of the Earth, "The Sabbath reminds us, among other things, that the world is in God's loving hands and, therefore, will not fall to pieces if we cease from our work."

There's a lot of talk these days about things falling to pieces. It seems we're all Chicken Little, expecting chunks 6 |

of sky to start their descent at any moment. And don't get me wrong - there's a lot in life to fear these days. So maybe it's good to insert a little Sabbath on a Wednesday afternoon - a little reminder that despite fragile 401ks and home values and consumer confidence, despite stubborn unemployment rates, fear of poverty, and general anxiety about what the future will hold...we are held. In strong hands.

Walter Brueggemann says this, "The celebration of a day of rest [is] an assertion that life does not depend on our feverish activity of self-securing, but that there can be a pause in which life is given to us simply as a gift.

Pray: Generous God, may we trust you today - despite the reasons we have to worry. May this Lenten season teach us the discipline of rest so that we may develop eyes to see the gifts of life.

Take the next step: The media is begging us to stimulate the economy by making a purchase today. Maybe that purchase can wait until tomorrow. Today, consider taking a day off from consumption. Retire that debit card as a statement of trust, an "assertion that life does not depend on our feverish activity of self-securing."

Friday, March 10, 2017

The most intense week of my life started when I entered a classroom for a one week course. The course was named “Exploring Indigenous Justice and Healing”, taught by Rupert Ross and offered through the Canadian School of Peacebuilding. I had read his book “Returning to the Teachings” a few years before and it had stuck with me. I 7 |

was excited to hear more as I am in the field of reconciliation and justice.

But I was also nervous because the course was designed to have three full sharing circles. We were really going to get to know each other. Little did I know that I would learn about myself as well.

The first day, Ross asked us to go around in a circle and introduce ourselves. Our first circle--not bad. Some people shared more than others. Then Ross introduced us to how he feels Aboriginal people view and feel the world based on his experiences. This is how I understood his explanation--everything is in relationship. Relationships exist between everything and that relationship is precious and needs to be honoured, protected, and respected. This sounds great and ideal but until you understand how important these relationships are, you cannot understand the traumatic loss experienced by Aboriginal people when these relationships were severed.

Relationships with families were severed through Indian Residential Schools. (These schools were run in the USA as well.)

The relationship to culture was severed through laws, through relocations, and again through residential schools.

The relationship to the land was severed when Aboriginal people were put onto reserves. In the case of my family, the forced relocation caused devastating disconnection on every level.

I realized having no relationships is isolation. This is where I began questioning the impact of these severed relationships...where does it affect my life? 8 |

I do not share my mother’s Sayisi Dene culture because she couldn’t share with me something she doesn’t know.

I cannot speak to my mother in her mother tongue as she had no support to teach me.

I do not know any songs or teachings because the dominant culture overshadowed hers.

I can appreciate the beauty of the land, but can I survive and thrive in that land as my grandparents did? While I can learn about the land on my own, I would not have the connection of a grandparent or a parent or an auntie or uncle to teach me. I will never have that precious connection to the land and language through the inherited knowledge of a family member.

This is what I learned about myself in that week long course. I came to realize that I too am isolated--I don’t know any of my Sayisi Dene culture and my relationship to the land has been broken. While my family lived off the land and knew it intimately just fifty years ago, that knowledge has not been passed on to me.

So this is my prayer: Creator, teach us to restore these relationships and forge new ones. Teach us to lift up Aboriginal people and honour their knowledge of the land.

Take the next step: Read the story of Shannon's home community in the book Night Spirits: The Story of the Relocation of the Sayisi Dene or research the story.

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Monday, March 13, 2017

“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted…” (Ecclesiastes 3:1-2)

There is a coastal village just north of Mombasa in Kenya. For generations, the mangrove forests there have created a habitat for fish that has provided food and income for the people of the village. Today that way of life is threatened, as mangroves have become an important source of another commodity in Kenya: fuel.

In that village, food and fuel are intimately connected – it’s a choice between the two. The destruction of the mangrove forests in the name of fuel is impossible to deny. So a group of young folks is doing something about it: they’re restoring a section of the mangroves, educating villagers about the dangers of destroying too much of the forest, and relearning the skill of farming fish and prawns among those precious trees. For these young villagers, the time for fuel’s importance to take precedence has past, and the time for food’s importance to dictate resource use has come.

In my own “village,” food and fuel are also intimately linked – most of what I eat is impossible to come by without fuel. Last night, I picked up an avocado to supplement the fajita dinner my husband was preparing. We don’t grow avocados where I live in Michigan. In fact, it’s not asparagus season here, or tomato season, or the right time of year to be ripening red peppers. But they all made their way to my fridge yesterday, without much of a second thought.

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Because fuel is easy to come by in North America, I’ve grown accustomed to eating what I want, when I want it. And I depend on semi-trucks carting strawberries from Latin America to keep it that way. Like those Kenyan villagers, I might do well to start to reconsider the relationship between food and fuel in my culture.

The book of Ecclesiastes reminds us that our lives are marked by seasons: seasons to have things, seasons to go without. Lent, for many, is a time to practice being “without.” For North American Christians today, this self- imposed “season” may help to remind us of the ways we’ve blended seasons together for our convenience, and the rhythms of trust and appreciation we’ve forgotten because of it.

Take the next step: As you prepare your food, consider how many resources, cultures, people, and expenditures it took for the meal you’re eating to come together. Consider making a Lenten sacrifice of one imported and out-of- season item – tomatoes or strawberries, for example – as a reminder of the sacrifice that must take place for your consumption of season-less produce.

Wednesday, March 15, 2017

"Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, where for forty days he was tempted by the devil. He ate nothing at all during those days, and when they were over, he was famished. The devil said to him, 'If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.' Jesus answered him, 'It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone.’'" (Luke 4:1-4) 11 |

One of my friends from seminary did a project for a course: he memorized Luke 4 and, instead of reading it when he preached, he recited it for the congregation. But when he recited it he didn’t stop with “One does not live by bread alone.” My friend decided to keep quoting this passage from Deuteronomy that Jesus is calling to mind here. And it changed the way I understand these verses.

Jesus is quoting from Deuteronomy 8, which goes on to paint this picture of what God wants for us: “the Lord your God is bringing you into a good land, a land with flowing streams, with springs and underground waters welling up in valleys and hills, a land of wheat and barley, of vines and fig trees and pomegranates, a land of olive trees and honey, a land where you may eat bread without scarcity, where you will lack nothing, a land whose stones are iron and from whose hills you may mine copper. You shall eat your fill and bless the Lord your God for the good land that he has given you…”

When my friend kept quoting from Deuteronomy that day, it suddenly became clear to me that Jesus wasn’t saying what I had always assumed he was saying: that there are “physical” needs (bread) and there are “spiritual” needs (the Word of God), and one is more important than the other. In fact, what Jesus is reminding the devil of (and himself, and us) is that God is the source of the bread. God is the source of the flour. God is the source of the grain, the soil, the water, the ecosystem that it took to get that bread into my stomach. To God, not to me, be the glory.

Walter Brueggemann, in his book The Land, says “at the times when the Israelites felt secure in the land, they found it easy to take the land and the covenant for granted, and to see the land [not as a gift but] as property to be managed.” When creation becomes a commodity to be managed, 12 |

rather than a gift to stir gratitude, humans tend to “manage the land primarily to benefit [themselves] and the politically powerful, maximizing productivity of the land, and giving no thought to the well-being of the land [or the well-being of] the poor.”

For so many today, this land is anything but “a good land, a land with flowing streams…a land of wheat and barley.” For millions, when the streams flow they flood, washing away topsoil and newly planted crops and leaving their children hungry. For millions, drought keeps anything from growing at all, let alone wheat and barley, causing years of chronic hunger. For millions, the stones of iron and hills of copper have been ravaged by the opportunistic, robbed from the poor by the schemes of the rich. There are millions who feel anything but “secure in the land.”

I think we are called to honor the God who wishes for everyone to flourish, who wishes that the banquet feast be enough for everyone to “eat their fill.” I think we are called to live simply and thankfully, refusing to hoard and scheme and “create our own bread” as if it came from us and not from God. I think we’re called to do that in small ways – like un-learning the habits that cause a fourth of our food in North America to go down the garbage disposal. And I think we’re called to do that in big ways – like encouraging our governments to bring more and better aid to the millions who go hungry on this earth we share.

I didn’t earn the right to “eat my fill,” though I do it three times a day. No more than the child who doesn’t know what “eating his fill” feels like has earned his life of hunger. God desires for both of us to live in a good land. I think, during this season of Lent, God wants me to remember that – and do something to help make it happen.

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Pray: Loving God, may we remember that you are a good God, a God who desires for all to be fed. May we have eyes to see the ways we are laying claim to what is not ours, dishonoring you by believing we can create our own way in this world. In our relying on you, may we do what you call us to do: protect the poor, share with the hungry, advance the cause of justice. Amen.

Friday, March 17, 2017

You have made the moon to mark the seasons; the sun knows its time for setting.

You make darkness, and it is night, when all the animals of the forest come creeping out.

The young lions roar for their prey, seeking their food from God.

When the sun rises, they withdraw and lie down in their dens.

People go out to their work and to their labor until the evening.

(Psalm 104:19-23)

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When I lived in Southern California, I had a hard time with the rhythm of the year. Growing up in the Midwest, I was used to distinct seasons, to clear changes that told me it was fall or spring, winter or summer.

Had I grown up in SoCal, I’m sure I would have been much more in tune to the seasonal changes there, but as a transplant, the near constant sun and warmth all year long threw me for loop. When I try to remember when a past conversation or event took place, I have a hard time remembering if it was winter or summer. Did I need to wear a sweater that day? Was there a cloud in the sky? Everything kind of ran together – I had no real sense of time passing.

So I share the psalmist’s appreciation for the marking of the seasons, for the rhythms of a year or a day. The plants, the animals, and people have a pattern to follow, and cues to mark their time. There’s a comfort, stability and purpose in this.

But we live in a time when we can get around the rhythms of our particular places. We can have ourselves a tropical fruit salad in the dead of winter, even if we’re nowhere near the equator. We can go skiing in the summer and snorkeling in the winter. We can regulate our environments with heaters and coolers and move from one location to another sometimes without ever stepping outside.

It’s not like these are necessarily terrible things, but what happens if we begin to forget our place? If we skip out on the rhythm too much? If we can do whatever we want whenever we want with whatever resources we want, without regard to when we are and where we are – won’t we make some bad choices? Will we miss out on something? 15 |

One of the things I’ve learned to appreciate about my Midwestern home is how appropriate the juxtaposition of Lent and Easter are with the transitioning seasons of winter to spring. It makes so much sense.

We’re moving from darkness to light. From hard, cold ground, to rich, fruitful earth. I’m starting to see green buds on the trees in my neighborhood – new just this week. I’m so eager for the full blooms, and I know that they are coming – I can see that they are coming. Out of death and darkness comes light and life.

Pray: Dear Lord, we thank you for the rhythms of our seasons and of our days. In all times and in all places, help us to find you.

Take the next step: Consider taking a day this week to fast from electrical lighting at home. Turn off all electrical lights (even that coffee machine clock), and live the day according to the sun. Go to sleep when the sun goes down-- or read a book by candlelight--and let the sun on your face awaken you the next day. Enjoy living into your place.

Monday, March 20, 2017

I will heal their disloyalty; I will love them freely, for my anger has turned from them. I will be like the dew to Israel; he shall blossom like the lily, he shall strike root like the forests of Lebanon. His shoots shall spread out; his beauty shall be like the olive tree, and his fragrance like that of Lebanon. They shall again live beneath my shadow, they shall flourish as a garden; they shall blossom like the vine, their fragrance shall be like the wine of Lebanon. (Hosea 14: 4-7) 16 |

The lovely Lenten hymn, "O My People, Turn to Me", is based on Hosea 14, in which Israel is urged to turn away from its iniquity and idolatry and back towards the Lord. The hymn, just as the passage on which it is based, describes the repentant people blooming like flowers, like beautiful trees with roots spread far and wide, fragrant and flourishing.

Israel has turned from the Lord time and time again. They have set their hearts on other things, and they have put up idols. Yet God so deeply desires his children back that he proclaims: “I will heal their disloyalty; I will love them freely.” God will take the responsibility of rehabilitation upon himself, if only Israel will humble itself enough to accept it. The result of this acceptance is the turning from sin toward the Lord, and the product is a beauty, productivity and flourishing almost too lovely to imagine.

In sin, we fade--our roots dry up. We lose lovely blooms and nourishing fruits. Sin shrivels, and leaves us thirsty for living water. But God promises that he will be the dew that refreshes us. When we turn back to God, our roots grow deep and we become beautiful and lush.

“I am like an evergreen cypress,” says the Lord. Always green and ever present, providing shade over us, and giving us protection from harsh conditions. It is in our God, not anywhere else, that we find true delight and nourishment.

What are those things we must turn from this Lenten season (and always) to receive that new life and growth? What are the things we allow to become idols and distractions from God?

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Pray: We echo the words of Israel, Lord. Take away our guilt, and accept that which is good. Heal our disloyalty, and let us flourish like a garden in your presence.

Take the next step: Give yourself a visual reminder of deep roots and flourishing life while communing with creation! Consider planting a tree native to your area. According to the American Forestry Association, if every American family planted just one tree, the amount of CO2 in the atmosphere would be reduced by one billion pounds annually. Find out which trees are native to your area.

Wednesday, March 22, 2017

Is it not enough for you to feed on the good pasture, but you must tread down with your feet the rest of your pasture? When you drink of clear water, must you foul the rest with your feet? And must my sheep eat what you have trodden with your feet, and drink what you have fouled with your feet? (Ezekiel 34:18-19)

Watch your step!

It’s a common sign to see in buildings and public places; a little caution to be mindful of where you’re walking so you don’t hurt yourself or anyone around you.

In a way, Ezekiel 34 is like a big “Watch your step!” sign. God, speaking through the prophet, is angry with those people who have been careless, greedy and unjust. He speaks against the “shepherds” (the priests overseeing the activities of the temple) who have fed themselves but not the sheep (the people of Israel). While the shepherds got themselves nice and full, clothed and happy, the sheep have 18 |

been terribly neglected. “You have not strengthened the weak, you have not healed the sick, you have not bound up the injured, you have not sought the lost…” accuses the Lord (v. 4).

Later, the image shifts from lousy shepherds to lousy sheep. Their voracious appetites and aggressive natures crowd and butt out the weaker animals, and they carelessly ruin the pasture for the rest of the sheep. “I will save my flock,” God says, “I will judge between sheep and sheep” (v. 22). It's a promise and a warning to take seriously.

In our time of prayer, reflection, meditation and repentance this Lenten season, it’s good to take an honest look at where – and how – we’ve been walking. The image of the aggressive sheep trampling and ruining the good pasture for others is a particularly strong image when it comes to earthkeeping and justice for our neighbors. If we blindly consume more, discard more and demand more, we will inevitably foul the pasture with our feet.

Pray: Lord, help us to watch our steps! We desire to remain on the right path, and to allow room for others to walk alongside us. Show us how to tread with more care, and forgive us when we have not.

Take the next step: Watch your step – then maybe tweak it – by calculating your carbon footprint. Take a fun and interactive quiz from the Global Footprint Network to learn how your lifestyle impacts the Earth, and some steps you can take to lighten your tread.

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Friday, March 24, 2017

Hear this, O Job; stop and consider the wondrous works of God.

Do you know how God lays his command upon them, and causes the lightning of his cloud to shine?

Do you know the balancings of the clouds, the wondrous works of the one whose knowledge is perfect…

(Job 37:14-15)

I’m not terribly into science. I’m also not terribly into surfing, or shark-diving, or having itchy skin after I swim. So I’ve been ignoring news about our oceans that’s rather alarming. I can only handle so much alarming news in one day. But I have found room in my alarm-quotient enough to care about this: our oceans are becoming more acidic.

Here’s what’s happening: as humans use more fossil fuels, the amount of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere increases, and much of it is absorbed by the ocean. It eventually dissolves there, making the water more and more acidic.

There are tiny organisms in the ocean called foraminifera. These little guys have shells that acid can gnaw right away. The more acidic the oceans have become, the harder it is for my foraminifera friends to create their shells.

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Calcium-shelled species like foraminifera are a vital link in the marine food chain. That food chain travels all the way up to humans. Almost 3 billion people, mostly the poor, depend on fish for a large part of their daily protein. I care about the poor. So, suddenly, I care about acidic oceans.

It’s easy to get overwhelmed with all the alarming news we have to stomach. It’s easy to tune out certain reports, or refuse to engage. I can’t de-acidify the oceans. I can’t rescue the family on my street who is losing their home to foreclosure. I can’t fix our immigration system or solve my friend’s addiction or even get my church to sing the right mix of old hymns and popular praise songs. I can’t do much to set the world right.

Thank God it’s Lent. Thank God that it’s the season of remembering our limits. We are a sinful people. We follow a crucified Christ. We live in an imperfect world. And yet, there is still hope. Somehow, we’re always forgiven. Somehow, Easter always comes.

I’m going to add the foraminifera to my list of things to worry about. And I’m going to try my best to limit how much my personal consumption of fossil fuels are harming its shells. I’m also going to remember, like Job did, that God’s works are wondrous. God is in control. He balanced the ecosystems to begin with. Maybe my knowledge and subsequent action is but one piece of God’s grand plan to rebalance them again.

Pray: God, give us eyes to see even the smallest evidence of sin and brokenness. May we notice, repent, and find a new way before the results become so great that many have to suffer. And as we see more and more brokenness, may we trust that you are a God who provides, who restores, who even now is making all things new. Amen. 21 |

Take the next step: You emit carbon dioxide with each flip of the light switch. Are you using renewable energy in your home? Could you switch? Many areas of North America now offer the alternative option of wind or solar power through existing power companies. Call your utility provider to find out if renewable energy is an option for you – and if it’s not, find out why.

Monday, March 27, 2017

“You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous.’” (Matthew 5: 43-45)

I frequent a web community that’s interested in “simpler living.” The discussion boards there are filled with folks doing all sorts of interesting and creative things to limit their impact on the planet, and to streamline their lifestyles from the pursuit of “more” to a fulfilling life of “enough.” They share tips with one another, ask useful questions, and post great articles and resources.

But there seems to be a troublesome trend among many in the community on the site that has prevented me from wanting to participate in the discussions myself. Discussions will often turn into screeds against those who have not embraced their way of living more simply. They are disgusted with their wasteful neighbors, the ones who drive gas-guzzling SUVs, buy the latest electronic gizmo 22 |

for their children, or eat out a few times a week instead of staying at home.

The tone of their disapproval ranges from clucking tongues to outright disdain for these “others” – these terrible folks who are so blithely going about tromping on the planet, gobbling up all its resources and trashing it for everyone else.

I understand the need to blow off steam when frustration arises, but the angry self-righteousness I occasionally see on display in that community is disappointing. And it’s also a very good lesson to me, because I could so easily be persuaded to join in myself.

Our passion and commitment to lead responsible lives of justice and mercy can lead us to be…well, not so merciful. Our eagerness to do right and to be right can lead us to a narrow approach with those who haven’t embraced our way or who don’t understand our choices – and it prevents us from being open to important lessons from those very same folks. Our neighbors become our enemies.

It’s a good thing then, when Lent comes around – when we are reminded to humble ourselves. That we stumble and are in need of repentance. Holy Week is that final stretch, the last leg of the journey to the cross, to the darkness and shadow of Good Friday and the new beginning and new life of Easter morning. This is the story that inhabits us, the story we should want to share and live out with everyone around us – the story that compels us to love those who challenge us and invite them along on the journey.

Pray: Heavenly Father, give us the humility, the patience, and the compassion to walk alongside our neighbors, to be open to what they have to teach us, and to share our own 23 |

passions and commitments with them in ways that invite them in, not shut them out.

Take the next step: Take a next step by helping others take a next step. When an opportunity arises for you to share an earthkeeping option with another person, consider how you deliver your message. Is it confrontational or invitational?

Wednesday, March 29, 2017

On the last day of the festival, the great day, while Jesus was standing there, he cried out, “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me, and let the ones who believes in me drink. As the scripture has said, ‘Out of the believer’s heart shall flow rivers of living water.” (John 7:37-38)

Water, as the scientifically inclined will be aware, “lives” in a cycle: moving between solid and liquid and gaseous states, from rivers and lakes to clouds in the sky, to the snow and the sleet, the fog and the rain that return to the earth and the water that makes up our bodies and those of all the other life forms of God’s creation. We are born from water. And while we more commonly speak of ashes and dust as our mortal bodies die, we could equally speak of the return of the waters of which we are made to the cycle of life in that creation, an ultimate reconciliation of ourselves with the waters which give us life.

Cycles, or circles, are fundamental concepts of traditional Indigenous spiritual wisdom. Indigenous peoples use the circle to demonstrate how everyone and everything in creation is connected, is related. When connections are severed, relationships broken, the circle becomes 24 |

incomplete and reconciliation, or the healing of the break, is required to restore fullness of life.

In this season of Lent, we are reflecting on our responsibility to care for the created world as people who have been given new life by drinking from Christ’s living water. We marvel at the resilience of God’s creation—its capacity to heal and be renewed—even as we grow increasingly aware that our ecosystems are no more immortal than are we. We know how much harm we have done and continue to do to the land, and the air, and the water, and consequently to all the other creatures who also live upon this earth, who do so much to make our lives better, indeed to sustain our lives.

We live in a nation where access to clean water is considered a right of citizenship yet we must confess that many First Nation members, among others in the world, do not share this privilege. Caring for the life sustaining waters of our planet is an act of love for others.

In this season of Lent, as people who have been given new life by drinking from Christ’s living water, let us reflect on what we have done and left undone to demonstrate God’s love to others by sharing the gift of clean water with them.

Pray: Creator, too often we forget that we are created beings, inextricably bound together with the rest of creation. Teach us to live well into that reality.

Take the next step: Drink only water today, instead of coffee or milk or other liquids you might otherwise drink, and learn about one First Nations community that lives with an unhealthy or inadequate water drinking water.

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Friday, March 31, 2017

O LORD, who may abide in your tent?

Who may dwell on your holy hill?

Those who walk blamelessly, and do what is right, and speak the truth from their heart…”

(Psalm 15:1-2)

Today is César Chávez Day. In certain states across the United States, Chavez will be remembered and celebrated as a civil rights leader willing to expose an ugly truth: the oppression of migrant workers.

Chavez helped to expose the ways in which migrant workers were being exploited. In particular, in the 1980s, Chavez refused to eat for 36 days in order to draw attention to the devastating effects of the unquestioned use of pesticides on farms.

Chavez's main concern was the effect these pesticides were having on the human beings who were exposed to the toxic chemicals on a daily basis. The illness and death those chemicals caused were impossible to ignore. Unless, of course, you didn’t know a migrant worker. Then they were quite effortless to ignore. Chavez sought, through the prophetic activism of a hunger strike, to expose the truth that was kept hidden because of the marginalization and suppression of migrant workers in the United States.

Jesus paid attention to marginalized people. Jesus saw the suffering of groups who were “left out” in his time:

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women, lepers, Samaritans, tax collectors. Jesus came alongside those suffering people, and by drawing near to them, made them visible to a world that had ignored them. Jesus was about truth.

As Jesus followers, we are also people of truth. We are called to draw attention to the truth when we know it. We are called to bring to light that which has been hidden. We are called to name suffering and injustice so that others may notice it, and so that we might work toward changing it.

As we remember Chavez tomorrow, it’s worth noting that there are reports of a 125-percent increase in the use of pesticides in the last 25 years. It’s worth noting that many migrant farm workers are still robbed of wages and are kept in the shadows by a dysfunctional immigration system. It’s worth remembering that the struggle for justice is still happening. We’re still walking Chavez’s road. Truth telling isn’t simple, or swift, but it’s our calling as people who follow a crucified Christ who told the truth even when it led to a cross.

Pray: God, give us courage to bring to light the truth we see. May we be truth tellers both in actions and in words. And may your kingdom come quickly. Amen.

Take the Next Step: Before you eat today, pause to be mindful of all that it took to get the food to your plate: the seed, the soil, the sun, the water, the machines, the workers, the transporters, the marketers, the retailers. In your pre- meal prayers, pray for the welfare and protection of those that are made vulnerable in order to make such a meal possible.

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Monday, April 3, 2017

We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. (Rom. 8:22)

God uses creation to speak to us. He put a rainbow in the sky as a sign of his covenant, he pointed Abram to the stars to illustrate his numerous offspring, he called out to Moses from the burning bush. “Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?” he questioned Job.

God’s communication through creation doesn’t end with the Old Testament either. Jesus regularly used earthy settings and metaphors to teach his followers. Vineyards and fields and mustard seeds make their way into important lessons about God, his kingdom and his people.

Many of us have felt the presence of God in the world around us. Though we probably haven’t talked to God through a burning bush, we may have felt praise come up in our throats at the sight of a glorious sunset, peace wash over us in a stroll through the woods or wonder at God’s work at the sight of a magnificent creature in the wild.

Praise, awe and wonder for God’s creation are, of course, appropriate responses. Yet a creation that groans also has something important to say to us during our solemn Lenten reflection.

Creation can be a mirror of sorts. Our wounds from sin and brokenness, our groan for redemption and renewal, are reflected in bulldozed mountaintops and hills of waste. Where we find lakes and ponds too acidic for fish to swim, we might see our own hearts, too poisoned with anger to forgive. Where we find air so toxic it makes people sick, 28 |

we might see our own addictions or compulsions, choking out a productive and healthy life.

And we don’t need to stay on the metaphorical level either. A groaning creation can tell us, quite plainly, that we have problems with having enough. That we are satisfied with the disposable instead of the permanent (and what could that tell us about our spiritual lives?) That, though we sing, “this is my Father’s world,” maybe we don’t really mean it- -not completely.

Sometimes what God is communicating to us is not what we want to hear. But that’s what Lent is about--humbling ourselves, facing our brokenness, and hearing God’s hard truth’s for our lives.

Pray: Lord, we ask forgiveness when we have turned from your voice. Tune our ears to your creation, that we might hear what you have to say. Motivate us to respond.

Take the next step: Come together with your family or a group of friends and learn more about a particular environmental degradation (mountaintop removal, ocean acidification, species extinction, etc). Listen closely to what it has to say to you about your own brokenness and need for forgiveness and restoration.

Wednesday, April 5, 2017

Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city. On either side of the river is the tree of life with its twelve kinds of

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fruit, producing its fruit each month; and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. (Rev 22:1)

I’ve been thinking about trees. Some years ago, I told the children at church a story about a tree under which Jesus paused – and looked up, and called to that short fellow, Zacchaeus, to hurry and come down. Luke even bothers to tell us what kind of tree it was – a sycamore. That tree was in the middle of the city of Jericho, and I know Zacchaeus was glad to find it there. I’m always glad to find trees too. I used to be glad to find one to climb; now I’m glad to find one to sit under.

On this Lenten journey, I’ve been thinking about trees. How grateful I am for them, and how much I enjoy their beauty, their shapes and their colors as the seasons change in Michigan. I remember how much I missed fall trees in the Philippines. I remember how many mulberries I ate from my Grandpa’s mulberry tree.

Palm trees and mango trees, neem trees and banyan trees – these are the trees of the Philippines. They remind me of communities, of stories, of programs, and families. I have a picture of a tree that saved families during a tsunami. I remember the trees under which meetings happen. And the trees that provide a living for the family and medicines for health. And there are even moringa trees for fish food! And so much more.

The Bible is full of trees; the prophets talked about them, the poets sang about them, Jesus cursed a tree that didn’t have fruit, and he amazed Nathanael by telling him he had seen him when he was under the fig tree. Trees in the Bible are amazing -- sometimes they even sing and dance!

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There’s a tree in middle of the New Jerusalem too – and its leaves are for the healing of the nations. And that is possible because of another tree – the tree of Calvary. I’m taking a slow walk along a tree-lined path this Lenten season. And I’m thinking about how very much I love trees.

Pray: Lord, in the dryness of Lent, cause our roots to strike deep into you. And when the time comes to bear fruit, may concern for your creation be one of the fruits that our roots in you produce in us, for the good of the world.

Take the next step: Deforestation is a serious problem for many impoverished communities around the world. Consider making a donation to World Renew’s environmental stewardship efforts, many of which address the root causes of deforestation in the communities in which they work.

Friday, April 7, 2017

When a great crowd gathered and people from town after town came to him, he said in a parable: ‘A sower went out to sow his seed; and as he sowed, some fell on the path and was trampled on, and the birds of the air ate it up. Some fell on the rock; and as it grew up, it withered for lack of moisture. Some fell among thorns, and the thorns grew with it and choked it. Some fell into good soil, and when it grew, it produced a hundredfold.’ As he said this, he called out, ‘Let anyone with ears to hear listen!’ (Luke 8:4-8)

I was driving with my son on the highway the other day. “See that patch of grass up there?” he asked me. “I burn that stuff at work.” My son is part of the Phrag Squad. His job, as an Americorps volunteer for Michigan’s Department

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of Natural Resources, is to identify and destroy all the Phragmites australis (frag-MY-teez) he can find.

While a certain species of phragmites is native to Michigan, an invasive non-native variety of the plant is becoming so widespread, there is concern that it could take over ecosystems across Michigan, including the Great Lakes coastal shorelines. The invasive variety is taking over the variety that is meant to grow here – and taking over many other species at the same time – leaving Michigan with reduced plant diversity, reduced animal diversity, and a whole host of other problems. The Phrag Squad is working on it, but the odds are stacked against them.

Jesus, it seems, points to this kind of invasive species in Luke 8. The species in his parable had thorns, though here in Michigan they have grassy tops and aren’t so easy to identify. But the result is the same: the desirable plants are choked out by the undesirable ones.

Perhaps the invasive species of our time is defeatism – throwing up our hands, insisting there’s no solution to the world’s problems that we can be a part of. To that I think Jesus would say “Let anyone with ears to hear listen!” God wants us to be part of his kingdom work – building shalom, seeking justice, “bringing good news to the poor.” No one said it would be easy – we are on a journey to the cross, no less – but there are promises along the way. Once we allow God to burn out the phragmites, there’s some good soil, ready to produce a hundredfold.

Pray: God, prepare us for your refining fire, that we may be cleansed of all that gets in the way of bringing you glory. Give us a vision for the kind of kingdom you came to build, and use our hands and feet as you wish. May we be good soil. Amen. 32 |

Take the next step: Native plants are being taken over by invasive species everywhere – likely even in your yard. Consider weeding out the invasive species and replanting the native varieties as a spiritual discipline as the weather warms this spring. Start planning now at www.plantnative.org (US) or http://nativeplants.evergreen.ca/ (Canada).

Monday, April 10, 2017

Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me. (Psalm 51:10)

As temperatures slowly inch upwards and the sun lingers longer in the evening, that spring-time drumbeat starts pounding ever louder in my head. After being cooped up for a cold, dark winter I want to take every opportunity to go outside, even if I might be jumping the gun a bit, and I suddenly get the feeling like I need to get my house in order.

That frenzy of spring cleaning - sorting through the junk that always seems to accumulate despite my best efforts, throwing open the windows to let in new air, rifling through cabinets and closets, dusting neglected corners - something about the coming newness of the seasons makes me want me, and everything around me, to be new too.

Maybe it's good timing that Lent falls during this transition of seasons. We're not out of the dark yet. Winter holds on. We enter into the final stretch with our heads bowed, sorrowful and yet hopeful for the newness that will come. In the dark corners of our hearts and minds we examine what needs to be repaired and what needs to be discarded. 33 |

We rifle through the junk, the flotsam of our human brokenness that clutters up our spiritual - and temporal - lives. We ask Christ to make us clean again.

Easter, like the springtime, will come; but would that beauty and newness of the risen Christ and our redemption and renewal be quite so bright had we not stopped to honestly examine our desperate need for one to come and cleanse us?

Pray: Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me.

Take the next step: Lent is a time to flush out the clutter that inhibits our walk with God. As you take stock of those things in your life that crowd your vision of God, take the first step in your closet. Turn every hanger in your closet in the same direction. After wearing an article of clothing, put it back in the closet and turn the hanger in the opposite direction. After one month, donate every article of clothing on a hanger still pointing in the original direction to a thrift store.

Wednesday, April 12, 2017

For I am about to create new heavens and a new earth…But be glad and rejoice for ever in what I am creating; for I am about to create Jerusalem as a joy, and its people as a delight... No more shall there be in it an infant that lives but a few days, or an old person who does not live out a lifetime; for one who dies at a hundred years will be considered a youth, and one who falls short of a hundred will be considered accursed. They shall build houses and inhabit them; they shall plant vineyards and eat 34 |

their fruit. They shall not build and another inhabit; they shall not plant and another eat; for like the days of a tree shall the days of my people be, and my chosen shall long enjoy the work of their hands. (Isaiah 65:17-22)

Working for social justice has led me to feel burdens for many causes, but there is a special place reserved in my broken heart for immigrants. Because I know a few, and their stories are so painful, and their lives are lived so geographically close to my own, it’s difficult for me to ignore. I’ve never met an immigrant who wanted to leave his or her home. The stories I’ve heard have one thing in common: necessity. He couldn’t find work, she couldn’t pay the bills, the kids weren’t getting enough to eat. And, increasingly, people are crossing borders because of environmental degradation.

Joel Simon, in the film Endangered Mexico, asked migrants leaving Oaxaca why they had left home, and the answer was the same. “Time after time I heard the same refrain, ‘porque la tierra ya no da,’--because the earth no longer gives.” Charcoal and firewood are big money-makers in that region, so the land and forest has slowly been destroyed to the point where it can’t sustain the livelihoods of the families who have lived there for generations.

These people are leaving their homes not because they want to, but because they have to. They’re moving to the place that can sustain life, as any sane person would do. The same drama is being played out around the world, and its main characters are called “environmental refugees”. As climate change continues to load the atmospheric dice for more devastating weather events around the globe, this phenomenon is only expected to accelerate.

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God’s picture of shalom includes the ability for people to stay in their own land, to “build houses and inhabit them,” to “plant vineyards and eat their fruit.” It is God’s will for all of creation--including mountains, forests, and people--to flourish. This flourishing, this shalom, is what the resurrection of Jesus Christ points to: a reign of God in which death has no sting.

Pray: Reconciling God, may we remember that Jesus came to bring shalom. May the shouts of “Hosanna!” still ringing in our ears from last Sunday remind us that we are called to join with you to be bringers of that shalom. Amen.

Take the next step: As the effects of climate change become more evident, so will the numbers of environmental refugees. Pray for the people the CRCNA works with whose lifestyles must adapt to changing climates around the world. Need a reminder? Try removing a lightbulb in your house that you use often, but can live without for a week. Between now and Easter, say a prayer for environmental refugees each time you flip that switch and no light appears.

Friday, April 14, 2017

At the sixth hour darkness came over the whole land until the ninth hour. And at the ninth hour Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? … With a loud cry, Jesus breathed his last. (Mark 15: 33,34)

…just after sunrise, they were on their way to the tomb…as they entered the tomb, they saw a young man dressed in a white robe sitting on the right side, and they were alarmed. 36 |

“Don’t be alarmed,” he said. “You are looking for Jesus the Nazarene, who was crucified. He has risen! He is not here...” (Mark 16: 2-6)

Jesus’ journey through the last week of his earthly ministry ended with a lonely, agonizing death on a bleak and lifeless hill outside Jerusalem. But the paradox is this: it is from this bleak and lifeless place that all creation – including you and me – has Life again. Without the dark cold place of the skull there is no early morning resurrection to new Life.

Creation tells the same story.

High above the streams and meadows full of life in Wyoming’s Wind River range, there are the glaciers -- year-round ice and snow fields surrounded by barren scree and rock falls, in the shadows of the high peaks that thrust so high into the atmosphere that weather is born around them.

A few years ago on a backpacking trip with a few friends, I trekked up to one of these places. Exposed on a barren and icy plain, I could find nothing resembling life; only rock, ice, snow, and bitter cold. There was no sound but wind, and when the wind died, there was such a deep silence that you could almost hear the mountain’s presence.

But as we began our walk down, there was another sound. Trickles of water coming from wherever the sun warmed the ice enough to change its state. The trickles came together in rivulets, the rivulets into streams, the streams into cataracts looping over the rocks into mountain pools. Overflowing those pools, the water rushed down the mountain and into the high valleys where beavers created ponds and lakes for fish and frogs to thrive and moose to drink from. 37 |

Without the high mountain snowfields and glaciers--the rocky, bleak, and lifeless places in creation--there would be no bursting forth of life in the valleys and plains.

Because of Jesus’ journey to a bleak and lonely death on a rocky hill outside Jerusalem, there is new Life for us and for the world. We have a source for the courage to care for others, ourselves, and the earth. Because of Jesus’ journey, we are--and live in--a renewed creation.

Pray: Creator God, you so loved the world that you gave your only Son over to a bleak and lonely death so that Life might come again. We thank you and wait for resurrection! Give us eyes to see the connections among all you have created –- the barren and bleak as well as the fruitful and thriving.

Take the Next Step: Though this is our final Lenten reflection, our “next steps” need not – and should not – end. Let’s keep taking steps – one foot in front of the other – towards renewal and new life. Some steps are easier, like recycling more and flipping off the light switches. Other steps are much harder, like confronting large-scale systems that are contributing to rapid environmental degradation. But together, and with God’s help, we can walk towards restoration.

Devotional copied from the CRC Office of Social Justice

justice.crcna.org

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