God's Dirt
Rod Frohman Third
Presbyterian Church
April 23, 2006
Genesis
3:8-14
God was enjoying a leisurely Sabbath afternoon, or so the story
goes, when an inventor happened by to interrupt God’s
leisure.
“We don't need you any more,” said the inventor.
“We now have enough power on our own to replace you.”
“You don't say,” said God. ”Tell me a little
bit more about that.”
“Well”, said the inventor, “we can now create
humanity in our own image.”
“That's interesting,” said God. “Can you tell
me a little bit more about how that works?”
“Well”, said the inventor, “What we do is
a just take a little bit of dirt in our hands, shape it a little
bit and then we breathe on it. Then it becomes a human life.”
“Oh, that's very interesting” said God. “Can
you actually show me how that's done?”
“Sure,” said the inventor and he bent over and began
to pick up some dirt to mold with his hands.
“Wait a minute,” said God, “Use your own dirt.”
Earth Day 2006 is the occasion that requires some reflection
and about the meaning of God’s dirt.
When you really think about it, the earth itself is 4.5 billion
years old. Life itself began about 3.4 billion years ago. Human
beings came on the scene some 80,000 years ago, just yesterday
in the twinkling of the creator’s eye. It is shocking
and frightening that the human species has been able to threaten
the very foundations of life on our planet in only about 200
years since the Industrial Revolution.
On this occasion last year I spent quite a bit of time talking
about the "wild facts" of the ecological crisis of
our day; global warming and other alarming facts. But rather
than continuing today to assert yet more wild facts, I would
like to focus on something which may seem significantly tamer,
but hopefully will give us some kind of theological leverage
on how we are to deal with the growing ecological crisis of
the planet. For this reflection I have provided in today’s
bulletin a “sermon box” to which I now invite you
to turn. There you will find six ideas in Larry L. Rasmussen’s
book, Earth Community, Earth Ethics (Orbis Books, c. 1996).
Rasmussen is the former Reinhold Niebuhr Professor of Social
Ethics at Union Theological Seminary in New York City.
1. Dominion
The classical way by which human beings have understood themselves
vis-à-vis the natural order is one of “dominion”.
Dominion, as it is popularly understood, basically means that
the earth exists for us. Genesis 1:28 says, “Be fruitful
and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it, and have dominion.”
“Both industrial and informational ecologies hold this
idea as a practical doctrine of their working faith and sell
their promises on the basis of this doctrine. It is a marriage
of science, technology and business. And it is a sincerely held
as a form of human liberation.” (p. 229)
When Jewish scholars look at “dominion” they say
the proper human attitude toward the biosphere is one of restraint,
humility, even non-interference except for matters of necessity.
Jewish scholars are quick to point out that, as biblical Hebrew
has no word for “nature” as a realm separate from
human beings, so human beings cannot be seen as properly dominating
nature. (p. 231.) The rabbis would never say that humans have
a license for the exploitation or subjugation of nature.
2. Steward
People, who have long used the idea of dominion, or mastery
over the earth, have stepped over the threshold to a custodial
or “steward” model. “The language itself may
still sound like dominion but it is not dominion like mastery
and control. Rather human beings are pictured as trustees, tillers
& keepers of the earth.” (Ibid.) The heart of this
understanding is that human beings are wielders of power. That
is, we have the knowledge to save and the knowledge to destroy.
The Canadian theologian Douglas John Hall has given this idea
credence when he suggests that as Jesus is Lord, then the human
exercise of power should be patterned on that kind of lordship---
namely a servant stance in which the last are made first and
the weaker made strong and the sparrow cherished. (Ibid.)
Stewardship of the earth, as a Hebrew idea, is probably best
understood by the word “cultivate”. “The farmer’s
intimacy with the soil is underscored. The word “adam”
is derived from “adama”-- the Hebrew feminine noun
meaning “earth” or “dirt”. Thus and
elaborate pun becomes: Adam—dirt—derives life and
livelihood from the dirt from which Adam—dirt—comes
and to which Adam—dirt—returns. As Christians we
remember this biological pattern every Ash Wednesday when we
received ashes on our forehead and the person applying the ashes
says to the receiver, “From dust you have come and from
dust you shall return.”
Likewise, Adam’s companion is “Hava,” or
“Eve” in English. “Hava” literally means
"living”. Together Adam and Eve signify soil and
life. This is the human identity from which emerges the human
role as the guardians or stewards of the earth, the shomrei
adama. In Hebrew. (p. 232)
3. Partner
This variation on the steward model is the idea of “partner”.
St. Francis of Assisi gets the nomination for the leading actor
in the story of partnership with the earth. And as such he offers
an element that stewardship fails to teach, that is, creation-loving
asceticism. “An asceticism that loves the earth fiercely
in a simple way of life is desperately needed, above all, among
the wealthy of the world and others habituated to unsustainable
consumption as a lifestyle.” (p 237) The modern interpreters
of St. Francis would suggest that the earth is a kind of “holy
democracy” of all things bright and beautiful, all creatures
great and small. (Hymn # 267 in Presbyterian Hymnal).
Thus there is an interconnectedness and interdependence among
all things that humans must respect in exercising their considerable
power. All other creatures are our siblings and partners in
the drama of a shared life. Each sibling must be heard in order
to know what the earth is saying and requires. (p. 236)
Yet of course the historical facts are that one sibling now
exercises dominion over the others. For sure, the rest of nature
may well hold the final trump card. That is if we soil the bed
in which we sleep, then the bed will be poisoned to us. “But
short of that end, the fact of human power in so much of nature
practically means we are responsible.” The question is
how do we exercise this more powerful sibling power? The answer
is to “re- center the powerful partner.” (p. 237)
How does this re-centering take place? By the preservation
of ecosystem communities. There is a sign I have noticed on
Elmwood Avenue very close to the intersection of Elmwood and
Mt. Hope. It says, "Entering the Irondequoit Bay watershed.
Keep our water clean.” It is not just a sign. St. Francis
would say it is a theological statement.
We need to increase the maintenance of ecosystem communities
around the world. I recently had the pleasure to meet Jared
Crawford, son of Dick and Lois Crawford of this congregation.
Jared has devoted his life to ecological education and policy
change in Kenya. He is a modern St. Francis. Preserving ecosystem
communities can be as large as the Arctic National Wildlife
Refuge, medium sized like the Irondequoit Bay Watershed and
as small as the exemplary backyard of Ruth Morton.
4. Sacrament/Priest
From Eastern Christianity—that is from Russian and Greek
orthodoxy, as well as from Celtic Christianity—is a variation
on the idea of partnership. This is the idea that dirt is a
sacrament and we are priests. (p. 238) This is not to be confused
with pantheism in which a tree or rock or a forest is identified
as God. Rather this is "panENentheism”, which recognizes
and celebrates the divine in, with and under all nature, ourselves
included. Actually, this is not all that strange. The human
response to the sacramental in our midst is something we all
have experienced: the awe of a sunset, the fascination of the
intricacies of a flake of snow. Twice I have climbed Long’s
Peak in the Rockies near Estes Park, Colorado. From that vista
of 14,250 feet above sea level one can see the curvature of
the Earth. There awe and humility are easily experienced.
This “holy dirt” tradition understands sacraments
as dramatizations of nature's transfiguration. That is, water,
bread and wine, part of the biosphere, can be signs of God's
presence and ways in which we see God in the world. Thus, the
high calling for human beings is to be “priests of creation.”
(p. 238)
The Presbyterian and the Reformed tradition would remind us
that sacraments themselves are symbols and signs that participate
in the very reality to which they point but they are not themselves
worshiped. “To identify something earthly as holy and
sacred is not to say it IS God. Rather it is OF God; God is
present in its presence.” (p. 239)
In this priestly role humans act as representatives for the
whole of creation, liberating, in Jurgen Moltmann’s words,
“the silent tongue of nature” through human thanksgiving.
The uses of the Psalms in worship are one of the ways by which
we do this. Thus, human beings, as priests, intercede for the
biosphere and speak on its behalf before God and before the
whole human race.
Note that the “moral posture is certainly not mastery,
control and abstracted distance. Rather it is presence, relationship,
and the care and respect due to the sacred.” Thus what
emerges is a “species humility and responsibility as the
proper foci of earth-ethics.” Page 239.
This particular model has found a large following among women
because earth consciousness and women's consciousness often
go together and what can be called ecofeminism. “Ecofeminism
discloses a profound understanding of the specific social-psychological
causes of the earth's suffering.” (Ibid.)
5. Covenant/Prophet
From the sacramentalist idea and ecofeminism we go to eco-prophetisism.
Remember the Old Testament prophets who were constantly complaining
that Israel had broken the covenant with God? This metaphor
suggests an urgent moral call to action compelled by threatening
planetary conditions that violate the basic covenant between
God and the created order.
Indeed the idea of covenant for the Jews, Muslims and Christians
is a master image (p. 242) for the relationship of God to humanity
and the whole creation. The best example of this is found in
the story of Noah and the rainbow in the clouds as a sign of
the covenant, Genesis, Chapter 9. Obviously the covenant tradition
is ethically charged. Consequences for all creation hang on
human adherence to the terms of the covenant. At the heart of
the covenant is the emphasis on justice for the weak and the
protection of the vulnerable, as well as for the land itself.
To violate the covenant is in fact to violate the laws of life
itself and come to a sorry end. To keep the covenant is to live
long and well upon the land and enjoy its abundance.
It is worth noting that the covenant/prophet model corrects
some of the tendencies of sacramentalist. Keep in mind that
the Old Testament covenant was created over against the false
gods of the fertility religions of Baalism. The critique of
the prophets who espoused God's covenant was that the people
forgot the hard task of fashioning a just society because they
were fascinated with the recurring cycles of nature. “The
gods of nature could be adored in beautiful ceremonies while
widows were forgotten and orphans were abandoned.” (p.
243-4)
6. Science
Yet these primarily biblical models would be incomplete without
the recognition of the contribution made by science. If we are
really honest, we have learned of the dimensions of the crisis
of global ecology from scientists. Also from the scientists
we have learned spiritual humility. “They have shown us
the delicately woven interdependencies of the web of life and
the human threat to them.” (p. 246)
Furthermore scientists have shown us the antiquity of the earth
and the “slow womb” of Mother Earth. Carl Sagan
has said “efforts to safeguard and cherish our environment
need to be filled with a vision of the sacred.” (p. 245)
Indeed many prominent scientists lean toward the sacramentalist
model of our relation to the biosphere. But that model is also
informed by an evolutionary sense of nature's life. Thus while
the sacramentalist might suggest a repetitive or cyclical view
of the world, an evolutionary or scientific point of view suggests
that change and complication is what is occurring. Indeed evolutionary
science suggests that all forms of life have a very long, long
story, a slow womb.
The story of the earth is at least a 4.5 billion-year-old story
in which we humans are a small, but significant part. Science
injects a note of realism for human responsibility, because
science's descriptions become a source for religious awe, respect,
and humility. (Ibid.) But it is also a story that sets in dramatic
conflict the claims for human well-being and the wider well-being
of the planet. Scientists thus pose for us hard ethical choices
within the human community and between humans and larger network
of life of which are a part and upon which we are totally dependent.
The clear scientific conclusion is that the expectation and
habits of humans, and some humans more than others, will have
to be radically adjusted in order to avoid even mild consequences.
The real issue is human development on the globe. Currently
the debate centers on the line that development must not cross
in order to be biologically sustainable development. Or to put
another way, the current debate is how far in the future is
the checkered flag which will suggests that the human race is
over.
When I stand back and look at the several ways of thinking
about human relations with the biosphere I find myself combining
an evolutionary understanding of the story of the world with
the covenantal or prophetic tradition of Scripture which harkens
back to God’s original question put to a naked and ashamed
Adam in the garden of Eden, “Adam, where are you?”
That is a question which we all must answer.
