A Humble Caring of Creation

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The following comes from the Onward & Upward series and was written by Walt. This story takes place in the Redwood Forest, California.



“O Lord, my heart is not lifted up, my eyes are not raised too high.”

Psalm 131:1a



At the time the Redwood National Park was created in 1968, 90% of the original redwoods were logged. Imagine 90%. If you had ten dollars in your hand, throw away nine of them.  A hundred years of human consumption almost eradicated trees that survived centuries of fire, disease, storms, and lightning. 


Whenever I hear about such things, my blood starts to boil. I think, how could we be so irresponsible? My mind then goes to thinking about the fat cats who lounged in their plush railroad cars making their millions off the rape of the land and the backs of the laborers who risked their lives doing dangerous and backbreaking work in the forests. To think that business was allowed such free reign without regulations that guarded the common good and our national treasures. For some, it was a golden age where the golden rule was meticulously followed: those with the gold make all the rules. It built a nation, to be sure, but it came with a debt upon which we are paying inflated interest. It also came with lessons that we continue to resist learning.



Let me be clear. I am not a Marxist. Unrestrained capitalism certainly is flawed (as evidence in the near destruction of the redwoods), but the Marxist experiments were no better in protecting the environment. Besides, it is not my purpose to debate economic and political theories and ideologies. I remain skeptical about those who would have the arrogance to link Jesus to a particular economic system.


What does interest me, however, are the roles that pride and humility play in our spiritual life.  


Somewhere in the tourist materials that I gathered, either at the entrance gate to the National Park or in the tour guide books that I accumulated beforehand, I saw the historic logging photos of bearded men in long-sleeved shirts wearing suspenders, perched atop almost comically oversized logs with their axes. They posed proudly with a sense of accomplishment- an embodiment of western frontier optimism. 


I looked at them and found myself both amazed at what they did with hand-powered tools and horrified by their participation in the destruction of the forest. I find myself in a judgmental mood as I ask the question; did they not know that what they were doing is morally offensive? How can one justify destroying an ancient forest to make fancy cigar boxes and redwood decks?


From my smug position living an ‘enlightened,' progressive, and privileged experience in suburbia, I look down upon those who chopped down the redwoods. I judge the error of “their” ways. I also resist looking into the mirror. I don’t give a second thought as I consume energy, gas, plastics, etc. I remain a consumer of the natural resources of the planet without knowing (or wanting to know) my complacency and guilt in environmental destruction. The cross of Jesus serves to knock me off my high perch into the messy no man's land of reality.


We enter the realm of paradox, again.  Although I am sensitive to the need and the cause of environmental stewardship, my very living contributes to the planet’s destruction. The very act of using technology to create and distribute this daily devotion consumes energy and precious natural resources. There is no escaping the paradox.


And so I’m left with needing to cultivate humility. Humility is not a cure for paradoxical living but rather a healing balm for our planet’s open wounds and a guide for faithful engagement as we live into the role of steward and caretaker. Humility is also a good walking companion as we park our vehicles at the side of the road and head into the forest.



Living God,

we haven’t been the best stewards of your creation.

We cut down your forests

with a lust to consume

that upsets the natural order.

We don’t consider the costs of our consumption

on either creation or our fellow humanity.

Make us aware.

Help us to repent

from our arrogance

so that we might turn toward you

and embrace living humbly.

Inspire us to plant and nurture

as we harvest and consume.

Through the Resurrected Body of Christ, amen.





© 2020 Walt Lichtenberger. All rights reserved.

 
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