by Patricia Templeton
I have spent this spring mesmerized by birds.
First, there were the St. Dunstan’s hawks. Every day for almost two weeks the pair of hawks was always here. When I pulled into the parking lot in the early morning they greeted me. When I looked out my office window they were usually there, perched on a light pole or nearby tree. Frequently when I left at the end of the day, one flew past, as if saying goodbye.
I began to think of them as my own personal hawks and was disappointed when apparently the demands of nesting kept them from spending their days around our parking lot.
Then through the Internet I met Phoebe, the humming bird, and Molly, the barn owl. Phoebe and Molly are both southern California creatures who live near bird-loving humans, who pointed web cameras at their nests and broadcast the video live on the Internet.
We watched as Phoebe, with a nest the size of a golf ball and two eggs the size of Tic-Tacs, defended her home against incursions of lizards and crows. Along with thousands of others around the world, we observed the eggs hatch and the chicks grow.
We watched the same process with Molly, laughing as her four owlets peered out of the owl box door for their first wide-eyed looks at the world, and held our breaths as they lurched along a perch outside their box, rocking back and forth as they unsteadily flapped their wings for the first time.
The delight we took in the hawks, hummingbirds and owls reminds me of the words of today’s psalm, of God’s manifold works and the delight God takes in creation. I admit to feeling a bit of empty-nest syndrome when the babes finally flew away.
About that time my attention was drawn to another web camera and pictures of other birds. These pictures, too, are mesmerizing, but they give their watchers no delight.
I am talking, of course, about the web cameras trained on the oil endlessly spewing into the Gulf of Mexico, and the pictures of pelicans and other birds drenched in that toxic brew.
For 54 days now we have watched as oil continues to flow, like an endless spill of blood, from the pierced side of the earth. We have all heard about this epic disaster’s dire consequences on the environment and the economy. We’ve heard politicians, environmentalists, and economists opine on what the effects are and who is to blame.
But the best way to understand the roots and depth of this crisis may be through theology.
From the very beginning of scripture we learn that God created the earth and all of her creatures, and gave humans, created in God’s image, the responsibility to care for all that God had made.
It is our primary God-given responsibility, and we have botched it time and time and time again, treating the earth as if it were made for our consumption instead of for our care.
Scripture also reminds us of the interconnectedness of all creation. Paul puts it this way, “The eye cannot say to the hand, ‘I have no need of you,’ nor again the head to the feet, ‘I have no need of you.’
“On the contrary, the members of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable. If one member suffers, all suffer together with it.”
Paul is talking here about the church, the body of Christ, but his words are also applicable to all of creation, which, as we read in his letter to the Colossians, is also the body of Christ, who is “the first born of all creation.”
Time and again we have said to the birds of the air, the fish of the sea, to the rainforests and marshlands, the mountains and rivers – we have no need of you – or we will take what we need from you, then leave what is left of you behind to suffer the consequences.
This human-made disaster reminds us that the parts of creation that are weakest – the plankton, the minnows, the sea turtles, the fish and birds – are indispensable. And as they suffer, we, too, will eventually suffer.
That suffering is far more than the inconvenience of missing a vacation on the Gulf coast this summer. The suffering of the smallest and weakest of God’s creation will quickly make its way to affect the livelihoods of thousands.
It is a suffering that will make the coastlands more vulnerable to storms as the marshlands and coral reefs that protect the land are damaged by the oil.
Our presiding bishop, Katharine Jefferts Schori, who holds a doctoral degree in marine biology and oceanography, warns that the oil flow has consequences we’re not even aware of yet.
“There is no place to go ‘away’ from these consequences,” she writes. “There is no ultimate escape on this planet. The effects at a distance may seem minor or tolerable, but the cumulative effect is not.
“We are all connected, we will all suffer the consequences of this tragic disaster in the Gulf.”
This disaster is unlike others we have watched unfold in the past. In recent years we’ve seen tragic consequences from earthquakes and tsunamis, from hurricanes and volcanoes. Human actions have at times worsened the effects of these so-called “acts of God” or “natural disasters.”
But this disaster is entirely human made.
It is easy to place the blame for this disaster on British Petroleum, and certainly their ineptitude and perhaps criminal negligence, their arrogance and misstatements all led to the situation we are now in, and continue to make it worse.
But the roots of this crisis go well beyond BP.
Again, theological language is helpful – the language of sin.
Our most prevalent sins – greed and arrogance – are at the core of this disaster.
There is the greed of the oil companies themselves, and of politicians, who in return for contributions have allowed oil companies to basically dictate our nation’s energy policies.
But there is also the greed of all of us who consume ever- increasing amounts of oil and energy, who drive ever bigger cars and live in ever bigger homes without thought of what are habits of consumption are doing to the earth God entrusted to our care.
Theologian Jim Wallis writes: “At the root of the crisis today is that BP learned exactly the lesson it was taught by our culture and our government through the Exxon-Valdez spill.
“Americans are hooked on oil, they aren’t going to kick the habit soon, and they have short memories – so slap on another new coat of paint and then get back to business as usual.”
And there is the sin of arrogance. That includes our sense of entitlement to rob the earth of its resources without thought of what we are doing to the poorest and weakest among us now, or the generations to come.
There is also arrogance in our faith in our own technology and the belief that it will never fail. Fordham University professor Steven Soll comments on this lack of humility in an essay in the current issue of Harper’s magazine.
“The oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico looks accidental, rather than inevitable, only if we deny that technical complexity combined with greed and arrogance breeds catastrophe,” he writes.
“As a survivor of the oil-rig explosion told 60 Minutes: ‘All the things they told us could never happen happened.’”
Only arrogance believes in the infallibility of human technology.
If the roots of this disaster can be explained in theological terms, so can life beyond it.
We start with confession – with an acknowledgement of all the ways that our own greed and arrogance have contributed to the situation we are in. But confession is meaningless without repentance. Repentance is not a perfunctory apology and then back to business as usual.
Repentance means changing our behavior. It means demanding that our government changes the way it regulates and deals with oil companies. It means taking seriously alternative forms of energy. And for us as individuals it means being satisfied with less. It means being less wasteful and sacrificing comfort at times. It means changing the way we live. It means living with humility and with the knowledge that we share this earth with others – humans and non-humans, and have obligations to future generations.
Our faith also teaches us that on the other side of sin there is redemption. We are still God’s stewards, and however unfaithful we have been in the past, we can be renewed by God’s help and trust to become more dependable and faithful stewards of these gifts and blessings of creation.
Let us then recommit ourselves today to God’s wonderful creation, to all creatures great and small.
The Rev. Patricia Templeton is rector of St. Dunstan's Episcopal Church, Atlanta. She wrote this as a homily for a special service June 13, "Prayers for This Fragile Earth, Our Island Home."
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