Belonging to the Earth and to Each Other
Rev. Diane Rollert
Unitarian Church of Montreal, November 14, 2021
Back in 2004 the band Les Cowboys Fringants wrote the song “Plus Rien” — a lament sung by the last human on earth as the planet overheats, wildlife disappears along with the snow, and his friends drop like flies from hunger and thirst, until there is nothing at all.
On m'a décrit jadis, quand j'étais un enfant
Ce qu'avait l'air le monde il y a très très longtemps
Quand vivaient les parents de mon arrière grand-père
Et qu'il tombait encore de la neige en hiver
En ces temps on vivait au rythme des saisons
Et la fin des étés apportait la moisson
Une eau pure et limpide coulait dans les ruisseaux
Où venait s'abreuver chevreuils et orignaux
Mais moi je n'ai vu qu'une planète désolante
Paysages lunaires et chaleur suffocante
Et tous mes amis mourir par la soif ou la faim
Comme tombent les mouches…
Jusqu'à c'qu'il n'y ait plus rien…Plus rien… Plus rien…
We know that if we don’t take action now, if we don’t reduce carbon emissions, the planet will overheat… Until there is nothing at all… nothing at all… nothing at all…
Last week I participated in a program hosted by Greenfaith, an international multifaith organization that has been mobilizing for climate justice. The speakers were three women, all faith leaders and climate activists from the Global South, from Venezuela, Indonesia and Kenya.
They were spending just shy of two weeks at the 26th UN Climate Change Conference of the Parties (COP26) in Glasgow. They had taken a break, mid-conference, to share their observations with those of us who joined their Zoom call. As we entered the Zoom room they asked us to write what had brought us to the call. What did we need to hear from them?
“I’m here looking for hope to bring back to my people,” I wrote.
Rev. Neddy Astudillo, a Christian pastor from Venezuela, spoke first. She said there are two stories, two beginnings, that we can choose between to guide us toward or away from climate justice.
First, there is the Genesis story. It establishes “that my God is the God of creation and we have a particular place and role in it,” she said.
But the other story begins in places like Glasgow, the very place that dreams of becoming carbon neutral within nine years. Rev. Astudillo quotes from an article in the New York Times that “three hundred years ago,” Glasgow “straightened and deepened its river to bring cargoes of tobacco, sugar and cotton from the New World. By the 19th century it was burning huge quantities of coal, oil and gas. The city became a world leader in shipbuilding, heavy industry and engineering, shipping goods to and from every corner of the planet.”
“This is where the problem of climate change started,” Rev. Astudillo said. “In the same place where the future of the planet is being decided.”
Then she asked, “Do we allow the story of the Industrial Revolution and its unsustainable promises of eternal pleasures continue to lead our lives? Or do we choose the story of a creator God who willed a myriad of people and species, creatures to roam the planet and live abundant lives forever more?”
“It is time to act as if God created the world rather than as if the Industrial Revolution created the world.”
I have been pondering that thought all week. Is the Industrial Revolution our modern creation story? Is that what we worship? I love the way Rev. Astudillo calls us back to an understanding of the Genesis story as a story of climate justice.
I know how easy it is for many of us, as religious liberals, humanists, agnostics, or atheists, to assume that people who declare their faith in God can’t possibly believe in science, can’t possibly dedicate their lives to fighting for climate justice. Yet that is exactly what was happening at COP26. This year, there was more multifaith collaboration than ever.
Sadly, there also was a massive presence of the religion of profit. The fossil fuel companies had more representatives than any single country, and it was difficult for grassroots activists, especially from the developing world, to get to the conference, let alone get behind the closed doors where the real deals were being made. But there were two hundred religious delegates present, and these groups were intentionally centering the voices of black and Indigenous youth, encouraging them to be the first to speak. People of many faiths, religious pilgrims from all over the world, came together in Glasgow, marched in the cold rain and wind, calling for action alongside the young people who were calling out our world leaders for continuing to make hollow promises.
“This is what young Black and Indigenous voices are telling us here,” Rev. Astudillo said. “It is time to open our hearts. We can no longer wait for governments to do what is right. It is up to us, through our individual and collective power. It is time to reforest our thoughts, reforest our hearts and reforest our actions.”
Consider the Biblical story of Joseph, also in Genesis, says Rev. Astudillo. (If you don’t know the Biblical passages, maybe you remember the musical Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.) Joseph, his father’s favourite among twelve sons, is given a beautiful coat. His brothers are so jealous that they sell him into slavery in Egypt. Through a series of mishaps, good fortune, exceptional cunning and his ability to interpret the pharaoh’s dreams, Joseph becomes the governor of Egypt.
The fields are abundant and Joseph makes sure that the people have enough grain to eat. But he wisely saves a portion each year so that the grain stores are full. When a time of drought and famine comes, Joseph is able to feed not only his people, but also the people of the surrounding lands. Beyond the efforts of one man, this is a story of collective action, a time when everyone does their part so that no one suffers.
We can do the same.
But I know. I hear you. I am as disheartened as you are. It’s hard to believe that we can make the change that is needed right now to avert disaster. We will all have to make sacrifices. But we’ve been shamed for so long into believing that only our individual action can make a difference, and that hasn’t been enough. The action has to be more than just individual. It has to be communal, national, and global, and it has to be swift.
Greenfaith tells us, “People of faith make up over 80% percent of the world’s population. Our religions,” they say, “teach us to care for the earth and each other; we seek to live by these values. Right now, however, the world is deeply out of balance and we are frightened and concerned. The most vulnerable among us are suffering while ineffective or authoritarian governments, polluting and extractive industries, and extremist cultural and religious forces place our planet at great risk.”
“But we know that we have an opportunity now for bold transformation,” Greenfaith writes, “to build a life connected to each other and the Earth. Our faith and spiritual practices give us the strength to turn towards great challenges and to profoundly change the world.”
I want to be clear. This is not about the rational versus the emotional, or about those with faith versus those without. This is about those of us who believe we should and can protect the Earth and the economic well-being of its people in sustainable ways, versus those who believe they have a right — God-given or otherwise — to extract every last dime, every last profit, from the Earth, no matter what the consequences may be.
We belong to this Earth, and we belong to each other. We can give thanks for progress, but we don’t have to worship the Industrial Revolution. We don’t have to make “business” our religion. The change that’s required to save this Earth demands a worldwide effort to stop placing our selfish human desires and appetites above the needs of the rest of creation.
May we cry out that all creation is sacred. May we tell our leaders loud and clear that our faith calls us to act now.