Supremely Good

When God began to create the heavens and the earth. ... God saw everything he had made: it was supremely good.

(Genesis 1:1, 31)

As Advent begins in my corner of the world, the leaves have fallen off the trees and the gardens are empty and dormant. Everything has been put away for the season and I am reminded of those first verses in Genesis where, "the earth was without shape or form" (Genesis 1:2). There is a quiet here and infinite possibility. As this Advent journey begins, I invite you into that space of reflection and stillness and hope for what could be born in the midst of this time.

I often use this season to ask what I have learned in my garden (and in my life) during the past year. I take time to remember what didn't work or where I struggled, and I allow those lessons to shape what comes next. I think about the landscape, the life, the faith I am trying to create. Surrounded by a world of dull browns, sometimes I open up the sleek pages of seed catalogs, dreaming about the spring. When I see the vibrant colors of a new variety of pepper or flower, I get itchy to add to the diversity of my garden and delight in the goodness of each individual item. Yet, one of the things I have discovered is that a garden doesn't thrive just because you fill it with good things.

You have to carefully plan the role every fruit, vegetable, and herb has in the space. Not every plant is a good neighbor, and sometimes their interactions can be harmful. I have to consider carefully how those many good things can benefit one another. Last season, I planted pumpkins in the middle of my summer squash and zucchini. But they competed too much for the same resources, and the pumpkins won. I created a large border of marigolds, both for the visual impact and to keep the bugs and rabbits away. But I learned, too late, that beans do not make good companions for marigolds and despite being protected from the rabbits, they failed to grow.

I have come to appreciate the importance of companion planting in my garden and how even flowers have a role in bringing out the best of various plants. Each in and of itself is good, but taken all together in a well-planned and careful way ... well, that's when it is really good. As each element and plant is created in the first chapter of Genesis, God calls them good. And they are each put in just the right spot, at just the right time, with just the right purpose. When we reflect upon the complicated interweaving of life on this planet and the interaction of every plant, animal, grain of sand, and drop of water, it is truly amazing. Each remarkable creation is enhanced by its relationship with the others, and the result is greater than simply the sum of their parts. No wonder God looks out upon everything that was made and calls it supremely good!

You and I were given a particular role in God's masterpiece. We were invited to be caretakers and to fill this earth with life and abundance. While we might imagine that we are prized and honored above all of the other creations, the truth is that our goodness and value lie in how well we live out the role given to us. This Advent, we have an opportunity to reflect upon whether we have been good companions for the other creatures on this earth. As we stand on a threshold of new creation, we have a chance to learn from our mistakes and make new choices in light of the future we seek. Let us plan our gardens and our lives well, seeking always the hope of abundance that is found in God's supremely good creation.

Master Gardener of the world, everything you have made has a purpose and a place. Help us to delight in the interactions of your world and to cherish the goodness of creation. Remind us of the role to which you call us in this complicated web of life. Amen.

Creator of the Stars of Night

Heaven is declaring God's glory; the sky is proclaiming his handiwork. One day gushes the news to the next, and one night informs another what needs to be known.

(Psalm 19:1-2)

Long before I heard the call to pastoral ministry, I wanted to be a meteorologist. My collegiate studies began in the areas of communications and physics. My small United Methodist college in Iowa, however, did not have a robust physics department. I worked closely with the professor to cobble together a minor by adding some independent studies and special projects.

One of these was a focus on cosmology: the forces holding our universe together, the stars and systems it contains, and how it all came into being. One day Dr. Olsgaard handed me a book called God and the Astronomers, by Robert Jastrow. What I remember clearly is the epilogue of this little book. It described the way scientists, physicists, and cosmologists have been climbing a mountain of knowledge and inquiry for centuries trying to discover ultimate truths about the origins of the universe. But when they get to the summit of this climb, what they find at the top are theologians who have been asking the same questions. I thought about the way Aristotle observed the heavens and determined there must be an "unmoved mover" and how some contemporary physicists find that the Big Bang points to God rather than contradicts Scripture. I read that passage in the book and discovered that in the shared quest for this answer, I wanted to be among the theologians rather than the cosmologists. My studies of the heavens were not about discovering who I was and where we come from. I wanted to understand the One who was behind it all. The next week, I became a religion major.

When I look up at the heavens, I do so with an immense appreciation for the mathematical genius that keeps it all spinning. The wonder of life is that we exist on a planet so perfectly placed nearly 92 million miles from a sun and that the forces of gravity keep us in this orbit. I think the heavens are declaring God's glory, and I want to listen to what they are saying. I want to appreciate the beauty of each sunrise and the wonder of every lunar eclipse not simply because of what they add to my life, but because they are gifts from the God who set the heavens in motion.

One of the traditional stories we tell during Advent and Christmas is about the journey of the magi from the East. They paid attention to the stars in the sky not just to observe their orbits, but to ask what the heavens had to say about the realities taking shape around them. And when a star appeared in the sky, they understood it to be a sign of great and wonderful things being born into this world. They allowed their scientific observations to lead them on a journey of faith.

What I love about the magi is that they come from a world in which science and religion are not strangers or polar opposites, but intertwined spheres of knowledge. Their journey to honor the birth of Christ reminds us that science can play a role in our expressions of Christian faithfulness. We can look up at the heavens and discover God's glory. The natural order and laws that govern life on this planet can lead us on a journey of faith when we discover something out of the ordinary. It can either be an opportunity for delight and praise or a realization of our need to repent and change our ways.

If the magi had been focused solely on their observation of the skies or solely on the sacred texts of the people of earth, they would have missed the connection. The new star in the sky would not have led them on their faithful journey so far away to honor the newborn King. We, too, are called to pay attention to our stories of faith and to the handiwork of God that surrounds us so that we can respond in ways that honor our Maker.

Creator of the stars of night, you called the magi to Bethlehem through a light shining above. Help us to observe and ask questions of the universe which we call our home, and lead us into action and care for your planet. Amen.

Christmas Trees in the Bayou

The whole creation waits breathless with anticipation for the revelation of God's sons and daughters. Creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice — it was the choice of the one who subjected it — but in the hope that the creation itself will be set free from slavery to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of God's children.

(Romans 8:19-21)

Another version of Clement Moore's famous poem, "The Night Before Christmas" is told down in Cajun country. As the clatter arises on the bayou, the narrator looks out to see what has caused the ruckus: "Cux dere on de by-you w'en I stretch ma'neck stiff, Dere's eight alligator a pullin' de skiff. An' a little fat drover wit' a long pole-ing stick, I know r'at away got to be ole Saint Nick." This Santa figure doesn't show up in a sleigh, but by boat! It's a uniquely Cajun take on a Christmas tradition.

Another unique aspect of the holidays in that region are the Christmas Eve bonfires that light up on the levees along the Mississippi River. While they may have had roots in the ancient practices of ritual fires to mark the solstice, the bonfires today help direct traffic along the river, guiding families to midnight mass and helping to lead Papa Noel to the homes of children.

When your home and your land and your life are built upon what it means to live on the water, that imagery tends to seep into your traditions as well — fires by the river, and alligators pulling Santa's sleigh. But what happens to these Christmas traditions when the waters along the coast in Louisiana rise? What happens to those impacted by climate change?

The delta that lies at the foot of the Louisiana "boot" is formed because the Mississippi River endlessly shifts and moves, depositing rich and fertile sediment and silt all along the way. However, as humans have sought to control the river and built up communities along its banks, dikes and levees were established to protect the people. We tamed the "Mighty Mississippi," but as a result we have altered Louisiana's coast. Land is disappearing because the Mississippi no longer deposits the amounts of soil it used to. Estimates from the United States Geological Survey show that southern Louisiana has lost nearly 1,900 square miles of land between 1932 and 2000. People and communities who live here are becoming climate refugees, forced to flee from their homes. Children have to move away from these wetlands and rivers. Do they wonder how Papa Noel will find them?

Looking around at the world, signs like the disappearing bayou show us how the earth has been impacted by human activity and how we have fundamentally changed our environment. Our sin and greed, desire for stable land and comfort, all have caused us to make short-term decisions that have long-term consequences for the whole of creation — water, land, plant and animal life. As our focus Scripture for today reminds us, creation was subjected to frustration and it is trapped in the slavery of decay. Jesus warned that before the Human One comes again we would experience that groaning and breathless anticipation of creation: "There will be earthquakes and famines in all sorts of places. These things are just the beginning of the sufferings associated with the end" (Mark 13:8).

Historically, those wetlands served as a buffer for tropical storms and hurricanes, absorbing some of the energy and water. Now much of that land is gone. When Hurricane Katrina made landfall in 2005, the full brunt of the storm hit the land. The reality is that as the climate around us changes, severe weather events have become more common and more deadly. Their damages include dramatic changes to ecosystems and communities, the loss of life and property. The marks of devastation have lasting impacts. All the earth is waiting, breathless, longing for the new creation to be realized.

Paul believes God has linked the restoration of creation with the children of God, and that means we find hope in this season of Advent in the possibility that people of faith can help change the tides of decay. One small way that the people of Louisiana are working to protect and restore the wetlands is by collecting their used Christmas trees and dropping them into threatened bayous, where they become the basis for new marsh vegetation and collect sediment, reversing erosion. How can your Advent and Christmas practices help reverse the decay of our world in anticipation of Christ's renewal of all creation?

Holy God, forgive us for selfish actions that have changed this world we call home. This Advent, stir our hearts and transform us into your children. This world is waiting for us to take up our calling. May it be so. Amen.

Contingency Plans

This is what God planned for the climax of all times: to bring all things together in Christ, the things in heaven along with the things on earth.

(Ephesians 1:10)

Every year in my church we have a Christmas cantata that our church choir puts on. For months we rehearse the music and practice the solos and learn the lines. Then, on the Sunday right before Christmas, the message of the cantata replaces the sermon for the day. The choir brings the good news of Christ's birth to the entire congregation in song.

This past year, however, there was the threat of bad weather on our Cantata Sunday. We knew this was a possibility, but there was also a chance that the system would fizzle out before it arrived. When I woke up early that Sunday morning, only a very light snow was falling. But it was falling on top of a thin layer of ice. More would be on its way as the morning would go on. I suddenly realized that we hadn't made a plan!

The thing about a plan is that it has a goal and a direction, and it contains contingencies. It prepares for all of the possible situations you can think of, and it sets forth what should happen in the case of each variable and at what time. The goal in our case would have been to put all of that hard work to use and to share the cantata with the congregation, no matter what. But we should have had a plan to make sure that was a reality: if the weather is fine, we have the cantata as scheduled; if there is a foot of snow, we'll postpone it to such and such a date; if we find ourselves unsure of what to do, these are the people who will make a decision that morning.

Churches around us were cancelling worship that day, but I knew that without a postponement date arranged ahead of time, it might be tricky to reschedule our big presentation. I quickly sent a text message to a few key people. After some back and forth, we decided to go ahead and present the cantata that morning. We urged people to use their best judgment and stay home if they felt it was unsafe to be out. Everything turned out okay, and we had decent attendance considering the conditions. But the morning filled me with stress and anxiety that simply didn't have to be there.

Next time, we need to have a plan.

As I look out upon this world, sometimes it feels chaotic. Although I believe that God created the heavens and the earth, you and me, it is hard to see the order and the purpose behind so many things that have gone wrong. Maybe that is why these words from Ephesians bring me so much comfort and hope. They are a reminder that God has a plan. The goal of this plan is to bring all things together in Christ, who John's Gospel tells us is the Word, the source of all that is (John 1:1-3). From the very beginning when this world was created, God's plan was put into motion.

That doesn't mean the path of this plan hasn't changed. After all, any good plan has contingencies. Although we turned away from God, God kept reaching back out to us. God made covenants with our ancestors. God rescued us from oppression. God called to us through the prophets. And then God came to us, became one of us, so that we might hear in a new way the story of why we are here.

During this season of Advent, we are invited to hear again about the plan set in motion before the stars were set in the sky. We pore over the words of the prophets, calling us back into right relationship with God and this creation. We immerse ourselves in the gospel narrative of how God so loved the world, the cosmos, that God's only Son was born into our lives. We also look forward to that day, at the climax of all time, when the goals of this plan will be accomplished. Advent reminds us that the day is coming when Christ will come again.

You are the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End, and all things are held together in you, O God. When we falter, help us to take comfort in your contingencies. And never stop calling us to align ourselves with your plan and purpose for our lives. Amen.