At the turning of the seasons there can be a certain sadness. The beauty of summer gives way to the shorter, darker days of autumn, with the recent rain and winds those 30o temperatures day after day are quickly forgotten. Imagine if the joys of an English summer were gone forever. For instance the smell of freshly mown grass, the verdant leaves on the trees, the sound of the dawn chorus, the taste of fresh strawberries, or the soft touch of a dandelion seed head. We don’t need to overtax our imaginations because the climate crisis is starting to rob us of experiences that we once took for granted. The seasons are no longer as predictable as they used to be, torrential rain and flash floods are increasingly common. We need to make the most of the remaining sunny days of the year which might tomorrow become stormy nights. Our climate is changing, we have squandered the great gift of creation and future generations will pay the price. In 2015, after the publication of his encyclical letter Laudato Si’ (or ‘Praise Be’ in English), Pope Francis established the Season of Creation, an annual event to act as a reminder of God’s great gift to us all. This season runs from 1st September to 4th October; we are just 10 days from the end of this season for 2023, which will be marked by a postscript to Laudato Si’. We are called to be ‘stewards of creation’, to tend and care for this Garden of Eden; as the Bible says:
“And God blessed them, and he said, “Increase and multiply, and fill the earth, and subdue it, and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and the flying creatures of the air, and over every living thing that moves upon the earth.” Gen. 1:28
This verse is referred to as the cultural mandate, the call to stewardship, and by so many measures we are failing.
To quote Fr Mike Schmitz (narrator of the Bible in a Year podcast) the problem is not so much that we have sinned (or are sinning), but that we want to sin in the first place, that we have turned our gaze away from God. In order to avoid sinning we need to change our hearts, and in order to stop destroying the planet we all need to change our hearts of stone, and rediscover our gratitude for the gift of creation. If we don’t then what inheritance do we leave for those who follow?
In 2015, the same year that Laudato Si’ was published, the Royal Society of Arts commissioned nine original poems on Climate Change. The poem Inheritance, by John Agard, struck me particularly for the way it relates our stewardship to the Beatitudes and a stark reminder of our responsibilities.
Inheritance by John Agard
If we, the children of the meek,
should inherit an earth
whose rainforest lungs
breathe a tale of waste –
an earth where the ailing sea
shudders in its own slick
If we, the children of the meek,
should inherit an earth
where the grass goes nostalgic
at the mere mention of green
and the sky looks out of its depth
when reminded of blue
If we, the children of the meek,
should inherit such an earth,
then we ask of the future
one question: Should we dance
or break into gnashing of teeth
at the news of our inheritance?
Deacon Ray