Creation Day

Today is Earth Day, and there’s a common hypo-narrative (story beneath the story) running throughout. Briefly, it is this: “The earth was once a place of pristine beauty and harmony and peace; that is, until humankind came along and messed up things. If we’re going to save the earth, we must return it to its pre-human state by minimizing, and even eliminating where possible, all human interference and influence on the planet.” The metanarrative beneath this hypo-narrative is a theology of an eternal, sui generis, independent Nature which, for reasons of its own (the best and brightest among us suspect “survival of the fittest”) has produced creatures all of whom live in perfect balance and harmony with Nature save one, humanity.

The church, by and large, has accepted the hypo-narrative and adopted the metanarrative, but has done so, I would suggest, without critical reflection or attention to the issue of whether or not these narratives are, at their core, either logical or Christian. Something of the illogic of the above got played out in my own home recently. My wife and I had been eagerly awaiting the broadcast of the highly advertised Discovery Channel series called Life. When the first episode aired, however, my wife’s enthusiasm waned rather quickly. Said she, “It was not what I expected.” I said: “Why?” She said: “I guess just didn’t expect all the gore and gruesomeness.” Said I, “Well, that’s Nature! You’re either the mauler or the meal!” Nature, when we get beneath the hypo-narrative, can be brutal and cruel by human standards. The alpha lion systematically kills the cubs sired by his rival when he assumes control of the pride. Whatever this goddess called Nature is, she is anything but sweet.

That’s why Christians have a different metanarrative. We don’t believe in an eternal, sui generis, independent “Nature;” rather, we believe in creation. “In beginning God created….” We Christians believe in an eternal, sui generis independent “Creator” who has created things other than Himself, including what we call “nature.” Humanity is regarded in our metanarrative as the Creator’s special “creation” in that He put a bit of Himself into humanity (that’s not to say that God has not put something of Himself into creation; rather, it is to say that creation resembles God as a building resembles its designer, but humanity resembles God more like a child resembles its parent). Now, before you rush in and accuse me of providing cover for the crowd that treats the earth with contempt, let me quickly add that the biblical mandate is that humanity has a God-given obligation to act as “stewards” of that creation. Especially in the Old Testament (see the creation narratives in Genesis which are then reflected upon in places such as Psalm 8 and elsewhere), humanity has a responsibility (given the fallen nature of Nature) to tend and care for and “husband” creation in behalf of its true “Owner,” namely, the Creator. What that means practically speaking is that Christians do not consume more resources than they need; Christians work for the health and wholeness of the creation; and Christians do not destroy or otherwise desecrate (the use of the sacral word is intentional) God’s creation. I believe in recycling; I believe in reducing our carbon footprint; I believe in reducing our consumption of resources (of all kinds) wherever possible; I believe in doing everything in our power to reduce pollution on the planet. But I do not believe in these things because I think that by doing them we can somehow “save the planet,” still less because I owe some obeisance to a goddess called “Nature.” I believe these things because I am a Christian, and that’s what Christians do. It is an expression of my stewardship of God's creation as one of His creatures specifically charged with that sacred obligation and privilege.

In the New Testament, this theology of nature takes an eschatological turn. I said above that the biblical theology of nature is that creation, not just humanity, has “fallen” and, as a result, finds itself at odds with its Creator. Consequently, Paul moves the Old Testament “stewardship theology of creation” a step further when he says that “all creation groans in eager expectation for the revelation of the sons of God” (Romans 8:19). You see, creation itself has a stake in humanity’s making peace with the Creator, and so Paul holds out the hope (the eschatological hope) that one day Christ (the “Man” who gets it right and undoes the Fall) will become pas en panti, “all in all.” The author of the Revelation caught a glimpse of that same hope when, far from the belief in some sort of eternal sui generis Nature, he envisions a day when there will be a “new heaven and a new earth...for the former things have passed away.” (Revelation 21).

But meanwhile, this is our “home away from home,” and no one likes a sloppy housekeeper.

Only a Few Things Really Matter

Back in the mid-80’s I served on the faculty of Midwestern Seminary in Kansas City, Missouri. At Midwestern in those days, it was our practice to invite pastors to campus whom we felt would be good pulpit models for our students. In what we called "A Week of Preaching" these model pastors would preach each day in chapel, guest lecture in our classes, and have both formal and informal conversations about ministry with students and faculty. The speaker one particular week was Dr. John M. Lewis, pastor of the First Baptist Church of Raleigh, North Carolina, from which he was shortly to retire. I had no inkling at the time that I would someday succeed him in that pulpit.

I still recall the impression he made on me. He had just lost his beloved wife, Jean, and was obviously in grief, but that did nothing to diminish the quality of what he did on our campus that week. His sermons were brilliant and beautifully crafted; his classroom lectures were both practical and profound; and his conversations with the faculty in the Faculty Lounge were memorable and disarming. I recall one in particular. A group of us were in the lounge picking John's brain when I asked him if he could summarize for us what he had learned in over forty years of ministry, nearly thirty of which with one congregation. He thought for a moment, looked at me and said: "I guess I would say that after forty years of ministry I've learned that only a few things really matter."

That was twenty-five years ago, a quarter of a century, and I stand now where John was then. I turn sixty this year, and fulfilling a promise to my beloved wife, I have “retired” from full time ministry. That doesn’t mean that I’m just “sitting and rocking.” I still teach for Liberty University Online, but I don’t have to get up and get dressed and go somewhere to lecture, as I did all those years in seminary and university teaching. And I also still carry a speaking schedule. The difference is that I used to have to preach because it was Sunday; now I only have to preach when I have something to say.

I have a list, I hope it’s not a “bucket list,” but who knows? I have several books to write that got put on the back burner by more immediate obligations. I hope to get to them now. I took up nature and wildlife photography some years back, a concession to mutinous menisci that rebelled from my being a thirty-mile-a-week runner for thirty years. My wife thinks I’m actually pretty good at it, but she loves me, and so her judgment is suspect. I want to do more with that. I used to play piano but gave it up years ago when other obligations crowded it out; I plan to take it up again. I love to travel, having guided groups to the Middle East for twenty-five years, but I’ve missed some of the most beautiful places in the world right here in the US. I hope to correct that.

But most of all, I want to spend time with Cheryl, my wife of forty years. She was a “church widow” for much of my career, though she never complained or groused or whined about it…okay, she whined once or twice. I’m embarrassed that it took me forty years to discover that only a few things really matter. I take some comfort, I guess, in the knowledge that better men than I struggled with that too.

“So what have you learned, “ I asked, “after forty years of ministry?” Who knew that I was both asking…and answering…the question?