The Sixth Sunday of Easter (Rogation)
May 13, 2004
Acts 16:9-15
Psalm 27
Revelation 21:10-22:5
John 14:23-29
There is one thing you need to know before I begin my sermon this morning. I am not tree-hugger. What—you say. You heard me right. I’m not one to kgo around hugging trees. I must confess that I tried it once, while nobody was looking. I tried hugging a tree, but it didn’t hug me back. And I decided a long time ago that I am not hugging anything that doesn’t hug me back.
I realize there are people who would take issue with me that trees don’t hug back; people who find deep spiritual satisfaction in hugging a tree. People who really do feel hugged in return. Not just by the tree, but by the whole universe. People who feel wrapped in the arms of nature and serenely at one with it. Me, I take my hugs more literally. Literally. I want to hug something soft and warm, something that will hug me back. Tree bark doesn’t do it for me. And while I don’t enjoy hugging trees, I’d like to think I understand people who do. And I’d like to think I share something critically important with them—a great love and spiritual regard for the natural world. A love and regard which comes from seeing myself in a partnership with creation for our common good. God’s good and God’s purpose of good in creating us.
Now, my deep love of nature might come as a surprise to you who know my background. It still comes as a surprise to me, precisely because I am well-acquainted with my background. I grew up on the streets of a large inner city. Trees were rare in my neighborhood and the only grass I saw on a daily basis grew sparsely in the cracks between uneven sidewalks. About six blocks away from the tenement building I lived in was a small park with four quadrants of grass and what looked like a lot of trees to me. But kids were not allowed to play in that park. Nevertheless, my friends and I would sometimes go there and climb over a fence to play a pickup game of baseball until the police came and chased us away. Occasionally a real nice cop would at least let us play out an inning before he made us leave.
But there was one thing these patrolmen could always expect as they walked their beat around Hamilton Park. We would always be back. We loved the soft feel of the grass, and the shade trees on a hot summer day, and we had no idea that the grass and trees would only stay that way if the police kept kids like me from tearing it up by the games we played. It made me mad every time we got chased from the park, but today it warms my heart to think that even way back then, in a city made of bricks and stone and concrete, city authorities were committed to keeping green spaces green. And that memory has had a huge impact on me. It has impacted the way I have understood my life in relationship to the natural world and it has impacted my understanding of the God who created it for the benefit of his human creatures.
Having grown up without much experience with grass and trees and plants and flowers, I am not well-acquainted with the names of them, nor do I know much about cultivating, or planting or maintaining a garden. But I thoroughly enjoy the varieties of plants and flowers, fruits and vegetables that the earth yields. I am not well acquainted with techniques of farming or ranching either, but I am awed by the work which places people so close to nature in such vital ways. I rarely eat a meal or admire the beauty of a garden without thanking God for the people who make these things happen. And walking on grass and under trees always makes a conscious difference under my feet and over my head.
I am blessed that such consciousness began to be aroused in me in this most unlikely way, growing up in a vast industrial city. Becoming conscious of clean water, however, came in a different kind of experience for me. I took water for granted as a child. All I had to do was turn a spigot and water came flowing out of a tap. It was always cool and refreshing, even in the summer time and I never thought much about where or how it came to me. I don’t even think I connected rainfall with water supplies; in fact, for a street kid like myself, rain was just a nuisance. It meant I had to stay indoors in a confining apartment space. I didn’t think much about water until one day my sister and I (way too young and at considerable risk) decided to walk several city blocks to the banks of the Hudson River. We thought we might wade the water or dangle our feet off a pier, but the water was so dirty and it smelled so bad that we turned around and went home. The thought of it actually made me stop drinking the water that came out of the tap, until my mother began to notice and made me tell her why I wasn’t drinking it. She explained to me about reservoirs and filtering systems and that made a lasting impression on me about how water can stay clean and fresh; the way God made it to be, for the good purpose it was meant to serve.
My childhood served me well for gaining a healthy respect for earth and water, but I was a young adult before I became conscious of the dangers of air pollution. I am fortunate that at early in my life these experiences made me conscious of environmental issues long before they emerged in public and political arenas. And now I live in the Berkshires. The first place I have lived in my life where people take the health and the beauty of their environment very seriously. And I am glad for the opportunity to live in a place which makes it easy for me to live in partnership with nature and begin to reduce my carbon footprint.
Perhaps by now, those of you who have been listening to this narrative must be asking, “So, where’s the sermon.” How unlike me not to have mentioned scripture and talk about the people and events and themes of scripture as they came to us from ancient times and as they apply to us in modern times. But, in fact, there is a sermon in all of this. And I have been preaching it. All I have left to tell you is why this is true. It is true because this Sunday in Eastertide is called Rogation Sunday in our church. Rogation is an ancient pagan celebration which took place at seed time, or planting. Historically, the Church began to celebrate rogation days during the fifth century in France. England quickly followed and Rogation Sunday observances became quite elaborate. A common Sunday celebration would have clergy and parishioners promenade around recently planted fields as the priest said prayers of thanksgiving and blessing. I understand that until recent years, Episcopalians always celebrated Rogation Sunday; perhaps some of you remember that. But as the Episcopal Church became more urban and more urbane, rogation began to lose its popularity and usefulness.
Ironically, the two urban Episcopal churches I have attended, my home church of St. Stephen’s in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, and the church where I did my field placement, Church of the Holy Apostles in Manhattan, are where I became familiar with the ceremonies of rogation. On this Sunday of Rogation, adults and children process outdoors to very small areas of grass, where children plant flowers and all participate in a liturgy of thanksgiving. It was just one more thing that drew me into this wonderful church. The fact that this church would honor God’s natural creation and make its value and importance to us so relevant to our faith. Next year I hope to begin our own ceremonial for rogation day. But for today, if you haven’t already noticed, all of our hymns are about the beauty, the wonder of creation, and our dependence on earth and water and sunshine to sustain us on this earth.
And what better time for us to bring back this important observance of Rogation Sunday. A time when we are being warned of environmental dangers, even crisis in our world. What better time to bring back into focus the necessity of God’s human creatures to care for earth and air and water; to understand our dependence on the living things that grow in the earth and feed on it, who breathe the air, or swim in its waters. And what better people than Christians, a people of faith who worship the God of creation. A people of faith who, even though we are not inclined to hug trees, understand the sacredness of our relationship with them.
What better time than this morning to celebrate Mother’s Day, not just to honor our human mothers, but to honor our earthly mother, as well. We call her mother earth for a good reason; she nourishes us and sustains our life on this planet, and we misuse and abuse her at our peril. It is certain that if we don’t take care of our mother, earth, she will not be able to take care of us. And this sermon is my attempt to show her how much we love and care for her. So there is a tradeoff this morning for those of us who are observing Rogation Day this morning. You will not hear a sermon on the gospel text. A text which prepares us for Jesus’ ascension, and promises that when Jesus ascends to heaven, he will send the Holy Spirit to comfort and guide us in this world. But you will have an opportunity to celebrate the Ascension this Thursday when Bishop Scruton comes to Trinity Church in Lenox to receive people into our communion. Today, however, here at St. George’s, we join those who celebrate Rogation Day. Because even as Jesus ascends to heaven, his feet remain on this earth. He walked among us. And he did not leave a carbon footprint; he left a footprint meant for us to follow him in. We must begin to erase our carbon footprint if we are to follow in the way of Jesus; the way of life and health and peace on this planet.
So how do we begin. If you are like so many people who have read or written articles or letters about the environment in our local papers, you have already begun. But I would like to highlight a few of the things I have read that people are doing in the Berkshires to honor our mother, earth. I quote a letter sent to the Berkshire Eagle by Beth Moser of Great Barrington. “This is what I started to do,” she said. I have replaced all my incandescent light bulbs with compact fluorescents which I will place in a box for safe recycling when they burn out. I shut lights off in rooms which are not being occupied, and I unplug electrical appliances which are not being used. I wash my clothes with biodegradable detergents in cold water, and dry my clothes on a line in warm weather. I use a push mower and a rake on my grass, and I ride a bike or walk whenever I can to run errands. I carpool whenever possible and I turn my car off if it is going to idle for more than 10 seconds. I’ve cancelled my catalogue subscriptions and shop exclusively on line and I participate in responsible disposal and recycling. I take my own bags to the grocery store and I buy things with the least amount of packaging. As often as I can I buy organic and from local producers. I make my own cleaning supplies or buy non-toxic ones. I take my clothing to a thrift store and hold regular tag sales. To Ms. Moser’s list I would add that the next time we buy a car it should be a hybrid, or a car which gets half again or twice as many miles per gallon than the one we have now. What is most important in Ms. Moser’s letter is that she began to educate herself. She began by doing one thing and that has led to all the others, and in her own words Ms. Moser says, “Once you start you will find it easy and very satisfying.”
As satisfying, perhaps, as the environmental gift an Episcopal priest received recently from two of his grandsons. It was a certificate stating that an acre of Costa Rican rain forest had been preserved in his name, and the boys created a homemade T-shirt to give to their grandfather which read, “Rain forests need love too!” Such stories and letters and articles make me believe that solving our environmental problems is only limited by our imagination and our will.
And will is good enough for those of us who do not have much imagination. The problem is that our will to do something about a problem depends upon whether we perceive that we have a problem. Jesuit author and teacher Larry Gillick writes about four very different images of the earth which influence our perceptions of it. For some people the earth is a temporary prison from which we long to be freed. For others, the earth is a mess and God ought to do something about it. There are those who see the earth as a garden where flowers and weeds grow together and they’d better tend to it. Then there are those who believe the earth is a place to indulge oneself in its riches and pleasures.
For faithful, practicing Christians, there is only one image which serves God’s purpose for us. The earth is a garden which needs our continual care and attention. Lest the weeds smother the fruit and choke it to death. Now, I don’t like to end my sermons on such a negative note, but global warming and carbon footprints are not good news. On the other hand, there is Good News. We are the good news. We are the only people God has to serve his purposes for good in creation. And he has given us the everything we need to help bring our planet back to health, and his creatures to well-being. First, we need to recognize that we have a deadly serious problem. Then each of us needs to harness the will to do our part to solve it. We need to have a vision of God and imagine the earth as he created it to be for us. After all, the earth, she is our mother; she is the only mother we have. And it IS possible, and indeed necessary, to bring her back to health and healthy relationship with us.
Modern American author, Kurt Vonnegut, presents us with a wakeup call in a poem he writes at the end of one of his novels. Typical of Vonnegut, the poem is a darkly cynical account of what happens to a planet where people do not have the love, no less the will or imagination to save it from destruction. The poem is not good news; the wakeup call is:
When the last living thing
has died on account of us,
how poetical it would be
if Earth could say,
in a voice floating up
perhaps
from the floor
of the Grand Canyon,
“It is done”
People did not like it here.