Isaiah 35:1-7
Rev. Dr. Deborah L. Clark
August 22, 2021
I love baptisms. I love opening our doors and hearts to friends who have never experienced the joy of our worship. I love the daunting promises we make. I love carrying a squirming baby around the congregation. And I love the water—something so every-day that conveys profound truth about God’s promises to us.
It was wonderful to have two baptisms this past month. For the first one, Sophia Diane Kline’s, Karen Nell and I invited the children to fill our communion table with objects that point to meanings of baptismal water. One of them was a washcloth. The washcloth gives us an opportunity to say clearly that we are not baptizing this child to wash away original sin. The washcloth also honors the reality that she—and all of us—will need a fresh start—forgiveness–throughout our lives, and to celebrate that God offers it to us over and over.
I was reveling in the joy of Sophia’s baptism and happily anticipating Audre Rosalyn Jones’ special day when the United Nations Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change issued their report on August 9th. The language is stark: Code Red for our planet. The science is unequivocal: human activity has influenced the warming of our planet in a drastic way. The report didn’t surprise me: we have been hearing warnings for decades, and we are feeling the impact already in floods, fires and droughts, receding shorelines and a surge of climate refugees. I wasn’t surprised; I was stunned and devastated.
The report is clear that urgent action is needed; it is equally clear that it will take decades before we will see the impact of even our boldest steps. The extreme weather will get worse before it gets better.
I found myself questioning my baptismal washcloth metaphor. What does a fresh start mean here? We don’t get to go back and start over. For centuries, our planet will be living with consequences of humanity’s greed and carelessness and wanton disregard for God’s creation.
When I heard the report, my first instinct was to cry out, “My God, what have we done?” My cry is an admission of personal guilt—the ways my lifestyle has contributed to the damage, the changes I have not made, the letters and phone calls and public policy advocacy I have not prioritized. It is an acknowledgement of our collective human brokenness—how we have failed to use our intelligence to care for creation, how our priorities have been twisted by the distorted belief that the earth is ours to abuse. It is a cry of rage, directed at people I see as the worst offenders. Guilt, sorrow, rage–then there’s frustration, despair, desperation.
What do we do with this painful swirl of emotions? The first thing we do is name it, here, in church. We name it to one another, so we don’t have to face it alone. We name it to God. My cry is ultimately a prayer of confession. “My God, what have we done?” In the presence of God, we confess the whole of who we are—what we have done and left undone, what we can’t figure out how to do. We confess our guilt, our sadness, our rage, our despair.
Our faith promises that our honest confession is the beginning of a holy journey of transformation. As we dare to name the truth of who we are, we open ourselves to another truth: God is with us. God, who is passionate for all of creation, God who is compassionate with our human brokenness, God whose love is never-ending, is with us. Even as we acknowledge the ways we have abandoned God’s call to care for creation, we are assured that God does not abandon us. Even though we struggle to believe it, we repeat the biblical promise of God’s forgiveness.
What does forgiveness mean as we face the devastation already wrought on our planet and the continued pain we know is coming? God’s forgiveness does not mean we are freed from the consequences of our collective actions. God’s forgiveness does mean we are not defined by the sin of our disregard for God’s creation. Instead, we are defined by God’s love for us. We are God’s beloved, part of God’s good creation. We are called by God to be caretakers of all of creation. The fresh start of forgiveness is not a do-over; the fresh start is that God renews our calling to care for creation. God says, yes, this is where we are. Now get up and get to work. God promises us strength, courage and companions as we respond.
It is good—it is holy—to confess our guilt and sorrow, our rage and despair. Confession doesn’t take away the pain of those emotions. It reminds us there is something more powerful: God’s healing and restorative spirit. Our guilt and our grief to not have to control us. We can choose instead to be guided by the promise of God’s renewal. We can choose to live with hope.
Our scripture reading uses vivid metaphors to proclaim God’s promise of renewal. “The desert shall rejoice and blossom….Water shall break forth in the wilderness….The burning sand shall become a pool.” As I read Isaiah’s poetry this week, I felt the irony of the words for our time. In California and Greece, there are firefighters desperate for water to break forth in the wilderness, for the water pouring out of their hoses is not enough. For people in Ghana and Germany whose homes have been destroyed by torrential rains, the streams pouring through their streets surely do not feel like a blessing from God. What does God’s promise of renewal mean for our world in the wake of the devastation of climate change?
I am grateful to Fran, who forwarded me an email about Big Basin Redwoods State Park in California, which was devastated by fire in November 2020. The email describes the new life already beginning to emerge. When we look at the pictures of majestic redwood trees reduced to giant black poles, we assume complete destruction. But Zach Moore, a redwood ecologist, predicts that 98 percent of those trees will survive. Redwood bark is thick and spongy, insulating the wood inside the tree. It chars, turning the red to black, but it doesn’t actually burn. Already, less than a year later, the blackened bark of the redwood trees is sprouting tiny green fuzz, the first step toward regaining their capacity for photosynthesis.
New life is emerging. In another 300 years or so the forest might appear as majestic as it did back in 2019. Nature’s restorative power is already at work—more quickly than we ever imagined, more slowly than we can conceive. God’s spirit of renewal is at work. The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad.
Isaiah’s promise of God’s renewing spirit at work is accompanied by a charge to his people, and to us: “Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees. Say to those who are of a fearful heart, ‘Be strong, do not fear.’ Here is your God.”
In the redwood forests, we see God’s renewing spirit at work through the miracle of nature. As we confront global climate change, caused largely by human action, we know that God’s renewing spirit will need to work through the miracle of human beings coming together. Just as it was urgent for those redwoods to sprout fuzz to begin photosynthesis, it is urgent that we act boldly, courageously, now. Just as the regeneration of the redwoods will take centuries, so we will need to be doing this work for generations to come. We will need a long view and a sustained commitment. We will need strong hands, firm knees and courageous hearts.
We are called, as individuals and as a human race, to take action today, even though we know we will not see the results for decades. We do this work right now on behalf of children not yet born. We are called to make change at every level of our existence: our individual lifestyles, our communal values, our economic systems, our public policies, our international relationships. We are called to create compost piles, eat less meat, educate ourselves about carbon taxes and green jobs, write letters and call senators, and insist that our political leaders make this a top priority. We are called to work together as a nation and as a world, collaborating with people we don’t like. We are challenged to resist the temptation to shield ourselves from the impact of climate change, and instead use our resources to protect the most vulnerable people now and in generations to come.
It seems impossible. It is, unless we rely on God’s help. It is possible, if we trust in God’s renewing spirit. It is possible, if we refuse to be defined by our guilt or trapped by our despair and instead choose to be a people of hope. It is possible, if we work together. God never gives up on creation. No matter what happens, God is at work making green fuzz appear on blackened bark. God never gives up on us. No matter what we have done, God is with us, offering us forgiveness, refreshing us with the waters of baptism, calling us forward to keep trying. Let us trust that God knows something we don’t know about our potential to change. Let us dare to accept God’s promise of renewal. Let us reaffirm our commitment to be part of God’s spirit of renewal at work. Amen