Texts: Ezekiel 47: 6b-12; Jeremiah 17: 7-8
Tree by Tree: A Restless Child of the Promise
The Hebrew prophets and their vision of a peaceable kingdom have been stirring my imagination over the past couple of months, beginning in Advent and now continuing into the new year. From Isaiah to Jeremiah, from Ezekiel to Joel, I marvel at their creativity and imagination, as well as the sheer moxie it takes to articulate what often feels impossible, illusory, or just naïve. And yet generations of their restless children have gone on to enact their own versions of those ancient promises, providing us with much needed reminders of the ingenuity and agency that we all of us possess, but also of the goodness, the altruism, the idealism, and the joy that are found in moments of shared purpose, when we pour ourselves into a meaningful project that draws us together. William James witnessed it in the San Francisco earthquake, and Dorothy Day found it in the homeless shelters she constructed. Joe Ehrmann found it among the sports teams he’s been given to coach, and us – I believe we found it when we embarked upon the adventure of becoming a sanctuary church. We’ve been on a kind of sacred journey as we’ve gone about that work, exposing ourselves to the painful realities that so many people are facing today, even as we’ve used what resources are available to us to offer protection to a few, even as we work for conditions that will improve the lives of many.
Today I’d like to continue to draw on those ancient prophetic dreams of generosity and goodness by noting the role of the trees in their visions. The trees themselves are a sign of flourishing, of plentitude, of tranquility, of beauty, of steadiness, of cool resolve and purpose. That’s how it is in Ezekiel’s utopian dream, found in the 47th chapter of that book. Clean and clear water flows from a holy place, and along the banks of a river all manner of trees blossom and grow, signifying a time and place where basic needs are met, and where an equilibrium between human life and the natural world is somehow maintained. It’s a beautiful vision, one that receives a contemporary updating in the life of a person named Wangari Maathai, who rebuilt the lives of those around her tree by tree. It’s her image that’s found on the covers of your bulletins.
I’d like to share her story with you today, for it may help to elucidate where we have been as a community regarding ecology, and where we may be headed in the coming year, or years. I don’t need to tell you that the reports from the scientific community regarding the effects of climate change over the next several decades are grim. You also don’t need me to detail the total abdication of leadership on the part of our elected officials regarding everything that’s likely coming toward us. You don’t need a preacher for that – you just need a TV, or an open window. What a preacher can do is remind us that the way forward isn’t devoid of hope, that there is agency available to us, and that we as a community can be, can continue to be, a part of a deepening ecological revolution. But we need heroes and guides to inspire us with confidence and vision. That’s where Wangari Maathai comes in.[1]
She was a teacher, an activist, an ecological thinker, a mother, a prophet, and so much more. She hailed from Kenya, but came to worldwide prominence for the ecological and economic initiatives she launched in her country. She was an embracing and charismatic presence, but she was also a fierce warrior of the spirit. Her husband divorced her, saying that she was too headstrong to make a good wife. Her government labeled her a dangerous subversive. During one demonstration, she was beaten into unconsciousness by the police. During another, she was struck by a thrown tear gas canister. And it was all because she devoted herself to environmental and democratic reforms in her country, a devotion that eventually earned her the Nobel Peace Prize in 2004.
An important aside: Wangari Maathai is an embodiment of a truth that MLK embodied, and often proclaimed, a truth worth recalling on this of all weekends: peace is not, it is not, the absence of conflict. There are times that the pursuit of peace requires the heightening of tension, the production of what we can call creative conflict, which can produce new ways of organizing ourselves. Not all conflict is creative, and not all tension is productive of a greater good, but Wangari Maathai’s story is a reminder that as often as not, the pursuit of peace, if it is to be more than a pious and preacherly platitude, is going to require something of individuals that won’t always feel peaceful, at least in the sense of quiet contemplation. The peace that Wangari Maathai discovered, to say nothing of those like MLK, resides deep deep deep down in the soul, where no amount of brutality, where no amount of intimidation, where no amount of bullying, harassment, or threats can touch it. I want to know that peace. Maybe you do too.
Maathai was a biologist at the University of Nairobi in the 1970’s, the first woman in Central Africa to obtain a doctorate in her field, veterinary anatomy. And she grew increasingly concerned with the environmental devastation being wrought upon Nairobi by widespread deforestation. It was damaging the land, but just as importantly, it was having a catastrophic effect on people, especially women, as sources of food, shelter, and other resources became scarce. She had an intuitive understanding of the systemic interconnections between the natural world and the ability of human beings to live well. And so she hatched a plan, a massive replanting program that would be a way of preserving and enhancing the land, while also becoming a source of income for poor people in Nairobi. In 1977, she founded a small organization in Nairobi that paid women to plant trees. Tree by tree, they laboriously replanted entire forests. But what’s more, they found a joyful and sustaining vision in the work that sustained them, creating powerful networks of shared tasks and communal bonds. Soon, Maathai’s vision grew into a nationwide movement in Kenya, and after that it spread throughout the African continent. In time, it came to be known as the Greenbelt Movement. Get this: since the 1970’s, as a result of Wangari Maathai’s initial vision, those catalyzed by her vision have planted an estimated 40 million trees throughout Africa, while also providing income for nearly a million women.
Now, note the genius of Wangari Maathai’s vision. She understood the link between environmental sustainability and economic opportunity. The two lived together in her imagination. Replanting the forests with indigenous species improved soil health, cut down on erosion, created shade and protection from wind, and served as habitats for birds and other animals. But it was also good for those who were struggling economically, in that it provided a steady source of income, made for richer farmland, and provided firewood for personal use and for selling. Nobody lost. It was, in effect, a Pan-African Green New Deal, long before that phrase was ever coined. Sustainability and economic growth need not be antagonistic to one another.
Not everyone saw it that way, of course. Wangari Maathai had her critics and opponents, the most powerful of which was the Kenyan President, Daniel arap Moi, who stepped down from the presidency in 2004 amidst allegations of corruption. The conflict between them came to a head in 1989, when Maathai rallied opposition to a plan, endorsed and backed by Moi, to build a large business and residential complex in Nairobi’s largest park and wildlife refuge. It was a disastrous plan, though it promised to enrich a small minority of Kenyans and foreign investors. Wangari Maathai saw through the ruse, and she stood firm. Moi’s government fought Maathai every step of the way, and the Kenyan courts even ruled against her. But through sheer force of will, Maathai brought so much negative publicity to the project that the foreign backers of the deal pulled out, leaving the wildlife sanctuary untouched and undamaged.
In 2004, Maathai was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for her “holistic approach to sustainable development that embraces democracy, human rights, and women’s rights in particular.” In her acceptance speech, she said that sometimes in history, moments arise that call for a “shift to a new level of consciousness to reach a higher moral ground,” shedding fear and offering hope to one another. “That time, she concluded, is now.”
That was fifteen years ago, but her words continue to resonate, like a bell that vibrates long after the clapper has struck metal. Her words hearken back to Ezekiel, and to Revelation, but they also contain reverberations that can be felt here in the United States, here in Old Lyme, as we all discern how to confront the ecological challenges before us.
For years now, our congregation has been a leader in efforts around moving toward a sustainable future. Whether we knew her name or not, whether we knew her story or not, we’ve been following in the path of Wangari Maathai for some time, moving into the future, if you will, tree by tree. Let me enumerate some of the things we’ve done over the years, much of which has been recommended by members of our environmental committee.
We’ve undertaken a long process of divesting our endowment funds from fossil fuels, while reinvesting in green technologies. We’ve put solar panels on a large portion of the available roof space of our fellowship hall, reducing our energy consumption by more than 40%. We’ve installed LED lightbulbs in most of lighting fixtures, further reducing our energy consumption. We’ve hosted talks having to do with the Paris Climate Accords, and some among us have spearheaded efforts to urge the town of Old Lyme to begin planning for major storms and the disappearance of beach front properties. The teachers in our Sunday School program have designed programs and educational curricula that integrate a love for the natural world into a theological framework appealing to young people. They learn about recycling and sustainable living, the growing of food and the reduction of carbon. There have been bus trips to environmental marches and guest preachers inviting us to a greater understanding not just of the science of ecology, but of the religious and spiritual dimensions of ecology. There have been book groups that have sought to deepen our understanding of the natural world and our participation in it. We’ve used our relationships in Israel and Palestine to learn about the struggle for ecological resources, particularly water, and what that portends for some of the most vulnerable, overlooked, or forgotten populations on the planet. And then, of course, there is our relationship with our Native American friends in South Dakota – when they sought to draw attention to the high cost of using fossil fuels, and of the environmental racism they were being subjected to with the construction of the Dakota Access Pipeline. We were there – in body and in spirit – lending our support as a community committed to devising less harmful ways of inhabiting the planet. Our environmental committee has provided significant leadership over the years, to the point that the United Church of Christ recognizes our congregation as one of the churches leading the way in environmental theology. I say all of that to underscore just how passionate we are about the project of creating a responsible and sustainable way of living. Tree by tree, we’ve been doing that work together.
But there’s more to learn, more to enact. Recently, the chair of our board of deacons, Don Gonci, has led a series of conversations among the deacons about ways our community might strengthen our ecological leadership, how we might face into the future with a spirit of improvisation and joy, wisdom and shared vision. Questions have arisen, such as whether it’s possible to reduce our carbon footprint when we travel, whether it’s possible to depend entirely on renewable energy by installing still more solar panels on the Meetinghouse, whether it’s possible to reduce waste and live a little more simply in our own individual lives. Not only that, as talk of a Green New Deal has emerged, where infrastructure spending and job creation would be coupled with transitioning to renewable energy, there has been talk of how faith communities in general, and how our church in particular, might be called to participate in such an effort. Far more questions than answers have emerged. But they are powerfully important questions, and I am grateful they’re being asked. More than that, I’m grateful for the energy that so many among us have expressed as a result of those conversations, and as a result of efforts that have been going on around here for a long time now.
The ministers have asked Don to form a small working group to study these matters, and to come back with some strategic recommendations for how we as a community, and how we as individuals, might respond to the challenges before us. None of us knows exactly what we might do, or where we might go. We won’t single handedly solve issues of climate change or shifting toward renewable resources, any more than we’ll single handedly solve the immigration crisis, or bring peace to the Middle East. But we can play a part, and maybe a decisive part. Because here’s what I’ve seen happen again and again in this congregation: when there’s something that needs doing, no matter how large or overwhelming or improbable, there are people here that get to work and who collectively move mountains. Tree by tree, life by life, the work gets done and its joyful, and it’s energizing, and it’s hopeful, and it’s contagious, and it’s uplifting. Ezekiel and Jeremiah, Wangari Maathai and all the other restless children of the promise are urging us on.
[1] Most of the details of Maathai’s story in the following paragraphs are drawn from Blessed Peacemakers, by Kerry Walters and Robin Jarrell, (Eugene: Cascade Books, 2013), pg. 91.
