Two New Blog Projects

Oil-On-Canvas-Abstract-ArtI’ve been writing this blog for just over five years now, and if I say so myself, I’ve covered a fair bit of ground: what started off as a way of exploring some of the more obscure corners of the Bible has started to encompass thoughts on disability and arts and politics and justice and current affairs and the environment and mental health and goodness knows what else. I’m a writer at heart, and this is how I process stuff, and I doubt that’s going to change any time soon. However, it means that the blog has been subject to a bit of mission creep lately, and I wanted to address that.

So, I’m pleased to say that I’m launching two sister blogs. Bezalel’s Legacy is going to be an exploration of faith, creativity and the arts, with reflections on how we create and the ways in which the Spirit uses that to bring healing, justice, worship and beauty to the world. This is something I’ve always been interested in, and I hope Bezalel’s Legacy will be an encouragement for those who want to use their creativity to make a difference in the world and in their churches.

CSR_AU_Environment-HEROThe other is Out of the Waves, Out of the Dust. This will be based around faith reflections on climate change and the environment. I don’t intend this to be a scientific apologetic for the subject; rather its focus will be on how climate change is happening now, and how it affects some of our most vulnerable communities. In that sense, the environment is a justice issue, one that disproportionately affects the inhabitants of poorer communities. It’s also affecting Christians throughout the world in a number of ways, and as the Body of Christ we need to acknowledge that. Out of the Waves will be a space to explore what all this means for the Church.

Thinking about it, both creativity and climate change are often underappreciated in our churches; at worst, they’re viewed with suspicion and disdain. So maybe there’s another reason for these blogs – to remind those of us with an interest in these subjects that we’re not alone, that God whispers through our art and blesses us when we cry out for justice.

The Left Hand of Ehud will continue as well, capturing general reflections on faith and the Bible; I just felt that creativity and climate change were deserving of a more targeted forum.

Thanks for following me over the years, and I hope you’ll join me over at Bezalel’s Legacy and Out of the Waves.

Thanks,

Matt

Climate Refugees in the Bible

One day the rains didn’t come, and the next day, and the next. Then the herds began to thirst and die, crops crumbled into the dry ground, skies still parched and empty and bearing down on a family nearing starvation.

Salvation was at hand; one brother had found their way into Egypt, and through a series of misadventures he had the ear of Pharaoh. Joseph, blessed with insight as to how to distribute the Nile’s bounty during a time of famine, saved his family from the worst a changing climate had to offer.

But in times of crisis, opportunists will arise, and so Joseph became powerful and exploited the vulnerable, in the way that you can when you’ve got something everyone else needs. A couple of hundred years later his descendants found themselves slaves of the Egyptians. When the climate turns against you it can cast a long shadow.

Centuries later, another famine swept through Israel, forcing a particular family to flee to Moab, an ancient land now in modern Jordan. Soil turning to dust underfoot, Elimelek and his family took a look back at the Promised Land and made their way towards a new life. Only one of them would return, accompanied by a widowed daughter-in-law, and yet in the face of starvation and natural disaster, those poverty-scarred survivors would go on to become the line of King David, the ancestors of the Messiah. And throughout the narrative, names conjure images of emptiness and fulfillment, famine and harvest. The dust of a vicious climate coats the whole story.

There are other examples; a famine striking the Romans Empire in Acts 11, prompting the infant Church to pool together resources and distribute aid; the climatic conditions that drive Abraham into conflict with PharaohJoel’s locust swarm that forms the backdrop to his great prophecy of the coming of the Holy Spirit. The environment is Scripture’s silent backdrop that nevertheless shapes events and people and the work of God. We can’t ignore it.

Nor can we ignore the 20 million climate refugees thought to be on the move today. We can’t ignore those whose water supplies are polluted, or whose food sources are dying, whose homes have tides lapping at their door, whose churches are facing a Noah’s Ark scenario of their own. We argue about how and why these things happen, but we forget the people. When it comes to theology we seem to spend more time debating the eschatology of the Anthropocene, its mechanisms and its imagined idolatries, than we do in serving those most affected by a changing climate. Faith and history will both judge us for that.

In his latest book, Rob Bell highlights the danger of reading the Bible as if it’s about the past or the future but not the present. We can’t ignore how the stories we read throughout the Bible intersect with what’s going on in the world around us. That’said why we need public theology. That’said why we need to speak with grace and mercy and love rather than treating vulnerable people as problems to be confronted by our dogmatism

And that’s why your church needs an environmental policy, and see the footprints in the dust and in the mud, and to know they could be our own.

Water is Life (2 Kings 2:19-22)

rh-healingspringatjerichoJericho had been inhabited for centuries, watered by springs that surrounded the town. The City of Palms was a fertile place, or at least it had been; now the water was bad, the life blood of the land poisoned, bringing death to crops and animals and people. The tainted waters, it was said, caused the soil to miscarry, and the people who lived there feared for their future and mourned their past.

The history of civilisation is, in some ways, the history of water – streams and rivers, irrigation and wells, sewage systems and canals. Water is essential, for farming, for hygiene, for life itself, and when water becomes polluted, when water dries up, civilisation starts to fade and move on.

The story of Elisha healing the water is a strange one, but let’s see it as a healing miracle for a whole community, rather than an individual; a resurrection miracle for the land rather than a person. Jericho is dying, but the prophet walks into town and brings the springs back to life in the power of God. Day to day urban practicalities sit alongside more spiritual concerns, the two not separate but intimately interwoven. There’s a darker side to that – in Joshua 6:26, Jericho is placed under a curse, with death promised to whoever rebuilds it. The weight of history sits heavily upon that community, but Elisha turns the situation round – the healing of the waters is also a healing of that curse, a new start for a community, an act of grace.

Nowadays, that healing would be a more controversial subject. Some of the biggest problems relating to the supply of water aren’t related to natural forces but to human greed and a refusal to consider the human cost of corporate ‘progress’. And, as with many issues relating to the environment, the forces of racism also loom large.

So, when the water supply to Flint, Michigan has been polluted by dangerously high levels of lead since 2014, we need to confront how those waters can be healed, but also why – especially as up to 12,000 children could have been exposed to what is effectively a neurotoxin, especially as the situation disproportionately affects black communities.

So, when the Dakota Access Pipeline is diverted away from the water source of the state capital and through the Standing Rock Sioux reservation lands, leading to assaults on protesters and the renewal of activity as the result of an executive order from President Trump, we have to see it in the light of the historic mistreatment of Native American tribes and a tendency for protests to be met with violence.

Like the story of Elisha healing the water, these are, on their surface, stories of anomalies, of problems that need to be fixed. But on the deeper level, they’re symptoms of a curse – of the way in which we’ve commodified resources as precious as water, of the way in which indigenous and black communities are often the first to suffer the ill effects of the way in which we manipulate our environment and disrupt our climate. And that’s a curse that needs lifting, healing, and while that still needs acts of grace all along the line, this isn’t just a case of Elisha throwing some salt into a spring; this is about working to heal the way in which we treat each other, the way in which we treat the land.

And so maybe, in these stories in which the corruption of water brings death, we can ask for the grace of healing, and see our communities resurrected. But that can only be done when the history of those communities is confronted, and present injustices fixed. Only then can the water be healed; only then can our lands start to prosper again.

 

Stewards of the Earth (Genesis 1:26-31)

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I’m in charge of putting our bins out.

That’s not as simple as it used to be: now domestic waste goes into a black bin, garden clippings in a brown bin, recyclable materials in a blue bin. Composting and recycling have slowly entered into the rhythms of everyday life.

This is probably good, because I’m not, by nature, an eco-warrior. I’m lazy. I consume plenty but it’s been a while since I grew tomatoes or planted a tree. I exploit creation – goodness knows the carbon footprint of my daily commute – but I don’t steward it nearly enough.

(I don’t like hurting bees. Does that count?)

This has theological implications. As early as the first chapter of Genesis, God puts humanity in charge of the world and ever since we’ve had to figure out what that means in practice, with people generally saying we should “rule” over creation, Or “have dominion” over it. Or “steward” it. We have various words, various translations to use, but their implications have to be reevaluated with every new discovery, every new trade link. And with the acceleration in technology and economic growth, our actions are outstripping our spirituality.

Here’s the thing though – we may be responsible for creation but we’re not separate from it. Nowadays we can and do exploit the earth on an industrial scale but that doesn’t mean that we should. After all, climate change and ecology in general can’t be separated from their impact on humanity – rising temperatures means increases in cholera and malaria, flooding becomes more severe, agriculture becomes more difficult. All of this has a human cost, with the poorest among us being the first and most vulnerable victims of changes in the biosphere.

It’s not just environmental problems though. The use and misuse of resources is a far more extensive and insidious issue. I admit this exposes my hypocrisy – I don’t know nearly enough about who produces my clothes or my food, or who mines the rare earth elements that sit in my smartphone. But again, our choices – our ‘dominion’ I guess – has consequences and we’re accountable for those consequences.

Issues like climate change and fair trade are intrinsically human problems, and I’m saying that with an awareness that creation is beautiful and majestic in its own right, not just as an adjunct to humanity. But if our call is to love our neighbours (and our enemies), if we’re told not to oppress the poor, or cause others to suffer, then we need to have a theology of creation care that goes beyond exploitation.

There’s an element of short-sightedness in all this. Too often various branches of Christianity have viewed the environment as a slow-burn apocalypse – if God’s going to recreate the universe in the end, why do we need to worry about it? But that’s a view that ignores that the rainforests we’re destroying produce drugs that treat cancer, heart disease and diabetes; that corporations dumping toxic waste in the middle of communities actually kill people.

We can’t be part of that. If we’re going to represent God’s kingdom on Earth then we also need to reflect his kingship. And we see that through Jesus; less than a week ago we remembered him washing the feet of his disciples and insisting that his followers would be characterised by live. That extends to all our interactions, the impact we have on the world around us.

Oppressing communities is a violence against those created in God’s image. Driving a species to extinction is violence against his creation. And we’re not called to be people of violence; our citizenship of God’s kingdom needs to be lived out in this world in advance of the next, people of compassion, not exploitation. We bear God’s image; let’s reflect it.