On Wednesday 8th July I headed out to Dove Stone Reservoir with my husband, son and son’s girlfriend. Whilst Wren’s girlfriend was over for the week, they wanted to hang out in nature and give Wren a chance to try out their new birding binoculars, a recent birthday present.
It was hot and it was dry, but it was beautiful. We saw some stunning pheasants in one of the picnic areas, 100s of bees and butterflies, and said hello to lots of lovely dogs, and their owners. We treated ourselves to a 99 from the car-park ice cream van after we’d completed the circular walk and asked ourselves: why had we never visited before?
Those of you who were here last Sunday will remember that as we we’re leaving after the service there was smoke in the air. I presumed it was a local garden fire, but as the day went on and the smell persisted, I wondered if it might be something more.
On Sunday evening I saw the news of the wildfires at Dove Stone and I’m sure many of us this have watched with sadness the images on our news feeds and even if we’ve avoided the news, the continued presence of acrid smoke has been a reminder.
Moorland that only days before was alive with plants, insects, birds and hidden ecosystems became blackened and smoking, and we saw fire crews work tirelessly. The fire is a stark reminder of how fragile our landscapes can be, particularly during periods of heat and drought which are becoming more frequent with the effects of climate change.
When I first read today’s gospel, the fire immediately came into my mind. As I continued my preparation and tried to find the commonality between all 3 readings, I read - written by some theologian much cleverer than me - that all three readings are about seeing beyond the surface.
Jacob sees an ordinary patch of ground and discovers it’s the house of God. Paul looks at a groaning creation and sees labour pains rather than death throes. Jesus contemplates a field containing both wheat and weeds and tells us not to despair.
When we put them together, they teach us something we desperately need to hear right now: Climate change hasn’t won, God hasn’t abandoned creation. God is still present within it and is still working through it. God is bringing it towards redemption.
The Gospel parable begins with a problem: A farmer sows good seed. Everything is done properly and with care and yet weeds appear. Immediately the servants ask, "how did this happen?" - it's the question people ask whenever disaster strikes:
How did this happen? Whether it’s weeds, suffering, pollution, fire or destruction: Why is a world that God created good, so often marked by pain? Jesus doesn't minimise the reality of evil, he doesn't pretend the weeds aren't there. In fact, he tells us there’re forces at work in the world which oppose God's goodness.
The servants want immediate action – pull out the weeds, separate the good from the bad. Yet their master says: "No. Let both grow together until the harvest." The servants want quick solutions, but the master advocates for patience - he understands something the servants don't. The roots of the wheat and weeds are intertwined. Pulling up one may damage the other.
Jesus is reminding us that God's work is often gentle and more patient than our own. And that matters when we think about the ecological crises facing our world.
There are two temptations, denial or despair. Some people refuse to acknowledge the weeds. Others become so overwhelmed by them that they lose hope altogether. The parable offers a third choice: Face reality honestly, but without surrendering hope. The farmer still has oversight for the whole field, and the weeds aren’t the whole story - the harvest is still coming.
Paul echoes this in Romans. "The whole creation has been groaning in labour pains." Creation is giving birth, and the groaning matters, the suffering is real and so is the pain. But labour pains tell us a birth is imminent.
Creation is wounded but not abandoned; this is so important as we contemplate environmental stewardship. We don’t care for creation because we believe we can save the planet by our own efforts; we care for creation because God loves it; God made it and gifted it to us.
Fr Joash Thomas writes that creation is not merely a backdrop to the spiritual life. The natural world is one of the places where we encounter God. Creation is sacramental. It points beyond itself to the Creator.
Now this takes us back to Jacob, who’s made a mess of his life and is running away. He's sleeping outdoors and using a stone for a pillow. Nothing about his situation feels sacred. Yet when he wakes up, he says: "Surely the Lord is in this place, and I did not know it."
What if, when we see wildfires and ecological disaster, we’ve forgotten that God is in this place?
God is in Urmston meadows, in the river Mersey and Manchester Ship Canal. In the Millenium Nature Reserve and the TransPennine way. And God is also in the endless building work in Trafford Park, the abandoned Moss Vale pub and Davyhulme Sewage Works
God is in the hills around Dove Stone and other areas of devastating loss, both before and after the fires. God is in every corner of creation, because God has made it and declared it good.
The Celtic saints often spoke about "thin places", places where heaven and earth seem closer together. Jacob experiences a thin place at Bethel. But anywhere can become a place where we glimpse God's presence. Anywhere - everywhere - can become holy ground. And if we see creation this way, stewardship moves beyond a duty and becomes an act of love.
The challenge, of course, is that right now creation is groaning. We see it in wildfires, floods, disappearing habitats and in the anxiety we feel about the future.
The temptation is to believe the weeds are winning, but the Gospel says otherwise. The story ends with harvest and light, with: "The righteous shining like the sun in the kingdom of their Father." The final word belongs to God, and our God is one of renewal, resurrection and life.
So what are we called to do? If God has this all figured out, do we need to do anything?
Well, first, we notice, recover Jacob's sense of wonder and recognise God's presence in creation. And we can say: "Surely the Lord is in this place."
Second, we care. We commit to be faithful stewards of what has been entrusted to us, not because we can fix everything, but because love always takes responsibility.
And third, we hope. Christian hope isn’t the same as optimism. Optimism says everything will probably work out. Hope says that even when the field contains weeds, even when creation groans, even when smoke hangs over the hills, God remains faithful.
The field, the harvest and the future belong to Christ. And so we keep sewing our seeds, for surely the Lord is in this place. And I don’t he’s finished with it yet. Amen.
Sermon based upon
No comments:
Post a Comment