Winter Solstice and the Anthropocene

Life moves in cycles, and on December 21 we mark the turning of a very big cycle, the Winter Solstice.  Light, which has been lessening, will now begin gathering and the mechanism that powers life will bring us, eventually, back to a spring of new growth. As I try and reason through the profound phenomenon of the Winter Solstice, I join the ancient stargazers, the modern scientists, and all those who seek to understand what our place in nature is, or should be.

The Winter Solstice marks the annual rotation of our planet around the sun, the star that supplies the energy of life.  Within that cycle is another cycle.  The daily rotation of the earth exposes the planet to a disproportionate delivery of solar energy, and the dissipation of that energy, along with the fast spinning of the globe, moves the atmosphere which supports our life.  The movement of air delivers life-giving water, which also moves in a solar-powered cycle.  We live from, and have our being in,  these cycles.

On the Winter Solstice, I am as far away from the source of life as I will be all year.  Where I am, about halfway between the equator and the north pole, the tilt of the planet moves us away, slightly, from the sun for half the year.  The daily spinning of the globe on its angle leaves those of us in the northern hemisphere in the dark more than in the light for two seasons.  Then, as the planet circles around the sun, our half of the globe will be tilted more toward the light, and we will enjoy a surfeit of sunshine.  The workings of nature often astound me, starting with this most fundamental construction that defines my place in the cosmos

Our place on the planet can be defined astronomically, and this is perhaps a starting point for understanding our role here.  We exist first as passengers, as beneficiaries of the energy systems, water cycles, and rhythms of nature that support our existence.  We apply our reason to understand how the machinery works, a task that has taken millennia and which continues as we gain more knowledge.  This gives us more comfort, but as our knowledge expands, so too does our prowess. And while our ever-growing abilities have allowed us to benefit more from nature, we now realize that our actions have begun to have a major impact on the planet upon which we depend.

We have now entered the epoch of the anthropocene, a definition of geological time that marks the influence of humans on the physical operation of the planet.  The ancient solar energy embodied in coal and oil and gas have been removed from the earth itself and re-converted to heat.  The result of course, has been to put this carbon back into the atmosphere and the ocean, which has then changed the chemical composition of the air and water.  The sun remains basically the same, and more of its energy is now absorbed in the atmosphere.  The planet is warming, and the weather systems have thus changed as well.

We are no longer passive residents of earth, one of several lifeforms that has evolved in this narrow band of air, balance of temperature, and cycles of water that exist on our planet.  Perhaps we never were just passengers; perhaps our place here has meant something more from the beginning; perhaps not.  Perhaps we are too full of hubris, or not full enough of appreciation of our situation in nature.  Perhaps we have come to our knowledge too late.

But, three days before Christmas, I am reminded that humanity has had a deep awareness of the connections between light, life, and our place in nature long before we fully understood how this planet rotates on angle around a star.  My religion, like other faiths, celebrates new life at this time of year when we move from a season of darkness to a season of light.  We have long sought to understand these mysteries and our connection to them.

Our intelligence, our science, has helped locate us in space, and our science has explained how we come to live on this planet. Now we need to use our knowledge, new and old, to preserve our existence.

Five Truths Found in Nature

On September 11 this year, I got up early, walked to the beach and watched a great black-backed gull in the surf. After breakfast, I got on a bicycle and rode off into a fog so wet that I needed raingear. Later, the sun prevailed and I spent a glorious day immersed in nature, fully aware of wind, and smell, and ever-changing visions of a living landscape.

I was on Cape Breton in Nova Scotia, on a five-day bike trip around the Cabot Trail, but establishing a connection with nature can occur in lots of places. The Shiawassee River that runs through my home-town provides my most accessible environmental source, but the opportunities are many, if we choose to make them. Why do we go to nature?  For me, I reaffirm five fundamental values when I spend time outside: Life, Beauty, Transcendence, Relationship, and Inspiration.

1. Nature is life.  Being in nature connects me to the elemental: water flowing, air felt, plants growing, animals observed, and the music of bird sounds. When I encounter nature, even in a streetside planter, I am aware of life, both in its tenacity, as a flower takes root in a cement crack, and in its fragility, as an insect dies with the swat of a hand. 

I like to walk in nature, because it allows me to stop, and stoop, and examine life in its most minute and delicate.  But on a bicycle I can take in more of the diversity of life in less time.  On a day’s ride through Cape Breton Highlands National Park, a long climb took me from the seacoast with whales offshore, along a stream through a stand of Canada’s trademark maple trees, up through a spruce forest, and finally to the stunted growth of a taiga and a near-tundra environment atop a windswept plateau 550 meters above sea level.

When out in nature on a bike, wind and temperature changes are keenly experienced. Weather is not an abstract symbol on my smartphone. I am immersed in the environment, and sights and smells constantly change. The use of my legs, the testing of my physical self, reminds me that I too am a creature defined by my biology.  I am a part of nature.

2. Beauty expresses the universal.  Emerson, in his essay “Nature” wrote that “the world exists to the soul to satisfy the desire of beauty.” Beauty is an elusive, perhaps discredited, philosophical term, but I know my life is enriched when I encounter a perfect dahlia bloom in the Halifax Public Garden, or take in the grand view of the Cape Breton coast after a long bike climb. Nature delights us with its creativity in its expressions of beauty.

But beauty is more than the perfect combination of design, and color, and light. There is some inherent quality in certain natural objects or experiences that exceeds identification or classification.  We stood on the top of a cliff just north of Ingonish and watched a bald eagle, perfect in his white and black coloration, glide up to eye level and look at us sideways from 20 feet away. There was much more in this moment than an ornithological achievement. “Every natural action is graceful,” wrote Emerson. “Beauty, in its largest and profoundest sense, is one expression for the universe.”

3. Transcendence through nature.  Being in nature reminds us that we are part of something much larger than ourselves in current time.  Looking across the expanse of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, clouds and sun and distant rain make apparent the cycle of water upon which we depend.  The exposed geology of the shifting earth and the discontinuity of multi-colored rocks reveal that much has happened to create the cape upon which we were now standing.  Life is fully present in the form of a black bear feeding upon blueberries, but the reminders of death—rotting fish on the shore, the barren trees of a burnt-over hillside—are also constant.  Our time here will be short, but nature will persist.

4. We exist in relationship.  We are in relationship with nature, and with one another.  A trip into the out-of-doors not only affirms our dependence upon nature, it also highlights the importance of our relationships with one another. While I have had many a quiet moment alone in nature birdwatching or reflecting, my most significant encounters with nature have been with a group of people. Heading off to a wild place often requires some journey of time, distance, and effort, and it is both easier and more satisfying to make that trip with others. This bike trip was similar, with both a support team to help me through the tough moments and fellow pedalers to share with me the discoveries.

Both our human relationships and our interactions with the natural world are two-way. We depend on one another, and our actions have an impact, either positive or negative.  On the toughest day of our trip, we were thankful for the bright sun and the cool breeze off the ocean. Our guide recounted days lost on other trips to violent Nor’easters that brought waves up over the road in places.

We were very aware of the more profound ways in which nature has sustained, and challenged, the residents of Cape Breton. The ocean provides an active fishery in several small towns we rode through. While lobsters abound, over-fishing and environmental changes have greatly diminished several fish populations. This was perhaps most evident in the Salmon Museum along the Margaree River, which contains haunting photographs and fascinating gear—legal and illegal---from the bountiful history of the Atlantic Salmon fishery. Fortunately, the majestic fish has survived, and with help is now recovering.

5. Nature is a source of inspiration.  Spending long days on a bike, often in single file, gives one time to think.  I considered both the grand scenery flashing by, but also about the piece of technology that carried me along.  The bicycle may be one of the most simple, yet profound, human inventions. It translates the power of our legs, which by animal standards are slow, into a relatively speedy and efficient means of transportation. And it provides mechanical locomotion without the use of fossil fuels or noxious emissions.  For me, I appreciate the connection it provides with the immediate environment, whether pleasant or not.

The relationship between humanity, technology, and nature has been complex, and not one that has always benefitted humanity or nature.  Often, without thought, we have employed a technology that has offered to save us time or increase wealth, but we have not fully considered the costs.  Still, the best of our technology has extended human capacity and done so in ways that impose small costs or even provided a benefit.  The bicycle has proven to be one such technology, and it's basic form has been with us now for close to two centuries.  After a week on a bike, I came away more enamored with this technology as a symbol of how we can use our intellect to take advantage of what nature has to offer, but without doing major damage to the resource we seek to enjoy.

The Peace of Wild Things.  Nature offers us so much, both in terms of sustenance and the opportunity for spiritual growth.  But death is part of nature as well, and one day we took a break from biking to hike out lonely White Point, where violent water batters exposed rock.  There you will find a simple memorial to the those who have died in an unfortunate encounter with the powerful ocean.  The people of Cape Breton have a close relationship with the sea, and while it supports life, sometimes it claims a life as well.

The line between what is good and lovely and what is evil and dark is thin. Biking provides this reminder as well.  The exhilaration of the downhill run is tempered by the thought of loose gravel on a sharp switchback. And while the drivers of Nova Scotia were as considerate as any I have shared a road with, we were still sometimes shaken by a truck cutting too close as they passed us by on the narrow shoulder of the road.  Life is good, but we cannot measure its length.

This year, I spent September 11 biking from fog to sunshine, along a beautiful edge of nature.  I was invigorated.  On the dark days after September 11, 2001, life was not so joyous.  As I struggled to make sense of that human tragedy, I turned to one of my favorite Wendell Berry poems:

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

How to get there:
Cape Breton is rich in both culture and nature, and the Cabot Trail provides a biking route around some of its most scenic areas. Here is a link to the Cabot Trail with maps and information.  Find more about visiting the area at www.novascotia.com

As always, thanks Anna

Several options are available for biking on your own or with a guided tour.  We travelled with Pedal & Sea Adventures, and had a fantastic trip.

Cape Breton Highlands National Park is a natural area of special significance and worth visiting on a camping trip; hiking opportunities abound.

If you go, be sure to spend some time inland as well, along the Margaree River, and learn more about the recovery efforts associated with the Atlantic Salmon.  Be sure to visit the Salmon Museum.

An Earth Day Sermon

In addition to my volunteer commitments to nature, I am also a lay preacher in the Episcopal church. This Earth Day I was asked to give a talk at Christ Episcopal Church in Owosso, MIchigan. I share it here as an expression of my particular spiritual view, but I recognize and appreciate other expressions from other religious traditions, or from those with no religious belief at all. The view are my own and do not represent any of the several nonprofit organizations I work with.

Rebirth is the word of Easter.  The lesson from this season is that death is not final, that life renews itself.  This message contradicts the linear way many of us lead our life:  we are born, we grow up, things happen, life progresses in a line, maybe up, maybe down, but eventually we die and life ends.  Nature teaches us something else.  Life is a cycle.  A tree grows through a season, it leafs out, fruit ripens and is plucked off, then the branches go barren, the tree seemingly dies, until the next spring when it is reborn with delicate buds.  And the caterpillar that ate the leaves of the tree in summer, encloses in a hard shell in fall, waits the winter, and is reborn as a butterfly.  We are all part of something greater than our own short lives.

Water too moves in a cycle:  from rain, to runoff, to lake, to evaporation, to cloud to rain. Changing form, changing function.    Nature, Easter, teach us that life is not linear, it is a circle.  Rebirth, Renew. Recycle. This is the story of the world we live in, and the world we die in.

Today is Earth Day. Some churches call it Creation Sunday, or Good Seed Sunday.  But Earth Day began as a political movement 42 years ago, and some now believe that the environment is a secular topic, or a policy issue, and thus we have no business addressing it in Church.  

Faith and Nature. I think however that a reading of the bible shows that humanity's relation to the environment is fundamental to the Christian religion.  You don't even have to read beyond the first sentence of the first chapter of the first book of the bible to see that environment and faith in God are tied together:  "In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth." You know the story.  God created the world and separated land from water, and commanded the land to "put forth vegetation: plants yielding seed, and fruit trees of every kind."  And God also said "let the waters bring forth swarms of living creatures, and let birds fly across the dome of the sky."  Our environment exists as a Divine act, and "God saw everything that he had made, and indeed it was very good."

You know the second chapter as well:  "the Lord God planted a garden in Eden, in the east; and there he put the man he had formed. . . The Lord God put him in the garden of Eden to till and keep it."  We are not on this earth as a vactaion; we are here as stewards.  The Earth, God's creation, this Eden, is not ours, but it is ours to keep, to tend, to care for.  And, if we are stewards of this Garden it will provide for us.  The earth will feed us; but it is not a pantry shelf, or a fast-food restaurant; it is a garden:  and we must work it, for the long term, if we are to be supported by it.

Some call this story a Creation Myth, and by "myth" they mean a falsehood, a fiction.  But I believe that myths are stories which contain the deepest, unchanging truths, even if the details of the story cannot be substantiated. The Creation Myth contains a truth that our modern science has proven:  our life depends on the health of the planet.  We need clean air, and water, and food and all that the earth provides if we are to survive, be healthy, and thrive.

But nature provides us with more than a life support system.  A continued reading of the Bible shows that nature is a central player in the stories and events that define our religion:  The flood survived by Noah, who takes responsibility for all the creatures of the earth; the revelations that Abraham and Moses and Jesus receive while in the desert fully immersed in the endless sand and stars above; Jonah's saving by a whale; the encounters with water, whether struck from a rock or the crossing of the Jordan or the baptisms performed by John; and Jesus's final night, which he passes outside the great city in a garden, back again where we started.

These are but a few of the examples of how nature defines and informs our faith.  I have not even touched on the Psalms and the glory of creation that inspires so many of them.  We encounter God in nature.  Job, when put to the test, retreats to the wilderness.  His supposed friends ask him how he will find righteousness there; his answer:  "ask the animals, and they will teach you; the birds of the air, and they will tell you; ask the plants of the earth, and they will teach you; and the fish of the sea will declare to you."  

Nature and Humanity. We are meant to be connected to nature, as part of our worship, as part of our calling, as part of our sustenance.  But we have lost, or are losing, that connection; and we do so at our peril, both physically and spiritually.  A book came out a few years ago called "Last Child in the Woods," and it makes the compelling case that much of what troubles our youth--obesity, attention deficit disorders, lack of creativity, self-centeredness--can be traced to the decline in the amount of time children spend playing out of doors and exploring creation. The author, Richard Louv, writes this: "nature--the sublime, the harsh, and the beautiful--offers something that the street or gated community or computer game cannot.  Nature presents the young with something so much greater than they are; it offers an environment where they can easily contemplate infinity and eternity."

And of course it is not just the young that can get this from nature.  I realized in writing this that it has been too long since I have spent a sustained time in nature.  And I realize that some of my own spiritual malaise, my preoccupations with certain tasks, my over-inflated sense of self, could be cured by a long hike rather than a long meeting or a day spent with a canoe paddle rather than a laptop.  John Muir speaks to me today when he wrote 175 years ago to a friend from the Sierra "I wish you could come here and rest a year in the simple unmingled love-fountains of God. You would return with fresh truth gathered and absorbed from pines and waterfalls and deep-singing winds, and you would find that they all sang of fountain love just as did Jesus Christ."

Stewardship. We get much from nature.  What do we give back?  How are we doing in a role as stewards of the Garden?  Well the good news is that since the first Earth Day in 1970 we, as a people, have done some impressive things to clean up our air, remove toxic pollutants from our foods, protect endangered species, and save some precious natural places.  In our community, we have significantly cleaned up the Shiawassee River thanks to the federal Clean Water Act and lots of local commitment. Here too we are doing a better job caring for the animals that enrich our lives as companions.  And we all have more opportunities to eat healthier food and be more efficient in our use of fuel and energy, At DeVries Nature Conservancy and elsewhere we are creating places for kids, and adults, to get outside more easily.

We have learned a lot about the environment and our impact on the planet in the 50 years since Rachel Carson wrote Silent Spring (yes, it was 1962 when her groundbreaking book on the impact of pesticides came out).  However, as we have gained more knowledge we have lost some of our motivation as the problems have become more difficult and more complex.  Sending a check to The Nature Conservancy to buy a scenic forest is easy; protecting the Great Lakes from quagga mussels and asian carp is not.  Banning DDT just took an act of Congress, but what we should do to control greenhouses gasses is not clear, even if Congress could tackle such a difficult and divisive issue.

Climate Change. At the risk of talking about such a politically charged topic, let me say a word about climate change, or global warming, as it is sometimes called.  What we know for sure is this, there is much more carbon dioxide (CO2) in the atmosphere now than there was 50 or 100 or a 1000 years ago.  Just as water moves in a cycle, so too does carbon:  plants breathe in carbon dioxide and convert it to organic material; we use the food and wood they produce; if we burn the trees and other plants, carbon dioxide is returned to the atmosphere.  But mostly, at least since creation, the plants just die, they decompose and the carbon returns to the soil.  And in a timeframe only God can appreciate, after thousands of millennia, the decayed organic material is turned into fossil fuels; we burn them for heat and energy and transportation, and in so doing release the carbon back into the atmosphere.  

Of course, since industrialization we have been burning the oil and coal and gas like there is no tomorrow and this is why there is today so much CO2 in the atmosphere today.  And CO2 acts like a green house, letting in light but keeping in heat; thus our planet has warmed and out weather has gotten wacky.  And since we haven't fully figured out and weather and climate, making all the connections isn't possible, so we debate the impacts of global warming.

I don't know the answer to this problem; some people don't think it's a problem, and some deny it is even happening. I would argue that we as a nation, as a people, are not able to fully comprehend, much less address, this issue because we are thinking and talking about it only in political terms.  To be sure there are political dimensions to this issue, but it is at root a spiritual issue.  If we were think about climate change as a moral issue, and draw on our religious tools, and our scientific knowledge, to seek solutions, we might be able to begin to move toward an answer.  Rather than partisan debates, the questions to ask are:  what is our role in caring for Creation? Do we appreciate the gifts, the resources, we have been given and are we using them in a way that keeps this place healthy?  Are we being responsible in our stewardship to those with whom we share this Garden?  Will the goodness of the earth persist for the next generation and the generations after that?  

Our Place in Nature. These questions come from looking at humanity as God's children, the term John uses today in our reading.  We are not apart from Creation, nor are we above Creation.  If we ignore nature, we will neglect and abuse it, and this, as science tells us, will endanger our existence.  Putting humanity above nature is the curse of the modern technological age, and in the last century we have been using nature as only an unconstrained consumer can.  We have taken, and harvested, and eaten, and burned, and otherwise used up the fruits of creation at a startling, extraordinary rate.  

As the writer Wendell Berry says "The problem with us is not only prodigal extravagance but also an assumed limitlessness.  We have obscured the issue by refusing to see that limitlessness is a godly trait."  As humans, our lives have limits; only God is infinite and without boundary.  To live, as we are living now, without regards to limits, is heretical, is disobedient of the command to be stewards, and it is sinfully presumptuous.

But just as we should not put ourselves above nature, nor should we put ourselves below nature.  We don't worship Creation.  We worship God in Creation.  If we see God as separate from nature, or if we imagine nature without God, then we get confused about our role. Our task is clear, our responsibilities are defined and unique.  We are to be the caretakers of Creation.  Not the consumers of nature.  Yes, we can, and must make use of nature, but we must do so in a way that ensures not only the health and productivity of the garden, but also its long term sustainability.  We need to plant, and weed, and grow, and harvest the garden.  But we must also mulch, and plow, and fertilize the garden and ensure that there is clean water and air for the garden to thrive on.  Our children and our children's children, and all the children to come, need this garden too.

And this the point: we are part of a grand circle.  Life is not linear.  We are born and reborn, and at some point we will roll forward, we will recycle into something bigger than we can comprehend, something beyond time and place. But here and now we occupy this Garden, and our task is to prepare for renewal:  renewal of ourselves and renewal of this world, this kingdom to come.

Learn the Flowers

Sometimes, the news gets me down. A story on the despoilment of a special place, the data on our changing climate, the latest report on the decline of a rare plant or animal, or just a political update can be discouraging. Usually, time outside will cure me of the malaise and give me renewed inspiration. Recently, this poem helped a lot.

For the Children by Gary Snyder

The rising hills, the slopes,

of statistics

lie before us.

The steep climb

of everything going up,

up, as we all

go down.

In the next century

or the one beyond that,

they say,

are valley, pastures,

we can meet there in peace

if we make it.

To climb these coming crests

one word to you, to

you and your children:

stay together

learn the flowers

go lightly

Gary Snyder poem published in "Moral Ground: Ethical Action for a Planet in Peril"

photos by Anna Owens