I need to be very honest with myself and with you, my fellow pilgrims: I didn’t always have a theology of the earth and often considered environmentalism to be a new bandwagon upon which the trendy people jumped. This was a kneejerk reaction to my own needs not being met: why should I worry about the earth when I was suffering? The truth is, it is very, very hard to be concerned about anyone but oneself when you live in the constant threat of violence and are fighting for survival daily. That was my reality for most of my childhood – I had no concept of any future because I didn’t think I would survive to see it.
It was only once I began to open my heart, my fears, my vulnerability to God through a growing relationship with Him that I realised that He understood perfectly; one day, I found myself praying ‘how can I trust you when I was abused?’ and the reply echoed inside my own mind: ‘You can trust me: I was abused too’. These 8 words finally allowed me to begin a relationship with God not as a ‘heavenly headmaster’ of ‘thou shalt nots’ but as a compatriot in this land of pain and betrayal. Similarly, the earth has suffered horribly at the hands of those whose duty it is to protect it and, in its own way, it sits in solidarity with our suffering and we with its suffering.
I have always related better to animals than to people and one of my co-dependent traits is to rescue the suffering, the wounded and the unappreciated; only through the 12 steps have I learnt that this is, at least in part, a reflection of my desire to have been rescued myself. My pets have often been a representation of that vulnerable part of myself that I’ve been too afraid to show in other ways and, even as I become braver about my own vulnerability, their illnesses and eventual deaths have always wounded me deeply. Almost by accident, I discovered my love for gardening – for watching the tiny seed become a tough evergreen, a mass of flowers or a tasty vegetable (please note that this is an activity not terribly well suited to rabbit ownership unless firm boundaries are maintained!). From experience, I know that a hundred seeds planted in identical conditions does not mean a hundred plants – they fail to germinate, wither away, become snail (or rabbit) food etc – but this doesn’t stop me from planting them.
In the same way that I seem to have an inbuilt desire to survive, our earth finds remarkable ways to bring forth new life too: the sycamore seeds growing in every possible crack in the urban environment start small but determined and, ultimately, grow to crack and fracture the concrete around them. Nourished by recovery and faith, I am breaking out of my prison too. And so, just as I have found that, in Christ, God has solidarity with my suffering, I am learning that the earth has suffered the scourging, the stripping, the suffocation and the misuse that He did – and has done so in near-silence like Him. For the earth to be free from its abusers, massive societal and cultural change is required; for children in backgrounds like mine, a similarly seismic shift would be necessary – hearing cries that are near-silent, believing the uncomfortable truths and acting upon them, just as with our earth.
1 comment
Francesca, thanks for your vulnerable and honest sharing of your story and perspective. It is in those deep dark depths of pain and suffering that we find our angels, discover our ability to finally ask for help, and see the friends (and animal friends) who come to our aide. Not to rescue (is it even possible to rescue?) but to be alongside. To listen. To say, you are not and never are alone. I have found that company in the 12 step programme for compulsive eaters and im grateful for your courage to share how much you’ve gained from fellowship too. See you today on screen, and soon in person.