Today is Earth Day – the naming of which started in 1970 when, on April 22, the UN formed the Environmental Protection Agency and passed the Clean Air, Clean Water and Endangered Species Acts. Earth Day is an international event celebrated around the world to pledge support for environmental protection. The theme, on this 51st anniversary, is ‘Restore Our Earth’.
So much of our spiritual awareness comes from creation, from Earth. The Bible begins and ends with images of creation – from the the world being formed out of nothing to the river of life – nature images speak of God. And we are nurtured by nature. As a faithful CBC radio listener I heard on ‘The Doc Project’ this week a program on the therapeutic value of gardening. The speaker said, just working in the soil or touching a tree could shift one’s mental state out of depression or anxiety. Vincent Van Gogh said, “For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.” And it does. Looking into a starry sky or spotting the moon as it rises can take one from the rooted place on earth to realms of wondering.
Today, in Muskoka, it is cold and windy, occasionally a snow flake will drift through the air. April is fickle. Monday was so hot I had to take off my sweater when working in the garden. Today, I don’t even want to venture outside. But I did take a stroll around my yard to check on the things that are growing. Plants are resilient. Despite freezing temperatures the pansies continue to bob their heads and the daffodils stand stalwartly against the breeze. Seeing that, along with the beauty of the region where I live, it is hard to believe the Earth is in the state of crisis that we are in but scrolling around a bit online gives ample evidence of the seriousness of the climate crisis.
I am reminded on the Earth Day of the poem On Travelling to Beautiful Places by Mary Oliver from her collection, A Thousand Morning (Penguin Books copyright 2012) Enjoy!
On Travelling to Beautiful Places
Every day I’m still looking for God
and I’m still finding him everywhere,
in the dust, in the flowerbeds.
Certainly in the oceans,
in the islands that lay in the distance
continents of ice, countries of sand
each with its own set of creatures
and God, by whatever name.
How perfect to be aboard a ship with
maybe a hundred years still in my posket.
But it’s late, for all of us,
and in truth the only ship there is
is the ship we are all on
burning the world as we go.
