God of variety

The snow was half-way to my knees as I walked down the block and around the corner to visit my late mom’s neighbor, Joanne.

I hadn’t seen that much snow in a long time … but then it was February and I was in Ohio. We sat on the floor at Joanne’s house, where her adorable moppet of a dog, Bisty (adopted from a local shelter) took frequent breaks playing with her toys to grace us with kisses and receive pets.

While the screen saver on Joanne’s TV rolled a stream of nature scenes — waterfalls, forests, canyons and planets — I told her my mom was always fascinated with the space program. Joanne cheerfully remarked, “So am I!” She continued, describing the sense of awe she experiences thinking about the countless things that exist, from the mighty planets and stars to the tiniest insects, grains of sand, and even things we can’t easily see or touch, like molecules!

Then, with a look of childlike wonder on her face, Joanne said, “God is a God of variety!” Her words gave me pause.- I’d never heard anyone express such a profound idea in such a simple phrase, a phrase that in six words was a reminder of the sacredness of all things.

Walking home, I remembered a moment years ago when I’d handed a check to a cashier for some groceries. On my check was the quote, “The earth does not belong to man, man belongs to the earth.” The cashier read it and said, “Oh that’s so true! And of course He (meaning God) made it for us!”

I didn’t have time to respond to her incredibly self-entitled comment, but I remember thinking, “Well if that’s true, He must be awfully disappointed in what we’ve done to it.”

Nevertheless, I was still pondering Joanne’s words as I walked home through the snow, now pink, blue and gold reflecting the colors of the sunset.

A couple of weeks later, I watched a mesmerizing PBS nature documentary called, “The Elephant and the Termite.” Set in Tsavo, East Africa, it chronicled one entire year in this remote ecosystem, where elephants turn decaying termite mounds into water holes that eventually become oases, and where wind, rain, sun, animals, plants, birds, fish, reptiles and insects are all interconnected in an amazing web of continuous life (and death) that repeats itself year after year.

Watching that flawless ecosystem manifest, I thought to myself that if God despairs over the things we humans are doing to His creations, surely He must also delight in these works of His hands.

One of my most treasured books is “Old Turtle,” by Douglas Wood (1992), a creation story of sorts that begins when the wind, rocks, animals, and plants — all of God’s creations, lived together in peace — until one day “there began an argument,” each creation claiming God existed only in them.

The argument grew louder until suddenly Old Turtle shouted “Stop!” and reminded them that God lived in each and every one of them. Old Turtle also predicted the coming of humans, and after they arrived the same thing happened — an argument over which one had the corner on God’s presence and grace. Again, Old Turtle had to shout “Stop!” and remind them that God is in everything and everyone.

What would life look like if we were to remember that? I’ve been tossing that question around in my head for most of my life. I’ve never been able to believe that God made this world for us, rather that he made it with us. We are part of it.

But so many of our industries, organizations, daily habits and practices seem to run on the idea that animals and everything else on this earth are nothing more than commodities to be used by us for our benefit. And to do that without feeling guilt or remorse requires that we strip these creations of their sacredness.

In his book, “The Bible According to Noah (2001),” Rev. Gary Kowalski writes that we need to remember we’re not separate from nature but “inextricably intertwined” with it. The idea that we’re “separate from the Tree of Life” is what gets us into trouble. (I’d add that it gets everything else into trouble, too — animals, trees, insects, glaciers, the air!)

Still, I take comfort knowing there are many, like Joanne, who still believe in the sacredness of creation and our relationship with it. And, like Old Turtle at the end of the story, that makes me smile. Happy Earth Day!