Fire on the Mountain

I was thinking about a post on the hints of fall that have appeared in the last week or so and the brevity of summer in Wyoming. There is the smell of wood smoke because probably less than 10 miles from here there is a forest fire currently out of control. The church I serve is actually just on the edge of the evacuation zone, and many people we know are in harm's way. The friends' cabin where we have spent much time this summer may already be gone. I doubt if this disaster with a small "d" will make the news much outside of Wyoming and neighboring states, so I'm including the website for the local newspaper. (http://www.casperstartribune.net/) There are some pictures and words. Keep us in your prayers. More later. Lynn

Heat Index

I’m itching to take part in a conversation that gets to the core of the nature and grace debate, between what Rick calls “secondary” grace and—what?—“primary” grace? Or, a broader and better pair of antinomies might be reason and revelation. What do we know on our “own,” and what do we know only because the Bible tells us so, and what is the scale of values between one form of knowledge and the other?

Before that discussion is joined, however, I, at least, need to re-read the Karl Barth and Emil Brunner brouhaha that addressed the same issue. Barth said his famous “Nein!” to Brunner’s embrace of natural theology, and I think that the parting of their theological ways led to a breach in their friendship as well.

If I were up on the lines these two drew in the spiritual sand, I would talk about global warming today. And this is where my current prejudices would lead me, affected, I hasten to admit, for the sake of full disclosure, that the outside thermometer hit 95 today and the humidity seemed to be in the 90’s as well, making the living and breathing around here miserable. I worked for awhile in the yard, doing light chores and I sweated through my clothes immediately, before I retreated inside to write these words. And yes, I have air conditioning, but it’s set at 80 (I’d swear if I were the swearin’ type), which still feels good compared to the oven that cooks outside the door.

So, my proposed comments might just be colored by current environmental conditions. Whatever, my argument would agree that it is arrogant and presumptive of humanity to think that we, at our worst, can permanently disrupt the climate of the earth. I realize that there are huge, barely understood forces at work that bring on cycles of cooling and warming to our planet, and many of these switch on and switch off whether we want them to or not. In other words, they are bigger than us.

But I would also contend that the earth is set within a delicate network of matter and energy, between light and solid objects, between waves and particles. (I’ll spare my thousands of readers out there, for now, my take on string theory, or the theory of everything, but you’d better behave or I’ll crack open that subject, and my-oh-my, then you’ll be sorry).

Where was I? The delicate network. Its exists within a rather thin set of limits—a few degrees here and a few degrees there really make a difference. Was hurricane Katrina especially nasty because the Gulf waters were “unnaturally” warmer than they were supposed to be? Maybe, maybe not. It’s all about that Tipping Point that Malcolm Gladwell is making some major coin on these days. It is unquestionably true that humanity has kicked up a huge amount of carbon into the atmosphere over the past few centuries, and, as China and India catch up with the First World on energy consumption, a whole lot more carbon is being readied for lift off. Long and short: we’re burning too much wood, oil and coal and we’re cutting down too many trees. All that carbon blocks sunlight from making it to our planet’s surface, and, at the same time, traps what sunlight does make so that it bounces around between heaven and earth. The full effect is that we are getting darker and warmer at the same time. Again, it’s not that carbon is bad. We have to have it or we don’t live at all. It’s just that we are consuming and excreting too much of it too fast.

So, this is my untutored take on things—and I haven’t even seen Al Gore’s movie yet. We are not going to destroy the earth. The earth will take care of itself. In fact, that is precisely what it is doing right now. It’s preparing to cure itself of the human disease. It will heat up or cool down, whichever proves easier, and cast us into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth, as St. Matthew might put it. Then, a score or two million years after that, there will barely be a trace of our existence, and the earth will be merrily chugging along, doing what it always has done. It will still be the home base in its part of the Milky Way for God’s great experiment of life. The earth will teem with plants and animals in many and various forms, ever adapting and evolving, and trying on new colors and playing new games. It’s just that there won’t be any of our descendants romping on its playgrounds.

Our species had its chance. We were appointed to be stewards of creation, commissioned to be God’s vice-regents, “ruling” nature in God’s image, which is to say lovingly and sacrificially and steadfastly and reverently. But we botched the job, or turned it down altogether. We hated the earth and our neighbors, robbed it and them, lived only for the moment, and cheapened the free grace of God into a commodity we could buy and sell and hoard for ourselves. So the whistle blew and we were ordered out of the pool. Which, at the time, we were all too happy to leave, because it warmed up so much it felt like bath water. Looked like it too, with that filthy ring of human scum on the sides.

If you happen to be a radical environmentalist, then you might want all this to happen. It’s better for the earth, though it isn’t much good for you me, our children and grandchildren, nieces and nephews, boy cousins and girl cousins. So if you can’t stand all those people, even the sight of them, then turn up the heat. Bring the humidity up, too. Melt them glaciers. Bake those wheat fields. Swamp the eastern seaboard. We never did like Hoboken anyway. Let’s end it now, ourselves, before al Queda, the Sadr Militia, Hamas, Hezbollah, and their kind do it for us.

Oddly enough, repentance is still possible. Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound. If the resurrection of Jesus Christ is in any way, shape, or form true, then there is hope for us and for our progeny. We can mend our ways and rediscover love and grace. We can live humble, quiet, respectful and joyful lives as we take care of the earth and of one another. We really can.

I say that not because I’m an optimist. I ain’t. I don’t think much about the human capacity to learn from its mistakes and make progress toward the life God intended for us from the beginning. But all the more strongly I do believe in the capacity to God to love and forgive, thereby to give us another chance, and help us to repent while God relents from the judgment which we brought on ourselves.

At least that is what I would say if I understood better the terms of the debate between natural and—what—supernatural? grace? No, between natural grace and the revealed grace of God. No, between the grace of creation and the grace of redemption. No, between… Oh, forget it. A feller can’t even think straight in all this heat. Check back with me after I have a refreshing, cool draft of Barth with a Brunner chaser.

As Ever,
Dee