The Second Creation Story - increased fervor in environmental and religious movements

Sierra, Nov, 1998 by Trebbe Johnson

Redefining the bond between religion and ecology

After everyone has joined hands in a circle, the Reverend Willie T. Snead offers up a prayer in a voice that thunders with emotion. "We know that there is evil in this world, but the gates of hell shall not open before us. Jesus was resurrected and through Him we can prevail!"

The gates of hell that Reverend Snead has in mind are just down the road from the now sadly misnamed River of Life Christian Fellowship Church in St. Charles Parish, Louisiana: Shell Oil's megalopolis of steaming smokestacks, scaffolding, skeletal towers, and fences posted with signs warning of dangerous chemicals that stream through vast networks of pipes. It is one of 27 oil refineries and chemical plants squeezed up against communities along this stretch of the Mississippi River. Snead, president of the National Missionary Baptist Convention of America, is part of a delegation of nine leaders of African-American and mainline religious denominations on a "toxic tour" organized by the National Council of Churches of Christ to challenge environmental racism in the New Orleans-Baton Rouge corridor known as Cancer Alley. Even the clerics who are all too familiar with the ubiquity of waste facilities and toxic industries in low-income communities of color are deeply affected by what they see.

Accidents involving hazardous materials are more frequent here than anywhere else in the country--on average, one occurs every seven days. The air pollution at night, when the level of toxic emissions is permissibly higher than in the day, is so severe that people have to stay inside with the windows shut. Most families have suffered cancer, respiratory disease, burning eyes, or chronic skin problems. Yet children swing and seesaw directly in front of the refinery on a playground donated by Shell.

Margie Richard is a former schoolteacher and one of the community's most fervent environmental activists. As a child, she played on the 15-acre farm her grandfather leased on the once-fertile bottomland where the plant now sprawls. Ten years ago, after her sister died of sarcoidosis, which destroyed her lungs, and her daughter's lungs collapsed while she was outside playing, Richard was ready to leave for good. But she felt a responsibility to stay and fight for the sake of her grand-children. "The earth was not placed here to be corrupted," she says. "If there's going to be a change, God needs somebody to take that step by faith. I feel called to do this." She sees the ministers' visit as a gift from God.

Nationally and locally, the environmental and religious communities are re-examining their roots, taking note of shared values and missions, and seeking ways to work together. This activity is gaining momentum, not only in endangered communities on the Mississippi, but among loggers, farmworkers, and fishermen testifying before Catholic bishops in the North-west; among Jewish scholars debating the ecological meanings of ancient texts; at rallies of evangelical youth; at gatherings of environmental leaders; and in thousands of churches and synagogues. The National Council of Churches has taken a stand on global warming, declaring that the Kyoto Protocol is "an important move toward protecting God's children and God's creation." The Central Conference of American Rabbis has said that preventing desecration of Headwaters Forest is "part of the covenant with the Creator" and called on Congress to pass the Endangered Species Recovery Act (H.R. 2351). A coalition of evangelical Christians was instrumental in halting Congress' attempt to throttle the ESA in 1996.

That people have an ethical responsibility to care for the earth is not a new idea. Native Americans have long held that the land is sacred, along with all its beings, animate and inanimate. Among non-Indians, a religious fervor to conserve wild and beautiful places inspired the nascent conservation movement in the 19th century. John Muir, on a ledge high above a waterfall in the Sierra or kneeling down to gaze at a daisy, could not contain his rapture. "Perched like a fly on this Yosemite dome, I gaze and sketch and bask ... humbly prostrate before the vast display of God's power, and eager to offer self-denial and renunciation with eternal toil to learn any lesson in the divine manuscript." Almost 90 years later, Rachel Carson wrote, "Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts."

In recent decades, however, expressions of humility and awe have faded from environmental language. Though various nature writers such as Linda Hogan and Terry Tempest Williams are fluent in adoration, many other environmentalists have been reticent about spiritual insights gleaned from nature or connections between their religious creed and their work. Ecstasy like Muir's is a little embarrassing to professional environmentalists trained to experience the natural world in more scientific terms. Privately they might find inspiration in climbing mountains or rafting wild rivers, but publicly they have taken a secular approach.