Week 14

Sherman Alexie's The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven appeared to be immensely different than any other novel presented in this class. I understand that I am not entirely familiar with the content or style of the other novels because I was not assigned to read them, but at least from what I've observed, The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven is very unique. For one, it's written in a series of short stories, giving a very sporadic, discontinuous feel to it. However, the biggest difference between this novel and others from this class is that it has nothing to do with agriculture or food production, and my group, when reading it, found difficulty in relating it to a class dedicated solely to studying various issues in agriculture and food production. Of course, there were themes, such as community, family, and resilience, that overlapped with a lot of what we've been discussing in class, but overall, this novel was a bit of a non-sequitur, if considered meticulously.

Really, though, this novel points to something broader that encompasses most of what this class has been iterating: a place to call home. The novel follows the lives of several Indians living on a reservation, and Alexie does not paint a pretty picture of their lives through the many stories of the trials and difficulties of reservation life. What makes this life most unbearable is that it is not the life that they chose; it is the life that was chosen for them. The Indians, throughout their history, were forced off of their native land and into the reservation, and they have experienced various forms of oppression and discrimination from the white community since. Hence, the reservation is not a place that the Indians call home, and the novel shows them often wanting to leave the reservation and coping with the problems they experience while on the reservation through alcoholism, reminiscence, and a lot of complaining.

Thus, a place to call home, according to the novel, is as much a physical place as it is a state of mind. Yes, the Indians in the novel dream of reclaiming their ancestors' actual land because it was taken from them, but in actuality, any place, even the reservation, would suffice for them if it is free of hardship and oppression. They don't focus particularly on abandoning their physical location as much as they do escaping the difficulties of their lives, and this strongly echoes what this class has been emphasizing. By studying these imminent crises in agriculture and food production, we've established that our home, the earth, in its current condition, is not what it should be, but that does not imply that we give up on it as our home and succumb to the inevitability of the brokenness of the earth. We don't strive for a life apart from what we've unfortunately destroyed; we strive for a life apart from destruction. Like I mentioned earlier, a place to call home is as much a physical place as it is a state of mind, so we cannot rely on the earth to be a sufficient home itself; we must work ourselves to consider it as such and to thus treat it as such.

Hopefully this serves as an adequate conclusion to the semester as a whole. The earth is our home, and we ought to strive to feel at home in it. Of course, this takes on several different applications and manifestations, so it is a fairly broad statement. Thus, hopefully it encompasses most of what this course has communicated, and hopefully it carries enough weight to actually have some sort of meaning to our lives.

Week 13

Well, I didn't have any ideas at the end of class on Tuesday about what to do for a service learning project next semester, so I figured I'd give it some time to see if anything came to mind before I blogged about it. That didn't really work out so well. A whole Thanksgiving Break has passed, and I didn't spend a single minute of it thinking about any sort of service learning project. I can't say that I'm surprised, though. To try to come up with something worthwhile, then, I've been reading through a few of others' blogs, and not many people seem to have much more inspiration than I do, so I'm finding comfort in the fact that I'm at least in good company. Anyway, since I barely know the requirements, goals, or limitations of this project, I don't have any groundbreaking ideas, but when do I ever? If I had to throw something out there, I would suggest that I further my involvement in where I already volunteer, GatheringPoint Church of the Nazarene. I don't know how I could connect my service there to this class, but, like I said, I don't know the limitations of this project, anyway, so I'm sure I could find a way. All I know is that I love serving there, it pertains to my major, and there is plenty of service and learning to be done there. At this point, that's all I got.

Week 12

Am I the only one who thinks that there was even less to write about this week than there was last week? I mean, we at least had good ol' Wendell Berry to discuss and evaluate last week, which is always fun, but this week, on the other hand, it almost seems as if we were slapped in the face with a couple of grim novels about unfortunate people struggling to make ends meet when the crap hits the fan in all areas of their lives. Oh, yeah, the novels were about farming, too.

Where is the value in that? At this point in the class and amid this current global episode in human history, must the bleakness of this world be reiterated? I think we get it by now. Hence, a hopeless depiction of humanity is surely not what we need to be exposed to right now, so why, then, are we being exposed to it? What is our goal in this? Are we increasing our appreciation of the earth by continually inspecting its imminent brokenness? Are we trying to become one with the earth and its Creator by becoming familiar with creation's problems? Doesn't this all seem a bit counter-intuitive? I could hash out my beef with the seemingly overwhelmingly pessimistic course material again, but anything I have to say about that subject has already been said in previous blog posts. I'll lay off of it this week and try to branch out in a bit of a different direction.

There was one thing that I did find rather apparent in both of the dark, depressing novels from this week: the value and implications of our interactions and relationships with others. In John Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath, he portrays people having no means of surviving the day other than relying on each other to help provide for one another; people helping other people thus constitutes as healthy relationships, according to Steinbeck. Jane Smiley's A Thousand Acres, on the other hand, portrays a very different side of human interactions and concludes that people abusing, killing (or at least attempting to), abandoning, and sleeping with other people constitutes as unhealthy relationships. I'd buy that. That makes pretty good sense to me. In either novel, though, relationships form the characters' personalities and affect their experiences throughout the story. In essence, then, I felt the novels were as much about man's relationship with fellow man as they were about man's relationship with the earth.

So what?

Well, maybe this truth is what ends up reconciling me with this class this semester. In these novels, when the characters are faced with difficulties, the adequate response, as implied by the authors, seemingly is to rely on others to survive troubled times, so maybe that's the solution to surviving these "troubled times" in this class. Throughout this semester, we've all been exposed to the same brokenness; we've all been together when we've seen the "crap hit the fan." So what ought our response be? Well, if we apply what these novels seem to imply, then we ought to stick together amid this abundant negativity to avoid being overwhelmed.

To me, this means that I ought to get out from behind this computer screen when voicing my concerns and actually attempt to become a part of the community of our cohort. This doesn't mean that I'm suddenly going to be raising my hand every six minutes in class; I think it's fairly obvious that that's just not who I am. Rather, like it's been established in class, it all goes back to a change of character more than it does a change of behavior. Thus, I need to fix my attitude. I need to stop viewing class discussion as a time of overly harsh criticisms and unnecessarily pessimistic analyses that lead to my disinterest in participation in the community and instead think of it as an opportunity to enhance my relationship with "fellow man" in order to avoid becoming exhausted from dissecting the class material on my own. Even if the thoughts I conjure when alone are meaningful and productive, there's only so much I can gain when distancing myself from the majority of our cohort. What can I say, though? Sometimes introversion gets the best of me.

I know I always seem to be learning a new lesson different from that which was presented in class each week, and I know that seems like I'm avoiding learning from the actual course material. Do know that that's not the case. There's just only so much that I can learn about agriculture and ecology, so I'm simply doing my best to find principles in the class sessions that apply directly to my life and help me come to peace with my difficulties and disagreements with this semester's class.

Week 11

It doesn't seem like there is particularly a lot to say about class this week. I'm sure most everybody in our cohort is experiencing the same difficulty I am right now in trying to compose a blog post about only a couple of presentations over only a couple of Wendell Berry novels that only a couple of groups of students were actually assigned to read. I could reflect on the material of the novels, but Berry's thoughts in these novels seemed to be fairly consistent with his thoughts presented in the other novels of his that we've read over the course of the semester. Hence, any dissection of these novels that I could perform would simply be a repetition of any discussion our cohort has had about Wendell Berry, Andy Catlett, or Port William, so, for the sake of originality, I'll try to go a little further.

I don't think it's a huge secret anymore the issues I've been experiencing with this class as of late. After all, I kind of threw the whole system out of whack this past week by accepting Dr. Case's challenge to move to the front row of the class (my apologies to those whose seats Jayme, Joe, and I stole), so my efforts in creating thoughts about this class, working through those thoughts, and actually applying those thoughts to my life have been made rather clear. Hence, I think it's only fair that I further attempt to "connect the dots," to quote my last blog, with the new information and experiences from this past week's class. The problem, though, is that the only new dot that I have to connect is what little bit more of a glance into the works of Wendell Berry we received this past week, so it seems as if there isn't much more to contemplate. However, I think there might be an important takeaway from the works of Berry as a whole.

My biggest problem with what we've been doing in this class all goes back to our motives; I can't help but consider what is in actuality an informative, motivational presentation of solvable crises a depressing, degrading evaluation of the presence of inevitable dangers in the world. I've just been having difficulty grasping why we're doing what we're doing because a lot of it seems to be done in vain. Like I said, though, I feel like I've made that clear. Hence, when looking at the works of Berry this past week, I wasn't so much concerned with learning about what it appeared he was doing as much as I was about learning about why he was doing what he was doing; I wanted to evaluate his motive in order to better evaluate mine. In doing so, I found one truth so plain and simple that I honestly can't believe I didn't consider it before: Wendell Berry does what he does simply because he wants to.

Yes, that is a simple truth, but let me elaborate. Berry, like all people, has certain passions and certain gifts; he obviously has a deep passion for the earth and for agriculture, and he certainly has the gift of writing. Thus, he combines the two to create a lifestyle that embodies who he is and makes an impact on the world in which he lives. It's really that simple. He's merely in tune with himself enough to know what problems of the world he deeply wants to solve, but since he's also aware of which ones he truly can't, he's able to prevent himself from becoming overwhelmed with the many tasks at hand. He doesn't observe the earth's seemingly endless number of imminent crises (like we sometimes seem to be doing in this class) and, as a citizen of the earth, feel inherently obligated to act upon every single prompting to do good in a world of pain and suffering. He only acts when he wants to, but his wants are shaped by a deep understanding of himself and of the world around him, not by mere desire.

I know that this is a dangerous philosophy to follow. Only acting when one wants to do so is not necessarily good advice, especially to people who can be as lazy as I and my generation can be sometimes. However, that is not necessarily the lesson that Berry's life teaches; Berry, rather, models a proper formation of one's wants that encompass one's innermost being. After all, last week I concluded that life is "not about doing the best that I can as much as it is about being the best that I am," so this week only served as affirmation of that discovery. Being who I truly am will not only serve as the best method of countering the evil that is present in the world, but it will help form a man who will become better equipped to counter the evil that will be present in the future. Overall, then, perhaps this class hasn't taught me as much about agriculture, ecology, food production, and stewardship as much as it has taught me about myself. Perhaps my difficulty in processing this information and seeking answers to my questions is because I don't, in essence, "want" to solve the problems presented in this class. I know that sounds like a cop-out, but if I apply my observation of Berry's life to my own life, perhaps my passions and gifts don't exactly align with these countless ecological crises. Maybe, deep down, I "want" to act to leave an impact in many other areas, and the evils that have been presented in this class are thus clashing with the evils to which I am actually called to act against, leaving me confused and overwhelmed.

Again, I know this sounds like a cop-out, and I'm not necessarily saying that I want to not want to resolve these issues in agriculture and food production, if that makes any sense. All I mean to say is that Wendell Berry has gotten me thinking about what my wants truly are, and I would encourage others to do the same.

Week 10

This post is going to expand on my post from two days ago, so if you haven't read that one, you might not follow what's to come. This is my attempt to "connect the dots," to quote Dr. Case. Fair warning: I'm not sure what kind of a picture is going to appear after all of these dots have been connected, but I'm going for it anyway.

The world is a broken place. That's clear, that's certain, and it's rather unfortunate, to be honest. I understand that that's a very depressing thought with which to begin a blog post, but it's a thought that really embodies all of what we've discussed throughout the course of this semester. For instance:

The world will be massively and dangerously overpopulated within the next fifty years. What are we going to do about it?

Climate change is imminently becoming a concern for our well-being, and we have no idea whom to blame. What are we going to do about it?

Cocoa plantations in Africa thrive off of child labor and human trafficking. What are we going to do about it?

The church has lost sight of what Sabbath-living is, and it's destroying our quality of life. What are we going to do about it?

That's been the guiding question through a lot of this: what are we going to do about it? Brokenness, after all, seems like it constitutes the need for repair, right? But does it really? Are we supposed to actually do anything about any of this?

Consider this: like I mentioned in my earlier post, I'm an RA in Nesbitt this year (one of the "dots" I'm trying to "connect"). About a week ago, one of my residents, who has great difficulty connecting with others, opened up to me about his struggles with depression. He's going through some ridiculously dark stuff, but the only thing I could do in the moment of his confession was listen. I have no special abilities to lift a man out of the "pit," to quote the Psalms, so all I had to offer was my receptivity and solidarity. Did that brokenness constitute a need for me to repair it? Certainly not.

However, since that moment, his life hasn't exactly improved all that much. Surely he has become more comfortable with me and with his life in the dorm, but none of the problems in his life have been solved. He has since come to me again and further revealed to me the depths of his depression, but I still lacked the resources to heal him. In this moment, instead, I had to advise him to seek professional help because even though I am not called to repair his brokenness, I pray that somebody out there is.

Does brokenness truly constitute a need for repair? Well, let me answer that question with another question: if it doesn't, then what are we doing with our lives? If we aren't fixing anything that needs to be fixed, then are we leaving any impact on this world around us? Are we following the call of the Gospel if we don't react to the brokenness we see?

I think maybe the biggest gray area with this debate is the definition of "repair." To go back to my example as an RA, even though I was unable to "repair" the brokenness in my resident's life in a classical sense of the term, who's to say that I didn't repair something? Surely my presence had some effect, and the fact that my heart broke for his allowed me to embrace his pain completely. That's all the repair I could offer as his RA, so maybe it's not about doing the best that I can as much as it is about being the best that I am. 

Let me relate this to Wendell Berry's Remembering so that this post actually has something to do with what we did in class this week. Andy Catlett finds no self-value because of his predicament; he's lost his hand in an accident, and now he can no longer perform his task, farming, to the best of his ability. He focuses too much on doing that he loses sight of the importance of being. It is only when he comes to the realization that life's inherent value does not lie in what he is able to do that he finally finds peace.

This is what Wirzba was trying to say in his novel. This is what Bouma-Prediger was arguing what the problem was all along. I get that, so it's not like I'm saying that I've come to this revolutionary discovery (because I haven't), but I think that I have a different answer to my original question.

Does brokenness constitute a need for repair? Berry, Wirzba, and Bouma-Prediger might argue that no, it doesn't. Like I've just established, our reaction to brokenness in the world needs to embody our innermost being, not our rashest action, so we don't need to be overly concerned with repairing what we see as broken. However, as I've discovered in my life as an RA, our innermost being can bring about repair just as our rashest action can, just only in a different sense. Like I mentioned earlier, this is a broken world; we don't need to go looking for brokenness, so if who we are as a person has any positive influence in our respective sphere of influence, then yes, I'd say that we are responsible to repair what is broken. We may not be responsible for righting the darkest wrongs of the world because our value of a person lies not in what we do; it lies in who we are.

Let me summarize the dots that I've connected:

The world is broken. This class and my life as an RA make that abundantly clear.

I can't do hardly anything about the brokenness I see in this world, and that frustrates me, which is why I'm frustrated with this class (in essence).

Berry, Wirzba, and Bouma-Prediger all say that it doesn't matter what I do; it only matters the kind of character I have, which will, in turn, affect my behavior.

My character, even though it doesn't seem to "repair" the brokenness like some people think brokenness should be repaired, does plenty good because it is all I have to offer to a broken world. Thus, I don't have to be concerned that being inactive goes against the call of the Gospel.

Those are the dots. It doesn't seem like much, but it's what I've got. What kind of picture does it make? Well, to me, it kind of looks like the cross. All I can do is be the best that I can be as a student, an RA, a Christian, and a human being and hope that the cross will repair whatever I can't.

Making Leman-ade

This post is not one to be graded for this class; however, it has everything to do with this class. This really is just a much needed vent for me, so don't feel obligated to read it, although I would be happy to receive feedback. Anyway, to go along with the title of this blog, I've felt like life, metaphorically speaking, has been giving me a lot of Lemans lately, and it's about time I reciprocate and, well, make Leman-ade. So here it goes:

For those of you who don't know, I'm an RA this year in Nesbitt Hall, and I've discovered that, at the risk of sounding like I'm tooting my own horn, RAs, especially in a freshman dorm, are really the glue that holds a lot of this campus together- the "unsung heroes" of Olivet, if you will. I don't mean to say that RAs are responsible for keeping this boat afloat, but you would have to agree that without RAs, a lot of what goes on behind the scenes at Olivet would fall apart. Hence, RAs are exposed to a lot of what occurs in the lives of the students here, and I'm certainly no exception. This week, especially, I've seen a great deal of brokenness, failures, and pain in several people, both in my dorm and across campus, and I've been carrying it with me all week. Being responsible for thirty-five freshmen can become overwhelming, but I won't go into the details. Ergo, it's been a really dark week; my heart has been truly broken by knowing the amount of suffering that surrounds me, knowing that I can't do hardly anything about it, and knowing that it is only a fraction of the suffering that exists even just at Olivet. It reminds me of a scene from Apollo 13 where Ed Harris' character asks his crew about the team of astronauts in space, "What do we got on the spacecraft that's good?" After a moment of silence, one of his crew members answers, "I'll get back to you, Gene."

That's what the life of an RA can be like, from time to time. All of the problems that we see cloud the positive aspects of this life, and we fail to recognize what's good. Of course, this is only when the life of an RA is at its worst; it's not always this bad. However, I've found that this class, believe it or not, contributes to this feeling of overwhelmingly imminent suffering. I mean, we spend so much time simply discussing things that are wrong with the world seemingly just for the sake of discussion. This week in particular, when my mind was flooded with countless depressing thoughts that had consumed me for the majority of the week (as mentioned above), once I knew that we would be having a guest speaker come in and, in essence, explain more problems of the world merely from a different perspective, I tuned out what he was saying before he even started speaking. Seriously. I have no idea what he said in the entire class period. If a professor is reading this and wants to dock my grade because I'm admitting it, go ahead. I really couldn't care less because I am openly saying that I was and still am in no mood to point out any more of life's problems. I'm done with it, so I don't expect to give any effort in discussing anything in class that feeds my pessimistic tendencies. I get enough of that from my job.

On that note, let me offer a disclaimer before I continue: this is not a cry for help. I'm not saying that the depressing aspects of my job are causing me to spiral into depression myself. I'm doing just fine. It is my job to handle things like this, and I am well equipped to do so. Actually, I thoroughly enjoy my job as an RA, so please don't read this as a plead for someone to come talk through my life with me and lift me out of this dark state. That's not what this post is about. This post isn't even about me; it's about this class.

Obviously, I understand that this class is not an end itself but rather means to an end. We aren't being fed this information about countless crises in the world just to increase our knowledge; we're supposed to take this information and do something with it, but what exactly are we supposed to do? The class itself is very static and discussion-oriented, so it's not like it's equipping us to act on the course material; heck, it's barely even encouraging us to do so. Furthermore, even the bulk of the class, the discussions, is often empty. I don't think it's a big secret the amount of students who neglect the required readings prior to class, and based on my conversations with many other students within our cohort, we, as a cohort, are very open about our ability and proneness to B.S. a class discussion and a blog post. So to go back to my question about the class material that has clearly failed to provoke meaningful thought in many students, what exactly are we supposed to do?

Even though that's a fair question, that's not the question I want to emphasize. Here's a better one: what are we doing? Seriously. I mean, based on my experience in this class, we who have spent more than fifteen minutes of serious contemplation over the class material are merely self-inflicting pain on the human race in an overly-critical self-evaluation of our treatment of the earth with no intention of actually applying the results of our self-evaluation to our behavior due to a lack of instruction of how to properly do so. Am I the only one who feels that way, and if not, am I the only one who's tired of it?

Over the course of the semester, I've often blamed this thought process on my inability to see the point of what we're studying. I've thought that I merely haven't been giving enough effort in this class, and I hence missed the point because of my apathy and laziness. I mean, even though I've done the required readings, attended the required class sessions, and written the required blog posts, I did just zone out during an entire class period, after all. I don't think this is the problem, though, because even when I've found that I give the most effort in this class and am commended because of my ability "to leave thought provoking comments on several students' blogs" (to quote an email from one of our professors) and to be "straight forward" (to quote a message from another student in our cohort), I've discovered that all I'm really doing is finding points with which I disagree and being overly-critical of the arguments of both the authors of the course texts and the students on whose blogs I comment. Since when is being an intellectual synonymous with being harshly analytical? Why must we be negative and, frankly, pretentious in order to have meaningful discussion? Not to mention that all of this makes me really look forward to next semester's class, entitled "Issues in Society." That class sounds like it'll be a joyride...

If this is what it means to be an honors student, then I am almost ashamed to be one. I don't want to label myself as a man who sits down and bashes the human race for the sake of having and voicing an opinion. I certainly don't want to label myself as a man who fakes critical thought in order to earn a certain grade, so if a professor is reading this and thinks that my thought process has completely missed the point of what we're doing in class, then, by all means, give me an F, but I'm not going to sit here and pretend like this class has enriched my mind with a plethora of life-altering thoughts. If that's what it means to be an intellectual, then I don't want to be one, and I am willing to admit that. If that's what it means to be a Christian, then I think we've missed the point of the Gospel. If that's what it means to be human, to go back to the theme of this class, then I'm disappointed in what we've become.

This is what my experience has been in this class this semester, and I understand that I am severely generalizing in my analysis. Honestly, though, I haven't entirely hated this class, nor do I hate the Honors program as a whole, but I certainly haven't enjoyed myself this semester.

So that's my Leman-ade, and I understand that it's pretty sour, but I guess that means I'm just turning out to be a pretty sour Leman.

Week 9

I actually enjoyed chapter six of Steven Bouma-Prediger's For the Beauty of the Earth: A Christian Vision for Creation Care entitled, "What Kind of People Ought We Be?" This is probably the first chapter of this book with which I did not have serious issues, which surprised me, but I think I realized why I was more receptive and appreciative of Bouma-Prediger's writings while reading this chapter. It wasn't because I was necessarily any more open-minded than usual, and I haven't necessarily become any more prone to embrace ecology over the course of this semester. Rather, I believe that I liked this chapter most because it, in essence, has nothing to do with ecology.

Okay, I understand that the chapter actually has everything to do with ecology. Care for the earth is the primary focus of the entire book, after all, but the practicality of Bouma-Prediger's arguments presented in this chapter extends far beyond the field of ecology. At the core of the chapter, Bouma-Prediger asserts that to counter the many ecological crises in this world, we, as humans, need to become a more virtuous people; our treatment of the earth, according to Bouma-Prediger, is a reflection of our character, so we ought to reevaluate our character before considering how we ought to change our behavior. He explains virtue in an Aristotelian sense, presenting several virtues, such as respect and receptivity, humility and honesty, and benevolence and love, for example, in contrast with their vices and relating said virtues to ecological behavior.

This certainly isn't the first of Bouma-Prediger's points in his book with which I have agreed, but I found the most truth in this chapter than I have in any other. That being said, I wish he would have expanded. Virtues are not specific to ecology; human behavior as a whole can be revolutionized if virtue gains value in the world. Thus, I wanted Bouma-Prediger to conclude that a virtuous people will not simply be an ecologically sound people; they will be a well-rounded people in almost all regards.

Consider respect and receptivity, for example. Bouma-Prediger's audience is primarily a Christian one, so his argument has a certain theological element to it. He claims that "creation has a God-given integrity and value. Humans have a moral obligation to protect and preserve nonhuman species. Therefore, in the shaping of our character we must cultivate the virtues of respect and receptivity and actively discourage the vices of conceit and reverence, of autonomy and addiction" (137). He's completely right; having a respect for creation will certainly yield a more appropriate treatment of it, but why stop there? Respect could change the world! Respect could resolve disputes between political parties. Respect could settle workers' rights. Respect could even stop simple playground bullies in their pathetic, prepubescent tracks, if it is properly embraced.

Of course, respect is not the only virtue that the world needs to value; all of the virtues Bouma-Prediger mentions, because they are very interrelated, could have the same effect on society. Hence, virtue, while it certainly ought to be the basis of a truly Christian care for the earth, really ought to be the basis of a truly noble life. I understand that Bouma-Prediger is not asserting that virtue is only valuable to achieve ecological order; he truly believes that virtue, in the Aristotelian sense in which he describes it, allows humans to be complete in character. However, his chapter, regardless of its truth, seemed unnecessary.

Let me put it this way: Bouma-Prediger's arguments presented throughout the chapter are like a person saying that since cigarettes are a large contributor to forest fires, people should stop smoking to prevent forest fires. While this is undoubtedly true, there are countless other, more severe dangers of cigarette smoking that are known and have been made abundantly clear. Ergo, even though there is value in arguing that people should stop smoking to prevent forest fires, it seems more appropriate to argue that people should stop smoking to prevent any number of other harmful consequences.

That's a little what Bouma-Prediger sounds like in this chapter. While there is value in saying that people should be a more virtuous people to embody a Christian care of the earth, it seems more appropriate to argue that people should become a more virtuous people for the sake of any other issues in the modern world. I don't mean to prioritize the problems of the world; ecological crises are not inherently less urgent than any other crises, so we, as humans, do not need to solve other, more important problems before developing a proper care for the earth. All I mean to say is that a truly virtuous people, whether Christian or not, will be so much more than a people who know how to take care of their home; they will be a people who truly know how to live in their home.

Week 8

If I'm being perfectly honest, this week's readings from Norman Wirzba's Living Sabbath Rest: Discovering the Rhythms of Rest and Delight did not instigate a lot of thinking in me. During our small group discussion, my group concluded that Wirzba's description of Sabbath rest seems to be fairly synonymous with Christian living, so few of his main points seem to branch off very far from anything I've learned in a Sunday school classroom over the course of the past twenty years. Hence, such a lack of profundity rendered me thoughtless, and I found our discussion of these chapters to be rather empty. There's my brutal honesty for the day.

I did have a moment of confusion, though, while I was reading chapter twelve of Wirzba's novel, entitled, "Sabbath Worship;" I had difficulty establishing where Wirzba identifies the problem with worship in our society. Specifically, I couldn't tell if Wirzba thinks the necessary change needs to be mental or volitional. When it comes to diagnosing the problem, he seems to go back and forth between an inappropriate mindset and an inappropriate course of action, and while he certainly agrees that there are currently problems with both aspects of worship, his conclusion as to where the core of such problems lies is unclear.

For example, Wirzba writes, "Our common failure at worship reflects a profoundly disoriented life, an inability to examine carefully and honestly who and where we are. It suggests that we have not adequately grasped our situation in life as creatures made in the image of God, sharing our lives with other creatures, all dependent upon God and each other for our well-being" (155-156). This suggests that modern worship is not a reflection of Sabbath rest because of a mental failure; we, as Christians, do not fully understand the importance, context, and meaning of our worship, and it therefore is not what it ought to be. That makes sense, and I would have to agree with that.

However, Wirzba also writes, "Because there are no limits to the goodness of God, no detail that escapes God's notice or affirmation, there are no limits to the times and places wherein praise and worship to God are fitting . . . When we punctuate key, though mundane, events in the day with praise, we consecrate our life and our living to God. We can sanctify our daily routines- when we rise and go to sleep, fill our car with fuel and our stomach with food, smell a flower or see a child smile- when we intersperse them with 'Sabbath moments' of praise and thanksgiving" (157). This suggests, rather, that the problem with our worship rests in how we choose to live our lives; we, as Christians, do not act in a manner reflective of the worshipful life to which we are called. That also makes sense, and I would have to agree with that as well.

Our thoughts and are actions, undoubtedly, are interrelated, and each has influence over the other, so both certainly ought to be reevaluated in order to start embodying a Sabbath mindset in worship. However, Wirzba seems to write to conclude that the solutions to our problems are specific enough that they can be limited to one of these aspects of our worship, but he fails to adequately conclude which aspect is more problematic. That was my analysis, at least. Hence, I was left confused; where exactly is the problem, and how do we fix it?

To answer my question, I posed another question: is worship as a whole more mental or volitional? I thought that if I could determine the essence of worship, then I could more easily clarify what Wirzba is asserting. However, the problem is that that is a very difficult question. I don't know whether the basis of our worship lies more in how we think or how we act; personally, I find each to be equally important. Thus, Wirzba should not attempt to reduce the problems of our worship to either a mental or volitional fallacy, which I'm sure was not his primary intention in writing as much as it was my own interpretation. However, he should rather establish that the seemingly limitless potential manifestations of our worship imply a seemingly limitless amount of potential problems with how those manifestations are produced; worship is too broad to be corrected this easily, so while there is value in identifying needs for corrections, the practicality of such identifications is moot.

That's my analysis, at least.

Week 7

There was a moment in class this past Thursday while I was in small group discussion over chapter six of Norman Wirzba's Living the Sabbath: Discovering the Rhythms of Rest and Delight where I completely disagreed with every single one of my small group members. I was hardly in the mood to be the odd one out and try to defend myself, though, so I kept quiet. What can I say? Sometimes introversion gets the best of me. Luckily, now I can vocalize my thoughts to my heart's desire via blog.

Before I go any further, I want to establish that I didn't think my group members were in the wrong; they had a reaction to the text that I'm sure most readers would have had when reading this chapter, so I'm not going to discredit their opinions. I simply interpreted the chapter differently. Here's what I mean:

Chapter six is all about coming to terms with all of the pain that's in the world and how to practice Sabbath rest in light of sufferings. When it comes to pain, according to Wirzba, endurance comes from the assurance of others enduring the pain with those in pain; Sabbath rest happens when people achieve a deep solidarity amid difficult times. After all, Christ, who has given us the greatest comfort possible, achieved such a task by joining us in our sufferings and taking on the iniquities of the world. Hence, people should not be so quick to escape their pain but should consider difficult times opportunities to grow closer to others and grow as a mature human being.

That's the gist of how Wirzba claims we ought to experience the peace of the Sabbath amid our painful lives, and I can see why every member of my small group agreed with what he said, taking in his words as a refreshing new perspective of the Sabbath. Honestly, I agree with him, too. There was simply one point of his that really rubbed me the wrong way.

Wirzba asserts, "Pain and suffering should not be cast as 'problems' that need to be 'explained' or 'solved,' eliminated because they represent an affront to the world we would choose or make for ourselves.  In fact, it is a mistake to look for a 'solution,' since this becomes an excuse to avoid the communal disciplines of care and constancy that enable us together to bear, absorb, and grow through each other's hurt" (79).

If I had read those few sentences three months ago, I would have found them reassuring; I would have felt the weight of the world being lifted off of my shoulders. After all, Wirzba claims, in essence, that I don't need to worry about fixing all of life's problems. How relieving! I was worried that God actually wanted me to do something about all of this evil to which I am exposed! Now all I have to do is "bear, absorb, and grow through each other's hurt." That's so much easier.

Isn't this just a huge cop-out? Yes, surely this principle holds true for certain circumstances. For instance, if my best friend loses his father to cancer, there is obviously no way to "solve" that "problem." I can't approach him and ask him how I can make things any better; all I can do is approach him and not abandon him in his time of suffering. I get that. Pain does not constitute a need for repair as much as it does a need for care.

But can we really approach others' pain at the expense of a solution? Is it really a "mistake," like Wirzba claims, to try and fix what we see as broken? Like I mentioned earlier, if I had read this passage three months ago, I would have agreed with him, but now that I've been exposed to evils such as those presented in "The Dark Side of Chocolate," how can I conclude that we shouldn't try to do something about others' pain? Sometimes it just isn't enough to simply bear with others in their time of need; sometimes we need to act!

Finding a solution to what we see as problems, though, does call for a certain amount of enduring pain alongside the hurt, like Wirzba notes. When we act rashly without first meeting suffering people where they're at, we miss the opportunities to grow and learn from the pains and trials of this life. Thus, I don't think that we ought to endure pain at the expense of a solution, nor should we seek a solution at the expense of enduring pain; each has its place in the world, and when we discover which problems in this life require us to be searching for a solution and which ones simply require us to be, then we will find Sabbath rest.

Photo Essay

I would be lying if I said I didn't feel out of place in the Amish community. Who wouldn't feel out of place in an environment so different than our own? However, something about the Amish was yet so welcoming and accepting of an ignorant group of tourists. They understood how different we were, but they firmly established that neither their lifestyle nor ours was inherently better than the other. They were simple, kind people, and I appreciated and respected that. Hence, the photos I took were not of their agriculture or their technology (or their lack thereof); I noted the little trinkets and such that emulated their warm, godly lifestyle:

I know these quotes don't really embody the full philosophy of the Amish lifestyle, but they serve as an appropriate reminder. They reveal that, yes, the Amish are very different from the rest of the world, but they are not separate from the world. They welcome others, they encourage others, and they worship the same God that we do. That's what really caught my attention.

Fair Oaks Farm, on the other hand, was quite the opposite. Right from the start, our tour guide referred to us as "city folk," and I immediately received such a remark as condescending. Thus, I already wrote off everything he had to say before he even said it. The Amish, who are as far from "city folk" as is humanly possible, never once made such a remark during our time in their community, but this industrialized dairy farm had the audacity to claim themselves the real farmers of America. That was my analysis, at least. As a whole, the farm was disconcerting:

It all seemed like a show. There was nothing personal about it; they didn't care about the cows, they were showing off their agricultural conquests, and they expected us to appreciate them for the work that they did. I was a little turned off, to be honest. I wasn't impressed with them. The birthing barn was disgusting, the barns were crowded, and the little carousel the cows rode while getting milked almost made the cows seem like prisoners. They kept reassuring us that they had the cows best interest at heart, but it all seemed to industrialized to be sincere. I bet the Amish would call these guys the "city folk" of farming.

Anyway, in conclusion, I present to you "Jayme Putney as Text"

Week 6

I don't know if it's because I'm not enjoying reading this book, but I have a hard time giving any credibility to Steven Bouma-Prediger's arguments made in his For the Beauty of the Earth: A Christian Vision for Creation Care. By that, I don't mean to say that Bouma-Prediger is an unintelligent, inexperienced individual in his field of study; I merely mean to say that I don't think he presents his points very well.

Let's flashback to chapter two of his book, "What's Wrong with the World?"  Bouma-Prediger exposes his readers to a large number of observable, documented crises in which the earth and its inhabitants currently find themselves, such as overpopulation, hunger, deforestation, loss of biodiversity, and climate change, to name a few. He implies that since these dangers are apparent in today's world, it is obviously imperative that mankind does something about it; humans need to reevaluate their lifestyles to yield the necessary change in this world.

This isn't where I think Bouma-Prediger is bogus. I'll get there. Just hold on.

Now let's look at the reading for this past week, chapter five, entitled "How Should We Think of the Earth?" Bouma-Prediger discusses an issue that I think could revolutionize the way mankind treats the earth: theocentricity. We, as humans, should not develop a care for the earth for the sake of humans, the sake of the earth, or even for the sake of life itself; we ought to care for this earth for the sake of its Creator. There's just something more convicting about our treatment of the earth when we step back and realize that we have been abusing a gift from God. We ought not develop a philosophy of ecology; we ought develop, rather, a theology of it.

Again, this isn't where the red flags come popping up for me. Hence, chapters two and five, separately, seem fairly legitimate to me, but when I look at them as a whole, I feel like Bouma-Prediger is missing some key points.

In essence, Bouma-Prediger asserts that mankind has unfortunately destroyed its home, and to repair it, mankind must develop a new, theocentric mindset. However, is it fair to propose that the world fixes its ecological gaze on God? It would seem that there's a step in between mankind's current view of the earth and developing a Christian view of the earth: mankind must first become Christian.

I understand that Bouma-Prediger's description of a Christian care for the earth is directed more towards the church; obviously, that's where this kind of ecological view ought to start. However, if this kind of care is to solve the problems Bouma-Prediger presents earlier in his book, then a Christian care cannot be limited to just the church; the church doesn't have that large of an influence to correct mankind's ecological mishaps itself. Hence, in order for Bouma-Prediger to have a leg to stand on, it seems that in order for mankind to truly solve the earth's problems and to have a proper view of the earth, it must become Christian. Otherwise, it won't develop a properly theocentric view of the earth.

Believe me, I wish that the world would embrace Bouma-Prediger's arguments. I wish that the world would turn their eyes to its Creator not only that it could prevent the destruction of the earth, but that it could truly understand what it means to be human in all regards. However, if we think practically about this, it doesn't look like the world will suddenly turn to Christianity anytime soon. Hence, Bouma-Prediger is accurate in his arguments, but he simply needs to be thinking more practically. Before asserting that we allow Christianity to change how we view the world, he should first address how we should change how the world views Christianity.

That, however, seems like quite an arduous task.

Week 5

I don't think I would be the only student in this class to say that these four chapters of Ellen Davis' Scripture, Culture, and Agriculture: An Agrarian Reading of the Bible were not the most riveting pieces we've read throughout our time in the Honors program. However, I am one of the few who can say that I did actually read them, but that doesn't necessarily mean I got much out of them; I was bored, disinterested, and constantly thinking of all of the other, more invigorating assignments I had waiting once I finished reading. Yes, I know that admitting my academic faults is not really the Honors way, but hopefully my blunt honesty will win me back some points with the academic world.

That being said, this post has probably been the most difficult one to start thus far. After all, where do I begin writing about something that came dangerously close to putting me to sleep? How am I supposed to conjure five hundred words over something I found as enjoyable as reading the dictionary? Well, it helps to spend the first two paragraphs stalling.

Nevertheless, my apparent disinterest in this topic appropriately serves as topic enough; my disregard for Davis' propositions embodies the stance of modern society in regards to said propositions and raises a few interesting thoughts. For instance, isn't it ironic the level of effort I put into reading and processing a chapter entitled, "Wisdom or Sloth? The Character of Work?" I understand that Davis directs her writings towards agriculture and actual physical labor rather than academic work, but the irony is still intriguing. The chapter emphasizes more the importance of working not simply land but more appropriately whatever God has created and allotted to each individual. Hence, perhaps I am slothful and unwise in my work ethic, and this chapter made that truth annoyingly clear to me.

"Reading the Bible Through Agrarian Eyes" also caught my attention (as much as I could stand) simply because I had no idea what it meant. Why does it matter that I should approach the Scriptures with agriculture in mind? After all, Jesus was a carpenter, not a farmer. Again, through the chapter, Davis reveals my folly. Land itself is an important theme of the Old Testament, and a knowledge and understanding of its significance in those contexts ought to affect our interaction with it and care of it today. Hence, my ignorance if its importance and its many occurrences in the Bible diminishes my appreciation of it and assumed responsibility for it.

I was raised in an urbanized community, so why would I bother to approach my daily life with any other fixation? Agriculture was not an aspect of my immediate world, so why would I interpret theology in an inapplicable manner? Thus, Davis does a stellar job in illustrating how I, as simply a reader, let alone a steward of God's creation, have little concern for an agrarian mindset.

So what?

Well, I'm not much of an original thinker (there's that blunt honesty again). My viewpoints and preconceptions are products of an influential society, so my disregard for an agrarian mindset is merely a reflection of our society's disregard for an agrarian mindset. Even when I was assigned to read these works, I couldn't bring myself to pay attention enough to formulate any kind of critical thought; I just don't have a passion for it. Surely that isn't unique in our world. Surely my apathetic approach to this literature is derived from the modern world's (dare I say it: the modern church's) consideration of these topics. We work smarter, not harder, so why develop a theology of hard work? We ask ourselves how the Scriptures apply to only our personal lives, so why consider the importance of a lifestyle completely other than our own when reading the Bible?

I don't think this is a reflection of poor theology; Davis clearly outlines various logical, pertinent arguments that are consistent with Christian fact. There's nothing heretical about the church's agrarian viewpoints; the problem lies in how often such viewpoints are used. This is a reflection, rather, of poor attitude. We as a human race and we as a church simply just don't care about whatever we deem unnecessary, and we are awfully quick to deem things unnecessary. Heck, I deemed an agrarian approach to the Bible unnecessary after reading only the title of the chapter, and I completely overlooked the value of approaching the Scriptures with such a mindset.

That kind of poor attitude, moreover, doesn't have a lot of limitations. It can easily carry over into several aspects of one's life, and if the church doesn't check its attitude soon, who knows what other kind of truth could be thrown out the window?

Week 4

I don't know if I'm too practical a thinker or rather simply a cynic, but I can't escape this feeling of helplessness in regards to our class discussion. I know that's a fairly depressing way to start, so just bear with me for a while.

First off, I need to establish that I am a firm believer that God can do all things and that the church, those who choose to follow him, can accomplish great feats in his name. However, from a lifetime of observation, it seems like the church is not going to get anything done anytime soon with this whole "saving the earth" bit.

So far, I'm sure I'm coming across as a cynic.

Dr. Carla Sunberg raised a thought-provoking question in class discussion this week: in regards to the numerous ecological and agricultural crises in the modern world, wouldn't it be something else if the church was the group to spread awareness and bring about the necessary change?  Well, yes and no.

Surely I believe that the church should become increasingly concerned about the condition of the earth. However, the blame for the destruction of the earth and the motives behind man's flippancy regarding stewardship are neither here nor there. You can believe that Christians are responsible for the current condition of the earth. You can believe that Christians have no regard for the present condition of the earth because they find reassurance in the future restoration of what they have destroyed. You can believe that humans, as a whole, are simply ignorant of the implications of their behavior, ecologically speaking. It really doesn't matter to me, but you must agree that mankind has not taken care if its home. Ergo, it makes logical sense that the church should start making mankind's mistakes known and advocate for solutions.

However, the voice of the church has not been a very persuasive one in recent times. It seems that nothing that the church backs is backed in return by the masses. For instance, as I mentioned in class discussion, the church has made its stance regarding homosexuality abundantly clear. Look where that got us. We spent so much time and energy pleading this nation to agree with us over this issue simply to discover the futility of our efforts in the end. It is also worth noting the amount of celebration that this nation witnessed over the result of the Supreme Court decision. People just don't agree with the church anymore, and it's not just in regards to legislation. The church has lost its voice, generally speaking, in regards to politics, foreign policy, ethics, education, and any number of social issues, so who's to say that the church can somehow gain an influential voice in ecology and agriculture? Hence, to back to Dr. Sunberg's question, yes, it would be nice if the church realized the immediate importance of stewardship, but no, that does not necessarily mean that its importance will become widely known in the world.

Again, I'm probably coming across as a cynic.

Perhaps, then, before the church decides that it wants to change the world, it needs to relearn, in essence, how to change the world. Before we launch a campaign against the destruction of the earth, we need to reevaluate how we go about yielding social influence. We can't expect to blatantly state our stance in this crisis and expect that others will be receptive to what we have to say; that clearly hasn't been the best approach as of late. How, then, do we go about reestablishing the impact of the church in society? I have no idea, but I'm willing to learn.

For the time being, I say that we focus less on changing the world and instead focus on changing our world. We speak where we know we are heard: within the church itself. We don't slap the world in the face with our sermons and convictions until we learn how to properly speak to the world. Instead, we unite the church under a new philosophy of stewardship that embodies a true sense of caring for the earth in which we live. I think that is a fair place to start.

So am I thinking too practically or cynically? I don't know, but, hey, at least I'm thinking. That's more than some people can say.

Week 3

Now that class discussion has shifted from ecological debates more toward theological and ethical debates, it is a lot more my taste.  I do not mean to say that talking about the wellness of the earth bores me, although it might; I only mean to say that there is a reason why I chose to major in ministry and not in biology.  That being said, particularly "The Dark Side of Chocolate" and chapter three of Steven Bouma-Prediger's For the Beauty of the Earth were both intriguing, to say the least.

"The Dark Side of Chocolate," strangely, was almost a sigh of relief for me.  Before you go assuming that I am a heartless, child-abusing heathen, hear me out.

So far in this class, the ecological and agricultural issues that we have discussed, for the most part, have been concerned with how our present way of life may or may not affect our future way of life.  We have debated how we will be able to feed nine billion people within the next thirty years, whether or not our levels of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere will have a lasting effect on climate, and other things of that nature.  "The Dark Side of Chocolate," on the other hand, presented an issue in agriculture and business that needs to be discussed and resolved immediately.  We do not need to discuss hypothetical dangers anymore.  We need not speak in potentialities.  We can focus our attention on the present reality.  Why spend so much time worrying about tomorrow when there are lives at stake today?  There is no debate as to whether or not child labor and trafficking are acceptable; the debate is how this problem needs to be solved and how soon we can start.  Hence, the sigh of relief was not a sigh of relief that children in Africa are being trafficked and abused; it was a sigh of relief that now we can discuss something of immediate importance.

That was where the sigh of relief stopped.  I finally found an issue that I find to be almost annoyingly pertinent with which I could finally get on board, but I still have no idea what to do now besides feel guilty for my lack of action.  Now I feel angry at the makers of that video for exposing us to a problem without presenting a solution.  Regardless, I have lost almost completely the desire to hash out the details of things like aquaculture while injustices like this continue.  Like I said earlier, there is a reason why I chose to pursue ministry instead of biology.

Bouma-Prediger's chapter also made me feel guilty.  This time, I felt guilty because of what I was doing, not because of what I was not.  I unfortunately had to agree with all of the points made against the Christian faith in regards to the preservation and destruction of the earth.  The ecological complaint against Christianity seems legitimate.  However, is it possible that Christianity is merely the scapegoat?

Let me pause for a moment.  Yes, I am probably a little defensive in this scenario because I am a Christian and certainly do not want to be charged with the destruction of our planet, and, yes, if Christians had a compelling case to blame pagans for destroying the earth, I am sure that we would use it against them.  It is only human nature.  Men will blame women, women will blame men, players will blame referees, students will blame teachers, and so on and so forth.  I understand that I am speaking in generalities, but people tend not to accept responsibility for their mistakes, especially if their mistake is destroying the earth in which we all live.

Ergo, my only wish is that the debate not be about who is to blame.  How about we all man up to our faults and admit that we, all theological and eschatological viewpoints aside, have not done our planet justice?  As mentioned in my previous post, humans, generally, have not polluted this world maliciously.  So why point the blame?  If Christians went about their lives with the intent of harming the earth, then I would understand ostracizing them.  However, from a lifetime of observation, I can attest that Christians do not lie awake at night and devise schemes as to how they can ruin the earth's water supply and pollute its atmosphere.  Thus, instead of deciding whether or not we are to blame, why not focus our energy on something productive, like actually saving the earth?

Week 2

So far in this class, if I am being perfectly honest, I have yet to be strongly convicted of my treatment of earth or to unveil in myself a newly discovered appreciation for the world in which I live through writings such as Wendell Berry's extensive, poetic admiration of the natural world in Andy Catlett: Early Travels.  Am I just too closed-minded in my approach to the texts?  Maybe.  Perhaps, rather, my previous biases of how mankind ought to preserve the earth (as outlined in my previous post) are being reinforced by the authors who argue that man's current treatment of the earth is not inherently destructive.

I should rephrase that.  Yes, humans have most decidedly caused destruction to the world.  One look into the muggy Kankakee River can prove that.  However, one can consider a fair amount of the damage mankind has caused earth almost "necessary evil."

I understand that I am walking on thin ice here.  Hang with me.

First off, I understand that surely there are instances where humans have inflicted meaningless, mindless harm on the world in which we live.  Again, one look into the muggy Kankakee River can prove that.  Steven Bouma-Prediger, in his For the Beauty of the Earth, offers a number of observable problems with the world that humans have caused, such as acid rain, loss of biodiversity, and deforestation, to name a few.  However, if one examines the widely debated phenomenon of air pollution, for example, one will find that there are many benefits to counter the drawbacks, and, frankly, people who argue for the treatment and prevention of air pollution often mind only the drawbacks and overlook the benefits.  For instance, Wendell Berry, in his Andy Catlett: Early Travels, reminisces about the days of horses and mules before the abundance of machines, speaking affectionately of those times and wishing the world had not changed so abruptly.  Obviously, machines, such as cars, tractors, and combines have released a dangerous amount of unwanted gases into the atmosphere, but do the costs really outweigh the benefits?  In what kind of a society would we live if we still relied on horsepower to perform daily tasks?  Surely, it is possible that the consequences of the overuse of machines has ultimately been worth it.  The air pollution has been a "necessary evil" to allow mankind to make advances in agriculture, travel, and countless other areas of life.

Let me offer a couple disclaimers before I proceed.  Firstly, I am not implying that I support the continuation of pollution simply for the sake of various human endeavors.  We do not need to release an abundance of dangerous gases into the atmosphere, especially if there is a safer alternative.  As explained in my previous post, I do believe that there are problems with the current condition of the earth, and those problems need to be addressed.  Secondly, I am not advocating that mankind does not need to change some of its ways.  We have caused problems, but if there is one thing man knows how to do, it is how to solve problems.  After all, we find ourselves in this current ecological predicament because we solved problems.  The Industrial Revolution, the major turning point for a large amount of pollution in the world, was a solution to a number of problems in the industrial world.  Now that we have discovered a number of problems that our solution has created, we are earnestly searching for more solutions.  Likely, those solutions will cause other problems, and the cycle will continue.  That is how advancement takes place.  The moment humans stop having problems to fix, they cease to advance and, in essence, cease to be human.

All I mean to say is that a great deal of pain humans have inflicted on their home planet has not been in bad taste and should not be automatically ruled as unjust, heartless crime.  Ayn Rand, in The Anti-Industrial Revolution, almost mocks those who overly advocate for the preservation of the earth because of their fixation on the inanimate and disregard of human life.  Of course, Rand's article was more a response to the hippies, who were really just looking for policies to protest, generally speaking.  His argument may have been a bit different had he been exposed to the data available to us today regarding the condition of the earth.  Regardless, there is some logic to his position.  Those who obsess over the preservation of the earth have the tendency to pay no mind to the condition of the human race; however, likewise, those who concern themselves with the advancement of the human race often disregard the condition of the earth.  Ergo, maybe there must always be a "necessary evil."  In extreme terms, maybe we can only preserve the earth while destroying mankind, and maybe we can only preserve mankind while destroying the earth.

Perhaps, then, ecological debates should not center around minimizing destruction but rather on maximizing construction.  Then, it is a matter of priorities.  Which is more important: taking care of the earth or taking care of the human race?  That, however, is another discussion for another day.

Week 1

As a ministry major, it seems that I ought to have an opinion about everything because people, throughout my future vocational life, will be looking to me for answers.  I need to have a stance on gay marriage, abortion, pop culture, social media, politics, and everything else that has an influence over the American culture because my stance should affect and reflect how the church stands.  For the most part, though, the church has made its opinion known regarding most of these issues, and I can simply agree with it instead of formulating my own opinion.

However, the earth is something that often goes unmentioned in theological debates.  After all, the church's stance on how man ought to treat the earth can be broadly summarized in four simple words: take care of it.  Why sit and meticulously sort out the specifics of such a stance when the church is too busy fighting "more important" battles of a secular society, right?  Why would the church need to outline a position on stewardship when it can simply set up a few recycling bins, plant a couple trees, and then go back to what really matters?

Well, maybe the church should start caring a little more.  Earth-threatening problems may be closer than we think.

Do know that I include myself when I say, "the church."  I never cared much about protecting the earth.  After all, I survived both Y2K and 2012, so it was only habit to think that this ecological horror story was only another hocus-pocus, end-of-the-world bit.  My thought process was as follows:

We will have to feed nine billion people by 2050?  We can do it.

Water is not only getting scarcer all the time, but it is also getting less pure?  Surely it will all be alright.

Our meat consumption will have to decrease in order to feed the world?  No, thanks.

Acid rain is destroying U.S. marine life?  Not until I see it.

Earth's temperature is climbing every year?  So we might have to wear some more sunscreen.  So what?

My positions on issues such as these were built on indifference rather than ignorance. I knew the numbers. I had seen the graphs.  I had heard that we needed to make a change.  I was just never worried.  After all, the earth has yet to fail us, so why would it start now, right?  However, my apathy was not unique; many Christians choose to ignore this eminent issue, even if they are aware of its severity, simply because they cannot solve the problems themselves.

I have only one question to such people: what is Christ-like about discarding these apparent ecological crises?  Jesus did not see five thousand hungry men and assume that someone else would find a way to provide.  He did something about it!  I understand that he had divine power and substantially less than the nine billion people we will soon have to face, but, regardless, when presented with the many issues this aging earth is experiencing, ask yourself, at the risk of sounding cliche, what would Jesus do?

Honestly, however, there is not much knowledge as to what we ought to do.  For instance, National Geographic Magazine gives a lot of research as to agriculture, diet, aquaculture, and other ecological arenas, but, for the most part, states that there are improvements to be made and merely recommends a handful of improvements.  Likewise, Steven Bouma-Prediger, in For the Beauty of the Earth, outlines several problems with the earth that are escalating, such as the increasing population, global climate change, and over-consumption of energy, to name a few, only to leave readers wondering what can be done to resolve such crises.

At this point, I understand that there is not much that the church can do to feed all the hungry people of the world, purify all of earth's water supply, regulate the levels of greenhouse gasses in the earth's atmosphere, or oversee the diet of all mankind, but it can at least make its opinion known.  As mentioned earlier, the church has made known its position on homosexuality, abortion, politics, and a number of other social issues, so clearly the church knows how to spread awareness, which may be the most influential tactic it can use to preserve the aching earth.  We ought to make the problems known until the only logical next step is to make the solutions known.  The world knows that the church has a voice.  Why not voice something that affects the way we all live?  The world knows that we can prompt change in the world.  Why not change, in essence, the world?