“The secular world cannot do it without the spiritual world.” This was said by my friend, Joe Domko, in our first gathering of the ELIYA Eco-Justice Immersion Event. That simple statement, for me, solidified why I had come. That first night in Seattle, found the 19 of us getting to know each other, talking about why we were there and what we expected to find. I had traveled from Texas, experiencing dustbowl conditions, with months of 100 degree plus heat and no rain, to the damp, green, Pacific Northwest, where the abnormally cold summer had seen skiing as late as July. I came from a culture steeped in oil money and tradition, where climate change is commonly denied, to a college dorm which had compost buckets in the rooms. On the plane, I had thought of another trip in my life, one that had ultimately led to this one, and I shared it with the group that night.
At 12 years old, having never really preferred meat and always loving whole grains, fruit and vegetables, I told my mom I wanted to become a vegetarian. She insisted on a trip to the public library, an institution I still treasure, to research recipes and protein substitutes. I checked out a handful of books, mostly written in the 60’s and 70’s, not knowing my life would change in more than just my diet. I read of the dangers of factory farming, toxic waste dumping done by companies producing most of what we consume, the need for green initiatives, alternative body products, whole food diets, organic foods and the idea of a lifestyle that reflected care for the earth and its people. I started making changes in my life. I stopped eating meat. I started boycotting companies whose treatment of animals and humans mirrors the toxicity of their products. At the time my faith was still up in the air. It would take me 16 more years and many different churches to finally find my place with God.
Sitting there in the dorms of Seattle University, in a room full of Episcopalians from all over the country who cared for all of creation, the two lives I had led, the two paths I had pursued with passion, finally collided. My faith and my “crunchy granola” lifestyle (as termed by Leanne Gehrig) finally made sense together. We realized quickly that we all shared a very real grief for the state of things and also a profound hope for what could be done. We were from places as different as Tennessee, Arizona, and Canada. We had people from college, people who had finished college, people who had figured out what to be when they “grow up” and those of us who didn’t yet have a clue. We had men, women, black, and white, outgoing vocal people, contemplative introverts, hopeful activists and jaded political dissidents. To think we would all become fast friends in 6 days seemed absurd, until you put us in a room together and got us talking, laughing and crying. For 6 days, we were family.
We visited Clean Green Farms, an organic farm that brings produce
into impoverished neighborhood food pantries. We shared lunch at The Duwamish Longhouse, a meeting house of a first people nation who are fighting for official recognition as a tribe. We viewed the Duwamish River that is in
various stages of recovery from years of industrial abuse. We toured the Port of Seattle, where the transport of crates has become detrimental to the truckers involved and those who live in the area. We received training from various individuals from the realms of academic theology, political activism, and the church itself. We worshiped together at a green congregation, in the dorm meeting space for evening prayer and at a choral Compline at the cathedral. We shared meals, bocce ball, car rides, even our rooms. The final day of our trip brought a mountain hike; some in silence, some in shared awe, some in tears at nature’s truly life-giving beauty.
All along, what we shared most was walking through some of the toughest and most beautiful quandaries of our lives. Many of us looked to what we might do next in our lives; where we might head in our education, profession, and living
situations. We laughed hard and often. We lived out, often in tears, a grief caused by a culture that, since the industrial revolution, even in the faith world, has generally reflected an abusive relationship with God’s Creation. We came to understand that as believers in a God who created the terraform and life of this planet, we have a mandate to respect it, care for it, and fight for it. We all strive to be the people who have a trash can the size of a teacup, consuming so little and wasting even less. We want to be the people that see the voiceless and answer the call to be the voice. We have a soul-felt desire to care for all of creation, because as we’re told in Genesis, we are a part of it and it is a part of us. Our humble beginnings are in the dirt and to it we shall return. May we never forget that. May we be so infectious in our renewed passion that many others will see and join in. That is the hope I felt, on the plane home, as I tried not to be consumed by the sadness in leaving such a holy place as the week I shared among friends and fellow advocates. I am truly thankful for this life changing experience.
by: Laura Thomasson
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