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Earth's Gladness

By Howard R. Macy

Standing outside the small store at the edge of the coastal mountain, I suppose I chickened out. But when I saw the rugged man toss two 12-packs of beer into the pickup bed alongside his large chainsaws, I balked at asking about his bumper sticker: “Earth first — we’ll log the other planets later.” In the land where protecting spotted owls and clear-cut logging of forests compete, the conversation seemed risky at best.

I’ve already repented of some of the things I might have said. But I’ve been thinking of others, wiser I hope. And he might have listened. After all, one of the godliest men I know is a lumberjack, complete with tough denims, steel-toe, high-top boots, 60-inch bar chainsaws and all.

For one thing, I might have told him about the earth’s deep gladness at the rule of God. It started with the morning stars singing joyfully as God laid the foundations of the earth, surveyed its dimensions, laid its cornerstone and set clear boundaries for the sea (Job 38:4–11). Earth’s gladness continues as all of its creatures — cedars and cypresses, storks and rock badgers, lions and people, too — live richly satisfied with God’s generous provision (Psalm 104). When God sends rains that turn wilderness to pasture and wrap hillsides with blossoms, that clothe meadows with sheep and carpet valleys with grain, “they all shout and sing for joy!” (Psalm 65:10–13, NLT). In Isaac Watts’ hymn “Joy to the World,” based on Psalm 98, we are invited to sing along “while fields and floods, rocks, hills and plains repeat the sounding joy.” God rules in faithfulness and love. No wonder the psalmists call all creation to sing. No wonder earth is glad.

Another thing I might have said is that we can join in earth’s deep gladness as fellow creatures. We can admire and wonder at the creation that God delighted to call “good … very good,” with its lavishness, practicality and playfulness, with its diversity, its riot of color and design. We can celebrate our own creaturely-ness, for example, when we enjoy watching the families of birds — sandhill cranes, yellow-headed blackbirds, bald and golden eagles, cinnamon teals, curlews and avocets. We can relax into and marvel at God’s power when we explore the shape of the world from broad plains to mountains tilted high by tectonic plates crashing together, from cinder cones that wanted to be volcanoes to fertile tidelands.

Part of joining gladly with other creatures is to remind ourselves that we are not God. We’re just critters. As critters we must, like all of creation, come to rest in God’s goodness and to depend on God’s provision. One of the main reasons for keeping Sabbath is to act as if God can and will care for us, that we don’t have to push 24/7 to be sure we’re okay. With similar impact, Jesus challenged his followers to answer whether they thought that God, who generously tends wildflowers and sparrows, would also care for them. If we can say yes, we can more easily join the rest of creation in living in joy and freedom.

Finally, I think I might have said that we can wonder at and live out faithfully the special place that we humans have in creation. After marveling at the night sky the psalmist wonders that God should either notice or care for people. Even more remarkably, he says, God has given humans authority to govern creation (Psalm 8, Genesis 1:28). The Creation story in Genesis 2, though, tempers the temptation to get uppity about all this. It recounts that earth had no plants yet because there were no people to work the soil (Genesis 2:5). You need farmers first. The Hebrew word typically translated “till” or “cultivate” has the general meaning “to serve,” which points us in a helpful direction. It suggests serving the earth rather than serving ourselves. Collaborating in God’s rule invites us to share in God’s manner, to emulate God’s right ordering, tenderness, delight and generosity.

Humans have not always ruled faithfully. The ancient taunt song against the grandiose, fallen king of Babylon describes how “finally the earth is at rest and quiet. Now it can sing again.” The cypresses and cedars of Lebanon, relentlessly over-harvested to build distant palaces, now sing to the king, “Since you have been cut down, no one will come now to cut us down!” (Isaiah 14:7–8, NLT). Of course, despite their song of liberation, today the creation still groans to be set free from the effects of human rule that is not like God’s.

In contrast, the vision of the Peaceable Kingdom, which we love in Isaiah 11 and in the powerful images of artists Edward Hicks and Fritz Eichenberg, is only realized in the wake of a just and loving ruler, guided by God’s Spirit and delighting in God’s ways. So as creatures still dependent on God, we can seek God’s guidance to govern our fellow creatures wisely and humbly. Perhaps we can discover better ways to cultivate, grow and harvest. Maybe we could use our creative powers to develop hardier, more fruitful plants. We could learn to live in ways to do less harm; that strengthen rather than weaken. We can applaud and join individuals and groups who are seeking practical ways of sustaining the creation. We can work hard to provide pure water and clean environments that give life and health to people and lands.

We ordinary people, as unlikely as it seems, have been invited by the Creator to share in God’s rule. In choices large and small, may we live in ways that share the world’s love for God and God’s love for the world.

Howard R. Macy is professor of religion and biblical studies at George Fox University and member of Newberg Friends, Oregon. He and his wife Margi have two adult children.