To understand the resurrection, spend some time among nature.
From death sprouts new life.
I walk among trees that know the pain of dying. The wise elders that live in my local arboretum weather their share of storms, just like all of us.
Perhaps the worst storm for these trees came on the unseasonably hot evening of June 27, 1894. Heavy clouds rolled in as the sun set. The critters accustomed to dancing at dusk grew still. An eerie calm quieted the trees.
Then the tornado touched down. Limbs snapped. Roots ripped. Branches flew. What took seconds to level would take decades to grow anew, but the forest would flourish again.
The church recognizes climate change as a problem that must be addressed.
Many people are familiar with the Book of Genesis referring to humanity’s “dominion” over the earth (1:28). We often misunderstand this to mean we humans have free rein to exploit creation for our own gain, often at others’ expense. Rather, God, in providing for us through a life-giving world, bestowed upon humanity the responsibility of stewardship.
In Laudato Si’ (On Care for Our Common Home), Pope Francis clarifies that stewardship is an act of respect for creation. The world is more than a collection of resources for utilitarian consumption.
Green burials affirm that death brings new life.
With the unexpected passing of their daughter, Beth and Ken Coleman of Chula Vista, California appreciated the option of burying her in much the same way she had lived: gracefully, simply, and leaving only a soft footprint on the earth.
“She was a very gentle soul, very kind,” Beth says of Kristine, who died just days before her 41st birthday in 2019. “She didn’t like a lot of fuss and hubbub.”