Every action we take to lower environmental costs is an act of loving our neighbor.
On Ash Wednesday we are told to “remember that you are dust and unto dust you shall return.” It can be a bleak message and may be why some churches have opted to thumb ashes onto foreheads with a challenge to “turn away from sin and be faithful to the gospel.” But there is a challenge, albeit an implicit one, in “ashes to ashes, dust to dust”: How are we spending our brief time as not-dust? For me this has taken on a special urgency given the increasingly dire warnings about the ill effects of climate change and our vanishing ability to keep these effects at bay.
How one activist's faith inspired an act of nonviolent resistance against a power company.
“If there is a building on fire with a child trapped inside, but outside the building there’s a ‘No Trespassing’ sign, anyone in their right mind would go in to save the child,” says Brenna Cussen Anglada, a Catholic Worker who resides at St. Isidore Catholic Worker Farm in Cuba City, Wisconsin and is an environmental activist.
Get down to Earth with ‘Behind the Curve’ and ‘One Strange Rock.’
Two documentaries currently trending on Netflix take a look at the planet from decidedly oppositional perspectives—and they might change how you think about the ground you stand on.
If there is one figure in Catholic life inextricably linked with the care and protection of the planet, it is Francis of Assisi
As we approach Earth Day on April 22, expect to hear about St. Francis. If there is one figure in Catholic life inextricably linked with the care and protection of the planet, it is Francis of Assisi. He is often depicted with animals and is famously the author of the Canticle of the Creatures, which praises God by praising creation. Our familiarity with Francis’ works and image obscures the fact that in the arc of Catholic teaching on the natural world, Francis was very much an outlier.
It’s time to rethink the crucifixion, says theologian Elizabeth Johnson.
Care for creation often falls low on the list of priorities for the majority of Christians, with many even vocal that environmental stewardship isn’t a Christian call. There’s something deeply wrong with that, says Elizabeth A. Johnson, one of the church’s foremost theologians of the 20th and 21st centuries.
Our country relies on rural communities for everything from food to manufactured goods, yet many rural Catholics feel like second-class citizens.
“Rural matters,” says James Ennis, executive director of Catholic Rural Life. For 94 years, this organization has bridged the gap between urban and rural Catholics and served the unique needs of the Catholic Church in rural America.
Good Catholic theology always has the earth in mind, says theologian Celia Deane-Drummond.
Theology professor Celia Deane-Drummond thinks creation care is just good theology. “It’s a fundamental part of our faith,” she says. “It’s not just a marginal extra. It’s actually integral to how we think about who we are as human beings.”
Deane-Drummond goes one step further: Not only is environmental justice an intrinsic part of being a person of faith, faith is a necessary tool to understanding our present environmental crisis. She believes that while science can tell what’s gone wrong in our world, it can’t motivate people to change. This is where religion comes in.
From dust we have come and to dust we shall return. That is essentially not true for plastics.
Practicing Catholics the world over understand the importance of giving up something for Lent. The typical Lenten sacrifice includes perennial favorites such as giving up candy or swearing off swearing, but Lenten offerings also change with the times, reflecting technological and cultural shifts. Contemporary Lenten fasting could include forgoing that extravagant morning mocha latte or abstaining from the social media that distract us from our interior lives or from “interfacing” with humanoids in the real world.
From seed to plant to mulch—the life cycles of a garden have a lot in common with those in our own lives.
I am in my garden, squatting in the dirt like a medieval peasant, as around me rise the complex smells of lichen and mineral, exhalations of earthworm and beetroot. The job for this day is planting sweet corn by hand, which means poking each kernel down into its own secret burrow, each tiny, wrinkled corpse into a solitary tomb, but with hope of resurrection.
Our faith is too important to let slip.
We all know the routine once Christmas enters the rearview mirror. Maybe we packed on a few holiday party pounds. Maybe we spent too much on gifts under the tree. No matter the ailment, there’s a new year just around the corner. “This is the year I keep my resolutions!” we proclaim—always in good faith to start. “No, really . . . this is it! I’m going to get healthy! I’m going to save money!”