Climate Change and the Cornerstone

Sabbath Day Thoughts -“Climate Change and the Cornerstone” Mark 12:1-12

The numbers are in. Worldwide, this February was the warmest February on record. Across Europe, ski resorts closed when snow melted to mud from France to Bosnia to Italy. Wildfires, spurred by record heat, killed 133 people in Chile. In Tokyo, the cherry blossoms were out a full month earlier. When the numbers are confirmed in a couple of weeks by the U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, this February will mark the ninth consecutive month in which the temperature record has been broken. The world is warming.

We don’t need to travel to Bosnia, Chile, or Tokyo, to affirm that climate change is real. Consider Lake Champlain. Matthew Vaughan, chief scientist with the Lake Champlain Basin Program, reports that from 1816 until 1950 the lake froze over almost every winter. Now, the lake freezes about once in four years. By 2050, we can expect the lake to freeze only once in a decade. The last time the lake froze was five years ago in March 2019. That’s bad news for our cold-water fish, like lake trout and Atlantic salmon. It’s bad news for swimmers, boaters, and wildlife, too, as toxic bacterial and algae blooms increase with the warming water.

Here in the Tri-Lakes we are feeling the changes. No snow meant no Winter Fun Day this year. How crummy is that?! Warming winters have brought a surge in ticks and tick-borne illness, like Lyme Disease and anaplasmosis. Heavy rain, characterized by a storm of two inches or more, is falling more frequently. Last year, we saw record-breaking rain in the summer and road closures from flooding in the winter. This past week, we saw hazy skies as smoke swept south from Canada, which in the past year has recorded record-setting wildfires fires in Alberta, British Columbia, the Northwest Territories, Nova Scotia, Ontario, and Quebec.

If you are like me, you live here because it is glorious. We love our little corner of God’s good earth. In fact, we feel amazingly close to God in all this beauty. But, let’s face it, the good earth is changing, and it has us worried.

Our reading from Mark’s gospel tells the worrisome story of some wicked tenants who occupy a vineyard and refuse to honor the claims of the vineyard owner. As Jesus related this story, he was in Jerusalem for the Passover. Things weren’t going so well. Sure, he had made a triumphal entry to the city, but it got complicated fast. Scandalized by the corruption and greed that he saw in the Temple courts, Jesus had turned over tables and disrupted business. That made him some powerful enemies. Chief priests, scribes, and elders confronted Jesus and challenged his authority. Soon the minions of Herod would try to entrap him with questions about paying taxes, and the religious and economic elite of Jerusalem—the Sadducees—would be in his face with questions about the resurrection.

Jesus answered his critics with this tough, exaggerated story of judgment. A landowner lovingly planted a beautiful vineyard and entrusted his good creation to tenants before going away on a long journey. From the start, there was trouble. The tenants held the absentee landlord in contempt and seemed to think the vineyard existed to serve their own economic interests. Any landowner in his right mind would have evicted the tenants and called in the law to teach them a painful, violent lesson. But Jesus described a landowner who didn’t know when to quit. Merciful to the point of foolishness, he repeatedly sent servants, prophets, messengers—even a beloved son—to confront the tenants with the truth and return them to the right path. But sending those messengers didn’t work in the story any more than it would work that Passover week in Jerusalem. As Jesus spoke about the violence that the beloved son encountered in the vineyard, Jesus was alluding to the violence that he soon would endure: Jesus himself outside the walls of the city, nailed to a cross, and breathing his last. As Jesus concluded his parable, he invited his critics to pass judgment. Mark says that they knew that Jesus was talking about them; they were behaving like wicked, greedy tenants, holding God in contempt, bent on rejecting and murdering the beloved son.

Eric Baretto, who teaches New Testament at Luther Seminary in St. Paul, teaches that parables, especially parables of judgment like this one, are meant to shock the conscience—kind of like when your parents used to give you the “Come to Jesus” talk. We listen to this parable and we side with the vineyard owner. We are outraged by the treatment of the messengers and the son. But the shock to our conscience is that we are actually the tenants, profiting from the vineyard, denying and abusing anyone who confronts us with uncomfortable truth, treating God with contempt.

Nowhere does this feel more uncomfortably true than when we consider our warming planet, this glorious vineyard that has been entrusted to our care. It is a scientific fact that we are the cause of the increased greenhouse gas emissions that are warming our planet. NASA reports that the four major gases that contribute to the Greenhouse Effect are all driven by human activity. Carbon dioxide is generated by burning fossil fuels and deforestation. Methane is emitted by the livestock we eat. It comprises seventy to ninety percent of the natural gas we burn, and it leaks from fossil fuel production and transportation. Nitrous oxide is released during fertilizer production and use, as well as in the burning of vegetation. Chlorofluorocarbons do not exist in nature—they are entirely of industrial origin: refrigerants, solvents, and spray-can propellants. We are the problem. We’ve been bad tenants, feeling entitled to profit from the planet. We don’t heed the warning cry of the prophetic voices that call for change. Jesus might caution us that Judgment Day is coming.

Jesus followed his tough parable by quoting Psalm 118: the stone that the builders rejected would become the cornerstone. In other words, even though all those powerful critics would reject Jesus, God would have the last word. The cornerstone is the first stone set during the building process. Every stone in a structure is set in relation to the cornerstone. In the ancient world, it was believed that the position of stars and planets regulated life, fortune, and success; therefore, cornerstones were commonly placed facing the Northeast because it was thought that this location would bring harmony and prosperity to the building and its owners. A ceremonial ritual marked the placement of the cornerstone. Builders would place a sacrifice, such as wine, grain, water, or even blood, atop the cornerstone and dedicate it to their gods. Jesus’ words about the cornerstone tell us that his death would be the offering that would mark the building of something new. He would be the cornerstone, because he had been and would always be aligned with God’s creative intention when the world was first spoken into being.

Jesus’ allusion to the cornerstone was a hard-to-hear invitation to critics to not be so hasty in their rejection of him. It was an uncomfortable reminder that God is the great architect and builder of their world. Not the chief priests, scribes, and elders, not the Herodians or even the Sadducees. God Almighty had a plan that they could either honor or reject, building their lives around the cornerstone or choosing to go their own way at great peril and impending judgment.

Perhaps this morning, Jesus’ words about the vineyard and the cornerstone can serve as an invitation to us. We can continue to exploit our planet for personal profit at great peril to ourselves and our children and grandchildren—and all creation. Or, we can be reoriented in our custody of the vineyard that God has entrusted to our care. We can trade our wicked tenancy for a faithful reverence. We can work to honor the beauty and balance, the vulnerability and limit, of a world created from the very stuff of God.

What might it look like for us to faithfully tend the Lord’s vineyard? Dr. Janel Hanrahan, associate professor of atmospheric sciences at Northern Vermont University, has devoted her professional life to studying the effects of our warming world on the Great Lakes and Lake Champlain. She says there is plenty to worry about out there. But “the best thing about climate change is that humans are the cause. So that means that we also have a huge role in what happens moving forward.”

Even simple measures taken in our own homes can reduce our greenhouse gas emissions and make us better stewards of the planet. Bring your own reusable cup or coffee mug instead of using single use plastics or disposable paper products. Change up the lighting by replacing inefficient bulbs with high quality LEDs that use a fraction of the energy. Turn down the thermostat by two degrees, cutting energy use and saving three to five percent on the heating bill. Wash clothes in cold water. Most of the energy used in doing a load of laundry comes from warming the water itself. Bike more, walk more, and drive less. Eat less meat and dairy. Use your voice. Write, call, or visit government representatives about environmental issues—like Caroline Dodd did this past week, participating in the Adirondack Park Lobby Day in Albany.

This vineyard we inhabit isn’t ours. It belongs to God, who shaped it with great patience and infinite love over billions of years. We can honor that—or reject it at great peril to the planet and all creation. We can choose to adopt simple everyday measures that tread lightly on the earth. We can model this good tenancy for our children. We can share it with our neighbors. We can demand it of our elected officials. We can lay the cornerstone for a future where we fulfill God’s expectation that we will care well for the vineyard. May it be so.

Resources:

Eric Baretto. “Exegetical Commentary on Mark 12:1-12” in Feasting on the Gospels: Mark. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Chloe Bennett. “First installment of state climate assessment points to a warming Adirondacks” in The Adirondack Explorer, Jan. 18, 2024. Accessed online at https://www.adirondackexplorer.org/stories/state-climate-report-adirondacks

Brianna Borghi. “Why Lake Champlain isn’t freezing over as often as it used to” in NBC 5 News, Feb. 23, 2024. Accessed online at https://www.mynbc5.com/article/why-lake-champlain-isnt-freezing-over-as-often-as-it-used-to/39194456

Jake Spring. “Spring came early: February likely warmest on record amid climate change” in Reuters, Feb. 29, 2024. Accessed online at https://www.reuters.com/business/environment/spring-came-early-february-likely-warmest-record-amid-climate-change-2024-02-29/

Kat Kerlin. “18 Simple Things You Can Do About Climate Change” in Climate Change, Jan. 8, 2019. Accessed online at https://climatechange.ucdavis.edu/climate/what-can-i-do/18-simple-things-you-can-do-about-climate-change

NASA. “The Causes of Climate Change: Human activities are driving the global warming trend observed since the mid-20th century.” Accessed online at  https://climate.nasa.gov/causes/#:~:text=Human%20Activity%20Is%20the%20Cause,air%20to%20make%20CO2.

Dean Thompson. “Homiletical Commentary on Mark 12:1-12” in Feasting on the Gospels: Mark. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Bill Whittaker. “The Little-Known Purpose of the Cornerstone,” July 24, 2019. Accessed online at https://www.billwarch.com/blog/the-little-known-purpose-of-the-cornerstone/


Mark 12:1-12 [13-17]

12Then he began to speak to them in parables. “A man planted a vineyard, put a fence around it, dug a pit for the wine press, and built a watchtower; then he leased it to tenants and went to another country. 2When the season came, he sent a slave to the tenants to collect from them his share of the produce of the vineyard. 3But they seized him, and beat him, and sent him away empty-handed. 4And again he sent another slave to them; this one they beat over the head and insulted. 5Then he sent another, and that one they killed. And so it was with many others; some they beat, and others they killed. 6He had still one other, a beloved son. Finally he sent him to them, saying, ‘They will respect my son.’ 7But those tenants said to one another, ‘This is the heir; come, let us kill him, and the inheritance will be ours.’ 8So they seized him, killed him, and threw him out of the vineyard. 9What then will the owner of the vineyard do? He will come and destroy the tenants and give the vineyard to others. 10Have you not read this scripture:

‘The stone that the builders rejectedhas become the cornerstone;
11this was the Lord’s doing,and it is amazing in our eyes’?”

12When they realized that he had told this parable against them, they wanted to arrest him, but they feared the crowd. So they left him and went away.


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Walk Gently

“Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these.” — Matt. 6:28-30

Earlier this year, we viewed “The Pollinators” at church. The documentary chronicles the lives of beekeepers who ensure that America’s orchards and fields are pollinated by trucking hives from Maine to California, timing their arrival to coincide with spring blooms. It was a fascinating look at the deft dance that makes our produce purchases possible. It was also scary. Prevalent use of pesticides and infestations of mites routinely cause the collapse of bee colonies. However, climate change is the biggest threat to bees. Heatwaves, floods, and hurricanes destroy hives, reduce food sources, and lower plant diversity.

Inspired by the film, Duane and I decided to join the “No Mow May” effort, letting our back lawn grow. The dandelions were prolific, the forget-me-nots abundant, and the grass grew long. These important early sources of pollen were a boon to bees, which happily buzzed from bloom to bloom.   As June arrived, we mowed portions of the back lawn and cut some paths through what we began to call “The Meadow.”  More beautiful wildflowers appeared: lupines, Queen Anne’s Lace, cardinal flower, evening primrose, and goldenrod.

Best of all, our meadow was a haven not only for bees but for other wildlife. Hummingbirds perched on our pole bean tower and skirmished over nectar. A fat and sassy groundhog appeared, munched on mallow, and ate up all my peas. One morning, part of the meadow lay flat where deer had bedded down for the night.

Our small effort to be hospitable to bees brought joy all summer. It also prompted reflection on the wonder and wisdom of God’s good work in creation. All creatures occupy a God-given niche on this planet. They do so with great elegance and sophistication. We can choose to live in ways that allow that great web of being to flourish as God intended. It can be as simple as skipping the May mowing and allowing an experiment in honey bee hospitality to bear witness to the infinite creativity and wisdom of the Holy One, who prizes the lilies of the field and loves us enough to die for us.

Let’s walk gently into the fall with great love for the world around us—and one another.


“Goldenrod” by Mary Oliver

 “On roadsides,

  in fall fields,

      in rumpy bunches,

          saffron and orange and pale gold,

in little towers,

  soft as mash,

      sneeze-bringers and seed-bearers,

          full of bees and yellow beads and perfect flowerlets

and orange butterflies.

  I don’t suppose

      much notice comes of it, except for honey,

           and how it heartens the heart with its

blank blaze.

  I don’t suppose anything loves it, except, perhaps,

      the rocky voids

          filled by its dumb dazzle.

For myself,

  I was just passing by, when the wind flared

      and the blossoms rustled,

          and the glittering pandemonium

leaned on me.

  I was just minding my own business

      when I found myself on their straw hillsides,

          citron and butter-colored,

and was happy, and why not?

  Are not the difficult labors of our lives

      full of dark hours?

          And what has consciousness come to anyway, so far,

that is better than these light-filled bodies?

  All day

       on their airy backbones

           they toss in the wind,

they bend as though it was natural and godly to bend,

  they rise in a stiff sweetness,

      in the pure peace of giving

           one’s gold away.”

in New and Selected Poems, Mary Oliver. Boston: Beacon Press, 1992, pg. 17.


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The new song

Poem for a Tuesday — “The new song” by Sydney Carter

“Be faithful to the new song

thrusting through your

earth like a daffodil.

Be flexible

and travel with the rhythm.

Let your mind

be bent by what is coming:

making is

a way of being made

and giving birth

a way of being born.

You are the child

and father of a carol,

you are not

the only maker present.

How you make

is how you will be made.

Be gentle to

the otherness you carry,

broken by

the truth you cannot tell yet.

Mother and be

mothered by your burden.

Trust, and learn

to travel with the music.

in Sydney Carter. The Two-Way Clock: Poems (London: Stainer & Bell, 2000).

Sydney Carter (1915-2004) was an English poet, writer, and musician. He graduated from Balliol College, Oxford, in 1936. Carter’s commitment to pacifism led to his controversial stance as a conscientious objector during World War II. He was among 1,300 Quaker volunteers who served as drivers in the Friends’ Ambulance Unit, spending his war years in Greece, Palestine, and Egypt. Sydney Carter was best known for writing Lord Of The Dance in 1963, as an adaptation of the Shaker hymn Simple Gifts. He once said that he saw Christ as “the incarnation of the piper who is calling us. He dances that shape and pattern which is at the heart of our reality. By Christ, I mean not only Jesus; in other times and places, other planets, there may be other lords of the dance. But Jesus is the one I know of first and best. I sing of the dancing pattern in the life and words of Jesus.”

(quote from Carter’s obituary in The Guardian, March 16, 2004)

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God speaks to each

Poem for a Tuesday — “Gott spricht zu jedem” by Rainer Maria Rilke

God speaks to each of us as he makes us,

then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,

got to the limits of your longing.

Embody me.

Flare up like flame

and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.

Just keep going. No feeling is final.

Don’t let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.

You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.

/

Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926) was a Bohemian-Austrian poet and novelist. He was the only son of an unhappy marriage. His mother mourned the death of an earlier daughter. During Rilke’s early years, she sought to recover the lost girl through the boy. According to Rilke, he had to wear “fine clothes” and “was a plaything [for his mother], like a big doll.” He attended military school and trade school before studying literature, art history, and philosophy in Prague and Munich. He was a mystic, proto-modernist, and early proponent of psychoanalysis. He traveled extensively throughout Europe and Russia before settling in Switzerland. At the time of his death from leukemia, his work was largely unknown to the reading public, but his posthumous followers have been many. He is now considered the most lyrical and influential of the German early modernists.

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