by Ashtyn Adams

by Caroline Hiler

Or the way it is tidal. Moving in and out, every day, consistent. As sure as the tide rises and falls, God’s unfailing love and mercy continue every day (Lam 3:22-23). The water seeps itself to the corners of the creeks, just as the Holy Spirit empowers the limbs of our bodies to reach out in love. ​

Then how the animals have learned the ocean’s ways. The mother alligator knows to lay her nest in the summer when the waters are warm, and will protect her hatchlings at all cost. As God is our place of safety, God’s faithful promises are our armor and protection (Psalm 91:1-4). ​

 
I encourage you to look at creation today and see the wisdom it teaches you about God, and then put those truths into action. Join Jesus in creating His Kingdom on earth. 

I will end with this example Martin Luther King gives us (Antidotes for Fear: Faith): ​

"The Lord by wisdom hath founded the earth; by understanding hath he established the heavens." Man is not a wisp of smoke from a limitless smoldering, but a child of God created "a little lower than the angels." Above the manyness of time stands the one eternal God, with wisdom to guide us, strength to protect us, and love to keep us. His boundless love supports and contains us as a mighty ocean contains and supports the tiny drops of every wave. With a surging fullness he is forever moving toward us, seeking to fill the little creeks and bays of our lives with unlimited resources. This is religion's everlasting diapason, its eternal answer to the enigma of existence. Any man who finds this cosmic sustenance can walk the highways of life without the fatigue of pessimism and the weight of morbid fears. 
Herein lies the answer to the neurotic fear of death that plagues so many of our lives. Let us face the fear that the atomic bomb has aroused with the faith that we can never travel beyond the arms of the Divine.”

by Ashtyn Adams

The Gospel message of freedom and liberation has often been spiritualized to keep from any material, concrete demands of us. We often want to protect our places of comfort and privilege and adjust our theology accordingly. As we read in the book of Micah though, this is an old tale, “rulers give judgment for a bribe; its priests teach for a price; its prophets give oracles for money.” These are instances of invisible or slow violence, which often go unnoticed and leave our souls undisturbed, but nevertheless separate us more and more, day by day, from the fount of divine love. The innocent Earth not only bears witness to our crimes against self and neighbor, often being used as the medium for such acts but now suffers herself. Climate change is another type of slow violence whose impacts will only become more evident to us as the years pass. We are like the Israelites who “abhor justice and pervert all equity,” as the prophet Micah says, who are convinced, “Surely, the Lord is with us!” while prioritizing profit and power, failing to act in ways that do rightly by creation. In our story, creation is too often a mere afterthought, something to disregard after we get our use of it. 

Sitting with Micah, I am struck by the critique of our anthropocentric worldview and reading of Scripture in the opening chapters. As a covenantal lawsuit unfolds, there is an opening address and summoning of creation, “Hear what the LORD says: Rise, Plead your case before the mountains, let the hills hear your voice, Hear, you mountains, the controversy of the Lord, and you enduring foundations of the Earth.” God does not enact judgment alone. Creation has a say, is a witness and a judge. It is endowed with the highest integrity and respect. How would we feel in a covenantal lawsuit with the Lord today? Would we be able to plead a case before the mountains? Would we remember that it is the hills who will listen to our voice? What would the enduring foundations of the Earth charge against us? 

By the time we reach chapter three of this week’s lectionary text, we enter the judgment section of the divine literary rhythm of salvation and hope, of criticizing and energizing throughout the book. Evident is that the Lord’s judgment is always first reserved for those in covenant relation with God. Micah is “filled with power, with the spirit of the Lord, and with justice and might, to declare to Jacob his transgression and to Israel his sin.” I find it very strange that so many Christians think that judgment is (1) something for other people, (2) something of the past, or (3) something reserved for the future. Part of this is simply poor biblical literacy, which has created an idol of Jesus, one who provides only cheap love and grace, who acquiesces to our wants and reassures us of some spot in an imagined white, shiny, heavenly palace. I find little of that in Scripture. There is no such thing as salvation that is divorced from the concerns of the corporate body. In the Exodus, salvation meant liberation from Egyptian slavery. In the rest of the biblical witness, salvation continues to include a temporal, situated liberation from the powers that oppress. Here, we see that God is not a God of wrath, but God has wrath against real-world practices of injustice, and yearns for us to feel the same. ​

Because God so loves the world, he wills for its liberation. Judgment is an act of real love in Micah, a tearing down for the sake of building back up, to restore Israel as a community of flourishing. The Lord cannot dwell in a Zion built “with blood and Jerusalem with wrong.” Engaging in naming and resisting sin, including the sin of environmental degradation, is the most Christian of practices. As Esau McCaulley has said, “A Christian theology of human fallibility leads us to expect structural and personal injustice. It is in the texts we hold dear. So when Christians stand up against racialized oppression, they are not losing the plot; they are discovering an element of Christian faith and practice that has been with us since the beginning.” I love that language of plot because I hear it in conversation with the words of John Calvin, “The whole world is a theatre for the display of the divine goodness, wisdom, justice, and power.” Creation justice, just like racial justice, is not something new in the Christian tradition, only something unfamiliar to us. For the sake of our souls, it must be recovered. This week, I am asking myself what it means to call myself Christian, acknowledging that I may only ever be in the process of becoming Christian. I do not want to only know darkness, to have “no answer from God.” I want to know the abundant life God has in store for us through a spirit of justice. I pray for the courage to crucify the ways I harm God, human and non-human neighbor, knowing that resurrection, newness, and restoration are the promises of God, but only through the path of the cross.

Resources 
Articles: 
https://www.nytimes.com/2021/07/18/opinion/racism-christianity.html ​