The recent death of Pope Francis brings sadness and concern to many both inside and outside the Catholic faith. Among other things, his strong advocacy on behalf of the planet and all of its creatures will be missed. Other popes such as Pope John Paul II and Pope Benedict XVI (who was called the "green pope") also viewed the ecological crisis as a moral issue, pointing out the important connection between the care of creation and Christian faith. Pope Francis, however, modeled greater grassroots involvement and made "integral ecology" (which views the health of the earth and the health of people as one and the same thing) a priority of his papistry's message.

He traced the start of his "ecological conversion" back to what he learned from Brazilian bishops as they voiced concern about the state of the Amazon Rainforest. As he said in a 2018 conversation, he didn't initially understand their single-minded passion. Reflecting on a 2007 synod concerning the Amazon, he said, "I remember very well feeling annoyed by their attitude and commenting, 'These Brazilians are driving us crazy with their speeches!' At that time, I did not understand why our assembly of bishops had to devote itself to the theme of the Amazon; for me the health of the world's 'green lung' was not a concern, or at least I did not understand what it had to do with my role as bishop," but "much time has passed and my perception of the environmental problem has completely changed... we need to change our paradigms very quickly if we want to have a future," he said.

Today, I share a prayer from Laudato Si (Pope Francis' 2015 encyclical concerning Care for Our Common Home) and a short video from 2024. The prayer is the lesser known of two prayers written for the occasion and is intended for those of the Christian faith.

Let the images of this prayer touch your imagination. What image comes to mind when you picture yourself praising God with all of God's other creatures? Can you envision what it means that Jesus is alive in every creature? How strong of a bond do you feel to the rest of creation?

A Christian Prayer in Union with Creation - Laudato Si’
Father, we praise you with all your creatures.
They came forth from your all-powerful hand;
they are yours, filled with your presence and your tender love.
Praise be to you!

Son of God, Jesus,
through you all things were made.
You were formed in the womb of Mary our Mother,
you became part of this earth,
and you gazed upon this world with human eyes.
Today you are alive in every creature
in your risen glory.
Praise be to you!

Holy Spirit, by your light
you guide this world towards the Father’s love
and accompany creation as it groans in travail.
You also dwell in our hearts
and you inspire us to do what is good.
Praise be to you!

Triune Lord, wondrous community of infinite love,
teach us to contemplate you
in the beauty of the universe,
for all things speak of you.
Awaken our praise and thankfulness
for every being that you have made.
Give us the grace to feel profoundly joined
to everything that is.
God of love, show us our place in this world
as channels of your love
for all the creatures of this earth,
for not one of them is forgotten in your sight.

Enlighten those who possess power and money
that they may avoid the sin of indifference,
that they may love the common good, advance the weak,
and care for this world in which we live.
The poor and the earth are crying out.

O Lord, seize us with your power and light,
help us to protect all life,
to prepare for a better future,
for the coming of your Kingdom
of justice, peace, love and beauty.
Praise be to you!
Amen.

As you watch the short video below, allow the cry of the earth to reach your eyes, your ears, and your heart. Let the desperation being addressed seep into you. Listen and perhaps open yourself up to a deeper ecological conversion than you have already experienced and consider choices and changes you might make and advocate for.

Feel free to leave a comment below (you can sign in through your email) or contact me directly at louise.conner@circlewood.online.

Louise

Since we launched The Ecological Disciple four years ago on Earth Day 2021, we have published 307 pieces of writing through The Ecological Disciple. We are grateful to our readers, our contributing writers, and to those who helped us grow by reposting or forwarding our work to others. With this help, we have grown to 442 subscribers and are looking forward to another year of continuing this journey of ecological discipleship with you, our readers.

Below, we share five of our most-read published pieces from the past four years of publication along with some reasons why we think they have been so widely read and shared. For each of the pieces, we share a quote from the piece followed by a link to the entire piece for those who are intrigued by the excerpt.

Happy reading and Happy Earth Day!

James and Louise

Exodus 3-4: Call and Response

Our most-read piece to date is from James' series on the book of Exodus, the entire series of which has been very well-read. The link to this second part in the series was included in a regular column that curates posts on the intersection of faith and culture. We find that when links are shared, they regularly point people to us even years after the original post.

Moses lived in one of the most civilized societies of his time, yet it was also one of the most brutal - a paradox that, sadly, repeats itself through history. Leaving the civilized world opened Moses to new possibilities for himself and his place in the world, and to an encounter with the wild God of creation, who can never be civilized.

The Art of Creation: Leaf on Leaf, Stone on Stone

Our second-most read piece was written by Louise on the artist Andy Goldsworthy. It has been used as a reference in papers such as the one found here, has been shared multiple times on Facebook, and continues to be cited in other media.

By using the landscape as his material, he illustrates aspects of the natural world such as its colors, movement, and mutability but all in a way that incorporates his aesthetics. His work doesn't just mirror what you would find normally in nature, but transforms those natural materials into something different, creating a work of art that is made from nature and placed within it, but is also distinct from it. 

Practical Earthkeeping: Beyond Ziploc Bags

Another piece that resonates with many readers is our Practical Earthkeeping article on alternatives to ziploc bags, written by Jessalyn Gentry. Years after its original publication, people continue to read it, find it helpful, and pass it on to others.

Ziploc bags and similar storage products (like takeout containers) are incredibly useful around the house and in life, but they're not great for the environment: they're single-use, not recyclable, and can contain microplastics or other materials you probably don't want to ingest. In addition, they're expensive to continue buying over and over again. Thankfully, there are tons of alternatives readily available for packing a lunch to go, sharing leftovers with friends and family, freezing food, or storing things.

The Art of Creation: Standing in Place

This Art of Creation piece by Louise on the poem, "Lost," by David Wagoner has been quoted quite a few times (sometimes without citation) in other people's writing. Although there isn't always acknowledgment, people nonetheless continue to find and read the original piece on our website.

The poem Lost by David Wagoner, a Pacific Northwestern poet originally from the Midwest who died last month, speaks about the movement from being lost to being found—from disconnection and disorientation to connection and placement. This movement from one to the other is accomplished, ironically, according to the poem, by standing still.

The Power of Beauty in Troubled Times

James wrote this piece shortly after Russia had invaded Ukraine in March, 2022. We think it has been read so widely because of the continuing need people have to navigate difficult times with hope. This piece continues to encourage and resonate with readers three years after it was originally published.

To see that beauty endures, even if only as a memory, is a pathway to healing. It is also a pathway to hope, helping us see our existence beyond mere physicality, even as it roots us more deeply there. It speaks to things unseen, unknown, unrealized. It also keeps us open to the present, available to moments when God might break into our lives in new and fresh ways.

As a reminder, you can find all 307 pieces published by The Ecological Disciple on our website. Subscribe to receive each piece as they are published — at no cost! And, if you know others who might find the writing helpful, please pass it on.

Feel free to leave a comment below (you can sign in through your email) or contact James directly at james.amadon@circlewood.online or Louise at louise.conner@circlewood.online.

This is the fifth piece in my series, “The Journey of Ecological Discipleship." You can find the first four pieces HERE. As I wrote in my last piece, the journey has eight stages, and this piece looks deeper into the Resistance stage.

Thanks for reading! - James

The Seeds of My Resistance

Growing up in the little town of Lancaster, nestled in the Great North Woods of New Hampshire, I spent my childhood immersed in Church and Nature. Both filled me with awe and wonder, and invited me into a world full of beauty, meaning, and mystery. Many of my most vivid memories involve multi-sensory experiences in religion or the landscapes of my youth. Walking through the bright red doors of St. Paul's Episcopal Church on Christmas Eve, exchanging the cold winter darkness for the warm sanctuary softly lit by a hundred candles. The smell of the earth after summer thunderstorms soaked the river valley. The extravagant strangeness of the Pentecostal youth services I attended. The blankets of windless snow softly covering the town. For me, the world was, and is, full of wonders.

My early experiences in religion and the wonders of northern New England also fueled my natural inquisitiveness. Why can't we see God? Where does the river go once it flows under the Main Street bridge and curves out of sight? Why are there so many churches in one little town? Where do moose sleep at night?

As I grew older, my curiosity led me to learn that the world is also full of ugliness, waste, and abuse. My eyes were opened to the damage being done by human hands to this beautiful planet, and the terrible impact this was having on vulnerable ecosystems, creatures, and fellow humans.

New questions emerged. Why didn't I hear much about the natural world in the churches that nurtured me? Why did the schools I attended channel me towards "academic/intellectual" topics that prioritized the mind and away from "practical/physical" ones that also trained one's hands and feet? Why didn't I discover the world of ecotheology and creation spirituality until after seminary? In light of the growing knowledge we have about our impact on the Earth, why do we seem hellbent on a path of destruction and desecration? What does it mean to be a follower of Jesus in a time such as this? How does the world need to change? How does the Church need to change? How do I need to change?

As these questions piled up, I found that I could no longer accept the status quo. I found myself resisting the dominant theologies, cultural values, politics, and everyday practices that have brought us to this point. I started wondering if there was another way. All of this unfolded over the course of several years; it was unsettling, invigorating, and absolutely essential for the journey that lay ahead of me. Since then, I have met and helped many people going through similar journeys of resistance. Here are a few things I have learned.

It Takes Time

Going through a time of resistance can also be called by other names: deconstruction, disentanglement, maturation, waking up. It is a period when people realize that some of the foundational pillars of their lives, the ones that have helped them make sense of the world and allowed them to establish their identity and secure their place, may not be as strong as they believed them to be.

For people formed by Western culture, a key foundational pillar is a dualistic worldview that separates reality into distinct categories that are valued differently. For example, dualism privileges spiritual realities over material ones, and the mind over the body. Someone who has grown up in a dualistic culture may not even notice how much this philosophical framework is woven into every aspect of life. If you ask most Protestant or Catholic Christians, for instance, to describe where faithful believers ultimately end up, they will most likely describe a distant, bodiless heaven quite separate and distinct from earthly existence. But as one biblical scholar points, out, "It is absurd to think that Jesus died and rose again to save our souls – not our bodies and the whole creation. Why should Jesus rise physically to save us only spiritually? Do we really believe in resurrection – resurrection in space, time, and history? If so, how can we not believe in creation healed in space, time, and history?" (for more on this, see my piece, "A Different Destination").

When people begin to see the world through a more ecological lens - everything in creation is interconnected and interdependent - the dualistic framework begins to crack. They begin to see that, in the words of farmer, writer, and cultural critic Wendell Berry, dualistic culture has created “a cleavage, a radical discontinuity, between Creator and creature, spirit and matter, religion and nature, religion and economy, worship and work, and so on.” Once someone begins to see examples of dualistic thinking and living, it can be hard not to see it everywhere.

This process of noticing, questioning, resisting, and deconstructing a dualistic worldview takes time. When people find themselves in this stage, I encourage them not to race ahead to answers or alternatives. It is good to sit with the questions and live in the tension for a while. This can feel uncomfortable, so I also encourage people to periodically set the questions aside, make time for rest, and celebrate what is happening (even the hard stuff). I also remind people that they are not alone, and that there are many guides ready to help others navigate their way through.

Resistance Guides

There are many types of guides who are helping Christians see the world, and their faith, with fresh eyes. There are scientists like Dr. Katherine Hayhoe who, like the biblical prophets, have been warning us for years that unless we change our ways, we will cause irreparable harm to God's world. There are theologians like Dr. Norman Wirzba who are showing us that the vision of Scripture is of a unified, flourishing creation fully redeemed by God. There are cultural critics, like Wendell Berry, who expose the roots of our current crisis in ways that help us understand why things are the way they are.

There are also many people who may not have a public voice but have gone through their own journey of resistance and change. Most of these travelers are eager for conversation and open to giving a little guidance. They may be pastors leading local congregations, laypeople who think and act a little bit differently, or "misfits" who live on the edges of institutional life and practice. When people start waking up to reality, asking critical questions, and finding themselves resisting aspects of the status quo, chances are they will be able to find others near them who know a little about the path before them.

 
With you on The Way,
James

SPECIAL INVITATION: If you are on the "Journey" and trying to figure out how to bring others along with you in your church, ministry, or community, consider an upcoming learning retreat Circlewood is hosting on Camano Island. We will explore the stages in more depth, with special focus on your personal discipleship and leadership context. If you want to learn more, click on the image below.

In our oceans, there likely swims a shark that was alive when Shakespeare penned Macbeth - a creature reeking of urine, with worm-like copepods trailing from its eyes. In our clouds, there flits a bird that spends most of its life on the wing, flying the equivalent of five global circumnavigations each year. In our savannas, there lives a giant whose fifth limb holds 40,000 muscles and 2,000 olfactory receptors, communicating with its kin using ripples of infrasound from dozens of miles away.

Our world is populated by marvels, as much as any fairyland. The animals I mentioned above - the Greenland shark, the swift, and the elephant - are only three of the 23 species featured in Katherine Rundell’s modern bestiary, Vanishing Treasures.

As Rundell marvels at these creatures, she reflects that they “sound like fables we tell children,” when in reality, “it’s only that the real world is so startling that our capacity for wonder, huge as it is, can barely skim the edges of the truth” (Rundell 3-4). With each species she describes, from the wombat to the seahorse, bear, pangolin, tuna, lemur, and narwhal, it becomes clear that the more closely we inspect any part of this world, the more miraculous it becomes.

Wonder alone is reason enough to read Vanishing Treasures, but this book is also meant to inspire change. Every species Rundell describes is either endangered or has an endangered subspecies. For instance, along with her celebration of the pangolin’s scaly sphere of armor is her lament for its position as the world’s most trafficked animal, culled for its flesh and scales.

Often, such news will push us to paralyzed anxiety or flailing outrage, but Rundell insists that, if we’re to save these creatures, we must start by seeing them and learning to love them. “Fear and rage,” she claims, “will help galvanize us, but they will not suffice alone: our competent and furious love will have to be what fuels us” (188).

Some might dismiss this as sentimental. Yes, it’s incredible to imagine Atlantic bluefin tuna - which can grow to about twelve feet and over 1,400 pounds - charging “in vast shoals of five hundred and more” like “a migration of stampeding oceanic buffalo” (172-4), but do we really think that “loving” these tuna will stop restaurant chains like Nobu from selling them for an exorbitant profit?

It’s hard to say. Yet, at its root, overfishing represents a set of disordered loves, so reshaping our affections may be exactly what we need. If we really could teach the tuna barons to experience a deeper awe for the bluefin tuna, might they reconsider their actions? Might they be motivated to rearrange their passions so that they would prioritize long-term stability over short-term growth, and abundant life over mere profit? 

If so, then maybe Rundell is right that reshaping our loves can save the world’s species. Her essays on creatures like the stork, seal, giraffe, and hermit crab are poignant ways to strive for that. Are there other ways to pursue this? What further tools do we have to cultivate empathetic awe, a wonder that seeks to understand and serve other creatures? Different practices may work for different people, but I’ll share some of the things I’ve tried over the years.

The first thing - and the most obvious - is to spend time outdoors with other species. When I go on walks, I try to practice awe among the little details that catch my eye: the mosaic of tree bark, a frill of orange fungus, a trill of birdsong.

It’s even better if I can recognize and name the species. With a name comes familiarity, and with familiarity comes greater love. Written tools like species identification guides, or digital apps like Seek, iNaturalist, or Merlin, can be excellent ways to learn these names.

Another way to cultivate awe is imagination. One day, during my time interning with A Rocha USA in Florida, my supervisor (Dr. Robert Sluka) took me and the other interns out to the shore of Merritt Island, on Playalinda Beach, where he urged us to enter the inner being of a mole crab.

For context, mole crabs are small, pill-shaped creatures with close-tucked legs and stalk eyes, which burrow backward in the swash zone of the beach. We were studying their population distributions along Cape Canaveral, and Dr. Sluka insisted that, if we were to truly honor these creatures in our work, we had to understand something of what it was like to be a mole crab.

So, taking one of these skittering shells in my palm, I tried to project myself into the mole crab’s body. I imagined myself pressing backward into the sand, nestling my bony legs and hunched back beneath the slush. The gritty weight of sand comforted me, but I still felt the water pounding overhead, my armor shuddering at its joints. With each blow, I wondered whether this one might be the claw of a sandpiper, the spearing of a beak to tear me from the silt.

What was the point of this exercise, aside from proving that I’m totally unhinged? The purpose may not be to gain an accurate knowledge of how mole crabs perceive the world. Rather, I’m creating a narrative - a fiction, if you like - about the lived experience of another creature, so that when I look at these tiny scuttlers, I’m more likely to respond with compassion.

This is another theme that Rundell touches on throughout her book: the stories we tell about the world’s creatures have a profound impact on how we feel about them, for better or worse. At one point, she relates a folkloric tale about how the Hawaiian crow (or ‘alalā) serves as a guide for human spirits, leaping with them from the cliffs of Ka Lae to enter the afterlife. She concludes the chapter by writing, “if the ‘alalā are not saved… there will be no guides awaiting the souls at Ka Lae” (91).

When she shares these myths, Rundell isn’t pursuing scientific accuracy, but love and awe. She interweaves the stories of humanity with those of the more-than-human world, so that we can’t imagine a reality where they’re apart. In light of this, both writing and reading about the world’s species are crucial ways of developing our sense of wonder.

Too many of our world’s species face severe peril. Yet, we have so many tools at our disposal, from the mythic to the scientific, to cultivate empathetic awe: our focused, tender attention for the fleshly marvels that surround us, the many books, classes, and apps that teach us these creatures’ names and needs, and the inexhaustible depths of artistry, stories that remind us that our world is just as astounding as any fairyland.

All of these tools help us to better love these creatures, and with warmer hearts, we’ll have stronger hands to fight, protect, and restore.

Feel free to order your own copy of Vanishing Treasures: A Bestiary of Extraordinary Endangered Creatures, by Katherine Rundell. Half of all author royalties go towards sea- and land-based charities fighting against environmental degradation.

Thanks for reading my piece! If you have any thoughts you’d like to share about animals, writing, or empathetic awe, feel free to email me at “noah.guthrie@arocha.org.”

For any who feel led to give, most of the funding for my role with A Rocha USA comes from my personal fundraising efforts. You can find my fundraising page at the following link: https://arocha.us/guthrie.

Thanks you to everyone who responded to my invitation to step outside your door, notice what was there, and share what you found. The words and images which our readers sent in reinforce the truth that there is no place in this created world that is devoid of wonder. I hope you enjoy the "Wall of Wonders" that you will find below.

Kirsten Foot, Sovereign Lake Provincial Park, BC

It's a beautiful scene, but what struck me most was how the trail made by snowshoers earlier in the day beckoned to me. I felt grateful that some others had preceded me and made the way easier for me through this lovely forest. I was also thankful this forest has been spared from wildfires that scorched hundreds of acres in the region over the last few years.

Rosemary Green, New Zealand

I took the two photographs standing in my back garden in New Zealand last week. The sky was a series of these lovely puffs of cloud. Truly our world is beautiful.

Jessalyn Gentry, Teddy Bear Cove, Bellingham, WA.

Tide pooling is one of those activities that I don't always remember that I love doing, but then when I seek it out, I'm filled with awe, joy, and peace. The breeze off the water, the smell of the salt, the sound of the waves, and the wacky looking critters (sea stars, anemones, and sea cucumbers, specifically in the photos) all bring me to a place where I can easily find that sense of wonder.

Dinah Stinson, Whidbey Island, WA

Driftwood

The eyes and body of God
Infinite creativity
Transplant from the wild
My kin from the beach
SO THANKFUL

Melissa Layer, Port Townsend, WA

I resonate with the posture of the woman in the sculpture... Coming into contact so intimately with earth's body reminds me that I am not separate.

Jeff Reed, Grape Hyacinth, Sammamish, WA.

Jan Bowman, Brown Pelican Sculpture, Santa Cruz, CA.

My husband, Dean, and I decided to place the pelican in our front yard to remind us and anyone else who asked about it, that this at one time was an endangered bird.

Elaine Breckenridge, Indian Plum, Camano Island, WA

Spring Herald

The shortest
month of the year seems longest.
Light is still scarce.
The cold air chills the skin;
and the wind to the very bone.

Then on the longest day of the
shortest month-
what do I see
but a tiny bud?
Pulling on my coat,
I step out the door
and walk a straight line
right to the back of the yard.

It is! Not one, but,
many buds of new life.
Oh, thank you, Tree!

I proclaim in
image and word
that spring has sprung
in my blessed backyard.
The Indian Plum
Has bloomed,
yet again!

The humble
Indian Plum
has spoken.
“It’s time.
It’s now.
And You, my dear, must bloom
Exactly where you are planted.”
    © Elaine H. Breckenridge, March 2025

Jane Irwin, Jervis Bay, Point Perpendicular, NSW Australia

God’s creation nourishes our souls and for that I am so thankful.

Wendy Janzen, Kitchener, Ontario

Flowers, beacons of promise and new life after a long winter, and rabbit pellets as a reminder of the more-than-human neighbours I share this space with.

Martha Ellis, Coupeville, WA

Here are some pictures of things that caught my eye over the past weeks. The 'Kindness is Contagious' sign has been sitting at the end of our driveway for quite some time now - these were originally put out in support of Oak Harbor's SPiN Cafe ("Serving People in Need").

James Amadon, Camano Island, WA

Louise Conner, Bothell and Olympia, WA

May these images and words encourage you continue stepping outside your door and to fully notice what you find there!

Feel free to leave a comment below (you can sign in through your email) or contact me directly at louise.conner@circlewood.online.

Louise

This is the fourth piece in my series, “The Journey of Ecological Discipleship.” This piece introduces the eight stages in the journey - if you haven't had a chance to read the first three introductory pieces, you can find them HERE.

Thanks for reading! - James

Stage 1: Resist with Critique

While there is no set starting point for the journey, many take their first steps when they begin questioning and resisting the status quo. And even those who have traveled through all eight stages will eventually find themselves in this stage again. So, we begin here.

Each day brings more evidence of the ways in which we humans are warming the planet, degrading land and sea, reducing biodiversity, and hurting vulnerable people. In light of these crises, many followers of Jesus are asking critical questions about their faith and their faith communities. Such questions may include: What does the Bible have to say about the ecological problems we humans are causing? Why have many churches been slow to respond? Why do those who contribute the least to our environmental problems suffer the most from them? What cultural and political forces are invested in keeping things as they are? What needs to change? How have I contributed to the problem? How did we get to this point?

These critical questions lead to a clear conclusion: this is not the way it's supposed to be. For most people, it is at this point that clear sense of resistance begins to build. Those who are part of churches that ignore, minimize, or, in some cases, justify the harm done to creation may begin questioning those in authority and exploring more creation-centered theologies and faith communities. Others may dive into a particular ecological issue and learn about the people who are working to fix them. Most people will also turn their attention inward, assessing their own beliefs, attitudes and practices. Almost everyone begins to look for something to do - how do we fix this? Taking action is important, but for those who want to pursue deeper transformation, the most important step one can take is to enter the next stage.

Stage 2: Repent with Contrition

For ecological disciples, resistance leads to repentance. This includes reflecting on and expressing regret for the ways we have personally contributed to the problems we face, although it is more than this. Repentance in the fullest sense is a commitment to turn our lives and communities around, to reorient our values, priorities, and actions so they are in tune with God's heart and desire for creation. This involves saying "no" to much of the status quo, to turn away from cultural practices and theological systems that foster destruction and oppression. It also involves saying "yes" to alternatives - turning toward new forms of community, faith, and practice that nurture health, wholeness, and justice.

Repentance requires contrition; the deep feeling of remorse for wrongs that have been done. Though most of us would prefer to skip this part and move on, true sorrow turns us toward the pain and suffering of others, which for the ecological disciple includes the whole community of creation. Such sorrow softens our hearts and awakens our minds, helping us to see and feel more keenly what has been lost and who has been hurt. It also fortifies us for the journey ahead. When traveling through this stage, it is important not to rush. That said, eventually repentance requires us to get off our knees and get going. But to do so we must leave some baggage behind.

Stage 3: Release with Courage

To be open to new possibilities, it is important for ecological disciples to gather up everything that has rooted them in the status quo - the belief systems that grounded them; the communities that nurtured them; the path they were traveling on; the comforts and privileges that kept them safe - and release their grip on them. This does not mean that these things are of no value, or that they will not come back. They are released to God with trust that the Spirit will return what is needed and keep what is not.

People often find that there are a few things they are ready to release completely, like autumn leaves on a windy day. Other things may take more time to assess or be more difficult to let go. That is normal and understandable - holding our lives loosely is unsettling and a bit risky. Release takes time and courage. It puts our lives into the Creator's hands, making room within us for the transformative journey ahead. Letting go frees us to explore what comes next.

Stage 4: Rewild with Curiosity

When we release ourselves from what has held us, we are subsequently released to connect with and explore the wildness that runs through and surrounds us. This is rewilding, the process of rediscovering our existence as wild creatures within a wild creation. It entails exploring the wildness within each of us, dismantling the beliefs and practices that set us apart from creation. It also entails exploring the wider community of creation as participant, observer, and learner.

Rewilding requires curiosity, an openness to experience and explore life in ways that seek deep connection and understanding. Curiosity invites us to see ourselves, and the world, as infinitely interesting and full of mysteries - some that can be known and many that cannot. Ecological disciples are particularly curious to discover where God's presence has seeped into the wild spaces of our souls and landscapes, drawing us ever deeper into the Wild Mystery at the heart of creation. Rewilding retunes us to the symphony of creation and prepares our hearts and minds for new possibilities.

Stage 5: Reimagine with Childlikeness

Rewilding reminds us that God has created an open world, full of possibilities, and invites us into the important work of imagination. In this stage, ecological disciples explore new ideas for faith and practice. They ask, "What if...?", and see what possibilities emerge. They experiment with new practices, seeing what works and what does not without the pressure of getting it all right.

"Unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of God" (Matt 18:3).

Engaging the imagination is an act of play and requires a childlike approach. In this stage, there is freedom to wonder and wander, to shed the constrictions and conventions that keep imagination in check. This playful engagement of our imaginations is joyful fun and serious work. As we move through this stage, specific ideas and practices begin to coalesce into a sense of calling - people begin to discover the particular changes they want to incorporate into their lives and communities. At this point, those on the journey may begin to think about the return journey, but there is still more traveling to do before the turn towards home.

Stage 6: Reintegrate with Coherence

In every journey, there comes a time to reflect on where we have been, what we have experienced, how we have changed, and how we have stayed the same. This is the work of reintegration, the process by which ecological disciples look back on the path they have travelled and remember the twists they encountered, the struggles they went through, the surprises they encountered, and the discoveries they made. They may begin to see how their relationship to creation and Creator has changed, sometimes in radical and surprising ways. They may also see how much they have changed and look on themselves with new eyes and grateful hearts.

Internally, this is a stage in which travelers seek coherence, the piecing together of experience into a unified whole. Coherence creates inner strength and peace that helps us find our place and role in creation. This does not mean that all questions are answered and the way forward is clear; more often than not, coherence comes from accepting reality in all its complexity and mystery. In the midst of such complexity and mystery, inner coherence reminds ecological disciples that they are welcome, loved, and called, and that this will not change no matter where the path ahead may lead.

Stage 7: Return with Courage

"We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time."

T.S. Eliot, from “Little Gidding,” Four Quartets (Gardners Books; Main edition, April 30, 2001) Originally published 1943.

Most journeys of transformation eventually lead travelers back to where they began. But they do not come back the same person, and their home no longer looks the same. Going home after a time of change can be unsettling. Will it still feel like home? How do we tell people about our journey? Will our communities, especially those we love, accept the new us? Will we slip back into old identities and habits? What do we do now?

Like the releasing stage, returning requires courage. Those on the journey may discover they are no longer in the center of their community, and they may feel like outsiders. Relationships may need reexamining, repairing or reforming; some may need to be released. Those returning home have experiences, insights, and gifts to share, and it takes courage to do so without knowing for sure how one will be received. But chances are there will be at least a few people ready to listen and join in - companions for the new journey that begins when we return home.

Stage 8: Reform with Conviction

Having returned home, ecological disciples look for opportunities to share the story, raise awareness, and advocate for change. What to focus on and how to go about it will be unique to each person. Some people are comfortable standing up and standing out; they don't mind stirring things up and don't get too bothered by opposition. Some people are gatherers; they organize groups, build coalitions, and systematically create change that will last. Some people prefer behind the scenes work; they like to meet with people one-on-one, and they tend to get things done quietly without much attention.

A diversity of gifts and approaches are helpful and welcome in the work of reform; what ties ecological disciples together in bringing about change is conviction, the inner strength and fortitude that keeps reformers going in the face of opposition, loneliness, and fatigue. Having a strong sense of conviction doesn't mean bulldozing others or ceasing to listen and learn; it means trusting that the journey we have been on, the changes we have made, the hopes we carry, and the new ideas we share are worth pursuing today and tomorrow. Such conviction is rooted in love, which is offered freely and generously to the places and people we call home.

Two Important Additions

While traveling through the eight stages, which may happen in a linear fashion or more haphazardly, it is important to take time for Rest with Celebration. The Journey of Ecological Discipleship can be long and tiring; it is important to remember God's call to regular rest - Sabbath - which allows travelers to pause their striving, connect with creation, and rest in God's grace and provision. Such rest also invites us to celebrate the inherent goodness of the world, and all the ways God blesses our lives and our journeys.

It is also important to remember that this pilgrimage is never really complete - it is a journey that travelers Repeat with Consistency. Ecological disciples who go through the eight stages and return home will, at some point, hear the call to get up and go again. Our lives and communities may have slid again into stagnation; there may be something new for us to discover; we may be called to lead others on the journey.

Each journey we take will be different, but the more people move through the stages, the more the terrain becomes familiar, enabling those who continue down the path to receive the transformative gifts that await.

 
With you on The Way,
James

SPECIAL INVITATION: If you are on the "Journey" and trying to figure out how to bring others along with you in your church, ministry, or community, consider an upcoming learning retreat Circlewood is hosting on Camano Island. We will explore the stages in more depth, with special focus on your personal discipleship and leadership context. If you want to learn more, click on the image below.

In the early 1970’s, environmental concern was quickly rising. Rachel Carson’s 1962 book, Silent Spring (which I wrote about here), alerted millions to the dangers of pesticides and pointed out that decisions based on partial knowledge and expediency could have collateral consequences worse than the problems being addressed.

Images from left: Cuyahoga River in flames due to oily waste and debris; middle: The George Washington Bridge in Heavy Smog, 1973, Chester Higgins; right: Santa Barbara Oil Spill, 1969

In addition, a devastating oil spill coated the water and coastline near Santa Barbara, California; an oil-slicked river in Ohio (the Cuyahoga) habitually burst into flames; smog enveloped cities (with at least two smog episodes in New York killing over 200 people each), hazardous lead levels were discovered in Central Park; omnipresent litter stacked up along America's roadways. All this precipitated a skyrocketing public concern. Between 1965 and 1970, the percentage of Americans believing that pollution was a serious problem rose from one-third to 70%.

In late 1970, this rising concern led a reluctant President Richard Nixon to take action. Rather than ceding the popular issue to a political opponent, Nixon chose to address these rising concerns, and the EPA was created.

Nixon presented Congress with a 37-point message on the environment and the Council of Environmental Quality was established (still intact, but currently leaderless) as part of the National Environmental Policy Act (NEPA), with the purpose to consider how to organize federal government programs designed to reduce pollution.

Momentum continued to grow throughout 1970, with the first Earth Day on April 22^nd drawing 20 million people (or 10% of the U.S. population at the time). After hearings in the Senate and House, the Environmental Protection Agency was established in December of 1970 to consolidate the enforcement of regulation in the areas of water pollution, air pollution, solid waste management, parklands and public recreation, and organizing for action.

Formerly, these responsibilities lay largely with the states, a system that had proved ineffective in fighting threats against the environment. The state-run system failed because the ability to do research and share knowledge was severely limited, state-by-state regulations created artificial borders of regulations which environmental impacts didn't stay within, and varying regulations led to unethical corporations shopping around to find the state with the least oversight—not a formula for decision-making that prioritized a healthy environment. The current idea of turning environmental control over to the states isn't new—it would actually be returning to the broken system that the EPA was created to replace.

One of the things the first director of the EPA, William Ruckelshaus, recognized was the importance of having public sentiment backing up the agency. Navigating between business interests and environmental concerns would be difficult; illuminating the needs so that the public would continue to support and drive the movement would be crucial to maintaining the strength of the agency. 

Thus, in November 1971, the newly created Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) announced a huge photodocumentary project to record changes in the American environment. Documerica employed 100 photographers to document the U.S.'s rapidly decaying natural environment. More than 80,000 images were submitted, 20,000 of which were included in the final collection. A few of these are featured below. The remaining can be found here.

Images: Hollywood freeway, May 1972, Gene Daniels; Hillside dump, May 1972, Gene Daniels; Abandoned car in Jamaica Bay, 1973, Arthur Tress; Trash and Tires in Baltimore Harbor, Jim Pickerell, 1973; Scum along shore, May 1972, Belinda Rain; Smog, May 1972, Gene Daniels; Sulfur dusting of grape vines, May 1972, Gene Daniels; Burning Discarded Automobile Batteries, 1973, Marc St. Gil; Jar of undrinkable water from well near coal mine, 1973, Eric Calonius

The preponderance of these images showed environmental degradation, boosting people’s recognition of the need for regulations and enforcement.

Requiring industries to take responsibility for cleaning up the messes they made was imperative for dealing with environmental issues, since one factory or mine or project could cause tremendous damage. Enforcement was needed so that industries would invest the money and effort needed to address the problems they were creating.

The responsibility of the individual was also part of the equation. As one history of the EPA says, "Environmentalists versed in ecology had recognized that when it came to pollution, humans were often victims and villains simultaneously. In the case of urban smog, many of those who complained about the health and aesthetic effects of air pollution commuted to work in the very automobiles largely responsible for the problem."

Experimental housing near Taos, New Mexico, David Hiser, 1974; Closeup of a Sign to Pass Emission and Safety Tests, 1975, Lyntha Scott Eiler; Cleaning Up the Roadside in Onset, 1973, Ernst Halberstadt

Documerica certainly wasn't the core work of the EPA, but it was a strategic way to show how necessary that core work of research, documentation, regulation, and enforcement was in the effort to have a healthy environment.

Since its founding, it has been expected that the EPA would expand and address new threats to the environment as they became known. Thus, climate change, one of the most dire modern threats to the environment, logically came under the EPA’s purview, and its recent removal from the EPA’s website is very worrisome.

In addition, the work being done by the EPA in areas of environmental justice has prioritized communities most overburdened by pollution (such as areas in Appalachia), where community members often do not have the money or power to fight for their right to clean water, air, and soil. With the current DEI pullbacks, much of this work has been put on hold or cancelled.

I am struck by the aptness of this verse from Ezekiel:

Ezekiel 34: 18 - Is it not enough for you to feed on the good pasture? Must you also trample the rest of your pasture with your feet? Is it not enough for you to drink clear water? Must you also muddy the rest with your feet? 

Perhaps we need an updated Documerica project—one that shows current crises such as plastic pollution, damage to the land done by fracking and drilling, and the intensification of wildfire, flooding, and storms due to climate change. Or perhaps this is not even enough. With it becoming more and more apparent that one country’s actions affect places beyond their borders, perhaps we need a Docuworld instead.

Feel free to leave a comment below (you can sign in through your email) or contact me directly at louise.conner@circlewood.online.

Louise

A final call! If you would like to respond to the invitation in my last post to send in a photo you had taken of something "outside your door," do so by Friday and I will include what you send within the wonderful collection I have already received from readers.

I am returning from my two-month writing sabbatical from The Ecological Disciple during a disturbing time in my country. Drastic and, in my mind, rash, changes to immigration policies, firings of federal workers and suspensions of grants and programs, reductions in environmental protections, increased marginalization of the vulnerable, and the treatment of traditional allies and friends as if they were adversaries are some of the dismaying changes that have me reeling.

The Practice of Prayer

In looking for more healthy ways to respond to these accumulating concerns, I am beginning a practice that I hope will be a better way of grappling with them. When I hear news that disturbs me, I am trying to make prayer my first response.

By responding first with prayer, it means my first conversation is with God so that I may be more open to God's guidance in any action I might take. Because I believe that God listens when we pray, I believe my prayer achieves something even if that is the only step I take.

Today I share a prayer for those who have power and those who have little power, the physical needs of so many, and those who have the ability to ameliorate those needs. I find the prayer helpful in that it addresses underlying attitudes toward other people and the earth as well as the practical results that come out of those attitudes. May we continue to find healthy responses to what disturbs us in our neighborhoods, countries, and world.

Prayer of Intercession

We pray for the church, called to be a witness to all peoples. Grant humility and wisdom to bishops, pastors, deacons, elders, councils, and congregations, that they may call upon you in making decisions. God, in your mercy, receive our prayer.

We pray for the earth, called to provide abundantly. Teach your people the goodness of your generosity, that in sharing what we have been given, all life may flourish on the planet that is our shared home. God, in your mercy, receive our prayer.

We pray for the nations, called to protect their inhabitants and collaborate in the work of justice and peace. Forge bonds of compassion and mutual care across human borders and boundaries, that all the world may have enough to live. God, in your mercy, receive our prayer.

We pray for those in need, called to receive your compassion. Comfort those whose lives have been disrupted through natural disasters and human conflict. Aid communities in coming together to mourn, heal, and rebuild. God, in your mercy, receive our prayer.

We pray for food pantries, community gardens and kitchens, clean water projects, and all ministries that address human hunger and thirst. God, in your mercy, receive our prayer.

We give thanks for the faithful lives of those who proclaimed your gospel in times of challenge and strife, and for all those whose lives of love and service have ended. May their witness inspire our own. God, in your mercy, receive our prayer.

Receive the prayers of your people and draw all things together in your love, in the name of Jesus, who leads us from death to life.

Amen.
    From sundaysandseasons.com,© 2025 Augsburg Fortress.

In addition to the practice of prayer, my second goal is to be receptive to other actions I might take in response to the news I hear, such as a donating toward whatever is being threatened, attending a public protest, putting up a sign in my yard, writing a letter or post—in short, finding some way of taking action to counter what I see as injustice, irrationality, or short-sightedness. To me, prayer is an action that leads naturally to other actions.

A Second Invitation

Additionally, I offer another suggestion for handling disturbing circumstances. A common theme I hear from people about how they're dealing with these troubling times is that being outside listening and seeing the natural world alive and active around them is helpful in resetting their perspective. This leads into the invitation I said I would issue when I returned to writing this column.

At the beginning of January, I invited readers to take intentional notice of this world we inhabit by welcoming the sights, sounds, smells, tastes and feel of this world. When we give our attention to something, a truer assessment of its value is impressed upon us. So, I invited readers to step outside their door, perhaps bring along a camera (or a pen and paper) to chronicle whatever captured their attention and admiration. I said I would share those with other readers of this journal when I returned to writing.

Now that my sabbatical has ended, I am formally reissuing this invitation. I invite you to step outside your door, notice what is there, and take a photo/write a poem/make a drawing of it so others can notice what you have noticed. Send it in to me by March 27th and I will create a post that is a collection of what has been sent. I am eager to see and share what you find outside your door for I believe that there is no place in this created world that is devoid of wonder if we look for it.

Feel free to leave a comment below (you can sign in through your email) or contact me directly at louise.conner@circlewood.online.

Louise

This third piece in my series, “The Journey of Ecological Discipleship,” focuses on shared characteristics of the journey. You can check out the the first two HERE.

Thanks for reading - James.

A Pattern Emerges

Think about a journey that was transformative for you: your first week away at summer camp, an extended hiking trip in the wilderness, figuring out how to find your way around a city, traveling to a foreign country, getting married, moving, getting divorced, starting a new career. What was that journey like? What hopes and fears did you bring to it? What did you learn along the way? Who journeyed with you? In what ways did the journey change you?

Although everyone's experience is unique, transformative journeys tend to follow a pattern. A significant disruption, sometimes by choice, sometimes not, compels us to leave the place and community we call home (literally and/or figuratively) and set off on a journey. We find ourselves in new territory that tests our strength and skill, challenges our preconceptions, forces us to confront new ideas, people, and experiences, and requires us to change. When (if) we return home, we come back a different person, ready to live in a new way.

The journey of ecological discipleship follows this pattern, inviting those who hear the call to leave home, traverse new territory, and return home more deeply connected to oneself, one's community, the earth, and God. I have had the privilege to accompany many people on this journey, and have observed enough similarities to chart out a basic course and describe the distinct terrain as a way to help travelers find their way. Here are some common characteristics.

The Journey Is Inward and Outward.

Ecological discipleship is an inward journey that invites us to look within and know ourselves as creatures within the community of creation. It calls us to greater depths of personal attention, care, and love, to nurture the deep place within each of us that is intimately connected to Creator and creation. At the same time, it is an outward journey that calls us to intentional immersion in the world around us. This involves, as much as possible, time spent enjoying, learning about, and caring for the particular landscapes and ecosystems which make our lives possible. It may also involve traveling and exploring new landscapes, not as a tourist but as a pilgrim and student.

The Journey is not Linear, Smooth, or Fast.

While the journey has a basic progression, most people do not move through the stages in smooth succession. Journeys are unpredictable; like any good transformative experience, there are surprises along the way. People sometimes discover that they love a particular stage of the journey and linger longer than they had planned. (Some even decide to settle down and stay there). People also encounter unexpected challenges - some internal, some external. It is often these challenges that prove the most transformative. And while many aspects of the journey can be experienced in one day (see the story of Jesus' Transfiguration in Matt 17:1-9), ecological discipleship is a lifetime endeavor.

The Journey Is Individual and Communal.

Each person must navigate the journey for themselves, and there are times when we need to embrace solitude and travel alone for a while. But having a companion to travel with, or a whole community, is preferable. Discipleship is meant to be cultivated in and for community. Even when a solo journey is called for, it is always with the goal of returning to one's community as a blessing.

As theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote, "Let him who cannot be alone beware of community... Let him who is not in community beware of being alone."

The Journey Has Eight Stages

There are eight distinct stages in the journey of ecological discipleship. Each has its own features, or terrain, and requires different things from those who are traveling through. Although the stages have a logical order, ecological disciples often have different starting points and move around the stages quite freely. That said, most of the people I work with start out in stage one, so it is listed first.

Stage 1. Resist with Critique
Stage 2. Repent with Contrition
Stage 3. Release with Courage
Stage 4. Rewild with Curiosity
Stage 5. Reimagine with Childlikeness
Stage 6. Reintegrate with Coherence
Stage 7. Return with Courage
Stage 8. Reform with Conviction

You'll note that each stage begins with a word that starts with "re" and ends with a word that starts with "c." The "re" words remind us that we are not after something new - the journey is about rediscovering our true nature and calling. The "re" words also represent the outward focus of each stage. The "c" words represent the inner dimension of each stage - what is required of us as we navigate a particular leg of the journey.

My next piece will describe the stages in more detail. Until then, here are a few questions for reflection. I'd love to hear your answers - you can post in the comments, or reach out to me directly at james.amadon@circlewood.online.

 
With you on The Way,
James

SPECIAL NOTE: I am leading an upcoming week-long learning retreat exploring these themes. If you want to learn more, click on the image below.

This is the second piece in my series, “The Journey of Ecological Discipleship.” You can read the introduction HERE.

World Making

What does it mean to be alive on this planet at this particular time? Our answers to that question create our worldview, the way we make sense of our lives. A worldview is made up of the places we live, the relationships we have, the events we go through, the knowledge we gain, and the choices we make. When we piece all of this together into some kind of cohesive whole, a "world" comes into being. We do this as individuals, but we do not start with a blank canvas. In large part, we inherit the worldview of the people who raise us, the communities that teach us, the culture that shapes us, and the historical forces that act upon us. We can "live in our own world" to some extent, but our common worldview is shaped by forces far larger and stronger than our own experience.

The interpretive lens of our worldview is so constant that we are often unaware of it - we simply go about our days assuming that how we have pieced together our understanding of life corresponds with reality. But sometimes we experience a growing sense that there is something deeply wrong with our world. We may find ourselves questioning core beliefs, resisting expectations, and challenging established patterns of behavior. We may begin to wonder if a better world is possible. If this has ever happened to you, it may help to unpack the common worldview that has shaped so much of our experience.

The Human-Centered World

For the past 500 or so years – what is often called “Modernity” or “the Modern Era,” a dominant worldview has profoundly shaped how we understand our lives. In the value system of this worldview, we have placed ourselves at the center of existence – everything revolves around us. In the way power and privilege are understood, we have taken the top spot - everything is controlled by and for us.

This anthropocentric (the fancy word for human-centered) perspective has shaped every aspect of how we make sense of our lives, how we organize our communities, how we relate to the more-than-human world, and how we make decisions. In other words, it has created the dominant culture which has guided human life for the past five centuries. It is so pervasive that we are often completely unaware of its presence and power.

When we begin to notice the power and ubiquity of the human-centric worldview, however, we start to see its influence everywhere. In politics, we see how human life has been organized, and power distributed, in ways that elevate human needs and desires above those of other creatures and threaten the health of land, air, sea, and sky. In economics, we see how value is assigned in increasingly narrow and abstract ways, separated from physical goods, services, labor, and land. In technology, we see how humans exert extensive power in the world through tools designed to overcome natural limits and obstacles. In religion, we see how God's presence and purpose is restricted to human relationships and how God’s power is directed toward human benefit.

Taken together, we see a worldview designed to assert and maintain human dominance and control.

A New World(view) Comes into Being

In the early 1500's, the Italian astronomer Nicolaus Copernicus sensed that there was something wrong with the worldview of his time. A central belief was that the earth was the center of the universe. Copernicus’ observations of the night sky, and subsequent mathematical work, shattered this belief by demonstrating that the earth revolved around the sun. His discovery shook the world and challenged humanity to find better ways to describe reality, and to rethink their place and purpose.

We are in the midst of a similar revolution of understanding, though this one is more terrestrial than astronomical. The science of Ecology is challenging the long-held notions of Modernity regarding nature and human nature. We can no longer believe that we are at the center of earthly existence - life would go on without us, and yet our own lives could not continue without the presence and gifts of other creatures, as well as the earth itself. We can no longer claim the right to exert control over other creatures and the earth - the disastrous results of our efforts to do so are compounding daily. Thanks in part to the insights of ecotheology, we can no longer claim that this is the type of world God blesses and intends. The world that is emerging shows us that everything in creation is stitched together like a living web (an insight that indigenous groups have known for millennia).

This ecological revolution demands that we ask important questions. If we are not at the center of existence, set apart as radically unique creatures in a world designed for us, then what are we? If we are, in fact, embedded in a grand web of life, how might we recognize our uniqueness but place it in the service of that web (or what we might call "the community of creation"). If there is no hierarchy of being, and our lives are truly dependent on the lives of other creatures and the earth itself, how might we live in gratitude and reciprocity? 

These are questions that shake the foundation of the modern worldview, a worldview we must leave behind.

To Leave or Not to Leave

When the worldview that has made sense of life is challenged, it can be tempting to respond with resistance. This is understandable - we can feel destabilized and scared. Better to hold on to what we have known, even if there are things we realize are not right. This is particularly true if that worldview has been good to us!

In fact, people who have benefited the most from a particular worldview often try desperately, sometimes violently, to hold on to it. They may vilify those who challenge the status quo, denouncing their claims and denigrating their character. This is what happened with Copernicus, who was roundly condemned and did not live to see his theories widely accepted. This is also happening in my home country, the United States, where many new leaders of our federal government deny the reality of climate change and denigrate the scientists, policy makers, and community leaders who are sounding the alarm and working to protect vulnerable people and places. To a much smaller extent, I have experienced this response in Christian circles when I invite people to explore creation-centric theological perspectives, biblical interpretation, and church practices.

A different response involves letting go and opening up to new ideas and possibilities. It takes courage, curiosity, and imagination to leave one worldview in search of another. But setting aside what has been, while still unsettling, opens new possibilities. What might we imagine?

Can we imagine our politics oriented toward seeking the common good for all creatures? Can we imagine economic relationships that take into account the health of the land, air, sea and sky? Can we imagine technology that assists in the earth's healing and helps us set wise limits on our consumption? Can we imagine religion that reconnects humans to the earth and our common Creator?

Imagining the world as it could be is a significant part of the journey of ecological discipleship. In my next piece, we will look at all eight stages of the journey. Until then, please take a moment to think about the reflection questions below. I'd love to hear your answers. As always, I can be reached at james.amadon@circlewood.online.

 
With you on The Way,
James

Happy New Year! If you have been reading The Ecological Disciple for a while, you may have noticed that I have not published anything new for about six months. The primary reason is that, in my role as Executive Director of Circlewood, I have been overseeing the construction of the first building of Circlewood Village. This is a significant step in our vision to create a unique center for learning, transformation, and innovation within Circlewood's 40-acre forest on Camano Island.

The building will be called The Sine Center for Ecological Learning, in honor of visionaries Tom and Christine Sine, who initially purchased the land, got the vision going, and then generously passed it on to Circlewood. Tom and Christine continue to do visionary work, and I am so glad that they remain involved with Circlewood.

 
These past months have been an intense time of learning, problem-solving, and, at times, exhaustion. As we near the end of the construction phase, I'm pleased with the results and excited about the possibilities for learning and connection that are emerging. I am also eager to catch my breath and return to regular writing. It has been quite a journey! Speaking of journeys....

My Theme for 2025: The Journey of Ecological Discipleship

In my work with Circlewood, I have the privilege of working with a diverse array of people and organizations that are doing wonderful work to care for the earth, meet human needs, and move humanity in a more sustainable direction. We work with traditional churches across the theological and denominational spectrum, as well as exploratory communities on the edges of Christianity. We are part of interfaith groups from various religious traditions and have developed relationships with several Indigenous leaders and communities. We also work with corporate groups, civic institutions, government agencies, and a variety of non-profit organizations.

All of these friends and partners are contributing to what Thomas Berry has called the "Great Work" of our time, even though they bring to the work a wide variety of values, beliefs, and motivations. I have found this diversity of friends and partners refreshing and enlightening. I have also found it difficult, at times, to discern Circlewood's place and purpose within this diversity; what is our particular vocation within the Great Work? We are comfortable in a diverse array of settings but not quite at home in any of them. We often find ourselves moving quickly between groups and communities, adapting to different frameworks, language, and priorities. This can make it difficult to explain to people who we are. It can also be tiring, and I have often wondered if Circlewood should just pick one community to work with and to call home.

A few months ago, however, it occurred to me that the challenge of navigating these different communities and environments has shaped our vocation in a profound way. We are calling people to embark on a journey of discipleship that questions the status quo, explores new ideas and practices, and seeks deeper connection with God and the community of creation. It is a journey that reimagines what it means to be a follower of Jesus in a world that is thoroughly interconnected, and reforms faith in ways that bring healing to the world.

For many, this is new terrain, and guides are needed to help plan for and navigate the journey. It is exciting to see the way in which I, and Circlewood, have been prepared over the years for this guiding role. We are not experts - we are on the journey as well - but we have learned a lot along the way and are ready to guide others as they set out on this exciting and important adventure - the journey of ecological discipleship.

An Invitation

Over the course of this year, I'll be writing about the contours of this journey. No two journeys are exactly alike, but there is a common pattern to journeys of transformation that occur across time and cultures. We will explore eight distinct stages/movements through which ecological disciples travel. We will identify the external and internal journey required for each of these stages. We will look at key practices that help us navigate and learn as we progress. We will make connections to scripture and tell stories that instruct and inspire us. We will identify people and communities who can guide us through each particular stage.

I invite you to join me as we explore this journey together. I will be asking questions with each piece I write and inviting you to share your experience. As always, I can be reached at james.amadon@circlewood.online.

 
With you on The Way,
James

For the next few weeks, I will be on a mini sabbatical from writing this column.  During that time, we will continue to send weekly emails from The Ecological Disciple as my fellow-writer, James, regularly shares thoughts and insights through his Monday column.

In preparing to take some time away from The Art of Creation, I've been thinking about what I wanted to leave you, our readers, with—perhaps a book recommendation, a piece of art, or a word of encouragement. What I've decided on is an invitation to explore the "book" just outside your door at least a little bit each day.

I've found this "book" to be full of surprise, beauty, drama, and even humor, enthralling if read intently and openly. One of the best things is that its illustrations are exceptional. In fact, just like real life! In my own experience, time spent keeping company with this intricate world can be a powerful way of encountering the Creator, seeping in like water trickling through a rockfall.

A couple of years ago, my family and I were shaken up by hard circumstances and I found myself waking up every morning with a feeling of deep dread toward the new reality. Every morning my first thoughts tilted toward what we were in the midst of. When I rose, it felt like there was an unbelievably heavy weight attached to my heart, my mind, and my body.

About a week into this, when the grief (and anger) were still very, very fresh, I walked outside and encountered the most amazing icicle I had ever seen. It cascaded off the roof of the eaves of our church building, draped itself over and down the branches and trunk of the evergreen tree below until it finally ended on the ground beneath.

It was huge, but it wasn't just its size that caught my attention and fascination. It was quirky and elaborate. It was sharp in parts, smooth in others. The whole of it looked like a huge, crazy chandelier and each bit of the icicle was like a pendant, intriguing me to view it from all sorts of different angles. It was massive enough to cover huge branches, and yet delicate enough to surround a single thin twig in its casing.

Its beauty jolted me out of current circumstances and ushered me into an experience of curiosity and loveliness. It gave me a taste of delight and reminded me what that tasted like. Frankly, I was awestruck and that moment of awe was a reprieve from the weight that was so heavy.

I wanted to see it from every angle. I wanted to see it as a whole and see all its separate parts. It intrigued and amazed me. It reminded me that there were other emotions besides sadness—feelings of joy and amazement—and that I could still experience these.

The icicle was a gift that pointed me to a God who creates beauty and who implants the ability to enjoy that beauty; I was given the gift of being awestruck.

My Invitation

So, over the next few weeks, I invite you to take intentional notice of this world we inhabit. When you step outside your door, consciously open yourself up to what is around you, welcoming the sights, sounds, smells, tastes and feel of this world. Make room for the surprise and delight that you might experience as a result. Make space for a bit of "unproductive" and unplanned time.

When you step outside, there is something wonderful to be seen and experienced no matter the season or place and immersing yourself in it can be healing.

Have you noticed how a raindrop gathers itself before it falls from one leaf to another? Have you seen the way the clouds layer themselves on top of each other? Have you been still enough to hear the woodpecker drum on the tree trunk?

As part of this practice of stepping outside, consider bringing along a camera (or a pen and paper) to chronicle whatever captures your attention and admiration—and perhaps sharing it with other readers of this journal when I return.

If and when you find yourself interested or fascinated or touched by what you notice, try to slow down and notice the details—taking a photo may be a discipline that helps you with this. Not everything can be captured by a camera, but I encourage you to try.

At the end of my sabbatical, I will extend an invitation for readers to send in their photos for a post that combines all these various wonders into a collection, but if you would like to send them to me as you take them, that's fine, too. I will gather and hold them until I am back writing again.

In the meantime, enjoy the start of a new year. I look forward to seeing what you find outside your door.

Feel free to leave a comment below (you can sign in through your email) or contact me directly at louise.conner@circlewood.online.

Louise

Today I share a prayer for advent from the Laudato Si Movement. This prayer reminds us of the reality of the Incarnation and how that incarnation demonstrates honor and love for all of the created world, human and non-human.

When Jesus was born on Earth, it was love that birthed that coming and through that coming, the earth became his home, too. As I have enjoyed the many wonders and gifts of this natural world, so too has he. As I have loved this creation, so has he, but even more so, for he came to be its savior.

When we act in ways that show love toward this world and all that is in it, we honor Jesus and his Incarnation as well as creation. Since the creation was worthy of his presence upon it, it is certainly worthy of our utmost love, care, and concern.

Does the Incarnation of Jesus affect your perspective of the creation?

Dear God, our Creator,
 
You revealed your love to us and creation once and for all through the coming of our Savior, Jesus Christ. By the grace of Your Creator Spirit, teach us to celebrate our faith in the Incarnation that took place in creation.
 
Dear Jesus, Savior of creation, we ask that You may be born in us once again as we seek to cultivate hope for our common home. As Your followers, teach us to care for the dignity of all human beings and all creation, now and in the future.
 
In a season too often marked by overconsumption and excess, let us give thanks and honor the goodness of all your gifts in the natural world. Help us to contemplate the mystery of creation as we celebrate the mystery of incarnation.
 
We pray for today’s victims of global warming, both human and nonhuman. We pray for more ambition in the energy transition, in this country and globally. We pray for our governments to negotiate a global and fair phase-out of fossil fuels.
 
And, finally, we pray for the courage to be prophets of our time, calling upon our leaders to bear fruits of ecological justice.
 
Come Emmanuel! Make us ever more hopeful people for a hopeful planet. Let us be part of Your light of hope to the world.
 
Amen.

Feel free to leave a comment below (you can sign in through your email) or contact me directly at louise.conner@circlewood.online.

Louise

We welcome back regular contributor to The Ecological Disciple, Noah Guthrie. Born in Scotland, raised in Nashville, Noah serves as A Rocha USA’s Nashville Conservation Coordinator.

I wasn’t prepared for the chickens. There they were, warbling and bustling in a swirl of black and ginger feathers, while the red-brick front of Madison Church of Christ stood just a parking lot away. Extending past the chickens’ wire enclosure were rows of emerald, bristle-palmed crops, arcing trellises, and starbursts of tiny red flowers.

For years, a small team of volunteers from Madison Church of Christ has maintained this vegetable garden. They pick from its stalks and vines, feed the goldfish glinting in their aquaponic crates, and spin their hefty composters, which digest whatever can’t be tossed to the chickens. Out of this little network of soil and sun, of water, leaf, gill, and beak, eggplants bubble up, as well as zucchini, bell peppers, jalapeños, pumpkins, green beans, and tomatillos.

This space - called the “Roots Garden” - is a refuge for plants and pollinators, and its crops help to feed low-income and unhoused individuals surrounding Madison Church of Christ as well. In other words, this congregation blesses both their human community and their broader ecosystem, all by tending well to their soil.

Around mid-August, this church joined three other congregations of Nashville, TN, as members of A Rocha USA’s “Churches of Restoration” program. This new initiative offers community, accountability, and resources to empower churches across the U.S. to integrate creation care values into their congregational lives. In all, the program supports 23 churches across four cohorts. Three of these cohorts are located in Austin, TX, Nashville, TN, and Orlando/Titusville, FL, and the fourth (being a virtual group) encompasses a variety of states, including Oregon, Wisconsin, and Massachusetts.

I’m based in Nashville, so I’ve been checking in with the four Nashville teams in our program, getting a sense of their needs and goals. One of these churches owns a twelve-acre property where they hope to host a rescued beehive. Another of our churches doesn’t even own a building, but is still leading a variety of sustainability initiatives, including the development of a neighborhood toolshed, a pollinator garden, and a children’s curriculum that incorporates creation care values.

Across all four of the Nashville congregations - Anglican, Church of Christ, Episcopalian, and Nazarene - church leaders have submitted project ideas ranging from eco-theology book studies to native plant swaps, reusable Sunday bulletins, creation-conscious liturgies, and sustainable garden development. I’m excited to support our partners in bringing these plans to fruition.

One thing I appreciate about the Churches of Restoration program is that it requires each church to design a minimum of two creation care projects: one related to spiritual formation, the other to practical action. By insisting on action, we push back on the temptation to just add “sustainability” to the list of issues we discuss at Bible studies, and by insisting on spiritual formation, we affirm that effective environmental action begins with inner transformation.

Internal change is a topic that the environmental movement has sometimes overlooked. It can be tempting to reduce sustainability to a series of superficial fixes: develop clean energy, build green cities, establish circular economies, reform our laws, modify our habits… All of these are vital goals that we must pursue, but if we glaze over the underlying problems of greed, arrogance, and hatred, of social oppression and anthropocentric myopia, have we really addressed the root of the ecological crisis? Moreover, if our environmental “solutions” fail to address that root, how long will it take for things to fall apart again?

Though religious communities have a good foundation for understanding the significance of these “root problems,” others have taken notice, too. Arne Næss, for instance - one of the main proponents of the philosophical movement known as “Deep Ecology” - critiqued those who “try to influence policy-making bodies largely through threats” and “through predictions concerning pollutants and resource depletion” rather than appealing to a broader ethic, a reformed set of moral narratives that encompasses the whole biosphere (Næss, “The Shallow and the Deep”).

In a similar vein, Pope Francis has written about the “spiritual roots” of the ecological crisis, insisting that we can only heal the planet if we “replace consumption with sacrifice, greed with generosity, wastefulness with a spirit of sharing” (Francis, Laudato Si’). The state of the human heart, in other words, has global ramifications for God’s creation, whether for better or worse.

This “deeper work” that Næss and the Pope refer to is part of what I hope the Churches of Restoration program will accomplish: the transformation of human hearts, and the channeling of transformed lives towards practical conservation work.

While this vision is inspiring, one thing I’ve learned these past months is that it’s slow work, and its results are less tangible in the early stages. Unlike some of my past efforts I’ve written about in The Ecological Disciple, like planting oyster reefs and supporting seagrass restoration, my current work hasn’t involved a lot of building things or gathering data - things you can more easily see, touch, or measure. Instead, I’m working at something more subtle: supporting church leaders as they (hopefully) shape their congregations, and their congregations as they (with luck) shape the wider community.

Hearts and habits don’t change overnight, and as I pour hours of effort into writing and editing blogs, emailing congregations, supporting webinars, and encouraging our church partners as they plan and enact community events, it can be easy to feel that my work isn’t making much of an impact.

Yet, this relational work - this gentle, patient cultivation of an ecological consciousness - is exactly the kind of effort we need in this era of planetary devastation. Much like the garden at Madison Church of Christ, our work spreads at a slow yet sturdy crawl, paying just as much attention to the depth of its roots as the abundance of its fruit. 

We have 23 churches, 23 seeds, planted all across the U.S. As they bloom - and many already have - this barren soil will become an orchard.

Thanks for reading through my post! If you have any thoughts you’d like to share about your own experiences of what earthkeeping and cultural formation look like, feel free to email me at “noah.guthrie@arocha.org.”

Also, for any who feel led to give, most of the funding for my role with A Rocha USA comes from my personal fundraising efforts. You can find my fundraising page using the following link: https://arocha.us/guthrie.

Three days ago on December 1, it was announced that what was intended to be the fifth and final meeting of the UN Intergovernmental Negotiating Committee (INC-5), had ended without an agreement being reached. In March 2022, the UN passed a resolution setting the end of 2024 as the target date for the adoption of a finalized, legally binding international treaty on plastics pollution, including marine plastics.

The INC-5 delegation had been charged with defining reduction targets, determining how to regulate hazardous waste and chemicals, and outlining criteria to manage the entire life cycle of plastics, from production to disposal, but as news stations, including NPR, report, the dissenting countries argued that only the waste should be managed, not the production. Although over 100 countries backed the draft created by Panama calling for reducing plastic production to “sustainable levels,” the proposal, which needed unanimous approval, was blocked by a coalition of oil and gas producing countries who wanted to decrease the scope of the agreement.

In light of this failure to come to an agreement, and in light of the possibility that measures in the U.S. to protect the earth may be pulled back under the returning Trump administration, it seems imperative that change begins even without the hoped-for international regulations in place. Perhaps we need to just go ahead and act in ways consistent with what we would have been forced to do if the agreement was reached.

Just because someone can purchase plastic, doesn’t mean they must buy plastic. Even without regulations that require us to find ways for plastic to be reused or recycled well, we can still choose practices that align with those goals. The pressure to change doesn't necessarily have to come from the top; if people band together and use their purchasing power and advocacy to persuade companies to change how they do things, change can also be generated from the bottom. It is, of course, much harder, and requires people to coordinate their efforts with others.

One of the most hard-to-grasp and hard-to-handle realities of plastic pollution is the area of marine pollution. Images of sea turtles caught in plastic bags, an ocean floor covered with plastic, and, of course miles upon miles of garbage caught up in eddies churning in the middle of the ocean, are wrenching and overwhelming.

Chris Jordan, a photographer based in Seattle Washington, has done work that is difficult to walk away from unaffected and unchanged. In particular, his work on Midway Island with the albatross includes visceral images showing the very real affects our habits have on the world around us. His work in this area, along with the work of others, may create impetus for the change we need if enough people are exposed to it and connect it to individual and group practices.

Through his heart-breaking and even gruesome work, Jordan shows what our escalating use of plastic does to creatures who cannot avoid the substance. The plastic that is created for a moment's use (such as straws and take-out containers) lasts as long as 400 years in the environment, breaking down into smaller and smaller pieces, but continuing to create havoc on the ecosystem even in the smallest forms.

One of the most well-known of Chris Jordan's works is his collection of photos showing the contents of bird stomachs after they have died. These photographs were taken on Midway Island, which Jordan first visited in 2008 and then returned to several times over many years as both the beauty and the tragedy of the place grabbed him. He returned, also, to make the film, Albatross, which graphically shows the effects of marine plastic upon the albatrosses that return to the island as adults to mate, nest, and hatch their young on the island before they fly out to sea for years on end.

The island, which is 1,100 miles away from Hawaii, is in the path of the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. It is also a place where millions of albatrosses gather and nest. Albatross parents feed their chicks by skimming the surface of the water with their beaks, scooping up plastic along with the organic material that the chicks require as food. When they return to feed their chicks, the plastic is passed to the chick along with everything else, but the plastic is indigestible to them. With plastic in their stomachs, their stomachs may seem full, even though the chick might be starving from malnutrition.

The situation is a painful one, and Jordan's photographs of the birds' stomachs, opened up so that the contents, including the plastic, are on display, are terrible to see. The film, Albatross, which he made over several years, takes it even further. As he says,

I believe in facing the dark realities of our time—summoning the courage to not turn away, not as an exercise in pain or punishment, or to make us feel bad about ourselves, but because, in this act of witnessing, a doorway opens.

His photography shows not only the gruesome contents of the birds' stomachs, but also show what he discovered after his first visit, a discovery that caused him to return again and again as he created the film Albatross.

When he returned, he saw another side of the albatross—the beauty of these living creatures. In this moody and musical documentary, Jordan's affection for the birds is evident. Through his lens, we see their mating rituals, their first flights, their relationships, their beauty and grace, their births and deaths. When we see the effect of plastics on them, it is harder to watch because we have become acquainted with them. They aren’t just abstract carcasses, but creatures that are intended to have beautiful (and very long!) lives.

You can find a trailer of the movie here:

Or watch the full-length hour and a half long movie for free here.

The photographs and film aim to connect us to the birds through their beauty and their suffering. Watching the young struggling to fly, to breathe, and even dying upon the beach, is especially difficult after having seen the mating rituals, the chick's breakout out of the egg, the baby fluff being replaced by feathers. Although it is difficult, it can also help us see what we need to see and feel so that we are willing to make changes, and perhaps spearhead change that goes beyond just our individual actions. Our goal has to be to both clean up the mess we have already made and to stop making more, which would also eventually find its way into our water and our bodies.

Jordan believes that successfully tackling plastic pollution hinges on rebuilding a strong relationship with nature, that a connection with nature and a raw appreciation for the world around us is what really drives positive change.

It is public awareness of the plastic problem and public pressure and action that have created the movement to enact a plastic pollution treaty; it is increased awareness, pressure, and action that are needed to ensure that we do what is needed to make the world we live in safe for all creatures, including the albatross...and ourselves.

Are there ways you can band with others so that the power of the changes you make is amplified? Perhaps this could be a year in which we make real and significant reductions in the indigestible plastic that fills our bodies and the bodies of other creatures and the world.

Feel free to leave a comment below (you can sign in through your email) or contact me directly at louise.conner@circlewood.online.

Louise