The times they are a changin' . . . for churches

It seems we are never starting from square one. We are always dealing with structures and strictures that once served better than they do now, and how to make a shift without tearing the proverbial fabric of shared beliefs, that's what we wrestle with.

The most difficult a knot to undo has to be the one some religious leaders find themselves in from that way-back notion that there is only one correct religious story (theirs, of course), immutable and infallible for all time. To entertain a need for change, a reinterpretation, strikes them as inviting things to fall apart utterly.

But reality can eventually gob-smack leaders and followers alike. Churches are finding a narrative for acting against global warming and other realities. Some churches, that is. Others would be wise to try to see themselves in a cultural struggle in a far-away place, for what it can teach.

Some ancient Hindu texts advised people to relieve themselves far from home, according to an article in Tuesday's NYT, "Indian Children Well-Fed but Malnourished, for Want to Toilets." Spending $26 billion on food and jobs programs and less than $400 million on sanitation, India is finding out that they can't get there from here. Open defecating away from home just fouls someone else's home and they foul yours, and India's children are stunted mentally and physically from being sick so often from fecal contamination in their water--half of India's population drinks from contaminated water--no matter how much good food they get.

So far, even when toilets are provided, they are not always used. It will take some time for doctrines and practices to change. But change they must. And they will. 

Rio Grande Mennonites are doing what?

Suddenly I couldn’t be prouder of my Mennonite ancestry. From the top to the bottom of the Rio Grande watershed, Mennonite churches have come together in a new ministry, Watershed Discipleship, which is nothing less than a radical re-placing of Christianity.  If we are  listening. And we should be. Those that despair of cultural change at a glacial pace should sit up and take notice. They are changing faster than the glaciers are now melting.

No denial or delay. No myopia about what our efficient, industrial ways are doing—species extinction, climate destruction, declining natural fertility and “peak everything.” No wrapping themselves in traditional ways of thinking (“No matter what we do to the planet resources, there is always abundance”). And none of the unspoken, and, though I hope not, possibly real reason people don’t act like they take climate change seriously: “Well if this means sacrifice, you go first. I’ll get mine for my family, even if it’s like the classic run on the bank.”

Out west, these churches could be singing the cowboy tune where seldom is heard a discouraging word, because they are armored against the words that have been leveled at me: “You can’t save the world, Jean.” What armors them is that they know that while they can’t save the world, they can save places. And, “We won’t save places we don’t love. We can’t love places we don’t know. We don’t know places we haven’t learned.” And so their Watershed Discipleship community is a learning community and a way forward.

Concrete actions include recently hosting a 17 day intensive on permaculture. And making a Bioregional Covenant to get 75% of their food from within 100 miles by 2025. The Mennonites have always been known as Christians concerned about peace and justice and known as practitioners of a land-based ethic . “Once again in the history of the church, the Spirit is inviting us to radical discipleship” is how organizer Ched Myers characterizes it.

I’m especially impressed they are applying the concept of restorative justice to their theology, with attention to “all those who have been wounded by human development—plant, animal and human alike.”

Gratefully I say, this is the way to revitalize Christianity.

Tasting complexity

It’s easy to see the attraction of simplicity. Often the simpler approach means less thought for our tired minds, and promises time savings so we can get onto the next thing in our schedule. And isn't industry ready with inexpensive “solutions” for us?

Yet what do we praise about food? It’s got complexity, we say of a wine we savor. Oh, that’s good, we say of a carefully marinated dish blending sweet and tart, hot and cool. It’s heaven! I said of a bruschetta at Fairburn Farm one August. Now, you can get bruschetta anywhere. A regular restaurant simplifies bruschetta—it looks nice, the diced tomatoes on the slice of toasted baguette, but it’s disappointing, if it tastes at all. We tell ourselves it’s good, that’s what bruschetta is, and maybe we go looking for ways to amp it up. The internet recipes are full of variations, usually simple, with one famous chef using canned tomatoes yet calling his recipe a “late summer bruschetta.” In four minutes flat.

Ah, but our chef Mara Jernigan had gone out to her kitchen garden at Fairburn Farm, near the tiny town of Duncan on Vancouver Island, for her select variety vine-ripe tomatoes then peaking, or bursting, and whatever she did I’m sure there was a whisper of long-aged, fancy vinegar. We bit into small, two-bite bruschetta and our eyebrows shot up and we fell back in our chairs, and we looked at each other like young love. You might say it was a simple dish, but only if you didn’t think about preparing compost-nourished soil, finding flavorful varieties of tomatoes, and growing them in the sun. Slow food, but so satisfying I could go years before another bruschetta, content to wait for a good one, or to prepare it myself when I get the opportunity of flavorful tomatoes.

Everything put before us that evening was memorable, and we enjoyed the company of the other couple on the dining veranda, only one of whom could speak English, though we all spoke “wine” and shared our bottles back and forth, watching chickens scratch in the near yard.

No, Mara Jernigan isn’t there anymore. She moved on to bring her magic to Belize.