May 31, 2023
Summertime conjures up good memories of years past and excitement about plans for a multitude of activities. Backyard barbecues with hamburgers and steaks. Sparklers and fireworks in the back yard for the Fourth of July, after a delicious dinner from the charcoal grill. A road trip in the car or travel by plane to a national park or historical site. S'mores around a campfire. An afternoon at a baseball game with hot dogs and beer. While each family does things differently, a combination of activities and expectations have long made summertime in America American.
While even just the mention of these traditions often brings back warm memories from years ago, few of us may have thought about the climate impact of these traditions. As carbon emissions grow and climate change causes increasingly worrisome weather catastrophes, though, it may be time to look at the climate impact of our traditions and pause for a rethink.
Let’s start with that backyard barbecue. Producing a hamburger takes about 450 gallons of water and results in about 90 pounds of carbon emissions, about the same as a three-hour shower and a 90-mile drive. A one-pound steak causes about 40 pounds of carbon emissions. And traditional charcoal, which is produced by cutting down trees and burning them in kilns, releases about 11 pounds of carbon emissions per hour. If each of the 38 million owners of charcoal grills in the US fires up their barbecue for just one hour on the Fourth of July, they will collectively release more than 427 million pounds of carbon dioxide on that day alone.
Along with releasing carbon dioxide, fireworks cause health problems. Fireworks use black powder, also known as gunpowder, which is made from carbon or charcoal, sulfur and potassium nitrate. Studies have shown a drastic drop in air quality at the first rocket’s red glare and bomb bursting in air. "If you happen to be downwind from a big fireworks event, it is very hazardous," according to Paul Walsh, Meteorologist and General Manager of BreezoMeter.com, as "fireworks also release fine particulate matter, which includes something called heavy metals, which is really bad to breathe in."
And that long trip for your vacation has an impact too. Let’s say you decide to drive to Yosemite National Park in California, 893 miles from Seattle, rather than flying to Boston. While the impact differs depending on whether you’re driving a Hyundai or a Hummer, emissions average about 0.7 pounds per mile. You’d release 1,250 pounds going back and forth. If you decide to have a campfire to cook dinner and s'mores, emissions from burning wood include carbon monoxide, carbon dioxide, nitrogen oxides and benzene.
So, what can we do? It turns out that small changes can make a big difference.
Take that barbecue, for instance. Switching from beef to chicken can reduce carbon emissions by about 75%. Tofu, mushrooms and eggplant are great on the grill. And using an electric grill rather than charcoal or gas reduces carbon emissions tremendously. Alternatives to fireworks include blowing bubbles or creating a laser light or drone show. And consider driving 106 miles to North Cascades National Park, rather than to Yosemite, to reduce carbon dioxide emissions by 1,000 pounds.
Changes like these can easily seem too idealistic. Altering long-standing cultural practices and traditions can feel impossible. If we look at the Bible, though, we can learn from individuals who propelled change when catastrophe loomed.
When Noah faced a calamity, he and his family made radical changes. In Genesis 6, we read that “God said to Noah, ‘I am going to put an end to all people, for the earth is filled with violence because of them. I am surely going to destroy both them and the earth. So make yourself an ark of cypress wood; make rooms in it and coat it with pitch inside and out…' Noah did everything just as God commanded him.”
When Egypt faced the potential catastrophe of a famine, Joseph changed the entire culture of how Egypt produced and stored food. As Genesis 41 says, “Joseph went out from Pharaoh’s presence and traveled throughout Egypt. During the seven years of abundance the land produced plentifully. Joseph collected all the food produced in those seven years of abundance in Egypt and stored it in the cities. In each city he put the food grown in the fields surrounding it. Joseph stored up huge quantities of grain, like the sand of the sea.”
Noah, Joseph and other leaders in the Bible upended traditions and may well have faced disbelief or criticism as they prepared for a coming catastrophic event. They overcame culture, ridicule, and more to do what was right and literally saved humanity from disaster. These decisions can be difficult, but this path can lead to growth and renewal both for the planet and for us as individuals. As God says to Jeremiah, in Jeremiah 29, "For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope. Then when you call upon me, I will hear you." In other words, as one commentator reflecting on this passage has written, “while change can be hard, we can grow in our faith when we learn to embrace it. When we trust God's plan, He transforms us each and every day as His followers.”
Just as leaders throughout the Bible have done, we too should embrace change and shift our traditions to care for creation and avert a catastrophe. Starting new summertime traditions can create new memories and help us to care for creation at the same time.
As we approach Holy Week and the heart-heavy task of walking with Jesus to the cross and beyond, I am keenly aware of the harm that is done when religion is misused to justify crimes against humanity. The One we follow was killed by the deadly concoction of distorted religious fervor by the few, doused with the flammable rhetoric of a politics of hatred.
This fall I’ve been reading Karen Armstrong’s most recent book, 
This awareness of mine may well mark a difference from when I first wrote about these mountains in a book called 
Lent. The word derives from the Old English lencten meaning spring season, perhaps derived from a related root meaning long, connected to the lengthening of days. Or, perhaps, to just how long it can take for spring to arrive in the north. Think of the melting of icicles off gutters, which I remember best from my childhood on the edge of Chicago when I used to delight in eating them like popsicles. Lent is no longer winter exactly, but in northern climates it’s also not that burst of energy that we associate with Spring, even though the spring equinox often occurs during Lent. Still, it’s during this liturgical season that somewhere below the surface of the earth things are beginning to quicken. Life returning—time itself is in motion again.
There is no better expression of this, in my opinion, than the experience of celebrating Eucharist even as we are observing Lent—and yes, right up through Good Friday. So there we are, caught in this linear sequence that leads us inevitably to the cross and death, and yet in the very midst of that we are celebrating again this meal with Jesus, who is very much with us—not simply as a memory, but somehow here, now, even as He is with Mary Magdalene at the tomb and with those disciples on the road to Emmaus.
Consider the story that Belden Lane (the 
My coffee table was anything but pristine this morning, featuring at least nine different containers. The obvious ones were present: cereal bowl, empty mug, and tea strainer. Several candleholders occupied one corner. On the other side, a ceramic bowl was filled with buttons and stickers and, yes, dust.
Can Venmo be a sacrament? It has become one for me.
The stewardship collect for this year begins with, “Generous Creator, you knit us together into one common life.” For today’s stewardship reflection I want to muse a little on knitting as a theological metaphor. Knitting is known as a “single element” technique. That means knitting takes one continuous thread and then shapes it into something new. You begin with a ball of yarn and loop it in a specific way to form a hat or scarf or sweater. So being knit together implies that, like a strand of yarn, we are already connected to one another (as members of the human family and children of God). But being knit together means an added closeness and a new shape—which serves a fresh purpose. How have you felt knit into community at Saint Mark's?
Welcome to this week's Stewardship Reflection!
TC3 residents were not the only ones who had to adjust to covid-19. So did members from Saint Mark’s. In the past, many different groups at the cathedral would regularly interact with residents from the camp. While this summer’s building closure and physical distancing requirements made that more difficult, it didn’t stop ministry from happening. Instead, new ways developed to connect residents with the community. Members of Saint Brigid’s Banquet provided meals while adhering to the governor’s precautions. The cathedral provided pallets of water. Individuals brought other basic needs like socks, jeans, t-shirts, and can openers.
This Friday, October 16th, marks the opening day in this state for early voting in the November 3rd general election. As I consider my own ballot, I find myself prayerfully mindful of the right and privilege I have as a voting citizen in this nation. Not everyone is afforded the right, restrained either by law or by impediments of disenfranchisement or disinterest.
I often get questions, or challenges really—that the Church and its leaders should refrain from entering the political fracas. I appreciate their sentiment, which I take to mean we should avoid using the pulpit to make decidedly partisan pronouncements. They often cite “separation of church and state” as the prevailing reproach against such activity. A closer read of the founding documents of this nation, however, and additional clarifying statements made by those who wrote them, draws an important distinction between the need for a wall “separating church and state,” and some corollary premise to separate religion from politics. The latter is a fabrication not intended by the founders, and they made that very clear. They saw political and religious expression as inexorably linked and believed one’s values were derived from the intermingling of the two. [note 1]
