Earth Day Again
“For in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible.” —Colossians 1:16a.
The verse from Colossians is an ancient Christian hymn describing who Christ is. I also see it as a reminder of looking for the Christ in ourselves and others moment by moment. I know how difficult this is. Sometimes the Christ is so visible—and sometimes invisible.
In the Thornton Wilder play, Our Town, I think of Emily, who is allowed to return to earth for one day to Grover’s Corners after her young, untimely death at age twenty-six. She chooses her twelfth birthday and soon returns to her grave—when she can no longer bear watching as the people she loves barely interact with each other. They seem unable to appreciate the joy and wonder of each new day together, and fail to see the Christ in each other.
I am reminded of a past Earth Day when I listened to music about the earth, such as Beethoven’s Sixth Pastoral Symphony, as we traveled from a reunion in Virginia to the Gulf Coast. Hearing this symphony immediately reminds me of the four years we lived in Iowa City. The music was the background for a visual production of the Iowa outdoors called Iowa, A Place to Grow, a reminder to bloom where we were planted and appreciate the beauty of the earth and the people of that state.
I remember the first Earth Day in 1970. It was the day my husband of six months left for Vietnam for a year. I was pregnant with our first child and felt sorry for myself. I spent the day watching the Earth Day celebration on our small black and white television and stripping the wax off our kitchen floor. I knew I had to transform the energy generated by Robert’s leaving into something useful. I wish I could write here that I planted trees, but alas, my kitchen floor was as far as I got.
I also remember one Earth Day trip when we drove through a gentle rain. The car radio played American composer Alan Hovhaness’s tribute to a beloved tree on his uncle’s farm struck by lightning, “Under the Ancient Maple Tree.”
I wish I could say I participated in some extraordinary events to care for and thank our earth, especially its trees, on the other fifty-second Earth Days since that first one. Still, I honestly cannot remember another Earth Day. The best I could do that day was enjoy the ride, give thanks for the rain, and be grateful for the bountiful green trees keeping us alive along Interstate 85.
I think of my father, a forester who led many hundreds of expeditions to plant pine seedlings. I remember on trips how he often pointed out the tall, grown trees he had planted. Now, many years later, I thank him for his plantings. I know he would be proud of our daughter, Joanna. She also has a master’s degree in forestry, taught wilderness classes at the University of Montana, and is a masterful outdoors lover.
I have learned from my father and daughter that our environment, the outdoors, and especially trees keep us grounded in the present moment. It is such a present moment that I think Emily in Our Town is talking about, one in which we learn to appreciate each precious gift of time, especially time with those we love. My experience is that I live most consciously in the present moment when I am outdoors, see the trees and plants, and realize that there is something more significant going on than the past and future with which I am so preoccupied.
C. S. Lewis and so many others, and now Emily, all remind us that the present moment—not the past or the future—is where we meet and recognize God in ourselves, each other, and nature. This is one of the best ways to know the Creator, the God of Love.
If we can live as much as possible in the present moment, savor it, and let love be our guide, I think we have a chance of coming out of this pandemic and social and waring unrest better than we were before.
Joanna. Joannaseibert.com