“THIS WORLD IS not my home / I’m just passing through / My treasures are laid up / Somewhere beyond the blue.” This old gospel song summed up my approach to the physical world as a young Christian.
Coming to faith in the Bible Belt of the United States, I confused admonitions to “not belong to the world” (John 15:19) and “walk not according to the flesh” (Romans 8:4) with a blanket statement to shun physicality. Later, when I discovered the contemplatives and monastics, their stories of fasting and asceticism seemed to reinforce the idea that detachment from the material world is the most holy path.
But in a time when some Bible-thumping Christians respond to deforestation and species extinction with a shrug and say, “It’s all going to burn anyway,” I reject these interpretations. “The world” and “the flesh” that Jesus and Paul had in mind are not the earth and our bodies. They are, rather, human-made social hierarchies and oppressive, extractive economies. Do not belong to these. But do belong to the gooseberries, the crickets, the soil, and the gurgling creeks.
In a conversation with environmental theologian Norman Wirzba in March, Yale professor (and Baptist minister) Willie Jennings distinguished between the colonial mindset—possession of the land and our bodies—and the Indigenous mindset—possession by the land. The former requires detachment, which enables control. The latter requires attachment and vulnerability, which enable community and care. Our interpretations of scripture have too often been formed by a colonial mindset, which uses faulty religious teachings to justify abuse of other humans, animals, and the earth.
When I read news of heat waves and crop failures, forests burning, and swamps drained for development, grief wells up in my gut, drawing my limbs to walk outside. I dig my toes into the grass, feel the wind caress my skin, and reach out to touch the 150-year-old maple tree in our front yard. She is a new friend who has been here all along. I’ve only recently recognized her as elder and kin. “What do you know about enduring and resilience?” I ask her. Then I listen.
In earlier years I might have listened to the voices that say, “Remain detached. This doesn’t matter. You’re just passing through.” But I’m finding a different way, a path of sacred attachment. I’m learning to respect what my body and the earth are saying. The arc of scripture, after all, ends not with us being swept up to heaven, but with heaven coming down to earth. God will dwell among us (Revelation 21:2-3). My friend the maple, and all those beloved forests, will be restored in all their glory.
For now, I’ll keep on loving this holy, physical world. This is my home, where my treasure is laid up. This, too, is part of God’s kingdom.
Liuan Huska is a freelance journalist and the author of Hurting Yet Whole: Reconciling Body and Spirit in Chronic Pain and Illness.
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