The following sermon was preached by CCA Director Sarah Ogletree on July 7th at FPC Spruce Pine as a part of their recent series on creation care. The scripture for the day was Matthew 25: 31-40.

Over these past few weeks, we’ve learned that creation care is an integral part of our faith tradition. We’ve discussed God’s care for the animals and the land. We’ve learned that we are made from soil and that one of our primary God-given tasks is that of taking care of our home—this planet, this garden, that sustains us and all life. We’ve learned that God calls this world “good” and that God’s good creation is threatened by our unsustainable use of resources like oil and gas. We have been told that the creation is groaning as it awaits our awakening, our realization that this Earth is deserving of our love and care, the same love and care offered to it by God. 

Over these past few weeks, we have been reminded that God’s love is bigger than what we could ever imagine. That, as the theologian Elizabeth Johnson would say, “God’s love is broad enough for the bears” and all manner of creeping things that make these lands and waters shimmer with life. God’s love is big enough for all of it and all of us. Because we too are members of creation. 

Though we like to pretend that we exist outside of the environment, we occupy a place in the ecosystem in the same way that butterflies and herons do. We too are creatures. Our survival, our health, our present and our future is predicated upon the health of the whole. We do not exist in a vacuum. Instead, we exist as a part of a system beautifully crafted by God. We eat the fruits of the land, drink the waters of the rivers, and breathe air first inhaled as carbon dioxide by the trees… All this is to say that creation care is not separate from the care of people. Creation care is the care of people. Because creation care is the care of all that has been created. And that means us too. 

When asked how I came to work at the intersection of faith and environment, the shortest answer is that I love people. I love people and I know that people of faith can and have done transformative things when we work together, embodying the radical love of Jesus… The longer answer to that question is that when I was a student at Appalachian State, I took a class that changed my life. Taught by Dr. Jen Westerman, “Introduction to Sustainable Development” fulfilled a Gen-Ed requirement I still needed as a first-year transfer student. And though I was interested in the topic, I never could have imagined how impactful that class would be on my career, and ultimately, my calling. 

In Jen’s class, I learned that the climate crisis was not something that would plague the far-off future but something impacting people today. Not only were people being affected, but it was the poorest and most marginalized bearing the brunt of these changes. I learned about Indigenous communities in the far north forced from their ancestral lands because the ground, the permafrost, was literally melting beneath their feet. I learned about predominantly Black communities in Louisiana meeting the same fate—but instead of melting ice, the bayous that had seen their ancestors freed from slavery were flooding; their homes and hard-fought land disappearing under salt water. I learned about King Coal and Mountaintop Removal Coal Mining. It’s just what it sounds like. And I learned how, in addition to poisoning waterways and creating cancer corridors in some of the poorest regions of our nation, Mountaintop Removal claimed the life of 4-year-old Jeremy Davidson when a 1,000-pound boulder toppled from a mining site above his home and crashed into his bedroom. 

It was these human stories, the stories of Jeremy and those like him, that shook me to my core. Because I was raised with a faith that proclaimed love for my neighbor and the “least of these.” And I couldn’t ignore the fact that it was this very group suffering the most at the hands of environmental destruction–which brings us to this morning’s passage. 

Today’s scripture is one many of us know well. It imagines the time of judgment when Jesus will look to us, the departed, and separate the sheep from the goats—those who have followed his commandments from those who have not. What’s interesting about this passage is what qualifies you as a “sheep” or a close follower of Christ and his law. Much to the dismay of churchgoers and clergy alike, it isn’t church attendance. It isn’t public prayer or large revivals. It certainly isn’t how we dress or our 401k profile. No, Jesus defines his followers as those who have served “the least.” And he doesn’t leave that up for interpretation. 

He says, “Come you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, sick and you cared for me, I was in prison and you visited me…” And when the righteous question Jesus, saying, “We never saw you. When did we do this for you?” Jesus responds, “Truly I tell you, whatever you did for the least of these, you did for me.” Not only does Jesus lay out the actions that honor him, he goes a step further by saying that in caring for those who were hungry, thirsty, sick, naked, in prison, and alienated from their home, we care for him. Jesus among us.  

Like those in Jesus’ time, we might be surprised by this statement. After all, the crowds in Jerusalem were not expecting the messiah to arrive on a donkey. But Jesus has always been subversive. Born in the town of Nazareth, a town equivalent to today’s slums, Jesus was unexpected. And so, it should not surprise us that those Jesus embodies are those with the least political sway and resources. When we feed the hungry, we feed Jesus. When we give water to the thirsty, we do so unto Christ. This is how we live our Christian vocation, and friends, it requires creation care. Because the very same people that Jesus claims as his own, that he identifies as in this passage, are being ecologically crucified.

In his book, Where is God? Earthquake, Terrorism, Barbarity, & Hope, theologian Jon Sobrino asserts that Jesus is crucified each and every day through the lives of the oppressed, the “least of these,” whom he calls “the crucified people.” Moreover, he connects ecological harm with this crucifixion, noting the ways that even natural disasters like earthquakes are anything but natural in their destruction. Of course, seismic shifts lead to loss. But when no funds have been invested in infrastructure, when people are living in destitute poverty, when there is already a lack of clean water and nourishing food, even a minor earthquake becomes catastrophic. In other words, power dynamics impact how crises manifest. In our current system of sin, the people with the most power fare the best in emergencies while Jesus suffers in the trenches. 

Matthew 25: 31-40 tells us that feeding, clothing, and welcoming are the ways of Christ and therefore the ways of our faith. Friends, all of these activities are made more difficult by the poisoning of our environment. It is difficult to feed people when crops are withering because of unending, unprecedented drought, brought on by climate change. It is difficult to find water for the thirsty when the rivers and groundwater are poisoned with lead and other toxins like in Flint, Michigan. It is difficult to care for the sick as our world becomes increasingly toxic. Did you know that there is plastic in breast milk now? That micro and nano-plastics are in our water, food, and soil? Caring for God’s creation is caring for the animals, plants, and places. But it is also caring for each other, protecting our health, and ensuring that our children and neighbors have what they need to live a life of beauty and hope. It is our job to respond to Jesus in our lives, and that means leaving no one and nothing out. All God’s creatures. All God’s children. All God’s creation. 

So how do we do it? First, we continue the good work we are already doing. We keep filling the blessing box. We keep helping neighboring cities and towns recover when disaster strikes. We keep showing up for each other with genuine care and concern about the well-being of our hearts and homes. And then, like Jesus, we go a step further.

We take stock of the land where we live, play, and pray and consider how we might bring those spaces back to life—how we might breathe into them as God breathes into us. We challenge rhetoric that claims environmental issues are partisan issues and not moral and spiritual responsibilities. We pick an issue, an area of focus, it could be water quality or plastic reduction, agriculture or climate change, wildlife conservation or environmental education for children—wherever we feel most called. And we dig in there. In the words of Frederick Buechner, “find the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” It doesn’t particularly matter what you choose because it is all connected. You don’t need to force yourself to care about something you don’t care about. You only need to realize how everyone and everything that you love relies on this planet, this place, this garden, given to us for safekeeping by God. 

You don’t have to do this work alone and I hope you won’t try to. This work demands community and support. And I would love to support you. The Creation Care Alliance would love to support you. Countless other faith leaders and organizations would love to support you… would love to join you and work alongside you. Because make no mistake, you are needed in this moment. As fires rage across California, as heat stroke threatens the lives of farmers and children alike, we are called to take the crucified down from their crosses. May it be so.