On a cold Monday afternoon in November, students at the Farminary (Princeton Theological Seminary’s working farm) bundle up in coats, hats, and gloves, preparing to brave the early winter weather in New Jersey. Carrying blankets and folding chairs out of the (semi-)heated barn, the students journey past the chicken coop, through the gravel parking lot, and over the small stone bridge that spans the creek, to a flat area of grass that overlooks the small lake and the garden. They are there to hear one another preach amid the biting wind, the last falling leaves, and the sounds of honking geese still making their way south for the winter—to proclaim the word with and among creation. While preaching is required for the course, delivering the sermon outdoors is not. However, most of the students in our Preaching Death and Eschatology with the Earth course choose to deliver their messages under the open sky, allowing the elements of creation to ground their proclamation and even preach alongside them.
As a preaching professor and practical theologian, most of my courses (and most of my own preaching, for that matter!) usually takes place indoors—in well-equipped classrooms, intimate chapels, and picturesque churches. Yet, there is something different that happens when we root ourselves in creation, ground ourselves in the grass and dirt, speak with and about and among the trees, or sing alongside the rustling leaves or chatty birds.
Yet, there is something different that happens when we root ourselves in creation, ground ourselves in the grass and dirt, speak with and about and among the trees, or sing alongside the rustling leaves or chatty birds.
Unlike most courses taught at the farm, mine stretches through the entire semester (not only the growing season). After all, the course is about proclaiming death and eschatology. The Earth serves as model and teacher for these topics that are often emotionally precarious and theologically dense. We witness to the dying of the crops and the fading leaves that fall to the ground; we note the way winter brings with it signs of death. And we continue to work in the garden and on the land, to winterize and prepare it for a Spring that we trust is coming but cannot guarantee. The Earth models death and eschatological hope and invites us into intimate participation each week.
After teaching a few times at the Farminary, I am more convinced than ever that something happens when we pay attention to the Earth and our place in this web of creation. Being amid the more-than-human decenters us. This can certainly be humbling as we are reminded that the world does not revolve around us or even require us. Indeed, the seasons change on their own and the trees and weeds find a way to keep growing. At the same time, there is relief and solace that comes from honoring our creatureliness. We are reassured that the future of the world does not depend solely on our capacities, abilities, or energies. There is something theologically powerful about being reminded of our creatureliness, of our call to be inhabitants with and among this creation.
When we let go of being the center of the created order and choose to invest in the larger world of which we are a part, we are reminded of our relationality with all things and, ultimately, our relationship to the Creator. To remember that we are dirt creatures—Adam (human) formed from the Adamah (dirt) by God (Genesis 2)—is to remember that we are created to be in relationship to God and the ground. The very soil that feeds us, nurtures us, on which we build our lives and homes, is the ground God created and called good.
The very soil that feeds us, nurtures us, on which we build our lives and homes, is the ground God created and called good.
And in this relationship, there is a mutuality, an opportunity to serve, care, and learn with and from one another. And so, the Earth can lead us in praise and thanksgiving. The natural terrain can be a space of communion with God. The creation can even proclaim to us and for us when we lose our words. Indeed, “The heavens are telling the glory of God, and the firmament proclaims God’s handiwork” (Psalm 19:1, NRSVue).
At the same time, to be attentive to our relationship with creation means we also must take seriously the ways we have failed to honor this gift and inhabit the Earth well. And this is a hard conversation. To speak of our broken relationship with the Earth often takes on political (even tribal) tones and evokes a fear of shame or blame. Or, if we can have the conversation, the enormity of the issues of climate change, ecological degradation, and eco-injustice feel overwhelming to the point that it is easier to avoid or despair. Yet, such honesty invites us to engage other central practices of our faith inheritance, namely, lament, confession, and redemption. After all, we are people invited to lament to God openly about all that is broken, acknowledging that things are not as they should be. We are asked, already assured of God’s grace in Jesus Christ, to confess our participation and complicity in those broken realities. And we are invited to be participants in God’s redemptive creativity already at work among us.
For hope is grounded not in our creaturely capacities, but in the One who brought life out of chaos in the beginning and promises to make all things new in the end. And how lucky are we to be invited to plant and grow, pray and proclaim, create and serve alongside our Creator in this good earth!
About the author
Rev. Dr. Kimberly Wagner
The Rev. Dr. Kimberly Wagner serves as the Assistant Professor of Preaching at Princeton Theological Seminary. She received a B.S. in Secondary Life Science Education from Miami University (OH), a M.Div. from the Candler School of Theology at Emory University, and her Ph.D. from the Graduate Division of Religion at Emory University. Though she has served among the Lutherans and was educated among United Methodists, Dr. Wagner is ordained as a Minister of Word and Sacrament in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.). Previous experience on the pastoral staff of a PCUSA congregation in Virginia helps fuel and inform her present scholarship and teaching. She is passionate about supporting students’ formation and helping clergy and communities navigate the realities of an ever-changing world and church. Her writing and work focus on preaching and ministry in the midst and wake of trauma, particularly thinking about collective trauma, the role of the preacher, and the resources of our Scriptures and faith to respond to these moments. Dr. Wagner’s book, Fractured Ground: Preaching in the Wake of Mass Trauma (Westminster John Knox Press, 2023), offers guidance for preaching in the aftermath of communal trauma, including mass violence, natural disasters, and public health crises. Dr. Wagner’s upcoming publications focus on ecotrauma and ecoanxiety, thinking about how the ecological crises and injustices impact communities and how preachers and leaders might faithfully respond.