The Nature of Things

This afternoon I took it upon myself to take a stroll in the woods of a preserve just a few minutes down the street. It is a spot I used to once frequent with my father, a man who instilled in me a great love and appreciation for all things natural. The preserve surrounds the local junior high school, swinging around, behind, and continuing behind several neighborhoods. While the recent expansion of the school and its parking lot has encroached even more upon the woods, the majority of it remains untouched, and available to any one with a pair of feet and some time to enjoy the world. It is my belief that to look for an example of the greatness of the human mind, one must look beyond skyscrapers and bridges, and instead at signs marked "Nature Preserve".

My English class has been focusing on the work of several American Transcendentalist as of late. One of them is an author I have grown to appreciate over the past several years, Ralph Waldo Emerson. Emerson and his colleagues’ love for Nature is apparent in almost every facet of their writing. To them the world represented a physical manifestation of the Divine. In Emerson's essay aptly titled "Nature", he refers to the language in which Nature speaks to Man. Every item we can find and catalogue in our minds in the realm of Nature is some representation of things unsaid. A rose in full bloom has come to symbolize love, a stream a picture of the continuity of the human spirit and of life itself. The best example for me is the ocean. Every time I visit the beach and rest upon soft sand, I am inexplicitly drawn to that point where the sea meets the horizon. For me, this represents so dearly the eternity which gives me such joy to enter into; that vast expanse, with regions so innumerable and time so unfathomable that I dare not comprehend it. Rather I choose to sit and stare, all the while marveling at what lies before me.

While I would not agree with everything the Transcendentalists held as firm beliefs, I would never discredit their idea that the natural world is a gift from the Creator; a mirror more treasured and more clear than has ever existed. This will undoubtedly spark a debate amongst Christians and Atheists alike. If God is so loving, then how can an earthquake happen? or a hurricane? The answer to many Christians is often to compare God to a punishing parent, someone reprimanding us for lives not lived for Him. They remind us that we are living in the Garden after the fall, so we must deal with the consequences. I would beg to differ with this view. While I walked in the woods today, I was strolling through Eden, and it helped to remember that it was I who was fallen, not Eden itself. I do not believe that any kind of natural disaster has been brought upon by Man, but rather increased in intensity, and turned from a blessing into a curse. Man will build a city underwater and then complain about flooding. Man will pump endless toxins into the sweet atmosphere, and then question why a storm fueled by heat was so intense. Man will place more importance on money than safety, and be ever so quick to point the finger at God. I pray that on one grand day, we will finally accept the consequences of our own actions.

To me, Nature is a thing not so much like a Mother, but something borrowed from the Eternal. It is a gift designed to enlighten every one of our senses. For sight, we have early morning skies and pitch black nights filled with crystalline orbs. For hearing, we have the wind as it rolls through the trees in the Winter, and the birds' concertos on a Spring day. For touch, we have cool grass on our backs, and the warm prickle of a desert cactus. For smell, we have the salt of the ocean and the sweet of an oily flower. For taste, we have the bite of a green pepper and the tang of a fresh melon. Such gifts abound outside our very front doors! Yet like all things borrowed, we must learn to eventually give these gifts back. We can enjoy them while we have them, categorize them in our minds and onto paper to remember them, but we must offer them back willingly. We often forget how blessed we are when we do this dutifully.

So I feel it important to state that we must never forget that the Serpent resides not in any tree found in the natural world, but in the Tree of Knowledge. When we begin to feel as if Nature is ours to control and dominant for no other means that our own wealth and greed, we are committing a most terrible offense to God. This is an offense I will not claim immunity from, for every time I pass a pond and see merely a pond I am just as guilty. Let us remember that which transcends all human thought and progress. For Nature began with one seed, and will exist in its virginal beauty until the last tree is thrown into the Fire. Let us cling to that which reminds of our destiny, and be thankful always for He who forged it.

Environmental Issues

First off, let me apologize for the hiatus I have taken from posting on this site. While I would love to blame this period of laziness on such things as my job, or my schoolwork, I know that the reality is that I have simply not been inspired. I have had several people request that I post something new, considering that the same post has been up for literally months now. The problem is, however, that I have turned such an insignificant thing as blogging into a serious matter. For me, these writings are permanent remnants of lucid thoughts and passionate emotions, laid out meticulously into my own digital domain for the masses to feast their eyes upon. To enter into such an endeavor with only lackluster productions is simply not an option. I realize that this is taking things way too far, and that I am being quite liberal when I refer to my audience as "the masses", but it is still the state of mind I find myself situated in.

So, I spent last weekend in the great city of New York. Upon first arriving in the simple, quiet section of Brooklyn called 'Bay Ridge', I found myself mystified that such a peaceful atmosphere could exist within such a close proximity to that restless metropolis. We proceeded to take the bus into the city, at which point I allowed my eyes to absorb as much as they could. Every image of New York I could conjure up from movies, television shows, pictures, and dubious news footage began to roll by inside my head, like an elementary school projector. I attempted to compare the images side by side. My inability to find a proper match left me feeling like I was in a foreign land. As the night rolled on, I chalked this up to elevated expectations, and a trip to Key Bar, followed by some legendary pizza was in order.

The following day, we did what any dutiful American citizen does in New York, we shopped. It was then that New York felt like New York to me. Walking past countless blocks, countless stores, countless people, that was New York. We saw most of the legendary sites in that one day, including Times Square, which I would now explain to people is some sort of giant advertisement which one can step into. We went to Ground Zero, which is a giant empty block. Somehow, seeing nothing at all in this city full of giants was the scariest thing about it. Looking up, I imagined how the buildings must have appeared when they stood at their full height. Trust me, this is not something one should spend an extended amount of time thinking about.

I had grand plans of all I would do in the city, but had failed to take into account the massive size of Manhattan alone, although I had been warned of this prior to the trip by pretty much everyone. Trust me, if you have never been there, you cannot fully comprehend just how much ground there is to cover.

Now, on to the highlight of the trip. Sunday, my day to leave, should have been filled with regret over what I could have done, or for not planning to stay longer. Instead, I entered His courts with praise. Brooklyn Tabernacle is simply amazing. It is easy to become wrapped up in the architecture alone, the beautiful old playhouse covered in marble staircases, hand-painted murals, and an exquisite dome ceiling. All these wonders, all the riches, however, are but mere rubble compared to the passion and love evoked by the church-goers. The worship, once started, will roll on unceasingly for hours on end. I glanced at one point during a song and saw a group of young guys dancing, twisting and flipping their bodies in revery. I sang louder than ever before, clapped harder than I ever had. The joy is infectious, it's quite easy to get swept up. I was in such awe of the love and thanks these people showed Christ.

It led me to wonder why such joy is often lacking in my own church, not to mention in my own life. I believe it all depends on how much you have to be thankful for. In reality, we should all exhibit the same level of gratitude for all He has done. Sadly, this is often not the case. Living in a quite, rural suburban town is not a life full of danger and risk. I have more money than I need to live comfortably. I accept the fact that my streets are safer than the majority of those in the world. So when I enter my church, every Sunday, there is usually the same level of thanks. Unless some special circumstance comes up during the week, it is hard for me to evoke the sort of passion I feel I should exhibit. This shows me how true it is that wealth, though seemingly a blessing, is often more of a curse. When we have more money than we need, we begin to depend more on ourselves than on God. Take away money, take away safety, and you have true thanks. This is the passion I felt at BT.

Walking around Brooklyn, or even Manhattan, I felt so much more thankful that I had a loving God to guide and protect me through every day. This emotion was not brought about by any real crime or danger, but more by the state of the majority of people in the city. To see so many people wrapped up in themselves, in their money, and in their image, helped me to remember why I should be thankful that my value was settled on the cross. I can not imagine how much this feeling would be magnified if I was forced to walk the most dangerous of streets day in and day out. I guess I might possibly be that man dancing in the middle of church. Or perhaps I would be the woman behind me who planted a sweet kiss on my cheek, crossing not only the boundaries of race, but of society itself. To offer love and friendship up to anyone anonymously, this is probably the best gift that Christ gives us.

So how do I learn from the experience? Should I pack up all my belongings and move to the Big Apple? Should I sell all my possessions and live on the streets? It becomes obvious that none of these will come close to helping my present lack of gratitude. The only thing I can give to God that will please him, that will be the best offering of my thanks and praise, is every last bit of my being. I must offer my body, and all of its visceral complications, so He may heal my many wounds. I must offer my mind, that He may impart me with His glorious wisdom. I must offer my worldly heart, the one that has been taught that some love comes with a price, so that He may replace it with one sacred, swollen with all it has to offer. Lastly, most importantly, I must offer up my soul. Not only the joyous and brilliant rooms I have spent many a nights resting in, but also those long forgotten areas left locked and boarded up for years. This must be done so that He may open new doors and let His glorious light shine in upon them. Spring cleaning at its best.