God's Country

God looked over everything he had made; 

      it was so good, so very good! 

   It was evening, it was morning— 

   Day Six.

    Heaven and Earth were finished, down to the last detail.

--Genesis 1:31-2:1 (The Message)

I just got back from a bit of family time in Colorado, where I grew up. This is beautiful country, no denying it. 

This time, we flew in. The aerial perspective, as we crossed Kansas (FLAT) and the Rocky Mountains first rose into view-- wow! It is nothing short of spectacular. And on previous visits, when we have driven from Ohio . . . across Indiana . . . Missouri . . . Kansas (FLAT) . . . and then into eastern Colorado which, at first glance, admittedly looks a lot like Kansas (FLAT!)-- well, I have come to appreciate Zebulon Pike's excitement when he first spotted the tip of the mountain that later came to bear his name-- and the spot from which he saw Pike's Peak came to be known as Firstview. 

Good, glorious stuff all. And folks in Colorado have come to proclaim this state to be "God's Country."

But I have been thinking about things again.

First of all, what makes Colorado more God's country than any other place? Here and around the globe, every place is special, every location has beauty if we open our eyes to see it. (But that's just one place my mind wandered, and for that I credit Barbara Brown Taylor's beautiful book, An Altar in the World. If you have not read Barbara Brown Taylor, you should. She is who I want to be when/ if I grow up. Click here for a book preview:Altar in the World)

While we were in Colorado, a massive forest fire was ablaze. As of today, it had consumed over 46,000 acres of land in God's country. Forty-six thousand acres of forest, home to so many of God's creatures. And on top of that, many families' homes are in danger. The destruction is enormous-- and as of last night, only about 10% of the fire had been contained.

Now, this one may turn out to be a naturally-caused forest fire, product of a lightning strike. But not all of them are.

And yesterday I was listening to a story on public radio about the now-closed-but-soon-to-be-reopened-as-a-wilderness-area Rocky Mountain Arsenal. In the 70s, this place manufactured plutonium pits for nuclear weapons. It was closed and originally declared unsafe, with cleanup projected at taking seventy years and many billions of dollars. (To read or hear what I am talking about, click here: Rocky Flats story) Now-- the place has, in theory, been cleaned up (in seven years) and is set to be made available to the public for recreation. 

Seriously. Is this how we treat "God's country"? And God's creatures and Creation?

Are we so inured to the way we behave, the ways we treat one another that we no longer worry about plutonium in lake waters, or the plight of creatures not human? (Oh, wait-- "we" are often careless and callous in our treatment of creatures human, as well, aren't we.)

I am not picking on Colorado. It's everywhere. We pave mile after mile of landscape for our own selfish uses, we hoard food and resources while others do without. We declare one group "in" and another "out." 

And I have to believe, all the while God is simply shaking his head wondering what we thought God really meant by "dominion." Not domination over all Creation. Dominion.

So today, the car stays in the garage unless I am going someplace too far to walk (over three miles).

Today, I am eating lower on the "food chain," and eating to stave off hunger, not to stuff myself full.

Today, I am washing in cold water, not hot.

And today, I am stopping to reflect on the beauty of God's presence in this place, in each face, and to say a prayer of thanksgiving-- and confession.

Gracious Lord, your goodness is overwhelming, your presence seems to surround us in this space! Open our eyes to see your fingerprints, and sharpen our conscience to awareness of the little things (and big things) we do each day that work against the goodness you have created in this space. Forgive us-- even as, many times, we know exactly what we are doing. Amen.