The Sacramental Nature of Forests:
Catholic Values and the Future of the Forest (Part
One)
by Br. Keith Warner,
OFM
Theologians are
encouraging Catholics to see the seven sacraments as rooted in a
sacramental universe. As a Franciscan, I encourage this
understanding of sacraments and the material world. I want
everyone's celebration of water, wheat, wine, and oil to reflect
earth's bounty, beauty and goodness. And somehow we must work to
heal the psychological schism which allows our brothers and sisters
to celebrate God's love on Sunday and then see the earth as
something to abuse and pollute on Monday.
The U.S. Catholic
bishops recognize that the universe is God's dwelling. In their
pastoral letter on the environment they put forth the sacramental
nature of the earth as a fundamental starting point for theological
reflection on care for the environment:
For many people, the
environmental movement has reawakened appreciation of the truth
that, through the created gift of nature, men and women encounter
their Creator. The Christian vision of a sacramental universe -- a
world that discloses the Creator's presence by visible and tangible
signs -- can contribute to making the earth a home for the human
family once again (Renewing the Earth).
Our challenge is to
bring this sacramental theology out of books and into daily
experience. Forests are excellent places to help those who are
suffering from the psychological schism between earth and
spirit.
Sacramental
Forests
I spent no time in
forests before I was 19 years old, so perhaps my experience of
coming to recognize forests as sacramental might be illustrative. I
took a nine-year break after my freshman year at college, and
joined a Jesus community in Oregon that relied on income from a
reforestation co-op. For six months every winter and spring, we put
seedlings back into clearcut forest. At the beginning, I hated the
job. Treeplanting is grueling work, and in the Northwest this work
is often conducted in pouring rain on hillsides almost too steep
for a person to stand. Strapping 30-40 pounds of refrigerated
seedlings onto your hips and climbing through brambles and
rockpiles was a shock to my body, accustomed to suburban
comforts.
Yet over five
seasons, the forest touched my heart. I developed a respect for the
inhabitants of the forest, even though I spent most of the day in
clearcuts. The sheer size of the Douglas firs in Oregon's ancient
forests never ceased to awe me. The immense quantity of biomass
inflicts a measure of humility in me, and, I suspect, in most
people. Walking through an ancient forest grove reminds us that
among God's creatures our species is not the biggest, nor the
oldest, nor necessarily the wisest! As human beings we are
distinctively gifted by our Creator, but God's creativity, blessing
and love were communicated to me by the magnificence of the
forest's trees.
Ironically, my
awareness of the sacramental nature of forests became clearer after
I moved from rural Oregon to urban Portland. I missed the beauty
and quiet of the forest. Something about my life was lacking, like
I was missing a family member, because I was not in the forest.
Surrounded by noise, concrete and crass material culture, I escaped
by returning to the beauty and serenity I found in the woods. That
sense of longing for the splendor of an ancient forest endures in
me today, fifteen years later.
Making a
Return
My love of the
forests led me to learn more about their biological diversity and
the complex relationships within them. My feelings of reverence,
humility, and gratitude have all grown and I have become an amateur
natural historian of western forests. I love God more because of
the way my spirit has been nurtured by our Creator in the forests.
I don't know what most urban theologians think of when they write
about the sacramental nature of creation, but I think back to the
way forests have spoken to me of God's blessing, grace and love. I
feel such a gratitude to forests that I am compelled to speak out
on behalf of their damage, suffering and loss. As a Franciscan, I
struggle to do this while always remembering the love of God I have
experienced in them.
I love God more
because of the way my spirit has
been nurtured by our Creator in the forests.
Western forests have
been so spiritually important in my life that it can cause tension.
In all honesty, my experiences of prayer are more consistently
renewing out in the forests than inside church buildings. This does
not mean that my best experiences of prayer have not been in church
nor that sacraments are not vital to my life. I love a well-led
liturgy and I entrust myself to the grace made manifest in the
sacraments. Nor does it mean that I don't treasure the human
community which has nurtured me in countless ways. My life is
dedicated to nurturing community. But there is something special
about being in a forest.
When I think of the
hundreds of forest hikes I've taken, the word that best describes
the overall experience is intimacy. I experience God intimately in
forests. I love other ecological communities, but there is nothing
quite like the communion and sacramentality in the moist, quiet,
and sensory experience of an ancient forest.
__________________________
Keith Warner OFM is a Franciscan friar and
geographer, living in San Juan Bautista, Central Coastal
California. He is a doctoral student in environmental studies at UC
Santa Cruz.
