Land

There is a field next to Yutan with a small copse of trees. During the summers on years when corn is planted, the trees disappear at the rate of the growing corn when standing beside the field. In the cold gray winter, harsh wind cuts over the barren dust and rattles the island of trees. I spent the first eighteen years of my life growing up beside this field. Though I never could claim ownership, I walked to those trees with my dogs countless times. My dad would walk with my brother and I to pick mulberries in the tree line along it. This field was part of my home. Unfortunately, the field has been bought by a housing developer. That landmark copse will probably be felled. The land will be turned into an unimaginative grid of identical houses, but what really is the land? The dusty cornstalks covered in snow or the dirt beneath them? Will it no longer be the land once it's filled with cement?

While some people might draw a clear line somewhere, I think most of us would see this on a spectrum. Some things are more bound to the land than others. Humans and perhaps migratory birds may be the least bound to the land. They are something different, something above the land. For humans, the land yields to us, serves us. We often see ourselves as not a part of it. How could we be its master and be a piece of it?

If this is the position we hold, Isaiah 62:4-5 might not make a lot of sense. What does it mean for the land to be married? Who is marrying the land? Is God marrying the dirt and rocks of a particular geographic location? While certainly God is building up the plants and animals, the streams and hillsides, of every place, but is that what Isaiah means? 

The clear implication of the text is that the people of Israel are the land, and if they are they land, we, by the extension of God’s promise, are the land. I think there are some important applications of this idea, and I want to talk about three of them: environment, context, and heritage.

Environment can mean essentially the same thing as context in some cases, but I mean to apply it in its scientific sense here. The environment is our natural surroundings. It includes soil, climate, flora, and fauna, but if we are the land then it also includes us. While Genesis 1 may indicate that humans are above the earth, ruling over it, this seems to indicate that we may be the leaders of the environment, but our well-being is inextricably linked to the good order of the environment. Taking care of the environment is good because it takes care of us, but that’s not all.

Because we are part of the environment, it shares our merits. We ought to care for the land for the same reason that we care for ourselves. The environment we live in has intrinsic value and is therefore worthy of our care and protection. We are the land. The land is us. The land must be loved just as we are. Nature is our home. 

The worlds of fantasy stories and folklore often see nature being defended by nonhuman creatures: elves, fairies, monsters, and animals whether anthropomorphic or not. These stories often see these creatures as defending a peaceful natural setting against invaders, often humans or something else that represents human industry, the uncontrolled urge to tame the world and bend it to human uses. However, as far as we can tell these fantasy creatures don’t exist in our world. If we are the land, then we are the protectors of the land. This responsibility falls on us. This categorization enlists us in the fight to regulate our own industry to protect the balance of the environment we call home.

Our context is also important. God may be universal, loving and sustaining the entire world, but God’s mission is expressed locally. Sometimes we get so focused on trying to make sense of some universal theological concepts that we fail to apply our theology to our neighbors. We may preach grace without offering grace. We may preach peace while sowing discord. We may call for justice while ignoring injustice in our own cities and towns.

While it is true that there are starving children in developing countries, that doesn’t mean we should neglect children in our own schools who are falling asleep in class because of malnourishment. This isn’t to say that we should ignore the needs of the world and turn inward. Rather we can engage in local and global missions without putting all effort into one at the expense of the other. The world needs us, but so does the land. Sometimes our missionaries need to go no further than the grocery store to find people who desperately need the work of the church. We are the land. We are in a context. Our mission may be global, but we cannot turn our eyes to the world at the expense of the real need at our doorstep.

Finally, claiming our spot as part of the land requires a consideration of our heritage. This is dangerous. While it isn’t obvious, “heritage” has been a word and concept used by extremists, especially white nationalists, who genuinely believe the white race is superior and deserve preferential access to the land. Some people who claim the land as their heritage believe that they have the divine right to the land at the expense of all others. They treat outsiders as invaders instead of welcoming them with humility and hospitality. But this doesn’t have to be what we mean when we talk about heritage.

Our heritage is a story woven in the land from generation to generation. The story isn’t filled with perfect characters. We don’t always make the right decisions. We are all sinful as were our ancestors before us. Our story is one in which hardship and joy meet. The land recalls our pain and celebration, the dreams of our ancestors realized in us as well as the things our ancestors never could have imagined. In some ways, our past is disappointed in us. In some ways, we are disappointed in our past. Heritage is an imperfect story, but if our history in the land is held up as perfect, excluding the complicated nature of humanity, our heritage will become brittle. We protect our story, our land, by showing radical hospitality and humility. This isn’t ours to exclude others. The land is ours to share. We are the land. We share of ourselves, making our heritage, our context, and our environment part of our mission.

This passage invites us into seeing ourselves not as lords over our little corners of the world but members of it. We are part of an environment, part of a context, part of a story that is told through the ages. God marries a land that includes us. We are part of a holy relationship, but it is bigger than ourselves and our church families. Whether the land is a field with a solitary copse of trees or a neighborhood filled with people in need of love, God invites us into engaging the land with compassion. We are all a part of God’s land.