Rainy day morning thoughts

There is something highly attractive in this morning’s cool rainy weather. The diffused light enhances the golden color of the maple tree outside my window. The sounds of water falling to earth, dripping off the roof, light and deep, form a symphony. From the patter to the drips to a rhythmic thumping of drops collecting and then falling, there is a peace and a diverse natural order. Somewhere in the side yard, a bird calls out.

I sit, propped up in bed, my laptop invisibly connected to the World Wide Web and read the variety of articles and email alerts that come into my inbox. Sandwiched underneath the relentless headlines is a pervasive theology of consumption and privilege that is contrasted by the free-falling rain. I have become sensitive to these null messages where concern for the other and for the earth is discounted in the face of the economic realities that we face.

I interpret the political maneuvers in Congress about health care reform and big oil company Chesapeake’s announcement in today’s Times that they will not drill in the New York City watershed as strategic moves of a selfish body that are designed to further one’s position and opportunity for corporate gain.

I do research for a paper, “Theology of Consumption,” that I will write as a final requirement for an online class on Unitarian Universalist theology. In it, I will use the exploration and extraction of natural gas from the Marcellus Shale, the huge formation of shale that runs from West Virginia, much of Pennsylvania and into the Southern Tier of New York, as a case in point and explore how it relates to the UU principle that affirms the importance of the interdependent web of existence.

I gather resources including Sallie McFague’s “Searching for a New Framework” in which she espouses that our current environmental crisis creates a need for a paradigm shift from an anthropocentric view of God and our place in the world to a cosmological interpretation and way of being in the world that supports the flourishing of all life. She concludes that changing this emphasis, actually embodying our theology of respect for all life in all that we do, is a form of activism.

My to-do list, which includes a one-page summary of said aforementioned paper, will prevent my attendance at the first public session where the New York State Department of Conservation (DEC) is presenting its proposed supplemental guidelines for the extraction of natural gas to the public. I had wanted to attend so that I could experience first hand the context in which the DEC places this activity and to have the opportunity to hear the various positions, pros and cons and in betweens, held by members of the community.

In a perfect world, I would been prepared with a compelling statement about process theology where we become transformed by the process of our exploration of the issues and how deep listening and not creative positioning yields best management practices and environmentally and socially responsible behavior. Like listening to the rain and simply noting the different sounds that make up the symphony, holding the realities of those whose differ from our point of view, articulating our common interest to not harm the earth or our communities, gives us the opportunity to underpin this potentially life-threatening activity and exploitation to something that is life affirming.

I am hopeful that that dialogue and process begins tonight.