Fear and Forward

09 Sep, 2011

Leaving behind the waters that lead West, I followed a river called Wind. I followed it down and across the range where the song’s antelope live without play. There, the sage stretches and spreads in the rough high plains and a belly of coal coughs for the country. The cough spreads from country to water to other countries. And the range remains quiet in the wind.

Greetings from Casper, Wyoming! This is coal country. 40% of our nation’s coal comes from the Powder River Basin just north of here—a figure which quietly secures Wyoming’s status as the largest coal-producing state even without the additional federal land that has been opened to mining this year at great cost to that land. As I mentioned in an earlier blog, much of that coal is hauled overland by train to port where it will be shipped to China. Like elsewhere, the process of extraction is growing more and more destructive. But it’s not just coal around here. Oil and natural gas are also abundant. The regional emphasis on non-renewables makes dialogue on climate change in Casper a bit like discussing gambling in Vegas or alcoholism in Napa. Everyone has an opinion, but few want to discuss it openly. Many opinions come from scarred experiences or economic dependency. The door to dialogue is cracked, but its hinges could use a bit of loosening.

Even in the vast stillness of rural Wyoming, the talk of the hour is hindsight. In chorus, the nation seems to be singing the songs of ten years past. What have we learned? How can we move forward? Like many who are reading this, I lost dear friends on 9/11. I hope to honor their memory in my actions as well as dedicated quiet reflection on them as individuals and the events that collapsed their individual being into a hole that has scarred our collective body ever since.

At the heart of this hindsight, there is fear. We reacted in fear to fear-motivated, angry acts. We have lived in fear so visible it is color-coded. That fear has captivated our nation and disabled us. In the past ten years, the story of our country has been fear—fear of invasion, fear of changes, economic fear, etc. Some would add to this list of fears environmental fear. There are some good reasons to add this. In fact, many would have us look forward in fear at the world we are both creating and destroying.

I want to suggest that this is not the Christian way. Rather than facing the impossible and allowing fear to dictate our inaction, the example of Jesus tells us that we must disarm our fear by facing it. The way of love is not one of indifference or inaction. The way of love is a creativity that exceeds seemingly insurmountable boundaries.

Instead of spreading fear in the face of climate change, we are all called to respond with that boundless creativity. We need creativity, not fear. The old aphorism states that, “Necessity is the mother of invention.” We must recognize the need before us and shun those practices that veil or shade that bright need. Once we see the need, we must change. That change can create jobs. It can fuel human ingenuity and increased understanding. It can deepen our experience and draw us closer to the source of all experience.

I write to you, children, because you are not shackled by experience that limits your thinking.
I write to you, dreamers, because you see what others cannot.
I write to you, elders, because you know how to turn ideas into action.

I write to you, children, because your ears can hear our needs.
I write to you, elders, because you know the limits of human beings.
I write to you, inventors, because your ideas do not end at what has been done.

Our dream is old and it is new. It is the message you have heard from the beginning. The love that made you is with you now. Do not turn in fear. The need for love is before us, and in loving, we must dream. When you turn your mind’s eye from fear, dream of an economy of compassion ignited by necessity. The need is here, and so are we.

Until we meet again
Less fearful
Than we thought possible.