Several years ago I was asked by the Unitarian Universalist students at Wesley Seminary, my alma mater, to lead a chapel service about environmental stewardship. They wanted me preach the gospel of our 7th Principle – respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part. But they wanted me to preach it in language that their fellow students would easily understand. They wanted me to translate UU environmentalism into biblical environmentalism.

I began with a variation on the theology of original blessing; the belief that this earth, this solar system, this universe is precious and holy. I believe that because I read in Genesis 1 that “God saw everything that God had made, and behold, it was very good.” Not just good, mind you, but very good. And I also read that when God appeared to Job out of the whirlwind to answer Job’s accusations, God didn’t argue from logic. God argued from the goodness of creation. “Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding Who determined its measurements – surely you know! Who stretched the line upon it? On what were its bases sunk, or who laid its cornerstone, when the morning stars sang together, and all the sons and daughters of God shouted for joy?” You know how many verses that argument goes on in the book of Job? Lots! Question after question flung at poor Job, image after image of the majesty of creation – until Job’s righteous indignation is simply worn away by the magnitude of it. And then there are all of those glorious creation psalms. Psalm 65, for example. “You inspire hope to the ends of the earth, to the farthest seas. By your strength you set the mountains in place, they are the earth’s mighty girdle! You still the roaring waves of the sea, and calm the tumult of the people’s Those who dwell in remote places revere your signs – the joyful comings of morning and evening. The beauty of sunrise and sunset.”

          The planet we inhabit is a gift of the Creator. But, that Creator left Her handiwork in our hands. She really did! It says so right in Genesis 1. I know this because on my very first day of classes at Wesley, back in 1988, the new students were asked to participate in an exercise to get to know each other better. We were assigned to small groups, then given a verse from scripture and asked to discuss what it meant to us. My group got Genesis 1:28-31, about ‘man’ having dominion over the earth. When I saw that, my heart sank. I had my doubts about how I was going to fare there – a Unitarian Universalist in a Christian seminary. My plan was to lay low and get a feel for the place – to do a whole lot of listening before I spoke. But here it was – five minutes into my seminary experience and I was going to have to say something that would out me as a feminist, environmentalist, bleeding-heart liberal. Now, I was all of those things. Still am. I just didn’t want to have to say so first thing.

But I had to speak my truth; in this case the truth captured in that 7th Principle. So I told my new seminary friends (and to my relief many of them agreed with me) that the word ‘dominion’ invokes a spectrum of meanings from the worst – heartless and shameless exploitation because ‘it’s mine and I can do whatever I want without accountability’ – to the best – holding something precious in your hands, extending nurturance and protection, insuring that it is passed on to the next generation unharmed.

          That understanding of dominion – that we are obligated by the gift of creation to protect this earth – brings me to the second core belief in my theology of environmental stewardship: the power of human agency. To explain that I must invoke one of the profound theologians of all times. Ted Williams, arguably the best hitter in the history of baseball, once said, “God gets you to the plate, but from then on, you’re on your own.” The meaning of human agency in a nutshell. No matter what you believe about the nature of divinity, you’d better act as though your actions matter. God gets us to the plate – or wherever we are meant to be to fulfill our gifts. And then we have to use those gifts in the best ways we can imagine.

We can’t continue to behave in irresponsible ways and just leave it up God to protect Creation from us. After all, we were given dominion, invited or maybe commanded - to participate in the unfolding of Creation. Our dignity and worth as human beings comes, in part, from having that responsibility conferred upon us. To do anything less than treat it as a holy duty would be shameful, sinful.

          In living up to our potential and seeking to be the best we can be we affirm of the creation stories of many faiths. The wisdom of the ages teaches us that we are obligated to use our gifts and talents in service of creation.

          But we know that. I’m preaching to the choir here. We are people whose faith emerged out of the ancient texts of the Hebrew and Christian scriptures. We feel the obligation to exercise our dominion with love and care. Let those ancient texts continue to inform our attempts to live in harmony with creation. Let the conversation between ancient wisdom and contemporary realities enlighten us as we mindfully care for this gift we have been given. “But we have only begun to love the earth,” wrote the poet Denise Levertov. “We have only begun to know the power that is in us if we would join our solitudes in the communion of struggle. So much is unfolding that must complete its gesture, so much is in bud.” We are here to celebrate the incomplete gestures of creation, and to love them, and to work together to see them to fruition.