The Hour of (no) Power: Reflections on Electricity

As a city employee, I received an email today from the mayor's office about Honolulu's official participation in Earth Hour 2009 beginning tomorrow night at 8:30 pm local time. In case you haven't heard about it, Earth Hour is an international event organized by the World Wildlife Fund that began 2 years ago in Australia when 2.2 million Sydney residents turned off their lights for an hour to raise awareness of climate change and other environmental issues. Since then, the intentional blackout idea has spread around the globe and this year's affair is set to include at least 2100 cities in 82 countries (there, I just saved you a trip to Wikipedia).

I distinctly remember participating in last year's event because we took great care to ensure our 9-month-old was soundly asleep by 8:30 with enough lead time to allow his customary lullaby CD to run its course. Even though I grew up as a candle-literate missionary kid in countries with frequent blackouts (some scheduled, most not), I can't imagine raising a child without electricity. At least not in this county. How would his food and milk be refrigerated? Where would the energy come from to heat his bath water or wash his clothes and dishes? How many of his favorite toys and activities require a wall outlet or batteries? There would be no digital cameras to take his picture or vacuum cleaners to mitigate his messes. No cell phones to check in with his babysitter or Skype to chat with Grandma online. No electric fans for ambient noise, no air conditioners to keep cool and certainly no bathroom light switches to forget about.

It wasn't always this easy. The overwhelming bulk of world history pre-dates Thomas Edison's invention of the first commercially practical light bulb in 1879. With the exception of the last 130 years, every human civilization has been "in the dark" so to speak. There were no spotlights for the stage performances of ancient Greece or floodlights for the construction of China's Great Wall. The artists and revolutionaries of the Renaissance and Protestant Reformation did their work without any "power." From the ancient Egyptians to 19th-century European colonialism, empires rose and fell without so much as a mouse click. Sure, there were candles, lanterns and flames of varying sizes, but those would also be perfectly acceptable light sources for a measly hour without electricity tomorrow night.

So what exactly will I do with myself for 60 odd minutes of electricity-free darkness? At our house, 8:30 pm is usually when the TV, computer, dishwasher, microwave, DVD player and washing machine are all in use. As any parent knows, the time between your kid's bedtime and your own is very precious; hence the habitual consumption-fest. Earth Hour, for all of its simplicity, will change all of this, if only for one night. Since there will be no blogging, Facebook, YouTube, Amazon, craigslist, fantasy baseball, channel-surfing or microwave popcorn during this sacred hour, I might actually have to unplug my brain and interact with another human being the old-school way. Maybe we'll play cards, drink tea, tell stories or just quietly enjoy the solidarity with other darkened homes.

To the cynics who think this event is pure pageantry and does little to make a difference in reducing carbon emissions, say what you will. Exercise your energy guzzling rights for all I care. For me, Earth Hour is a timely reminder not only of my dependence on electricity and technology, but also the responsibility and stewardship required to use them well. That I'm a middle class American should not entitle me to frivolous energy consumption, even if I do "pay" for it every month. If renowned structures like Sydney's Opera House, Rome's Colosseum, the Empire State Building and even (oh yes) Manila's SM Mall of Asia can shut off their lights for just one Saturday night hour, I don't see why our household shouldn't do the same.

This Is My Father's World: Reflections on a Hymn

Don't ask me to choose a side in the tiresome "worship wars" between 'traditional' and 'contemporary' church music. I've heard all the arguments and I think we need both old and new. Sure, I'll concede that hymns are not trendy or seeker-sensitive. They often employ awkward phrases like "here I raise my Ebenezer" and "thine eye diffused a quick'ning ray." Most hymns don't always lend themselves well to 4/4 time signatures or video projection screens.

But the older I get, the more I appreciate the 'old school' hymns as expressions of essential truth about God's nature. One of my favorite hymns is "This is my Father's World", originally written as a poem by a pastor from upstate New York named Maltbie D. Babcock (pictured at left). Rev. Babcock is said to have been an avid hiker who was inspired by his walks in the woods near Lake Ontario to write "This is my Father's world", which became a hymn when it was set to music after his death in 1901.

So what's so great about this hymn? It doesn't have the name recognition of classics like "Amazing Grace" or "Holy, Holy, Holy." It has not been modernized and adapted for guitar and drums the way that say, "Come Thou Fount" or "When I Survey" have been David Crowder and Chris Tomlin-ized in recent years. The melody to "This Is My Father's World" is not particularly unique or memorable, just standard hymn fare if you ask me. I don't think you can buy a minus-one performance track edition at your local Christian bookstore (never say never). There's nothing about it that screams "special music" or "hit single." Even so, I have yet to come across any other song, ancient or modern, (outside of the Scriptures of course) that so perfectly describes the balance and tension between the "already" and the "not yet" of God's rule as King of creation. Babcock's words refuse to take sides in the false dichotomy that entangles so much of Christendom these days: the promise of a heaven "up there" vs. the imperative to bring about a heaven "down here."

With that balance in mind, I would like to reflect on some of the most poignant phrases found in the words of this beloved hymn. I have included the full lyrics so you can sing along if you wish!

Verse 1:
This is my Father's world, and to my list'ning ears
All nature sings, and round me rings the music of the spheres.
This is my Father's world! I rest me in the thought
Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas- His hand the wonders wrought.

"All nature sings, and round me rings the music of the spheres" God is an artist, a musician. His music fills the universe. The great "spheres" of sun, moon and planets display his artistry in motion. In creation, we will always discover Him conducting a majestic concerto as long as we have the "listening ears" required to hear it. The music sung by nature points to the creativity, imagination and originality of the Creator. It's fascinating to think that these words were written 100 years before evangelical environmentalists coined the language of "creation care" and "stewardship" of the Earth's resources.

Verse 2:
This is my Father’s world- the birds their carols raise;
The morning light, the lily white, declare their Maker’s praise.
This is my Father’s world! He shines in all that’s fair;
In the rustling grass I hear Him pass- He speaks to me ev'rywhere.

"He shines in all that's fair" Given that this hymn was written in 100+ years ago, I'll assume that the word "fair" is being used here as a synonym for "beautiful" or "pleasing in appearance." Anything that we find to be truly beautiful is reflecting something of the Divine. All truth is God's truth. Richard Mouw's excellent book of the same title eloquently defends the doctrine of common grace, the idea that even though non-believers do not participate in God's saving grace, they do participate in a form God's grace that is common to all of humanity. Christians do not have a monopoly on truth, beauty and artistry. The eternal state of one's soul is not a litmus test for great ideas, great art or even great friends. Not only does God shine in all things bright and beautiful (now I'm mixing my hymn lyrics), I would contend that He also shines in all that is just, another meaning of the word "fair." When fairness, wholeness and justice are restored to the world's brokenness and dysfunction, we catch a glimpse of the Kingdom.

Verse 3:
This is my Father’s world- O let me ne’er forget
That though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the ruler yet.
This is my Father’s world! The battle is not done;
Jesus Who died shall be satisfied, And earth and heav’n be one.

"Though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the ruler yet" This is my favorite line of the entire hymn. The world is dark place characterized by greed, superficiality, oppression and violence. Yet, it still belongs to God. It's still His world and it's not beyond redemption. Despite child slavery, genocide, tsunamis, famine and war, He is the ruler yet. Psalm 24:1 says, "The earth is the LORD's, and everything in it, the world, and all who live in it." The problem of pain is not a riddle to be solved or an equation to be balanced. Christ Himself promised trouble and affliction for those who sojourn on the path leading to His cross. But by that same cross, Christ has overcome the world.

Although most hymnals only contain three verses for this hymn, I was excited to find (thanks to the Internet) several additional stanzas that are rarely sung. I shall end my reflections by giving way to their words...

Verse 4:
This is my Father’s world, dreaming, I see His face.
I ope my eyes, and in glad surprise cry, “The Lord is in this place.”
This is my Father’s world! From the shining courts above;
The Beloved One, His Only Son, came- a pledge of deathless love.

Verse 5:
This is my Father’s world- Should my heart be ever sad?
The lord is King- let the heavens ring. God reigns- let the earth be glad.
This is my Father’s world! Now closer to heaven bound,
For dear to God is the earth Christ trod. No place but is holy ground.

Verse 6:
This is my Father’s world- I walk a desert lone.
In a bush ablaze to my wondering gaze, God makes His glory known.
This is my Father’s world! A wanderer I may roam
Whate’er my lot, it matters not, my heart is still at home.

Happy Earth Day!

So what's going on today in the Empire? At my office, the water cooler buzz is all about the final 6 contestants on tonight's Andrew Lloyd Webber-themed episode of American Idol. In the world of sports, the first round of the NBA playoffs is providing some intrigue, especially after Saturday's double overtime victory for the Spurs over the Suns, whose heated rivalry will continue this evening in Game 2. The political world is clearly focused on today's Democratic Presidential Primary in Pennsylvania. Anyone up for Round 46 of Barack vs. Hillary? Once you get past the diversions of entertainment, sports and politics, there's little time left to contemplate any other significance to this busy Tuesday.

Happy Earth Day!

It's been close to 40 years since the first Earth Day on April 22, 1970, a day when 20 million Americans took to the streets, parks, and auditoriums to demonstrate for a healthy, sustainable environment. This day is considered by many to be the beginning of the environmental movement, which led to the Clean Air Act, the Clean Water Act and the Endangered Species Act. Interestingly, Earth Day is the only event celebrated simultaneously around the globe by people of all backgrounds, faiths and nationalities. According to trusty Wikipedia, more than half a billion people participate in Earth Day Network campaigns every year.

I still remember going to science class at my private Christian high school (in the 1990's) and learning that Global Warming was a myth and that the term "Mother Nature" was never to be uttered unless you were on the wrong side of the God vs. Science debate. Never mind the fact that most of the great scientists throughout the history of western civilization were Christians or that all truth (scientific or otherwise) is God's truth, but I'll save that soap box for another day. Suffice it to say that the realms of conservation, preservation and environmental sustainability have not been the strong suits of American evangelicalism.

I've never considered myself an environmentalist or a tree hugger. Sure, I've watched An Inconvenient Truth, but that doesn't count (neither does March of the Penguins, although I unabashedly proclaim Winged Migration as the greatest bird-related documentary in existence). I've never read Silent Spring by Rachel Carson and honestly, I don't plan to. My name has found its way onto a lot of mailing lists, but the Sierra Club's isn't one of them. I didn't make it to last weekend's Kokua Festival with Jack Johnson and his leafy barefooted friends. I've tried to make sense of the term "carbon-neutral" but even the Wikipedia explanation is too complicated for me. Yes, I'll admit that we've recently begun using cloth diapers for baby, but that was 100% my wife's idea. Last Saturday, I regretfully missed an opportunity to plant trees with my church, although part of the reason involved the cost of gas for the 50-mile round trip. I guess it's not until I'm trying to save the environment that I worry about what I've done to help destroy it.

My ecological footprint is huge. I use paper towels for everything. I take too long in the shower. I create too much laundry. I drive too much and I always leave the power strip on. I throw plastic bags away. I eat a lot of individually wrapped foods with synthetically manufactured wrappers and containers that needed to imported and then disposed of. I can take out the trash in my sleep, but I rarely take account of what's in my trash and where it goes once that noisy truck takes it off my hands.

So why should I care that today is Earth Day?

Maybe it's because I feel guilty (can you tell?) about how wasteful we are as American consumers. Maybe it's because Earth Day pulls back the curtain on who I really am and not just who I blog to be. I could rant all day about religion and politics without it affecting my behavior. I can criticize the oil companies while still polluting with my car-dependant lifestyle. I can bash the government while failing to contact my representative. I can grumble about the Big Box Marts all I want, but I'll still look for the cheapest price on shaving cream and toilet paper. And I can give lip service to the environmentalists while I take a long shower.

It's difficult to be concerned about politics, globalization, poverty and injustice for very long before the conversation includes the environment. Our demand for certain products requires pollution and exploitation to manufacture those products. People (and animals) get sick because of the dirty air, dirty water and dirty conditions that our prosperity demands. People suffer through droughts and famines, roasting in the heat or freezing in the cold, because of climate change. People are poor because of our wealth. The environment is a not just a save-the-fuzzy-animals issue, it's a full-blown threat to human rights across the globe. Creation care, as evangelicals are now calling it, is a moral and spiritual issue.

In Sunday's New York Times, Michael Pollan wrote a fantastic piece called "Why Bother?" in which he said this about the environmental crisis: "For us to wait for legislation or technology to solve the problem of how we’re living our lives suggests we’re not really serious about changing — something our politicians cannot fail to notice. They will not move until we do. Indeed, to look to leaders and experts, to laws and money and grand schemes, to save us from our predicament represents precisely the sort of thinking — passive, delegated, dependent for solutions on specialists — that helped get us into this mess in the first place. It’s hard to believe that the same sort of thinking could now get us out of it."

So enough ruminating and self-loathing. What will I do besides blog about it? Although I tend to avoid making resolutions (for the New Year, Earth Day or any other time of year), my complacency compels me to make some sort of commitment. Here are my 3 pledges for Earth Day 2008:

1) I will turn down plastic bags at the store whenever possible. The more I learn about plastic bags and the crude oil required to make them, the less I can justify using a new one every time I make a purchase. Besides, they also take an estimated 1000 years to decompose- not the kind of 'millennium' Tim LaHaye had in mind.

2) I will read something by Wendell Berry, the Kentucky farmer/poet who is considered to be one of the most eloquent writers and thinkers on the subject of creation care and the interconnectedness of life. I also need to read more poetry!

3) I will plant something by the end of this year. It might be a tree or a small squarefoot garden, (buying a houseplant doesn't count!) but something tells me that gardening will be great for my soul. This resolution is the scariest because the thought of gardening has always invoked images of sweat, toil and frustration for me. However, I am willing to give it a try because of what new monastics like Shane Claiborne have said about the connection between gardening, spirituality and social justice, restoring God's creativity and imagination to "the abandoned places of the empire."

As Berry said, “Once our personal connection to what is wrong becomes clear, then we have to choose: we can go on as before, recognizing our dishonesty and living with it the best we can, or we can begin the effort to change the way we think and live.”