"The covenant between me and you and every living creature"

In the first reading at Mass yesterday – the first Sunday of Lent – Catholics were reminded of Noah. This was followed by St. Peter’s epistle, which expanded the flood imagery with the promises of baptism. Both readings then contrasted wonderfully with the Gospel’s scene in the desert. As I was listening to these texts, each echoed a subject that of late has been the focus of much discussion: the place of man within creation.

God said to Noah and to his sons with him:
"See, I am now establishing my covenant with you
and your descendants after you
and with every living creature that was with you:
all the birds, and the various tame and wild animals
that were with you and came out of the ark.
I will establish my covenant with you,
that never again shall all bodily creatures be destroyed
by the waters of a flood;
there shall not be another flood to devastate the earth."
God added: "This is the sign that I am giving for all ages to come, of the covenant between me and you
and every living creature with you:
I set my bow in the clouds to serve as a sign
of the covenant between me and the earth.
When I bring clouds over the earth,
and the bow appears in the clouds,
I will recall the covenant I have made
between me and you and all living beings,
so that the waters shall never again become a flood
to destroy all mortal beings." (Gen. 9:8-15)

There’s a lot going on here, but the common theme in God’s promise to Noah is that He will forevermore safeguard earth and all living beings from His just judgment. Indeed, Genesis doesn't limit God’s promise exclusively to the human race, but “to every living creature.” This makes sense since, in the beginning, God found all that He had made to be “very good.” (Of course, we’ll see echoes of all this in the psalms of creation and, ultimately, in the promise of a new Heaven and a new Earth in John’s Apocalypse.)

What have been revealed to us in Scripture, then, are balancing forces that teach us what God is up to by granting us “dominion” over creation (Gen. 1:28-29). This is helpful. Exactly what man’s dominant place is within the scheme of earthly resources (living or otherwise) has been debated for some time, especially since the coming of the Age of Industry. Of late, it’s been highlighted in the presidential races here in America.

One comment reported recently by former Senator Rick Santorum especially caught my attention: “Unlike the earth, we're intelligent and we can actually manage things."

I think I know what he means by this, but the theologian and environmental regulator in me have something to add.

Ages ago, I had it explained to me (and I do forget who said this, for which I apologize) that the theology and anthropology of the meaning of dominion in Genesis is more akin to a parent-child relationship than it is to a master-slave relationship. Following the metaphor, we humans are to be wise and care for creation, but we are not beholden to it. We are to put it to use for the good of the human family, but not assault it for our whims and pleasure.

Better yet, in the language of love, we are to embrace it and allow it to seek our good, as we seek its good. This may seem to be odd language when speaking of man’s relation with the rest of creation. But it sounds consistent with what has been revealed to us about God:

"See, I am now establishing my covenant with you
and your descendants after you
and with every living creature that was with you:
all the birds, and the various tame and wild animals
that were with you and came out of the ark.
I will establish my covenant with you,
that never again shall all bodily creatures be destroyed
by the waters of a flood;
there shall not be another flood to devastate the earth."

Simply put, if God holds a covenant with all living creatures, and we are made in His image, shouldn't we also seek a covenant with earth’s ecological bounty? And if so, how far do our responsibilities go to protect it?

Here we come to another point: Just because God will not devastate the earth does not imply that He would not allow us to do so. Thanks to our free will, we may take too much and pollute too much and waste too much and, thus, destroy a great many bodily creatures – plant, animal, and human. Sure, we probably will not obliterate all life on earth, but we certainly may leave our mark. We are, after all, sinners.

And here we come back to Senator Santorum’s statement that “we're intelligent and we can actually manage things.”

Yes, we can manage things, but we can also be very poor at it, which is why I have a job. Yes, many of us do care about conserving the goods of nature, but then there are others that don’t, no matter what their intelligence. Which is why I have a job. Greed, after all, is sometimes a stronger force than our wits.

Thus, we do well to remember that it is not our intelligence that makes us good stewards, but our intellect elevated and emboldened by the grace of God. It is not our minds that foster good decision making, but our redeemed hearts. It is God, not us, that alone can claim a perfect covenant with the great good of the natural order. We consumers, regulators, scientists, politicians, and chief executive officers need to work very hard at managing things at all – sinners that we are.

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