Travel, Faith, and the Environment

Travel and transportation are important parts of our faith story. The Bible story begins with Sarah and Abraham called to leave their home and travel to a new land. The story of the people of Israel is one of migration, settlement, and exile. Most of the gospel happens while Jesus is traveling by foot or by boat. Paul and his companions traveled all over the Mediterranean so much that Acts reads as one giant travelogue. Saint Brendan the Navigator set out to do missions work in a boat with no plan at all — only the resolve to go and preach the gospel wherever the wind took him.  

This should affect how we followers of Jesus think about travel. 

The flight from San Carlos to Mexico City to Berlin was the longest leg of our trip. Sixteen hours in the air. That’s a long time to be crammed into a tube, wearing a mask, with hundreds of other potential COVID carriers. I did feel as though we had stepped into a journey of biblical proportions. Even though we had the internet in our hands, it was still a leap of faith carrying only what we needed for a few nights’ stay. And though we packed light, I knew we’d be getting a workout since we planned to travel mostly by foot and public transit in Europe.

I also had some concerns that went beyond our own comfort. One of my goals on this trip was to explore travel itself, its ethics and its history. Air travel is one of the most environmentally damaging things we do as a species, and the airline industry is responsible for about 5% of global greenhouse gases. Many people who love the planet have sworn off air travel altogether. Since how the church handles climate change was one of the main questions I was exploring, I struggled with my own responsibility for climate change on this trip, especially since we’d be taking some very long flights. We resolved to buy carbon offsets for our journey with some of our grant funds. We sat down with some internet calculators and estimated our total carbon footprint for the two-and-a-half month journey, including planes, trains, and automobiles. (We would also wind up taking a ferry, but we didn’t anticipate that in our original calculations). 

Traveling with our gear on public transit in Berlin

There is an ongoing debate over whether carbon offsets actually work, or whether they are simply a form of greenwashing and conscience-soothing. I won’t go into a detailed argument here, but I felt that purchasing carbon offsets was a way for us to stay mindful of the impact of our choices during this trip. We felt it was important to try on a different lifestyle, to go car-free for most of our trip, to use our feet and public transit as much as possible. “Travel light” was our motto. For the next two months, apart from our plane flights, we would have a much lower carbon footprint than our usual lifestyle in the United States, which, unless you live within the city limits of a major metropolis, pretty much requires a car to participate fully in our society. According to our calculations, during our travels our carbon footprint would actually be less than our usual day-to-day lifestyle in the United States. 

Amazing cycling infrastructure in Berlin. Bikes were ubiquitous in Germany and France

Air travel is simply an example of the bind we are already in with regards to the climate: without long-term government policies to address sustainability, the only way to have a zero-impact lifestyle in our society is to either live in poverty or be extremely wealthy. If you are rich, you could certainly live off the grid and invest in solar panels, battery backup, and alternative transportation if you have hundreds of thousands of dollars to afford land, housing, and all the technology to do so. But usually it is the wealthy who contribute the most to greenhouse gas emissions by doing none of those things and taking many domestic flights for travel. Those of us flying coach on international flights are the lowest-impact air passengers. 

Graffiti on the Berlin Wall

But being able to afford such a flight at all still puts us in the upper percentages of global wealth. What is our individual responsibility? I recognize how fortunate and privileged I’ve been to travel the world by air, usually because people donated for mission trips or sponsored projects I was working on. This trip was paid for by a grant. We could never have afforded it on a small-church pastor’s salary. Yet I knew, staring over the ocean from several tens of thousands of feet in the air, that I was living like a king compared to most of the world. And from the perspective of global history, not just a king — like a god. Flight was only a dream a little over a century ago. Now, it’s routine—if you have the money. 

Amazing street art on the Berlin Wall outdoor gallery

This was also one reason I felt it was important for us to learn to sail. For centuries, wind power was the only way you could travel the world. It may be that wind power will be important in the centuries to come. Cargo shipping accounts for an even larger percentage of global greenhouse gas emissions than air travel. Every time we buy something, whether in a store or online in our globally-connected economy, we are pumping more money into this industry. Some cargo shipping companies are betting that we will return to sailing ships, but more massive, high-tech versions. 

As travel technology continues to change our relationships to time, space, and the planet, I think people of faith will need to be conscious of our responsibility. When Abraham and Sarah left Ur for the Promised Land, they were not just changing their location—they were changing the planet. May we be mindful of the way God is asking us to change. 

Prayer: God, help us to be mindful of the way our travel changes not just us, but the world we inhabit.

—Rev. Dr. David Barnhart, Jr. 

(You can support the ministry of Saint Junia United Methodist Church by clicking here.)

Steer Less, Anticipate More

On a small sailing dinghy, like the one I learned to sail on when I was a teenager, you learn to feel the wind. With the mainsheet in one hand and the tiller in the other, you learn to balance the force of the wind against the resistance of the water. Adjust either the sheet or the tiller, and you can feel the pressure difference in the other. Your arms tell you when they are balanced. 

This is one of those major differences between what you can know with your mind and what you can know in your body. If I have to describe how sailing works with words, I say this: ”Boats can move against the wind because of the lift generated by the shape of the sail. Even though the wind may be in your face, you are pulled forward by the pressure differential.” Maybe you grasp this concept easily, but for me, it didn’t really make sense until I felt both the sail and the tiller pulling my hands, and I understood that in order to point the boat in the right direction, I had to balance those forces. 

I remember when it clicked. It was exhilarating. I was doing old-school magic, riding the boundary of these two elements, water and air. 

Not so with a big boat. The forces are too huge for you to manage them with your own strength. You cannot control the sails with your bare hands. It requires winches, a crew, and language. The idea here is not to balance the forces in your body, but to set the sails and rudder so that the boat steers itself.  

That’s why our instructor kept telling us, “steer less, anticipate more.” If you are the pilot, you cannot turn the wheel as if you are turning a car. If you move the wheel, it may take several seconds before you notice a change in direction — especially if the boat is bobbing and bouncing over the waves. I was also learning a different kind of body knowledge: the feel of the boat under my feet. How the boat slid down a wave could predict which way the bow would point several seconds later. I didn’t need to correct every change. I was learning to distinguish signal from noise. 

It’s good to have an engine on a big boat. Here, Angela participates in a lesson about diesel engines.

Our instructor doing maintenance on the rigging.

“Steer less, anticipate more”seems like good life advice, too. And good advice for the church. 

The early church often talked about the church as a sailboat and the Holy Spirit, the wind or “breath of God,” as the force that pushed the church forward. But I think She also pulls us forward. The waves of time, culture, and circumstance offer resistance, but somehow balancing these forces gives us a direction. Too often we are trying to steer the boat, fighting the waves while our sails flap in the breeze. 

Part of my rationale for taking this trip was to learn from history, to anticipate more of what’s coming for our culture and for the church. And, for myself, to steer less. After we earned our sailing certificate, we planned to go to Germany, to see where the Reformation kicked off and where, during World War 2, the world faced deep theological questions about the justice of God. 

Our last evening in San Carlos

Prayer: Help me to steer less and anticipate more, trusting in your Breath and the friction of the world to move me in the right direction.

—Rev. Dr. David Barnhart, Jr. 

(You can support the ministry of Saint Junia United Methodist Church by clicking here.)

An Interrupted Journey

---

The Church of Magdala, on the Sea of Galilee, featuring a striking boat altar. Personal photo, 2019.

---

Since we’re in one of these “Five-hundred year rummage sales” where all our old ideas and values are being reevaluated, I thought it would be a good idea to look at past rummage sales. Two thousand years ago (or four rummage sales ago), when a small group of Jesus-followers started spreading his message, the new movement met in peoples’ homes. The early movement called themselves “ecclesia,” or “the called-out ones.” This usually gets translated as “church,” but the old name, ecclesia, implies that this new community would be an alternative to religion as usual. Many of those house church leaders were women, and Paul names them: Chloe, Nyssa, Junia, Lydia, and others. They were explicitly egalitarian and inclusive. Paul wrote “there is no longer Jew or Greek, enslaved or free, male and female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 3:28).

Paul and his companions sailed around the Mediterranean, networking these new communities and doing what we might today call “community organizing.” He was trying to get several different communities to cooperate as one. 

This history is one reason I chose “sailing uncharted waters” as my proposal theme. The early ecclesia had no idea where the future would take them. There was no chart. They had no idea what hazards lay ahead, or who might try to hijack their movement. They did not know how the currents and tides of history might move their boat off course. 

Boats, of course, were an important symbol in the early church. Jesus preached from a boat, stilled the storm on the Lake of Galilee, and hung out with fishermen. 

My first experience with sailboats was when I was a teenager. My parents bought a single-sail 14-foot dinghy and we learned to sail on Alabama lakes. But in 2019, in order to get a sense of what the leaders of the early church faced, I decided I needed to learn how to sail on the sea. Part of my proposal would include sailing lessons. We made a plan that included sailing on the Mediterranean and visits to Greek archeological sites where Paul met with early church leaders. 

But after my proposal was accepted and I received the grant for my renewal project, the pandemic hit. We had to cancel our plans. I wasn’t just disappointed. I was heartbroken. But I realized that plagues have also been part of the “uncharted waters” that church and society have faced in past centuries. We know that pandemics will occur more regularly in the future as our climate changes. Perhaps it was fitting that my journey began with an interruption. I realized that we really are sailing uncharted waters. 

Prayer: God, our Guardian and Guide, you are with us on the journey, even when we are standing still.

—Rev. Dr. David Barnhart, Jr. 

Introduction: Shoeing Horses

---

At a scenic stop in Ireland in July, we were visited by a friendly (and huge) work horse.

---

In addition to being a pastor, I have a Ph.D in religion, with an emphasis in homiletics (preaching) and social ethics. But as I watch the many crises affecting churches and academia, sometimes it feels like I did an incredible amount of work to get a degree in shoeing horses. There just aren’t a lot of jobs for farriers these days. It’s a niche occupation. 

I don’t think religion will ever be obsolete. But I do think religious institutions, and the clergy who maintain them (my online friend David Dark refers to clergy as “professional god-talkers”) will become more rare in the coming years. In addition to all the evidence of plummeting church participation, churches are polarized and splitting. There is a well-documented trend of pastors burning out and giving up, especially during COVID. I’ve felt it, too, that sense of hopeless dread. This is a hard season in which to try to build or maintain a religious community. 

As a society, I’d argue that in many ways, we’re becoming more religious. Back in the 1960’s, the General Social Survey reported that only 22% of Americans said they’d had a life-changing spiritual or mystical experience. By 2009, according to a Pew Religion and Public Life survey, it was nearly half of all Americans. Spiritual experience increased even as church participation decreased. 

Some of this may have to do with the growth of a population who describe themselves as “spiritual but not religious.” In the sociological research, they are often described as “SBNRs.” Twenty years ago in his book After the Baby Boomers, sociologist Robert Wuthnow described what younger generations did as “spiritual bricolage,” sampling from multiple streams of faith traditions.   

In many ways, I feel like the work I did to earn a Ph.D in religion prepared me to have a ringside seat at this period of the Great Emergence, to observe of this work of spiritual bricolage as an anthropologist might. 

Even though church and academy are struggling, on my good days, I don’t feel that my effort in church or academia has been wasted. I didn’t go into ministry for the career advancement opportunities — I did it because I love God and I love people. And I didn’t go into academia so I could fight to earn a tenure-track position — I did it because I love learning. That’s why I proposed the trip I’m about to share with you: Navigating Uncharted Waters. If you’ve signed up for these devotionals, that probably means you do, too. This moment in history calls for people who love God, love people, and love learning. 

Thanks for joining me on this journey. 

Prayer: God, you who are both hidden and revealed, reveal to us the path toward truth and life. Amen.

—Rev. Dr. David Barnhart, Jr. 

How We Got Here

Veil Nebula, by Ken Crawford. From Wikimedia Commons

Sometimes when I start to feel hopeless about the world, about climate change, weaponized ignorance, and interlocking systems of injustice and petty cruelty that create white supremacy, male supremacy, and toxic religion, I have a vision of what happened before I was born.

And I’m not saying I believe this is actually the way God or consciousness works, but I have this image of God giving me—giving all of us—a choice about whether or not to be born in this age, out of all the ages of history. I imagine the sales pitch: “Going into this world will be, in many ways, like running into a house on fire.”

“I’m not asking you to be a hero,” God says. “But to be a human. You will be part of a team. And the whole thing may collapse on you. And you’ll probably fail. Will you love this world? To pour out your life because you love it so? Because that’s what we do, you know. That’s what love does.”

I feel this vision when I get to be in communion with prison abolitionists and local farmers and deconstructing clergy and scientists and therapists and freedom fighters and activists and scholar-reformers. On good days, I feel like maybe we chose this, to be here, doing this work in this house on fire, because it was the time that needed us.

I’m not saying we chose this mess or chose to suffer — I think. But I think for humanity to reach maturity, some of us understand that we have to take responsibility for shit, even if it isn’t our shit.

And on good days when I catch this vision, I also realize that there is so much to love in this house on fire: my amazing family and friends, of course, but also animals and plants and music and beauty. And on good days I feel like the luckiest son of bitch in the world, and I’m glad you chose this time to live, too.

A Christmas Prayer for a Changing Climate

The late leaves hanging on the plum tree, from Wikimedia Commons

Lord, you said that if I had faith the size of a mustard seed
I could tell this mountain, “get lost,”
And it would throw itself into the sea.
I don’t know if I have that much faith.
But I ask that you would
Stop
Those who move mountains to reach the coal underneath.
That you would
Stop
Those who dump their waste into the sea.
That, in the words of the psalmist,
You would break the teeth of the liars,
Those false prophets who played in the snow just a few years ago,
Asking, “What climate change?”
That you would make their lying tongues cleave to the roof of their mouths.
That those who sell the needy for a pair of slippers
That those who buy expensive things while they made unjust laws
That those who have sold our children’s futures
Would sink to the bottom of the sea with their yachts,
Heavy as hundreds of millstones,
That they would become food for the fish whose oceans they’ve choked with plastic.
I ask that you would knock down prisons
Built with covid money.
I ask, as John did, that you would destroy those who destroy the earth,
Because though I do not have faith the size of a mustard seed,
I have rage the size of a mountain.
Let the mountains fall on them, Lord.
Let those who legislate poverty,
Let those who tread down the good pasture with their feet
And muddy the rivers with their excess
Be washed away by the rising tides.
And if any of my own wealth has been unjustly gained,
Return it fourfold
To those from whom it was stolen
To the people,
The plants
The rivers,
And the land.
And when all I have is gone,
Leave me with faith
The size of a mustard seed. Amen.

---

Scripture references:
Matthew 17:20
Psalm 58:6
Job 29:10
Amos 2:6
Isaiah 10:1
Matthew 18:6
Luke 4:18
Revelation 11:18
Luke 23:30
Ezekiel 34:18
Luke 19:8

Advent Week 3: Waiting

---

Saint Joseph, 1475, Tuscany. Personal photo.

After those days his wife Elizabeth conceived, and for five months she remained in seclusion…
And Mary remained with her about three months and then returned to her home. (Luke 1:24, 56, NRS V)

I have often heard preachers romanticize the tedium of waiting. They say, “Advent is about waiting.” We talk about waiting with hope, about active waiting versus passive waiting. We recall the way kids count down the days until they can open Christmas presents. We talk about the waiting of pregnancy, and about the appropriateness of the metaphor “she’s expecting.”

But it’s all just waiting. Between Mary’s Magnificat, Elizabeth’s prophecy, and the events of Christmas, there’s a lot of waiting. It is notable that the author says nothing about those mundane days. Eight months elapse in two sentences.

We know that the time was not necessarily boring, but it was full of everyday tasks: working, cooking, doing laundry, fixing broken things, weariness, sleeping, travel. The gospel authors, like any good storyteller, skips over these nondescript days in order to advance the story.

That’s one of the reasons I love the carving of Joseph in the photo above. You can see the weariness on his face. This is presumably after the long journey, after Jesus’s birth, perhaps after several sleepless nights of feeding and diaper changing.

It’s also a face full of love, because that’s what makes the waiting and the everyday experiences important. That’s what makes the waiting and the uncertainty and our mortality bearable.

---

Prayer: Maker of Time and Giver of Life, help us to bear the waiting and the uncertainty with love.

—Rev. Dr. David Barnhart, Jr. 

Advent Week 3: Mary’s Town

---

Church of the Annunciation, Nazareth, 2019. Personal photo.

In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. And he came to her and said, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.” But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. The angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” (Luke 1:26-38)

In 2019, I had the opportunity to visit the Church of the Annunciation in Nazareth. This was my second trip there, but one of the things that I took away was the picture of Mary’s family growing up in a cave. The setting is a contrast from most of the European art featuring Mary inside of a medieval-looking castle.

In Nazareth, most “starter homes” were caves. The family would have lived in the cave with any animals they owned. As they gained wealth, they would build on to the cave. At this site, you can see the remains of an addition built of stone adjoining the cave (not in the photo). This additional room was called a “kataluma.” A family who had upgraded their house in this way would continue to use the cave as a stable. Their beds were not permanent furniture, but rather mats they would roll out on the floor at night, and roll up out of the way during the day.

When Mary and Joseph go to Bethlehem, they can find no room in the “kataluma.” Floor space at night was at a premium even when people were not hosting travelers.

At this archeological site you can see the kind of village environment Mary would have grown up in. You would constantly have heard the neighbors’ business, as the next cave was only a few yards away. There are several caves stretched along the ridge here. The church is built beside and above these caves. The traditional site where the angel visited her is, like many places in Israel and Palestine, now a worshiping space for pilgrims from around the world.

You can read more about the Church of the Annunciation here.

---

Prayer: God of the sacred and mundane, you sanctify human life by taking our daily experiences of home and work on yourself. Help us find holiness in everyday places.

—Rev. Dr. David Barnhart, Jr. 

Advent Week 3: What is the “Immaculate Conception?”

---

Martino Altamonte, The Immaculate Conception, 1719, From Wikimedia Commons

Around this time of year, I will often hear a Protestant Christian (or a non-Christian) refer to Jesus’s conception as the “immaculate conception.” This is incorrect. Many folks think that the phrase “immaculate” refers to the miraculous conception of Jesus, but it’s actually a Roman Catholic doctrine about the conception of his mother, Mary. And it didn’t become official doctrine for the Roman Catholic church until 1854.

The idea of immaculate conception was a way to answer a medieval theological problem: in order for Jesus to be sinless, he would need to be free of original sin. And since original sin was passed down through the generations by sexual reproduction (“fleshly union”), from Adam and Eve until the present day, the only way Jesus could be free of original sin was if his mother was also free from sin. It wasn’t enough that he didn’t have an earthly Father; his mother had to be made sinless, too. So, Mary’s original sin was taken away miraculously at the point of her conception, so that she could become the pure vessel for the incarnate God.

Of course, if God could take away original sin simply by willing it, it raises a bigger question about the atonement: why did Jesus have to die to take away sin?

As a Protestant, neither the doctrines of Mary’s immaculate conception nor her “perpetual virginity” form any part of my theology. I think they have led to some very unhelpful Christian ideas about both sin and sex. I also reject the theology that says Christianity is primarily about “sin management.”

But I do think these ideas about Mary filled a need for Christians to recognize the feminine side of the divine. In Roman Catholic theology, Jesus is not alone either in his sinlessness or his close relationship with the Father. He is less of a rugged individualist, because his mother paved the way for him, and was the model for his humble obedience. It even makes his grandma (Anne) relevant to the story. It reminds us that Jesus did not fall out of the sky, but had a family who nurtured him in both his physical life and his vocation, and that God was active in their lives, too, before he ever arrived on the scene.

You can read about the history of the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception here.

---

Prayer: Creator God, though you are the same yesterday, today, and forever, your mercies are new every day. Help us to see both the wisdom and folly of our theologies, which can only point to you, but never define.

—Rev. Dr. David Barnhart, Jr. 

Advent Week 3: Clowns, John, and the Native Covenant

---

Hopi Katcinas drawn by native artists (1904) From Wikimedia Commons

Steven Charleston, an Episcopal bishop, writes:

…the funny thing is, even by his own admission, John is the one prophet in the Bible whom we should ignore. Without his message of doom and destruction, we see him in a different light. John becomes a character of pathos. He stands flailing his arms by the banks of the Jordon, wearing his outrageous outfit, making much ado about nothing. In short, John comes off looking a little odd, a little strange, even a little funny. And that is exactly the point. We should remember John, not because he was a very good prophet, which he was not, but because he was a very good clown.

[Charleston, Steven. (2015). The Four Vision Quests of Jesus (p. 56). Church Publishing Inc.. Kindle Edition.]

After this past Sunday’s story of John the Baptist railing about Jesus burning the unrepentant with “unquenchable fire” (Luke 3:17), I’ve been sitting with Steven Charleston’s interpretation of John as a clown in Native American tradition. John was wrong. Spectacularly so. Yet at the same time, he was preparing people for Jesus’ arrival — if only by setting them up for a contrasting idea of divine fire.

Charleston goes on to talk about how Pueblo koshares and Plains heyokas served to draw attention to the absurdities and contradictions of life. Hebrew prophets were also performance artists—just think of Ezekiel cooking food over a dung fire, or Jeremiah wearing a soiled loincloth.

Advent and Christmas continue to embody these contradictions: we are in a season of frenzied consumption, yet the message is one about simplicity and poverty. The holiday blues and loneliness sit side-by-side with messages of hope and togetherness. At the darkest time of year, we celebrate the light coming into the world. It’s a time when the holy, mundane, and the profane get mixed together. Advent and Christmas are full of contradictions. No wonder our symbol for Christmas waiting is a pregnant virgin.

I think Bishop Charleston is onto something. John prepares the way by embodying these contradictions. He’s the herald for an already-but-not-yet kingdom.

---

Prayer: Paradoxical God, you defy our descriptions and confound our reasoning. Help us pay attention to the clowns who reveal our world’s absurdities and contradictions.

—Rev. Dr. David Barnhart, Jr.