Photo: canva.com/agus fitriyanto
It seems normal now, but when I first arrived in Korea, I was surprised to learn that the country celebrated two New Year festivals: the Lunar and the Solar. I was puzzled because the Lunar calendar festivals, New Year and Chuseok (thanksgiving for the harvest), were culturally more significant than the Christian festivals of Easter and Christmas, which, in my naivety, I presumed were universally significant.
Not that I understood it then, but what I was really learning through these and other ‘surprises’ was to appreciate both the validity of different worldviews and their importance in defining ‘the normal’. I was awakening to my limited biases and preconceptions. In simple terms, a worldview is the mostly unconscious framework we all hold that explains and shapes the rhythm of life inherent in a particular historical, cultural and geographical context. Worldviews are how we make sense of the world.
It was not, however, until I worked in a country parish in Korea that I began to appreciate the significance of the Lunar calendar and its intimate connection with culture and life. Outside of the major festivals, nowhere was this connection more obvious to me than in the increase in activity that came with Gyungchip, one of 24 seasonal divisions of the Lunar calendar, usually occurring in early March on the Solar calendar. Gyungchip marks the moment when the entire country seems to awaken from winter hibernation. Farmers stir and frogs chirp!
There is a delightful comfort in the predictable rhythms of nature articulated by the Lunar calendar: the world just hangs together. However, it now feels as if something has gone seriously astray. As the global ecological crisis deepens, we can no longer presume either the benevolence or the predictability of the seasons and their weather patterns. The Korean rainy season, when or if it arrives, seems to have intensified. The winter weather pattern seems to have altered significantly and summer, which seems to start earlier and finish later, is increasingly hotter. And the chirp of frogs is increasingly difficult to hear.
Globally, the picture is worsening with more frequent and intensifying floods, fires, droughts and famines, disappearing forests and encroaching seas. Even if we do not want to talk about it, all of us are experiencing the impact of a global ecological tragedy, which increasingly challenges our worldview and the related political, economic, social, cultural and religious institutions. From a believer’s perspective, the “seamless garment of God’s creation” is fraying badly, if not disintegrating (Laudato Si, 9).
Put another way, how do we pray the first proposition of our Creed, “I believe in God, the Father almighty, Creator of heaven and earth”. As Christians, we have been good at longing for a heaven created by God. It is the creation of earth that is the problem. In our present day, we see our Church’s leadership struggling with the significance of God’s creation. Papal language has moved from talking about environmental awareness and protection to ecological conversion (Laudato Si, 2-6). We have become accustomed to the language of awareness and protection, and, to varying degrees, we take part in campaigns to protect the environment by living more frugally, reducing our waste and limiting our consumption of energy.
Ecological conversion, however, involves something entirely different. First, ecological conversion is a rediscovery and deepening of the Hebrew insight that God creates, not just saves, the entire world. Genesis 1-11 is a story of God creating a cosmic temple in which humans are called to worship as tillers and keepers of creation (Genesis 2:15; Laudato Si, 66). The Christian vision reinforces this insight by praying in the Lord’s Prayer that God’s name be hallowed and his will be done not just in heaven but on earth too!
However, the cost of sin, understood as our arrogant desire to be like gods (Genesis 3:5), results in the disunity of creation and the shattering of humanity’s relationship with the Creator. Fear comes to dominate human existence in the cosmic temple: I heard You in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked; and I hid myself (Genesis 3:10).
Sadly, it is not just our relationship with God that suffers, but also our relationships with other human beings and, indeed, the whole of created reality. Ecology, which studies the complex interrelationship of organisms and their environments, takes on a whole new meaning when seen in this context of creation, sin and disordered worship in our world.
Presuming ecological stability, the Church, for two thousand years, has focused its thinking on our relationships with God and with our human neighbours. This is what constituted a moral life. But this conclusion is now proving to be inadequate in light of the emerging ecological catastrophe. For example, what is a moral life in the face of unrestricted destruction of biodiversity across the planet?
Presently, there are about 1.2 billion Catholics scattered around the world. Almost one in five people on this planet have some sort of allegiance to our Church. For a moment, just imagine if this group of people was to consciously promote ecological conversion and act to protect the biodiversity of the wonderful gift that is our planet. In his letter to the Romans, St Paul beautifully captured this ecclesial awakening: “For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God” (Romans 8:19). I am sure the frogs would chirp for that!
Columban Fr Patrick McMullan lives and works in South Korea.
Listen to "Ecological conversion: an ecclesial awakening?"
Related links
- Read more from The Far East - January/February 2022
