Charge From the Land
By Jacqueline Anderson
I wrote this charge (or blessing) as one of three for the opening of the Center of Ecological Regeneration at Garrett-Evangelical Theological Seminary in the spring of 2022. I felt drawn to the invitation to write from the perspective of the land, specifically the Great Lakes bioregion and the Bull Creek watershed. Subsequently, when I was asked to write, I felt a deep sense of responsibility.
Originally I thought I would camp in my front yard for several days, but the time was early spring and a heavily cold and wet one at that. I felt less compelled to be out as time passed and the cold rain continued. Instead, after a particularly vivid dream, I asked my husband to help carry a small boulder—unearthed by the utility company two years before—from our yard. I believe this may have been partially inspired from the passage about Jacob sleeping with his head on an unhewn stone in Genesis. I placed the stone on a small carpet, and it rested at my bedside as I thought about and wrote this piece.
This piece did not come from the boulder alone but from my lived experience and observations in a place experiencing degradation and healing simultaneously. This call to hear what the more-than-human creation has to say came from woods and wetlands and prairies of northern Illinois, from Lake Michigan and Lake Superior. I am forever grateful for the opportunity to have written this. It means the world to me.
In the book of Genesis humans are the last to be created, after all of the other creatures. Vine Deloria, Jr. reminds us that, as the younger siblings of creation, we must look to our older siblings to know how to live well on this earth. Thus, the blessing:
Wolfskin
From ones that have changed the course of the river,
May you not forget the silencing of our voice.
May you find hope in our restoration.
May you look to us for guidance on how to live harmoniously with the symphony of life.
Antler
From the great spotted ones who graze and watch closely,
May you find spaces of peace and a practice of holy curiosity and contemplation.
May you be watchful and responsive to the needs of the community and the direction of the Spirit.
Feathers
From the ones who bring music to our wetlands, woods, and prairies, who soar above us, night and day,
May you keep a wide perspective, seeing the whole.
May your work and prayers rise like songs on powerful winds and be heard by the Spirit.
Wild Onion
From the first pungent green to emerge in the spring,
May you reach toward the sun by way of rooting yourself in this soil.
Look how we live in community with our verdant siblings.
May you draw closer to the Spirit by way of the earth.
Fungi
From the great subterranean web of nourishment and mutual flourishing,
May you enrich the lives of the people,
Composting pain and loss,
And become a great earthy network of abundance and kinship.
Limestone
From the collective of ancient ocean creatures, united by pressure and time,
May you too be a strong collective of diverse beings and voices,
Recover your long-forgotten spiritual practices,
And join us in our ancient cry for liberation and justice.
Water From Lake Michigan
From one who birthed life from the primordial chaos,
the great nourisher who held the waterwalker,
the powerful connector who shapes the land,
who continues to nourish in the midst of our ambivalent offerings.
May you be connected to lifegiving communities like the waters through rainfall and rivers.
May your works for justice and healing roll down like the creeks, refresh the parched earth,
and puddle in the hearts of the people.
Together, we, as elders, as siblings, have come to tell you:
Teach others our stories, help them learn how to hear our voices, invite us to co-teach with you.
We are kin. We are all related. And we are eager to co-labor with you for the flourishing of all.
Know that what you need is here.