Reconsider the Lilies

In a world where so many deny the existence of anthropogenetic climate change and other environmental crises, it can initially feel somewhat injudicious to critique those advocating for greater environmental well-being, even when those efforts are imperfect. In Romans 14:13, Paul implores people of faith not to pass judgment on one another, or to place stumbling blocks in one another’s way. The title of Andrew R.H. Thompson’s new book, Reconsider the Lilies: Challenging Christian Environmentalism's Colonial Legacy, may lead some to assume that he seeks to interfere with the well-intentioned work of many faithful people who strive to make meaningful progress on environmental matters. Such an assumption would be mistaken.

Thompson’s volume is less about condemnation and more about reimagining. He warmly invites readers to envision environmentalism not as an issue set apart but as a calling interwoven within the Church’s expansive work of justice-making in the world. His work pushes back against the Church’s long-standing assumption that environmental care is distinct from other expressions of justice. Instead, he advocates for the position that environmentalism must be distinctively linked to the Church’s broader social and economic justice priorities.

Thompson’s corrective work necessarily begins with an acknowledgment that this division between environmentalism and other concerns is rooted in a colonial worldview that prioritizes whiteness. It must be because “such a view can only be maintained by the erasure of Native Americans, Black people, and other people of color, whose histories and experiences of the more-than-human creation demonstrate the intimate connections between environmental harms and the societal ills of racism, colonialism, and white supremacy” (4). Whether one considers localized harms (like toxic waste or storm impacts) or global issues (such as climate refugees), it is often people of color and those who reside in formerly colonized countries who are most likely to carry a disproportionate burden: put simply, maintaining a view that environmentalism and social, racial, and economic justice are distinct issues “can only come from a position of privilege” (6). This sense of privilege is broadly what Thompson means when he speaks of “whiteness.”

For Thompson, “whiteness” is defined by its “opposition to Blackness” (14), which is rooted in its desire to protect its place of privilege. This view, according to the author, is both “heretical and idolatrous” in that it “displaces creation theology by separating people from their places, distorts soteriology by separating people from one another and from God’s promise of communion, and misrepresents Christ by failing to see his crucifixion in the suffering of nonwhite peoples” (66). Whiteness, then, represents a distinctly theological problem for Thompson, and it is a problem that sits at the very heart of Christian environmentalism. This logic is well-developed in Thompson’s work, and readers are left with a very clear understanding of the nature of whiteness, the ways that it has both intentionally and unintentionally shaped Christian environmentalism, and the theological nature of the issue.

Decolonizing Christian environmentalism, Thompson argues, necessitates an intentional movement beyond the confines of whiteness (118). The author acknowledges the challenge of such an effort but suggests some helpful starting points. For instance, the intentional fostering of reciprocal communities that place Western science in sincere conversation with Indigenous knowledge and ethics has rich potential, as do efforts to transform liturgy. To the latter point—liturgy—Thompson sympathetically draws on Christopher Carter’s remarkable book The Spirit of Soul Food: Race, Faith, and Food Justice (University of Illinois Press, 2021) to note that breaking free from a colonial worldview requires practice and the cultivation of new habits: liturgy provides an apt vehicle for the faithful to engage in this practice in an embodied, repetitive, and imaginative manner. Eucharistic liturgy offers an incredibly compelling opportunity for this work in that it connects people to Christ, one another, and the fruits of the earth.

Thompson’s work also recognizes that the cultivation of a decolonized Christian environmental movement necessitates the active correction of past harms. In many cases, the relationship between Indigenous peoples and the land has been severed through forced relocations, destroyed ecosystems, or climate change. “Reparations,” Thompson suggests, “are a mechanism for holding the systems of whiteness and their beneficiaries accountable for these historical injustices and their enduring effects” (135). Churches can take an active role in this work of meaningful reparations by engaging in land restitution work (136) and by divesting from fossil fuels and reinvesting in “projects of justice and sustainability” (138), especially when those reinvestments are made in Black and Indigenous communities.

Reconsider the Lilies is a book that helps the Church reimagine its relationship with environmental justice issues. Drawing on a rich diversity of voices, perspectives, and experiences, Thompson has authored a book that will be helpful to a wide readership, including scholars, religious leaders, students, and perhaps even policymakers. His invitation to consider environmentalism not merely as an isolated silo of justice work, but instead as part of a more expansive incarnational vision for the Church, serves as a call to action in a world that yearns for it.

Ian Clark is a PhD candidate in theological ethics at the University of Aberdeen.

Ian A. Clark

Date Of Review:

June 28, 2024