Transcript:
I would like to start today’s reflection with a short story.
In a small Mediterranean village, right in the middle of the town square, stood an old olive tree that had been there for centuries—long before there were roads or even a church. The villagers called it the Witness Tree because it had seen everything: weddings, funerals, newborns, homecomings, even wars and celebrations of peace. It was like part of the family.

One year, a developer came with big plans to build a shopping mall. But the tree had to go. Many people were excited about the promise of progress and jobs. But one old man, Elias, stood up and said, “You can build many malls, but you cannot plant a tree that has prayed with us for generations.” His words struck a chord. The villagers changed their minds, and—surprisingly—the developer offered to fund a community garden around the tree. It became a place of peace and gathering. Children learned how to grow food, neighbors shared stories, and the tree stood tall as it always had, sheltering the life around it.
Years later, a young boy asked Elias, “Why did you fight so hard for that tree?” Elias replied, “Because it reminded me of the cross—rooted in the earth, reaching to heaven, and giving shelter to all who come near.”

Today we celebrate the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross—a day when we lift high the cross, not as a symbol of defeat, but of victory, healing, and love. This year, we do so with a special focus: peace with creation. And we might wonder, what does the cross have to do with the environment? What does Jesus dying on a wooden cross 2,000 years ago say to a world facing pollution, climate change, and disappearing forests?

Let’s go back to the first reading. The Israelites in the desert were complaining, tired and suffering. God told Moses to raise up a bronze serpent on a pole. When the people looked at it, they were healed. Strange, perhaps—but a powerful symbol: something lifted up that brings life. In the same way, Jesus was lifted up on the cross, not to punish us, but to heal us. And healing begins when we recognize the wounds.
The truth is, our planet is hurting. We see it everywhere—forests being cut down, oceans filled with plastic, animals going extinct, climates growing more extreme, and millions displaced by famine, violence, and hardship. Pope Francis, in Laudato Si’, said something honest: we’ve treated the earth as if it belongs to us, as if we can take whatever we want, whenever we want—and it is catching up to us.

But here’s the good news. The cross is not just a reminder of death; it is a tree of life. It shows us a better way to live because it is rooted in love. Its arms stretch wide to embrace everyone and everything: people, animals, rivers, forests, the air we breathe. It invites us to live differently.

That’s what peace with creation really means. Not just avoiding pollution or recycling, but learning to live in harmony—as part of the family of creation, not as its boss. So we ask: how do we exalt the cross today? Not just by placing it on a wall or carrying it in procession—though those things matter—but by living Christ when we choose kindness over convenience, when we tend a garden or clean up a beach, when we walk instead of drive, or when we plant a tree.

We exalt the cross when we see God not only in church, but in creation: in a bird’s song, a child’s laughter, the shade of a tree, or families reunited. And we remember this: the cross, the crucified Christ, is not the end—it leads to resurrection.

Even now, there are signs of new life: young people standing up for the earth, communities switching to renewable energy, parishes starting green ministries, farmers bringing life back to the land, neighborhoods protecting and welcoming migrants and refugees. These are little resurrections—new life springing forth from love and sacrifice.

So, my dear friends, let’s lift high the cross today not just with our voices, but with our lives. Let it root us in humility. Let it lift our hearts in hope. Let it stretch our hands in love toward our neighbors and toward the earth. And may Christ crucified teach us this: that real peace is not just the absence of conflict, but the presence of love, justice, and care—for one another and for all that God has made.

​Amen.
 

Faith Offman explores how discipleship in 2025 calls us to live with wisdom, reverence, and responsibility toward creation. Drawing on Scripture, Thomas Berry, and Teilhard de Chardin, it urges us to embrace eco-spirituality—seeing creation not as possession, but as kin, alive with God’s presence, and awaiting our care.

Transcript
Today's readings ask: how shall we live wisely? What does it mean to be disciples of Jesus in our day, in 2025—an age of immediate information, chaos, and environmental crisis?
What is eco-spirituality? It is the call to live in relationship with all of creation: as a gift to be nurtured, loved, and cared for—not as a possession to be consumed and abused. Passionist Thomas Berry reminds us that the universe is not a collection of objects, but a communion of subjects. Subjects are to be encountered as manifestations of the divine, not exploited solely for our own gain. And Teilhard de Chardin invites us to see the universe as sacred, continually evolving, and always moving toward Christ.

Too often, though, we think of creation as something that happened a long time ago. “In the beginning,” we say, and rightly so. But St. Paul, in his letter to the Romans, offers a very different perspective—something astonishing if we pause to consider it. He tells us, as Teilhard reminds us, that creation is not finished. It is waiting. It is groaning. It is in labor. The world is still being born. And we are not just spectators in this birth. We are part of the process. We are midwives—called to attend to creation with reverence, courage, and hope.

In our reading from Wisdom today, the writer asks: “Who can learn the counsel of God unless wisdom has been given from on high?” As humans, our understanding is limited. Our dominion mindset has led to ecological destruction. You and I know this—we feel the groaning, don’t we? We hear it in forests burning, in oceans rising, in the extinction of species, and in the displacement of people due to climate change. The earth is not at peace today. Not because it has failed, but because it is still becoming.

This echoes Teilhard’s vision, who saw evolution—cosmic, biological, and spiritual—as God’s story still unfolding. He taught that God did not stop creating in Genesis. Creation is an ongoing process, with Christ at its very heart, drawing all things forward in love.

Divine wisdom gives us insight into the sacredness of all creation. As Catholics, we are equipped with a sacramental imagination, nurtured through the very elements of our sacraments. Sacraments make real for us the presence of God and awaken in us wonder and awe. They enable us to recognize God’s presence everywhere and in everything. Teilhard reminds us: the earth is not inert matter. The earth is alive with God’s divine presence.

Wisdom from on high tells us that creation is waiting—not to be dominated, not to be escaped from, but to be cherished as the place where we discover who we truly are: people made in the image and likeness of our Creator. The God who loves us, cares for us, and invites us to join hands for healing and wholeness.
Even our smallest choices contribute to the unfolding of creation toward its fulfillment in Christ. What we do matters. It matters for the earth, it matters for one another, and it matters for the future that God is shaping.

Our readings today remind us to pray continually for the wisdom to see the earth not as a commodity but as a sacred communion. Thomas Berry insists that we need a new story—one that awakens us to our deep connection with the universe, the earth, and our place as a species among species. “Teach us to number our days; establish the work of our hands,” the psalmist prays. Life is brief. And what are we being asked to do with our brief time? Creation is suffering. Time is of the essence.

Paul challenges Philemon to see Onesimus with new eyes, through the eyes of love. Teilhard challenges us to see the earth not as servant, but as kin. This is the heart of ecological conversion: shifting from use to reverence. Creation is not our slave; creation is our sibling in Christ.

St. Francis of Assisi knew this well. He saw all creatures and elements as brother and sister, a truth he sang in his famous Canticle of the Sun. All of creation in relationship, a community of life. For everything in creation shares the same substance, the same resources, the same breath.

Jesus tells us, “Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.” Discipleship is costly. Daniel Berrigan, Jesuit priest, poet, prophet, and peacemaker, once said: “If you want to follow Christ, you better look good on wood.” To follow Christ is to take up the cross—and living in harmony with all creation demands real change. It demands that we transform our patterns of consumption, our waste, and our perception of the earth as existing merely for our convenience.

Teilhard reminds us that we must cooperate with creation’s forward movement, striving always toward unity rather than exploitation. Caring for God’s creation is not optional. It is a cross that we must carry—in love.

These are tough readings today, but they invite us to a new way of seeing, a new way of acting, a new way of relating. Eco-spirituality is discipleship—discipleship that embraces the earth, the universe, and all of God’s creation. Teilhard’s vision gives us hope: God is drawing all things to fullness, and we are not mere observers. We are participants. We are midwives.

So we pray for wisdom: to live simply and reverently, to practice kinship, to treat all creation as part of our sacred family, to commit to change, to reduce, reuse, regenerate, and to speak peace. We are called to be advocates for creation in our communities.

Genesis tells us that at the end of creation, God declared: “It is good. It is very good.” And God asked us to be partners in caring for all that he made. Can we say yes?

​Amen.