I’m 26 and mostly filled with enthusiasm for the long run. But when I feel in regards to the heat waves, floods, and humanitarian crises that I’ll likely experience in my lifetime, I feel a way of dread. And much more so when I feel in regards to the way forward for my children and my children’s children. I’m wondering in the event that they’ll get to experience all the fantastic thing about God’s creation that I so cherished while growing up.
As a young farmer, I feel my chest tighten as I watch weather patterns and the seasons grow to be increasingly more erratic. I worry if there’ll be wars for food and water with a hotter climate, or if water sources shall be polluted and the soil shall be eroded.
Many people, especially my age, feel the identical way. A recent survey asked 10,000 young people internationally about their thoughts and feelings regarding climate change. According to the findings, three out of 4 young people think the long run is frightening. More than half reported feelings of sadness, anxiety, anger, and powerlessness when occupied with climate change. And around 45 percent of respondents said their feelings about climate change negatively affected their every day life and functioning.
These fears have grow to be so prevalent in our generation that a recent term has been coined: eco-anxiety.
In a way, young people today have fulfilled climate activist Greta Thunberg’s provocation to leaders on the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland, in 2019: “I don’t desire you to be hopeful, I would like you to panic. I would like you to feel the fear I feel day-after-day.”
But while I respect Thunberg’s contribution to putting climate change on the world’s agenda, I disagree together with her on this. I don’t consider that panic will help us. What we want more of today is hope—a deep hope, not a type of naive hope that closes its eyes to reality.
The environmental reality does look bleak. Just remember last summer—it was brutally hot. According to climate scientists at NASA, it was Earth’s hottest since global records began in 1880. But despite the record heat of 2023, it likely shall be one among the best years within the lives of many young people. Many scientists consider our planet is on course for alarming global warming, a biodiversity crisis, and serious disruptions in weather patterns.
Residents of Oceania and the Maldives, for instance, are highly in danger for rising sea levels. The resettlement of some villages and towns has already begun. And in the long run, many more “environmental refugees” will likely must flee their homes because they’ll not stay there—an estimated 216 million refugees by 2050.
The impacts of climate change are felt most by the poorest, comparable to subsistence farmers and communities with limited access to funds after environmental disasters hit. These individuals are also those who’ve least contributed to climate change.
Biodiversity loss, wildfires, pollution, climate change, and extreme weather events actually give us reasons to lament and worry. We can feel powerless when decision-makers fail to guard the environment and our future. And the constant stream of bad news that we’re exposed to online takes its emotional toll too.
As a Christian, I do know that God cares for the world. But I also consider that God is lamenting for all that has gone mistaken along with his creation. Jesus never shied away from feelings. Instead, he openly showed emotions comparable to sadness, fear, anger, and grief. The Christian faith equips us with tools to take care of the fear we may feel for the long run of the Earth. Here are three practices which have helped me take care of my very own eco-anxiety.
Take small steps to vary.
My grandad has been cultivating a small apple orchard behind his house for many years. One sunny week in September, my father, my cousin, her husband, her young son, and I harvested the apples. While I used to be picking the sweet fruit from the branches, I noticed little ladybugs nestled within the hole across the apple stem, seemingly asleep.
I rigorously woke the beetles and gently placed them on a branch. I didn’t want them to die within the cider press or within the cellar. In relation to the current insect decline, my motion could seem completely pointless. But it gave me hope. And I feel God was pleased too (the aphids perhaps less so).
When worries for the planet paralyze us, we are able to do something to take care of it, irrespective of how small and insignificant it could seem. Cook a meal as a substitute of shopping for a plastic-wrapped ready-made one. Bike to work or school as a substitute of driving. Invite someone around for a cup of fair-trade organic tea. Avoid doomscrolling and don’t pick up your smartphone for an hour. Plant a salad in your windowsill.
This could seem ridiculous in view of the size of the crisis. But stewardship helps. We may also make certain that every act of affection, irrespective of how small, is worthy within the eyes of God.
Talk to the Good Shepherd.
Nothing can calm me down like sitting in a meadow and searching at a flock of sheep. Sheep are very fearful animals. Only once they feel completely protected and have eaten their fill do they lie down within the grass together. As I watch the animals graze and lie down, my anxieties subside. I can’t help but consider Psalm 23:
The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he refreshes my soul. He guides me along the proper paths for his name’s sake. (vv. 1–3)
I begin to confer with Jesus, the Good Shepherd. To the Lord of all creation, through whom the whole lot was created (Col. 1:16), but who at the identical time cares for each sparrow (Luke 12:6). When the whole lot around us seems gloomy and we’re tormented by fears in regards to the future, we are able to rest assured: God is for us. Jesus is the lighthouse bringing hope, order, wisdom, and lightweight into our world.
During an uncertain time, Psalm 90:14 particularly spoke to me: “Satisfy us within the morning along with your unfailing love, that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days.”
Simple, short prayers throughout the day could be helpful—a conversation with the Good Shepherd. For example, as we read the news and feel anxiety or worry, we would direct a quiet Lord, have mercy or Into your hands I commit this to God. Or we would ask him, What do you would like me to do?
Celebrate.
This practice may sound almost ironic in view of the state of our planet. But I feel that celebrating is precisely where the important thing to hope lies. While fear, worry, and anger are legitimate emotions considering the injustices of the environmental crisis, they may also easily rob us of joy or make us cynical. But on this state, we are able to not enjoy—or serve—beautiful relationships with God, our fellow human beings, and the remainder of creation.
So allow us to not close our eyes and hearts to all the sweetness and goodness that we still have left. Instead, allow us to rejoice and revel in it! “Taste and see that the Lord is nice,” the psalmist invites us (Ps. 34:8).
At a time once I was physically and emotionally unwell, I suddenly had the urge to rejoice life. I used to be inspired by the numerous festivals that the Israelites were purported to rejoice 12 months after 12 months. In the midst of heaviness and hopelessness, I desired to rejoice the nice.
I began to take into consideration how I could do good for myself, others, and nature. It is barely when we are able to share our joy with others that we experience complete happiness. So, under the motto “Celebrate, Share, and Renew,” I made an inventory of ideas for the approaching month.
I treated myself to coffee and cake with a very good book in a stunning café. I gave away homemade pralines. I invited my best friends over to make sourdough pizza. I went for a walk and consciously savored God’s majestic creation. I donated to a Christian nature conservation organization for projects like bio-sand water filters and fruit trees for schools and communities in Uganda, beehives for farmers in Kenya, and reforestation projects in Peru or Lebanon.
When my festive month was over, I felt as if the fog had finally lifted. My sadness had actually became joy. I could finally laugh and write again with hope, and that hope had taken the shape of concrete acts of affection.
What if we sat down at God’s richly laid table—within the face of all of the bad things which can be happening on the planet? And what would it not be like if we invited our friends and neighbors, young and old, to affix us? What if, in our work to take care of God’s creation, we also enjoyed it ourselves—through colourful autumn leaves, joyful walks, and delicious, lovingly prepared food?
As Christians, we must neither whitewash reality nor live in fear of doom. Rather, we are able to live hopefully within the midst of environmental concern. While acknowledging the ecological challenges of today, we are able to face our feelings of eco-anxiety. And then, we are able to take environmental motion out of affection for the Creator, knowing that at some point, we are going to rejoice within the renewed creation.
Naomi Bosch is an writer, agricultural scientist, and freelance author focused on sustainability and creation care. She lives and farms in Zagreb, Croatia.
