Carbon Sabbath

The Motel 29 Palms turns silent in the heat of the day. The kitschy sign that welcomes visitors from the eastern Mojave with a pert glow seems worn and humbled in the unbridled sun. Two curious roadrunners that stroll the grounds at dusk and dawn have retreated to somewhere likely shadier than the parking lot’s open oven. The motel’s denizens—mostly temporary laborers and tourists headed to or from Joshua Tree—have evaporated, which leaves me to some quality time with the desert heat and the world wide web.

It’s been a long journey since last we connected, Carbon Sabbath crew! Thaddeus has rolled through high desert snows, past ancient Native American civilizations, along the rim of the Grand Canyon, and down dead highways to the edge of the Mojave. The journey was not burdened by ease. Nor was it free of beauty. The overall experience was a treasure whose immediately apparent value will surely accrue in the years to come.

In the wake of my desert time and this year of abnormal living, I am feeling fairly unsettled. At several points in this trip, I pined for my home state. If a song like Wilco’s “California Stars” popped in my head, I would sing it heartily and hopefully. Now that I’ve reached California, I can’t quite accept it. When Odysseus finally sets foot on Ithaca after years of wandering, war, and hardship, he doesn’t recognize it. His view is impeded by a fog both literal and figurative. I can relate. It’s hard to believe that I am in my homeland. In the distance, I can see valleys I know and mountains I have climbed. I’ve driven the roads I now ride, and I have childhood memories that meander this very desert. But I am not yet home.

Home is a tough thing to define. It runs the gamut from sights and smells to relationships and feelings. Many folks I know are inspired by the song “Home” by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros, which claims, “Home is whenever I’m with you.” This adds to the complexity of the concept with both a relational and a temporal quality to our sense of home. From a theological perspective, I believe that our longing for home is anchored in our longing for the divine. We get samples of that divine connection in our sense of home, our relationships, and in all that inspires us.

While it suits our postmodern tastes to divorce our longing for home from physical space, it can be misleading to think of home as purely conceptual. Most of us have left our childhood homes at some point in our lives, which is a necessary step in our development and education. We all know what it means to be apart from home physically. Many folks reading this blog have no physical place that they consider home that is not subject to changes in career, relationships or other high priorities. We live transient lives relative to most of human history. That transience separates us from particular physical places to varying degrees.

As part of our detachment from a physical home, it is hard for us to understand the ways in which the physical world around us is changing. Throughout the course of this trip, when I speak with people that have been connected to one piece of land for the majority of their lives—be they farmers, small town business owners, Native Americans, etc.—they easily acknowledge the changes we associate with climate. They know that their home is changing, and they can tell you about it. But most of us are not so connected to the land we inhabit or work. Most of us struggle for a sense of home while oblivious to the changes in the planet that is our physical home. Some might dismiss the notion of earth as our home, but it seems difficult to take such a stance given that we live, eat, breathe, give birth, and die as part of this planet. Jesus’ incarnation affirms that connection and reminds us the importance of living in such a manner as to be present and loving in all that we do. As the condition of the planet changes, our ability to live on the planet and our love of and neighbor will become more noticeably entwined. Home is changing for all of us.

This brazen roadrunner was ready to come right in a Greek restaurant in 29 Palms. For those of you who have never seen these creatures outside of cartoons, the picture below might give you a better sense of their body shape, etc.

Over the past year, I have been blessed by friendships, safety, bucolic wonders, inspiring dialogue, and classic adventures. Surely, those experiences and relationships will nourish me for the rest of my life. For now, I am still in what some would call a liminal space: I am neither a part of normal society nor entirely separated from it. It’s an unsettling position, but that can be good. When we are unsettled or removed from comfort, we can gain strength and perspective that can benefit ourselves and others. I find it both funny and sad that something as simple as not riding in cars or planes can be so profoundly unsettling—more so than years of traveling, playing music, or moving in pursuit of education and work. Still, I welcome the time that remains as I turn to all senses of home.

Until we meet again

More attentive to our home in the present

Than we thought possible

Joshua Tree National Park is an other-worldly land. The name calls to mind a string of oddities ranging from a U2 record and Gram Parsons’ partial cremation to vegetation that is most often compared to cartoonish artistry of Dr. Seuss. The peculiarity and austerity of life in this dry land conjures a flood of creativity that forces the visitor to reconsider what is possible on this planet. With granite balloons and manikin shrub trees still glowing in my retinae, I bellow: God bless the weird!

In its curiosities and unique beauty, Joshua Tree embodies an experience with the Other. Like travel or education, experiences with the other can energize us. When meeting the Other, we are invariably faced with the unknown and somehow new. Along with that newness, inexperience is also intimidating. In the cases of deserts and wilderness, that intimidation requires respect and attentiveness.

It is unsettling to consider how we have made our experiences with nature so exceptionally Other. In the interest of preservation, we set aside wilderness. Along with it, we set aside what we think of as nature. In this act, we deceive ourselves. We pretend that we are separate from nature—as if we could survive without water or food; as if water and food were also separate from nature; as if our actions could never exhaust nature. We have developed incredible techniques for minimizing the dangers associated with food and water. However, they will always be part of greater systems of biotic and abiotic processes interacting constantly.

While there is great danger in separating ourselves from nature, there is great value in preserving wilderness as set aside from the grip of humanity. Like cathedrals, temples, museums, and theaters, we need somewhere to remove ourselves from daily life, recover our fragility, and encounter the depths of being. We need to dig our hands in the soil and feel how our roots are embedded in the divine. That doesn’t happen everywhere or anytime. We occasionally glimpse that ever-present light around our busy feet, but the business takes precedence over beauty.

While scampering up a hillside to catch the moonrise near our first camp, we came across this oddity: a landing gear. We decided to return the next day and investigate. We found a good deal of debris from a fairly recent accident, including glass, pieces of the plane's body, medical gear, carpet, a tattered Disabled Veterans' hat, dentures, and several other items.

We overdress life. We place heavy shawls of activity, close-fitting cloth of expectation, and packs of emotional baggage over being’s untamed body. Occasionally, we go where those garments cannot come. We step back to the essential nakedness of life. This happens in wilderness. It happens in relationships. It happens in transitions, challenges, and poverty–both economic and spiritual. But the awareness requires naked simplicity. We have to put down all we’ve accumulated. Sometimes, it’s involuntary. It is always scary. But just beyond our fear of the unknown, untamed, and indescribable, the holy weirdness tickles our naked feet.

It’s easy to take that weirdness for granted when we talk about it enough. We’ve all heard of the lion lying down with the lamb, camels passing through the eyes of needles, weapons reshaped as tools, the blessed poor, the first becoming last, and the resurrection of the dead. Can we recall the weirdness? Those who seek justice, those who seek innovation– go there. Step out into the desert of the kingdom’s already-not-yet.

When we approached a distant canyon edge, we heard a rustling nearby. Turns out, it was a herd of bighorn sheep. After a moment of tranquil appreciation, I got a quick photo and a very short video. See below.

After parting ways with Jordan, I made my way to another part of the park that is littered with large, funky granite formations. I ended up sleeping in this little cave. You can get a broader view of the cave in the 7th photo of this post-- between the folded rock and the backlit yucca flower at night. In Japan, they have little sleeping capsoles for folks that need to sleep off an active night. This was the closest thing to a natural sleeping capsole-- just large enough for one person with gear. The wind howled all night, and the moon was very bright; I was glad for my accommodations.

As we turn a blind eye to the changes we are causing on our planet and the bold participation with divine love into which we are called, we need the holy weirdness. We need to think like we’ve never thought before and as we’ve forgotten we once dreamed. We need the eternal newness of innovation to re-envision life in the face of climate change. The planet now is as it never has been before. The potential for human suffering alongside massive biodiversity loss is staggering. Fear taps the shoulder opposite our gaze. Elsewhere, the Joshua trees remind us that the inconceivable is possible.

Until we meet again

More tickled by holy weirdness

Than we thought possible

Before and behind, the desert of New Mexico stretches out its quiet brilliance. I’m paused in the cultural oasis of one of the weird West’s more curious holdouts: Roswell. Little green figures fill shop windows from real estate agencies to El Marcionito Cowboy Wear. Whispers of conspiracy and mystery are part of everyday habits– the latter bringing life and the former choking it. But a gaze at the night sky is all expanse and brilliance. It is a good reminder of the world outside our habits.

The seasons both liturgical and natural have changed. For those of us in North America, spring is well under way. For me, it is a phase of the trip that requires quieting. Through the desert, I’ll have less internet access and fewer contact with the greater Carbon Sabbath community. Instead of fighting this, I am planning on embracing my surroundings. I’m going to take a pause from the Carbon Sabbath blog. I hope that you can be enriched by the time that you are not reading this blog. Perhaps it is an opportunity for you to explore a small Sabbath practice in your own life. For those of you who are new to the blog, maybe this will give you a chance to look back on the past year’s adventures and musings.

In the fields of both environmentalism and spirituality, there is a long history of individuals seeking solitude in the desert. From Anthony to Abbey, many men and women that I admire found deep connection with both the planet and the divine in the austerity of this harsh landscape.

It is counter-intuitive that so many people find deep connection with the divine and the natural world in the desert. Our instinct is to suppose that our basic needs must be assured before we can look beyond ourselves. I have found the opposite to be true: I cannot fully appreciate or account for my most basic needs without recognizing my connection to the world beyond me. I still look for conveniences and connection in all of the typical places– technology, stability, etc. But those conveniences can cloud and clutter my vision. That’s a bit of what is so amazing about the desert: life is stripped down. When my concern is on having enough water, I can’t focus on the countless internet chores to which I could attend. Life becomes stripped down to its essentials. In that state, it’s much easier to recognize our dependence on others and divine love at work. It’s easier to see how our physical being is part of this planet and how the condition of the planet is crucial to our expression of caritas.

The virtue of life stripped down is at the heart of Sabbath. So often, we feel compelled to do more—to get more done, check off a list, work harder—in order to find peace. The truth is often the opposite. When we do less, we focus on what we are doing. By doing less, we clear our minds and get a better sense of the world beyond us. With regard to climate change, the ability to find Sabbath can both limit our impact and also give us the energy and focus on the divine that we need to address the significant challenges we will face for generations to come.

Until we meet again

More restored in simplicity

Than we thought possible

In the interest of preserving some Lenten silence and honoring my limited internet access, I am going to limit my writing on this post and let these pictures tell the stories. I hope that you can find some Sabbath in my quiet. Thank you to everyone who hosted me, chatted with me, and shared this time with me. Extra special thanks to Steve, Craig, and Susan Kinney for your extraordinary kindness and generosity! Thanks also to Chip Prehn, Tom Campbell, and the good folks at Trinity School in Midland!

Crew from Trinity School in Midland, TX!

Thank you to Emmanuel Episcopal Church in San Angelo for hosting a great discussion!

When I think of people who embody the sort of love of God and neighbor that can inspire communities in the face of climate change, I think of Craig and Susan Kinney. These folks live out a rich and nuanced faith in their private lives, their community involvement, and in their professional work (see: http://www.kinneyfranke.com/ or read on for more). Here, they stand before the San Angelo Visitor's Center, which they designed. They are also working on an extensive riverside public space that incorporates extensive knowledge on regional plants and other remarkable environmental considerations. They are working to make San Angelo a better city. Great job!

This incredible design by Craig uses a series of pools with various plants that naturally filter runoff water as it approaches the Concho River in downtown San Angelo.

In addition to their great work around town and insightful conversation, the Kinneys also cycled everywhere with me. Troopers! They swore it increased their mindfulness.

Mindfulness was readily apparent at Casa Kinney, which was strikingly beautiful and modern but also comfortable and energy efficient.

I tried to help Craig remove a branch that had broken in a winter snow.

Much of this country was grassland prior to the arrival of the European cattle folks. Once, the land was aerated by the hooves of buffalo. The story goes that cattle drives from Mexico brought in invasive mesquite, which soaks up an absurd amount of water. As you can see, the land has been transformed within the last few hundred years.

Fans of the book or movie versions of Friday Night Lights will recognize the name of Midland's Lee High School, which is the rival school of Odessa's Permian Panthers.

The Carbon Sabbath journey through Texas begins and ends with oil. Just as in Beaumont, the history of the region is inseparable from that of the Texas Oil Boom. The regional economy of Odessa-Midland has fluctuated greatly with the price and availability of oil. At present, oil and money are gushing out of Midland. Rumors of overnight multimillionaires flood the streets. At the same time, laborers are drawn to the abundant work that the region provides. None of this is recorded in the museum, but it is worth a visit if you are in town. Certainly a good practice in neighbor/enemy love.

The Petroleum Hall of Fame has a few presidents and several people who do not look very concerned about money.

Adios, West Texas! Hello, New Mexico.

Until we meet again

More happily embracing the road

Than we thought possible

I know of no natural bursting forth of colors that compares in tranquility with spring in the Texas Hill Country. While this season excites the attentive eye in any locale, most eyes must also suffer a beating of pollen and seasonal illnesses that impede the vision. Add to that clarity the gentle undulations, distant buttes, and a moderate sun ensuring perfect swimming conditions, and you have a very tough competitor. For fear of disbelief, it would be best not to mention that the only noticeable insects about are migrating butterflies. Also bordering on the truly unbelievable are the big sky sunsets whose pastels look like cheap Technicolor productions from Hollywood’s earliest flirtations with polychrome. Yes– the Texas Hill Country spring borders on absurd– like all beauty, generosity, or hope.

While I never welcome a flat tire, this was definitely the best place I've ever been blessed with that curse.

The cast of hill country wildflowers is dominated by the chorus of blue bonnets. Passing by in a car, it is most likely that the purplish blue of those characters is all that you see. Here, the cyclist or walker has a distinct advantage. In between the azure puddles, there are often tiny flowers of varying shades. Even my camera did a poor job of capturing these little beauties. To really see them, you have to stop and lean in. I think you see where I’m going here.

If you have no taste for this sort of Eden and could care less about wildflowers, you are not out of luck. The hill country is also home to world-class barbecue. The establishments have signs like the one above that might make you feel more at home.

Until we meet again

More attentive to the shades around us

Than we thought possible

In the interest of preserving some Lenten silence and honoring my limited internet access, I am going to refrain from reviewing my Austin experience in words. I’m going to let these pictures tell the stories, and hope that you can find some Sabbath in my quiet. Thank you to all of my incredible friends and loved ones who made the time restorative and fun!

Compadre and Thad's denizen Hunter Perrin rocked out a great show with his band Thunderado during SXSW.

It was great to catch old friends and Austin tunesmiths Gold Beach several times during SXSW.

It was great to visit old friends Michael Winningham and Leyla Abou-Samra. Their son Moustapha is a real kick: smart, active, and full of life, as these next photos illustrate.

GIGANTIC THANK YOU TO TONY DAUGHERTY!!! Tony is an incredible human being. I've known this for years. I think of him like family, not simply because we played in an intimate four-piece band called the Glass Family. He's an excellent drummer and tried-and-true friend. Although he had to wrestle his career, several musical engagements for SXSW, and several major life changes, Tony let me crash on his floor for the entirety of SXSW. Thank you so much, Tony! Congratulations to Tony and Elena Perry on their recent engagement!!!

One of my favorite things about Austin is the abundance of places like this: the Greenbelt. Within a few miles of downtown, you can escape to the lush woods of this series of trails and water sources. Thaddeus and I took a trip to one of my favorite swimming spots and set up shop for an afternoon.

Austin is known for a bridge that houses the world's largest urban bat colony. Here they are, darting out at dusk for another night on the town. Seems to be the M.O. in Austin.

Here, Maribeth Schroeder shows her Carbon Sabbath support by inadvertently matching with the bike and South Austin's Curra's Tex Mex.

10 years ago, I moved to Austin with these two guys: Ross Flournoy and Ben Musser. Good to see them together again!

On a sunny day just before the festival began, someone stole the odometer off of Thaddeus outside of Allen's Boots on South Congress. It was a real blow. The last number I can remember reading was 9,286mi. I got a replacement and accepted the loss.

SXSW really is an extravaganza. There are bands everywhere. I was nearly run over by Fiona Apple as she darted out the back door of Stubbs afer her NPR showcase. I also ran into Norah Jones while she was signing records at Waterloo. Bands of varying quality and fame are everywhere. Best to focus on the folks you know you want to see and accept the surprises.

There were several free shows, including M Ward and the Shins out by the lake I still call Town.

Outside many shows and food venues, there were lines galore. In every line, I noticed the same phenomena: fixed stares at tiny screens killed conversation. I know that smart phones can make time go by quickly, but they also keep us from experiencing the world around us. They also contribute to our practice of distraction when used as a crutch or as a nervous vice. Be careful with that thing in your pocket. It really might impede your path to happiness and connection with the divine. Or maybe not! Use as you please.

I took a little break and met Hunter and Paul Beebe at Hunter's family ranch near Dripping Springs. Great little break from the mayhem.

Out on the ranch, I came across this beast that was unfamiliar to me. Apparently, various exotic game ranches across Texas have had difficulty keeping their animals encaged. As a result, beauties like this black buck antelope now roam the hill country. Shortly after this photo, I was cycling to dinner with Hunter and his folks when this buck charged across the road between a car coming the opposite direction and me. I was close enough to hear his hooves on the pavement and the air rush by his antlers. Striking.

Among the great things I learned about in ATX was the Austin Interfaith Environmental Network. Check out their work (http://interfaithenvironment.org/) and the musing of fellow environmentalist and musician Chris Searles (chrissearles.blogspot.com/), who regularly plays drums with Alejandro Escovedo and recently had the pleasure of playing with SXSW keynote musician Bruce Springsteen.

Special thanks to Miles Brandon, Scott Bader-Saye, Tony Baker and all of the folks at St. Julian's and Seminary of the Southwest for welcoming me and chatting with me! Sorry that we didn't get more pictures. Hope to remedy that in the future!

Thank you so much to brother Steve Kinney and the Front Porch community in Austin for hosting a great discussion on my last night in Austin! All of you who are interested in adventurous, authentic spiritual communities, keep your eye on the Front Porch!

By near accident, I met up with fellow YDS alumnus Beth Magill and some of the great UT students that she works with. Great to talk to you guys!

Thanks to Beth and the crew for making me breakfast tacos for the road!

Until we meet again

More grateful for our friends

Than we thought possible

Not far along the road from Houston to Austin, the Texas countryside unwinds in gentle undulations that welcome you to the American West. The pace of life slows, and the division between the land and its inhabitants blurs. It is a country of soft sunsets and slow water stirred by comforting breezes. The history is Native, Czech, Mexican, and all Texas. In the tales of abundance that percolate from the Lone Star north, the most precious resource of central Texas is often lost: beauty.

Amidst that beauty is a city near and dear to me. Austin is often described as a cultural island in the middle of Texas. The word hippie might come up or be implied. It’s a town of good food, food film, and great music. Beauty is a cherished commodity of this capitol city.

Upon my arrival in Austin, I met up with some old friends who are involved in something truly beautiful. One of the odd jobs that funded my post-undergrad years was that of outdoor guide for a company called Austin Outbound. It was an idyllic position that routinely brought me out into the Hill Country while also offering a chance to play music and engage in various outdoor activities. To add to the sweetness, my employers were the affable, bright, capable, and fun couple Greg and Lacey Strake.

Lacey (right) and Leslie Beasley in the Open Arms shop.

As soon as I arrived in town, I met Greg for lunch. Among other great things, he told me about an admirable organization that Lacey has started: http://www.theopenarmsshop.com/. The Open Arms Shop employs women who have entered the US on refugee status and pays them a living wage to make scarves and skirts out of repurposed T-shirts. I was so excited by this concept that I went down and visited the shop. It is a remarkable workplace. Everyone from Lacey to the newest refugee woman make the same wage. There are women from everywhere from the Sudan to Bhutan who have survived unspeakable horrors as refugees. In addition, all of their garments are made from T-shirts that are either used or leftover from special events and the like. (For more, see: http://www.theopenarmsshop.com/category_s/57.htm)

The Open Arms Shop has several beautiful aspects. It brings dignity, hope, and equality to those who have been without them. It connects people who would not normally be connected. From an environmental perspective, their repurposing of garments is an excellent application of their valued sustainability.

This beauty is both an extension of faith and a transcendence of the community that fostered it. The women who started the company are strongly motivated towards justice by their faith. However, the means by which that impetus expresses itself are not some clinging to self-preservation. This organization brings together women from a number of different faith traditions and cultures without dismantling those traditions. Dignity is not extended as a prize for joining the club. There is no conversion element. Rather, the love at work in each woman enriches the whole in a way that transcends each tradition. While not explicitly a response to climate change, the work of these women is the sort of action that can inform congregations that will need to empower neighbors that have lost their jobs, homes, and safety nets due to the changes we will see. Like we have seen in hurricanes, tsunamis, and tornadoes, climate refugees are just as real as political refugees. The beauty of work like the Open Arms is that the consequences exceed the initial intentions.

Beauty of this sort is not easy. Often, beauty requires us to extend beyond positions of comfort. There is a stretch. In that stretching, we strive to the already-not-yet that defines what some would call the kingdom. Whatever you call it, it looks good from here!

Until we meet again

More restoratively stretched in pursuit of beauty

Than we thought possible

I often have shots of roadkill on this site, so I thought I'd include a near miss. This turtle buddy was not psyched to be held, but I think it spared his life.

Breakfast tacos-- just in time!!!

There is little subtle about Joel Osteen’s Lakewood church. The church convenes in the stadium that was once home to the Houston Rockets. It has the largest attendance of any church in the United States. The sanctuary has jumbotrons on either side of the stage. The church has a hotel and parking lots that could fit the entire populations of most towns I’ve visited on this trip.

In the midst of this largess, it is easy to get lost. Even finding my way in to the sanctuary required the help of a friendly choir member. When I entered the inner chamber of the former stadium, the sea of chairs was overwhelming. I descended a height dwindling any natural hill in the Houston area and melted into the mass of attendees.

The size of a church like Lakewood makes visiting difficult. That’s not to say that people aren’t friendly. Quite the opposite. Everyone I spoke to was not only cordial but thoughtful and attentive. I was felt fortunate to join other out-of-towners in the front section of the church. But the facelessness of such a large congregation is disquieting. For several months prior to my arrival, I tried to contact various groups and leaders in the church to see if we could arrange a Carbon Sabbath discussion. Those attempts eventually drowned in the bureaucratic soup.

While there are many aspects of Lakewood that are not to my taste, I admire the diversity of the community. Although it might seem forced, the diversity apparent on the stage in the photo above seemed to be fairly indicative of the congregation. Many communities consider diversity a virtue, but very few churches succeed in maintaining a truly diverse congregation. Lakewood is one of the few, and I appreciate their efforts to reflect that diversity in their musical performance. I should also mention that the band was probably the tightest church band I've ever heard. The horn arrangements and performances reminded me of the Total Pros work with Wilco. The songs were not good, but the band and singers were unparalleled.

Because Lakewood and Joel Osteen play such prominent roles in contemporary American Christianity, I thought I’d still investigate the community’s response to climate change. In hopes of getting a more accurate reading by catching people at a down time, I spent a Saturday evening at the church. While Saturday evening is not the most happening time at many churches, Lakewood is in full effect that night with a service featuring their star preacher. At the same time, it’s not as crowded as Sunday morning. I was fortunate enough to speak to a variety of community leaders.

Environmental concern is decidedly absent from Lakewood. There is no “green team” as there are in many churches I’ve visited. There are no signs pointing to recycle bins, no compost units, no energy saving tips. The bulletin has no “printed on recycled paper” message or anything of the sort. The extensive bookstore does not have a single text on Christianity and ecology. With regard to climate change, there are no hints at an acknowledgement of this issue. If climate change is at all on the moral radar at Lakewood, it is well hidden behind the stage lights.

The Lakewood bookstore has no text texts that deal with climate change. At one point, they carried a binder that said, "Go Green, Go God!" That product sold out, and they never replaced it. The people with whom I spoke in the store were certainly interested in the Carbon Sabbath. They had never heard of anything related to Christianity and ecology or climate change. I suspect that will change in the years to come. Note the scripture passage below as associated with what many would call "prosperity gospel."

Despite this lack of activity, I should note the enthusiasm that people expressed when they heard about the Carbon Sabbath. Admittedly, that enthusiasm came after a quizzical glance and ineffable muttering. They had never thought of the connection between environmental concern and love of neighbor, but it made sense. No—there was nothing like that there amidst the 43,000+ attendees.

This is Lakewood from the stands. The globe at the center of the stage seems to be more of a marker of diversity rather than an awareness of the congregation's connection to the planet.

I am not naturally drawn to large venues. Years ago, I saw the Rolling Stones at my college’s stadium in Nashville. My nosebleed seats made the show seem like a diorama of the rock legends. A little Mick Jagger figurine danced in the distance to a sound vaguely resembling the songs I loved bouncing off a cavern of concrete and steel. I left before the show was over. I prefer to hear music in small clubs. I need the humanity of the people with whom I am celebrating life’s ups and downs.

Same goes for church. I want to know the people with whom I gather—as many of them as possible. When we don’t know the people in our communities, we lose our accountability; we lose our connection to one another. If we are not connected in our communities, it is harder to stay aware of our connection to the planet.

Lakewood is an excellent example of this phenomenon. As those of you who have followed the Carbon Sabbath over the last 9 months have seen, most small churches throughout the country have someone in their community who is interested in the environment or related issues. In some churches, this concern is purely financial. To keep the church running, the community has to be mindful of its energy use. Ironically, the church with the most energy consumption by far is also the church least outwardly concerned with energy use. Perhaps this observation gives us some understanding of US per capita carbon emissions relative to the rest of the world. In any case, I find it hard to love my neighbor if I am totally unaware of how my actions affect that neighbor. What is love without awareness? How have we let our neighbors become faceless? Outside of acknowledged relationships, who is my neighbor and who am I? These are the questions that connect us. They are the measure and expression of our call to love.

Until we meet again

More actively connected to the neighbors we know

Than we thought possible

A lot of good folks and hearty waves go uncatalogued on this trip. Here's a hip shot from a neighborhood in Houston just after exchanging waves with the guy on the porch.

Thanks to Judith Frost for her company, hospitality, and conversation! Thanks also to her son Michael Winningham for making that happen!

I caught up with YDS compadre Travis Helms who was home on break. Thanks to Travis and his parents for their incredible hospitality! Hope to see you all again soon!

Travis near St. John's, which you might recognize from Wes Anderson's film Rushmore.

Much as you might shun them, there is very little like finding a portapotty when you need one. Added bonus when they are in a field with flowers and sunshine.

On January 10, 1901, the Lucas gusher blew oil 150 feet into the air above Spindletop Hill near Beaumont, TX. The frenzy that followed began the Texas Oil Boom and forever changed the history of the region and the United States as a whole.

This is recreation of the Lucas gusher that was relocated to a more tourist friendly spot near Lamar University. Every once in a while, the local authorities reenact the gusher by spouting water up through this structure.

Beaumont host Joe Watt cycles with me around the Spindletop museum, which happened to have a gate open for a free self-guided tour.

When I visited the commemorative recreation of Lucas gusher this morning, I had mixed emotions. As an environmentalist, it is hard to deny the destruction caused by the extraction and consumption of oil. In addition to environmental degradation, the disparity of wealth that results from oil production is sickening. At the same time, there have been incredible advancements in technology, transportation, and a swath of other fields because of our use of oil. While looking up at the model version of the Lucas gusher, I couldn’t help feeling the excitement of the black liquid shooting up into the sky. For a moment, all of the best uses of oil and the radical changes of the last hundred years came spouting out of the earth. Human life has changed drastically since that fateful January day. Like it or not, many of the comforts we enjoy on a daily basis are tied to the Texas oil industry.

Still, the history of the oil industry does not live up to that pure potential. On some level, I would like to attribute that impurity to demand. I’d like to think that the destruction caused by oil production, distribution, and consumption is all a product of the latter. If we were more mindful of our habits related to transportation, heating and cooling of homes, and several other fields, we could diminish the negative environmental effects while also improving our spiritual and physical well being. But this message is completely lost in our society, and that lost message directly benefits the oil industry. Also lost is the message that we have already exceeded the level of atmospheric carbon dioxide that could safely sustain the planet as we know it (see http://www.350.org/about/science).

None of these thoughts are new. We all know that environmentalists and oil industry folks butt heads. We know that our country is sharply divided on issues related to oil production and consumption. To me, that division is just as destructive as either side’s worst case scenario. Without active dialogue, our opinions seek atrophy in a vacuum of ego.

Thanks to the great folks of Bethlehem Lutheran in Beaumont for your great conversation and company! Special thanks to Pastor Sabine for making all of that happen! Keep up your great work!

As Christians, we are called to practice love. Love is not some cute word. It is not a convenience, and it is not separate from our lives. It takes practice to follow the way of love. In fact, that practice is the way of love. When we become so entrenched in opinion that we are unable to interact with those of differing opinions, we cannot fulfill our fundamental purpose. We are training ourselves to do something that is contrary to our nature. We are practicing hate.

One of the lovely refineries in Port Arthur, TX. This is the sort of beautiful workplace that could replace the Sandhill ranches.

This week, the TransCanada corporation announced that they would begin construction on the southern leg of the Keystone XL pipeline. As many readers know, this pipeline has played a prominent role in my trip thus far. I’ve cycled through the sensitive region known as the Sandhills and seen the shallow watertable of the Ogallala Aquifer. I’ve talked to ranchers who will lose their livelihood and property if this pipeline gets built. I’ve talked to people who worked on the previous pipeline and are now out of work. I’ve been to DC to express my opposition of the pipeline. Now, I am here in the region where the pipeline would end.

Yesterday, I cycled through Port Arthur, which is where the Keystone XL pipeline meets the gulf-side refinery. As part of the incentive to rally support for the pipeline, many people refer to current oil prices in the United States. The logic follows that if we were to allow the pipeline, then the US could use the oil and lower gas prices. If TransCanada were interested in bringing oil to the US, why would they construct a pipeline thousands of miles across the country to a port to be refined? Why bother with a controversial pipeline all the way to Texas? Why wouldn’t they refine it in the middle of the country and ship it out to you and me across the country so that we can use it? The answer is obvious: that oil is not intended for US consumption. It will be shipped internationally from Port Arthur. This area will bear the burden of the environmental destruction caused by refinement. Local children will breathe the polluted air and drink the toxins in the water. But foreign countries will receive the oil. Jobs, you say? Yes—there will be some short term construction jobs. But a pipeline doesn’t create long term jobs like farming and ranching that will be destroyed by that construction. The pipeline is already being built, but who will benefit? How can we support a project that NASA scientist James Hansen called “Game Over” for the earth’s climate?

For more on the impact of these refineries in Port Arthur and an inspiring local response, check out the work of Hilton Kelley:  http://www.goldmanprize.org/2011/northamerica

Joe Watt is a saint. He is a retired professor of electrical engineering at Lamar University, and a treasure to his neighborhood. Thanks to him for his incredible hospitality and friendship!

This is what an East Texas hill looks like. This bridge terrified me. There was no shoulder. It was windy. Traffic was perilously fast. Yet this was the safest option. I cycled 30 miles out of my way to reach this bridge. I do not envy anyone who has this task ahead of them, and I stand quietly beside anyone who has made the trip.

Note the sign here.

Wouldn't it be awesome if we had as much concern for our nation's children as we do for oil?

It’s hard not to vilify those with differing opinions. For some environmentalists, visiting the oil industry in this region of Texas is like swinging by Russia in the heart of the Cold War. I’d like to suggest that we not fall into that sort of lazy sentiment. I want to open the door to all who have differing opinions from my own. We may not agree, but perhaps we can practice our highest calling together. Maybe that’s why we love our enemies: it is a more challenging practice than loving our idols. It is certainly more telling of how practiced we are.

Years ago in Dallas, I heard a sermon about a hard-training linebacker. He was the fastest of the linemen, and he felt that he was not being challenged in running drills. So he started running with the receivers. This decision made him the slowest in every drill, but it also improved his speed. I suspect the same could be said about loving our enemies. It might not be a ton of fun to seek out those with differing opinions, but it is certainly challenging. It’s good practice and good work. Here’s me trying: from Beaumont with love.

Until we meet again

More practiced in love

Than we thought possible

One of the current significant exports of Beaumont is sulfur. Draw your own conclusions.

Texas: not so big after all