Cramond Island
Recently I had the good fortune to walk out to Cramond Island near
Edinburgh with a Jesuit priest. The walk from the mainland is along a
causeway, only accessible at low tide, and we timed our arrival
perfectly. The island is only 1 km offshore, but when the tide comes in
it is as remote as any of the more wild offshore islands around
Scotland. But at low tide the mudflats stretch for miles and have the
soft shimmer you only see in low November light; and they teem with all
kinds of birds. It was such a treat for me to watch my favourite animal
of all, the curlew, feeding in large numbers just a few feet away. Its
beautiful, bubbling call filled the air and combined with the haunting
piping of the oyster catchers it was like being in the midst of a wild
autumn concert. We reached the island and wandered slowly over the
shellfish strewn beaches and rough grassland; scrambled over the rocks,
peered into rock pools and watched gulls fighting over goodness knows
what, but whatever it was seemed worthy of a great show of indignation.
Our conversation switched naturally between the big questions facing the Catholic Church today (falling numbers, relevance in the eyes of non-religious people, the endless sex scandals and so on) and the joy of the wildlife that surrounded us. I have always been fascinated by the sea shore and each time it fills me with wonder about the seemingly infinite variety of life forms that exist in such a small area. And it struck me as poignant that a priest and a lay person could find easy conversation in this lovely place, brought together by the natural world. It didn’t seem out of place to discuss the amazing adhesive power of a mussel’s beard (the threads that attach it to rocks) which are virtually impossible to snap in two and are stronger than steel, the extraordinary cleaning power of oysters whereby they filter water through a siphon and extract the floating detritus at the rate of over a litre an hour or the exquisite sensitivity of a curlew’s bill as it probes for food in the mud and which no machine has ever replicated, all alongside vocations and the changing nature of Catholic life. In fact I think it was easier to chat and converse outside in the natural world than in the confines of an office, or sitting room, or a church. In nature people breathe differently, feel relaxed, perhaps off guard and more open to ideas and discussion. Christ knew this; most of his teaching was done outside.
But it is a source of sadness and frustration to me that Catholicism has in many ways lost its connection to the living world. Most people don’t naturally put their faith in the same place as concern for the earth, although that concern and joy is there and deeply embedded in faith; it’s just that it has been sidelined. Catholicism has taught respect and care for the earth for 2000 years (but I don’t think fully realises it). It knows that a life that naturally takes the environment into consideration at every stage is a Christian life. It knows greed and waste, destruction and pollution, are sins. It knows that to love your neighbour as yourself doesn’t just mean not physically abusing them; it also means not destroying their lands through climate change or pollution. It knows that the commandments to not steal, to not covert your neighbours goods, to honour our family means to stop extracting natural resources and taking the wealth outside the country, to not use dangerous pesticides that not only harms wildlife but the people who live there, to not put cfcs into the atmosphere that destroy the ozone layer which then causes cancers worldwide and so on. When multi-nationals go into Asia, turn vast acreage of rainforest into palm oil for supermarket goods in the west, is that not breaking the commandments to love and respect your neighbour and not covert his goods? All of the ills and woes that we know are slowly but surely destroying the earth we depend on are sins that the Church teaches are wrong. But somehow, for some reason, that connection has been lost. Sin and the destruction of the earth are inextricably linked. The Catholic Church needs to find its wisdom again and put it at the heart of its teaching and action – from the pulpit, in its schools, out in the work of its ministry. This is nothing new, it isn’t a new-fangled idea that will need a myriad of committees to consider and write about. It is there, ready and waiting to be taught with fresh eyes and a sense of urgency.
In our own more mundane lives – for those of us who don’t run multi-nationals or chop down the rainforest for a living - the teachings are none the less real and exact. All our actions, whatever the scale, should be considered in the same light and taken in the same spirit. If we truly take this on board, then recycling a can, switching off a light, campaigning against local destruction, all become holy acts, and the scale is irrelevant. The wonder of Catholicism is that it is a worldwide faith practiced in the day to day life of ordinary people. In the end it is the ordinary people, you and I, that will change the world, but help, guidance and wisdom that inform our choices must come from our Church and not solely from secular organisation that operate on different principles and timescales..
Cramond Island stands in the Firth of Forth as a reminder of many things; beauty and wilderness yes, but also a symbol of what we have done to the earth. Once famous for its oyster beds that industry has now gone, decimated by over fishing. And as we left the shore and walked back across the causeway before the tide came back in it also struck me that the island itself is a metaphor for the position the church is in today. The church has always been set apart from, yet inextricably linked to, ordinary society. That causeway that joins Cramond to the mainland is like the Church’s teachings, a constant bridge between the holy and the secular. But climate change is threatening to make the tide rise higher and higher. Soon the causeway will no longer be uncovered so that people can freely walk between the two. Will the Church just sit back and let that happen? Will the Catholic Church allow the looming environmental crisis to overwhelm it and make it irrelevant? Or will it seize the moment, rediscover its teachings and wisdom and start the process of inspired leadership which is so badly needed. Will it keep that causeway not only open but wider and stronger, to provide a safe haven and place of refuge in a world in turmoil?
I hope the church will stand tall and strong and take control. I hope ordinary Catholics and those in religious life will show the way to others – and not just by highlighting the problems but by celebrating the joys of the earth. And I hope many will find that through a deeper engagement in the natural world there is great insight to be had from nature and the creatures we live alongside. I certainly felt that on my walk to and from Cramond, and thank you to my Jesuit friend for bringing it home so clearly.
Mary Colwell
Our conversation switched naturally between the big questions facing the Catholic Church today (falling numbers, relevance in the eyes of non-religious people, the endless sex scandals and so on) and the joy of the wildlife that surrounded us. I have always been fascinated by the sea shore and each time it fills me with wonder about the seemingly infinite variety of life forms that exist in such a small area. And it struck me as poignant that a priest and a lay person could find easy conversation in this lovely place, brought together by the natural world. It didn’t seem out of place to discuss the amazing adhesive power of a mussel’s beard (the threads that attach it to rocks) which are virtually impossible to snap in two and are stronger than steel, the extraordinary cleaning power of oysters whereby they filter water through a siphon and extract the floating detritus at the rate of over a litre an hour or the exquisite sensitivity of a curlew’s bill as it probes for food in the mud and which no machine has ever replicated, all alongside vocations and the changing nature of Catholic life. In fact I think it was easier to chat and converse outside in the natural world than in the confines of an office, or sitting room, or a church. In nature people breathe differently, feel relaxed, perhaps off guard and more open to ideas and discussion. Christ knew this; most of his teaching was done outside.
But it is a source of sadness and frustration to me that Catholicism has in many ways lost its connection to the living world. Most people don’t naturally put their faith in the same place as concern for the earth, although that concern and joy is there and deeply embedded in faith; it’s just that it has been sidelined. Catholicism has taught respect and care for the earth for 2000 years (but I don’t think fully realises it). It knows that a life that naturally takes the environment into consideration at every stage is a Christian life. It knows greed and waste, destruction and pollution, are sins. It knows that to love your neighbour as yourself doesn’t just mean not physically abusing them; it also means not destroying their lands through climate change or pollution. It knows that the commandments to not steal, to not covert your neighbours goods, to honour our family means to stop extracting natural resources and taking the wealth outside the country, to not use dangerous pesticides that not only harms wildlife but the people who live there, to not put cfcs into the atmosphere that destroy the ozone layer which then causes cancers worldwide and so on. When multi-nationals go into Asia, turn vast acreage of rainforest into palm oil for supermarket goods in the west, is that not breaking the commandments to love and respect your neighbour and not covert his goods? All of the ills and woes that we know are slowly but surely destroying the earth we depend on are sins that the Church teaches are wrong. But somehow, for some reason, that connection has been lost. Sin and the destruction of the earth are inextricably linked. The Catholic Church needs to find its wisdom again and put it at the heart of its teaching and action – from the pulpit, in its schools, out in the work of its ministry. This is nothing new, it isn’t a new-fangled idea that will need a myriad of committees to consider and write about. It is there, ready and waiting to be taught with fresh eyes and a sense of urgency.
In our own more mundane lives – for those of us who don’t run multi-nationals or chop down the rainforest for a living - the teachings are none the less real and exact. All our actions, whatever the scale, should be considered in the same light and taken in the same spirit. If we truly take this on board, then recycling a can, switching off a light, campaigning against local destruction, all become holy acts, and the scale is irrelevant. The wonder of Catholicism is that it is a worldwide faith practiced in the day to day life of ordinary people. In the end it is the ordinary people, you and I, that will change the world, but help, guidance and wisdom that inform our choices must come from our Church and not solely from secular organisation that operate on different principles and timescales..
Cramond Island stands in the Firth of Forth as a reminder of many things; beauty and wilderness yes, but also a symbol of what we have done to the earth. Once famous for its oyster beds that industry has now gone, decimated by over fishing. And as we left the shore and walked back across the causeway before the tide came back in it also struck me that the island itself is a metaphor for the position the church is in today. The church has always been set apart from, yet inextricably linked to, ordinary society. That causeway that joins Cramond to the mainland is like the Church’s teachings, a constant bridge between the holy and the secular. But climate change is threatening to make the tide rise higher and higher. Soon the causeway will no longer be uncovered so that people can freely walk between the two. Will the Church just sit back and let that happen? Will the Catholic Church allow the looming environmental crisis to overwhelm it and make it irrelevant? Or will it seize the moment, rediscover its teachings and wisdom and start the process of inspired leadership which is so badly needed. Will it keep that causeway not only open but wider and stronger, to provide a safe haven and place of refuge in a world in turmoil?
I hope the church will stand tall and strong and take control. I hope ordinary Catholics and those in religious life will show the way to others – and not just by highlighting the problems but by celebrating the joys of the earth. And I hope many will find that through a deeper engagement in the natural world there is great insight to be had from nature and the creatures we live alongside. I certainly felt that on my walk to and from Cramond, and thank you to my Jesuit friend for bringing it home so clearly.
Mary Colwell
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