The Role of Grief in Climate Action
Interfaith Approaches to Finding Hope Amidst Loss.
The first time I attended an interfaith service was after the 2018 shooting at Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh. Faith leaders came together at my university in South Bend, Indiana to grieve the lives that were taken in a horrific act. I remember tearing up in the service, watching a rabbi, priest, and imam carry a shared lament. I was reminded of those tears recently when I heard about the tragedy that unfolded at the Waukesha Christmas parade and the response of the local community, including an interfaith vigil to remember and honor those who had died in the violence. As one tragedy rolls into another, it seems that people of diverse faiths are brought together by the shared emotions that come with loss and injustice; we are good at making space to grieve together.
At COP26, the UN conference on climate change that took place this November, I participated in a similar expression of communal grief. In one ecumenical worship service, we sang songs of lament about climate change, environmental degradation, and the greed at the root of the ecological crisis. In a panel of faith leaders, we heard the stories of climate impacts around the world and the plea to respond to the needs of the most vulnerable. In a march with thousands of people of faith, the crowd buzzed with anger about the harm that we have done to our planet and to each other. In Glasgow, grief was in the air, land, and water. After all, it continues to bear the burden of our exploitation.
“I, alongside the world’s youth, am left wondering what kind of a future we have.”
Often, it felt like grief was something that happened only in spaces outside of the official diplomatic grounds, spaces created by youth activists, justice coalitions, or faith communities. However, at COP26, grief crept its way into the main event. In the concluding minutes of the conference, Alok Sharma, the COP president, became emotional as he announced the finalization of the Glasgow Pact, apologizing for the way the negotiations ended. The agreement fell short of the meeting’s goal to hold warming to 1.5 degrees Celsius. Instead, analysts predict that even with the agreements made in Glasgow, the world is on track for a devastating 2.4 degrees Celsius of warming.
There are so many reasons to grieve. We have so much to lose. Without stronger action, Small Island Developing States (SIDS) will face the eventual loss of their entire homelands to the swell of the sea, places that have shaped their identity and culture. Millions more will face injury, displacement, and death under intensifying natural disasters, permafrost melt, and sea-level rise. I, alongside the world’s youth, am left wondering what kind of a future we have. For the shattered hopes, shattered lives, and the shattered world we have created, I lament.
Yet, in the midst of this grief, there was still a remnant of hope. It wasn’t cheap hope that ignores all that we have lost and stand to lose. It seemed to be a hope that sprung out of grief and was rooted in action.
“…our expressions of grief could be fertile soil for action, and action, the root of hope.”
At Al-Mahdi Islamic Centre of Glasgow, a global interfaith presence gathered to discuss “Faith Plans for People and Planet”. One initiative particularly stood out to me. It was a project led by EcoSikh to plant micro forests across India in celebration of the Sikh faith and love of the environment. The forests are called Guru Nanak Sacred Forests and they are named after the founder of Sikhism, a nature-lover himself. On the 550th anniversary of his birth, a new movement to plant one million trees in the form of biologically diverse, self-sustaining micro forest sanctuaries was born. The trees are planted through grassroots community-led projects, creating local level investment in and relationship to the environment. The forests harbor hundreds of indigenous species and sequester tons of carbon from the atmosphere. What was particularly striking about this project is that it was integrative of body, mind, and spirit. It was a way to teach about faith traditions and values, engage in an embodied relationship with the land, and build community coalitions for the management of local resources.
As we sat and learned about this project and so many others that have been imagined and implemented by faith communities around the world, it became clear that our expressions of grief could be fertile soil for action, and action, the root of hope.
Now, the challenging, patient, collaborative work of cultivation will determine what these first shoots of hope will bring to harvest.
