The Silent Cry of the Heavens

 In the Catholic Times, a religious sister in the View from the Ark column, reflects on her recent trip to Ireland.

Ireland was once called the ‘Land of Rain’. A place where it rains half the year, and misty skies are the norm. She became accustomed to the hot sunshine in Ireland and the UK. The blue skies were both welcome and uncomfortable. Even the locals shook their heads, calling it ‘Unusual Weather’. Unusual weather is not a new phenomenon. The news was filled with reports of algae in some of Ireland's rivers and lakes. It's a strange phenomenon in a place that's been a symbol of pristine beauty.

It's not just the hot weather. Rising air and water temperatures, agricultural runoff, and industrial pollution combine to create a situation in which water stagnates, turning the water of life into the water of death.

For us Christians, clean water is not just a resource; it is a symbol of baptism, a grace of inner purification, and a sign of God's love. The silence deepens when we learn that the water is diseased. In the silence of the clear water, we hear a warning.

Around the same time, there was a massive blackout across Spain and Portugal in late April. For hours, the entire country came to a standstill. Trains stopped, airports were paralyzed, and ATMs and communications were down. Supermarkets were packed with people trying to buy essentials, and roads were filled with stalled vehicles. One of the causes was blamed on climate-induced atmospheric vibrations. “Extreme temperature fluctuations in Spain caused a rare atmospheric phenomenon that led to a blackout,” the Portuguese power authority said nature's balance was upset.

Spain is a leading country in renewable energy, relying on wind and solar power for over 60% of its total electricity. However, this situation has exposed not just the vulnerabilities of power supply but the fragility of civilization as a whole. The systems we enjoy are not separate from nature. The fluctuations in climate shake institutions, civilizations, daily life, and beliefs.

Pope Francis, in his encyclical 'Laudato Si', stated, 'No matter how much we deny, hide, disguise, or relativize, the signs of climate change are becoming increasingly clear.' This statement calls for spiritual awakening rather than mere statistics or analysis. 'God saw everything he had made, and it was very good.' (Genesis 1:31) Therefore, the responsibility of human beings, endowed with reason, is to respect the delicate balance that exists between the laws of nature and the creatures of this world. We cannot simply rejoice because the sky is clear. The most vulnerable beings are the first to suffer when the order of nature is disrupted.

The life of a monk is inherently about harmony with nature. A life where prayer and labor are united is deeply rooted in the rhythm of nature. Yet, prayer and labor become painful when nature is in pain. At this point, what is urgently needed is not merely an energy transition, but a heart transformation. We must let go of the greed for more and cultivate a life of contentment. A compassionate perspective that sees water, soil, air, and sunlight not as 'resources' but as 'co-created beings' alongside humans is essential.

A sincere practice born from the gaze of Saint Francis, who called the sun and the moon brothers and sisters, is desperately needed. In response to the strange signs the Earth is sending, and in the face of this prolonged new situation, there are those who respond with silence and action. The deep sighs and cries of those responding in silence become hope. This response to silence manifests as a simple and humble life lived within small communities, a practice of solidarity connected with the silently suffering creatures. It leaves traces of deeper responsibility rather than mere signs of greater consumption. And upon this lies hope.