unlikely partners

Unlikely Partners

Picture of Peter Harris

Peter Harris

Unlikely Partners

A Personal View Of The Collaboration Between Finance And Nature.

 

This reflection explores whether finance and nature conservation are truly in conflict, or whether they can work together to address today’s environmental crises. Drawing on the history of environmentalism, modern economics and Christian theology, it considers how systems built around profit have often neglected nature – and how new models might better value both people and planet. It asks what it would take to build a truly regenerative economy grounded in stewardship, justice and the flourishing of all creation.

Key ideas 

  • Modern environmentalism emerged partly in opposition to industrial capitalism, highlighting how profit-driven business practices and chemical-intensive industries were damaging both people and the natural world.
  • Over time, finance became increasingly focused on maximising shareholder profit above all else, often ignoring environmental and social costs. This led to economic systems that treated nature as an “externality” rather than something essential to human flourishing.
  • The article argues that environmental movements have sometimes framed business and finance as enemies of nature, but meaningful ecological change requires collaboration with investors, companies, and economic leaders
  • Although ideas like carbon credits and biodiversity markets attempt to account for environmental damage, truly regenerative economic systems remain underdeveloped, and many current financial approaches still fail to protect nature at scale.
  • From a Christian perspective, the article makes the argument that human flourishing and care for creation should not be seen as competing goals. Biblical ideas such as shalom, long-term stewardship, generosity, and “the community of creation” point toward economic models that value both people and the wider living world together.

"Are the two worlds of finance and nature conservation mutually exclusive or, in these crisis times, are there new possibilities for a fruitful collaboration?"

Are the two worlds of finance and nature conservation mutually exclusive or, in these crisis times, are there new possibilities for a fruitful collaboration? If so, some history on both sides needs to be acknowledged.

When the modern environmental movement began in the 1960s it followed a text-book tactic: name your enemy to gather your friends. Among others, Rachel Carson’s pioneering work and her influential book Silent Spring, first published in 1962, made it clear that the rapid growth of big business had effectively been poisoning the world. Pharmaceutical companies which had been involved in weapons production during the second world war period pivoted to manufacturing the key ingredients for the new weapons needed for the industrialisation of agriculture. DDT[i] was one of the first products to be identified as particularly harmful but over following decades the dangers to human health and the wider environment of increasing numbers of chemical compounds became more than obvious. The pollution that rapidly growing industries were visiting upon the world began to percolate into popular awareness, and that was before a realisation of their contribution to climate change had begun to be better understood.

Meanwhile, influenced by neo-classic economists such as Milton Friedman[ii], both industry and its investors were becoming increasingly focussed on financial return as the single metric of success.  Friedman introduced his theory in a 1970 essay for The New York Times titled “A Friedman Doctrine: The Social Responsibility of Business is to Increase Its Profits”[iii] arguing that a company has no social responsibility to the public or society; its only responsibility is to its shareholders. He did introduce the caveat that serving the shareholder was to be done ‘within the bounds of law and ethical custom’ but one could argue that the damage was done. In a political context of de-regulation, other considerations of wider values that encompassed more comprehensive understandings of the social and environmental vocation of business were abandoned.

“Furthermore, one of the bigger failures of the market... was its inability to value nature or to price in the cost of environmental degradation."

The emergence of more powerful communications media meant that public relations criteria pushed further towards brand protection rather than substance when it came to investing. The markets demanded a straightforward calculation of ‘money in and money out’ whether the medium for growth between the two was the planet or people. To satisfy those demands complex financial instruments were designed that simply used finance to create finance with ever more ephemeral products. Rapid globalisation of trade and events such as the subprime mortgage crisis of 2008 both created a context and demonstrated finance’s increasing detachment from the economy of the real world, accelerating a process that had its origins as far back as the beginning of the industrial age. Furthermore, one of the bigger failures of the market, even on its own terms, was its inability to value nature or to price in the cost of environmental degradation.

So it was not surprising that those who could not regard the physical world around them as merely an externality, or a necessary casualty for a closed financial system, became hostile to those who were responsible for creating the trading system itself. The narrative of the emerging environmental organisations and their conservation partners was “You may be wrecking the world, but we will save it.” In their influential and controversial 2004 essay “The Death of Environmentalism”[iv] Michael Shellenberger and Ted Nordhaus characterised that messaging as fatally flawed, asserting that it had restricted environmental concern to a largely wealthy constituency. They posited that the very change makers who needed to re-imagine economic activity as a force for care of ‘the earth and all that lives on it’ as Psalm 24:1 has it, were excluded from the conversation and treated as enemies. However, financial and industrial leaders were precisely those whose engagement was needed if any systemic change was to come about. Rather than those changes being the business of the green brigade who would then live off philanthropic scraps from the corporate table, or merely the result of consumer pressure dragging reluctant industrialists towards ‘sustainability’, a comprehensive effort was necessary that would involve every actor in shaping the world of human endeavour.

Recent times have seen a far greater understanding of the inevitable relationships within the human economy that must all flourish if nature is to survive.[v] The data of destruction and decline and its impacts is unarguable and is evidenced not least in the plight of the insurance industry. Even so, it is only to a far lesser extent – if the deployment of investment capital in both private and public sector is to be believed – that there is a growing understanding of all the natural relationships that must be maintained if human flourishing is to be achieved. In that regard, the money tells the story which is that we are very far from discovering how financial investment can prosper at scale without depleting or damaging nature[vi]. The emergence of carbon and more recently bio-diversity credits has seemed to some to at least have the advantage of recognising the costs to planet and people of our current way of financial and industrial life. But both the methodologies and the metrics remain contentious at best while to their critics they are merely an exercise in smoke and mirrors or ‘voodoo economics’. [vii] So it could be said that for now the possibilities and aspirations of a truly regenerative economic system remain unrealised.

Recent times have seen a far greater understanding of the inevitable relationships within the human economy that must all flourish if nature is to survive."

So how might a Christian perspective be found amid these competing claims and voices?

Firstly, Scripture maintains that the flourishing of people and nature should be possible even in a fallen world. It should never be a zero-sum game where human communities and the web of life that sustains them are set against each other as irreconcilable enemies. The idea of Shalom or comprehensive peace, as envisioned by Old Testament prophets such Isaiah and Jeremiah, is one in which both are blessed. While we wait for the Kingdom of God it is incumbent upon us to work within its commitments and to expect to see signs of its coming even in such times of distress. The orientation of the Kingdom is not intended to be merely aspirational but practical.

Secondly, because the biblical analysis is that the world is broken, the work of reconciling the apparently competing needs and interests of people and the wider creation will never come naturally nor be easy to achieve. However, if those who are creating wealth continue take an adversarial approach towards nature and, as for the most part they are currently doing,[viii] [ix]run blindly towards and beyond the real limits which are intrinsic to our finite planetary life, then current catastrophes will amplify towards increasingly disastrous outcomes[x].

Finally, and I am grateful to Nina de Souza Jensen for these insights, one of the major issues in reconciling financial and ecological perspectives is the issue of time. The former, with the exception of pension funds and sovereign wealth management, operates overwhelmingly on short-term perspectives and returns. However ecological time frames are necessarily long-term. So those who embark on investment over extended time frames such as forest restoration or tackling plastic pollution will need to be generous, and to acknowledge that they are not in control. Both are qualities that are inherent to the Christian view of the world and so can give inspiration to those who endeavour to deploy capital faithfully.

"The orientation of the Kingdom is not intended to be merely aspirational but practical."

While considering Christian approaches we have to admit that many efforts which seek to align biblical values with investment neglect to consider what the theologian Richard Bauckham has called ‘the community of creation’[xi] and are instinctively anthropocentric. Traditional interpretations of Scripture over recent centuries in the western world have been highly influenced by the individual and deeply personal perspectives of successive cultural movements from the Renaissance onwards. All that is relevant for people has been exclusively highlighted at the cost of the more biblical, creational framing which gives human existence its dignity and its meaning. There is no doubt that the global church has a way to go before it becomes second nature for us to consider creation when designing outcomes of blessing.

For these and many other reasons A Rocha has been exploring how investment might be applied to some of the really difficult situations we are seeking to address around the world and we invite anyone reading this to be in touch if they feel they wish to be involved. So far we have launched modest efforts in consultancy and aligned eco-tourism but long to scale up further. And we applaud organisations such as North Star Transition and one of their founders Jyoti Banerjee who is exploring creative and collaborative ways forward inspired by their Christian faith. He and North Star understand that in a created reality everything must inevitably be connected to everything else and so take an intentionally systemic approach. They practice hope that even the most entrenched opponents may come to realise that enduring solutions can only found with the engagement of everyone involved. Most of all they and everyone who is working in this kind of way now need examples at scale of true economic growth measured by criteria that include the wellbeing of every element in the God-given creation that we hold in trust.

Picture of Peter Harris

Peter Harris

Peter and his late wife Miranda founded A Rocha, a family of conservation organizations in over 20 countries working together to live out God's calling to care for creation, in 1983. The A Rocha story is told in Peter’s books, Under the Bright Wings and Kingfisher’s Fire. A Cambridge graduate and Anglican minister, Peter has served as Adjunct Faculty at Regent College, Vancouver and Au Sable Institute, Michigan. Since losing Miranda in a car accident during a work trip in South Africa in 2019 he has continued to support the growth of A Rocha around the world and to explore possibilities for innovative financing of conservation projects through investment and philanthropy.

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Anchored To The Rock

Federica Marsi

Anchored To The Rock

An A Rocha Story Of Redemption.

A journey from loss, loneliness, and doubt to faith, belonging, and hope through discovering community and the unexpected anchor of Christ.

I first reached the white sandy beaches of A Rocha Kenya feeling like a shipwrecked person –looking for firm land under my feet and something to quench the thirst.  

Then, in February 2021, my life had just been through a year-long storm.  

A long-term relationship collapsed under a pile of half-truths and deceits, just as the global pandemic confined me into an empty apartment in Milan, Italy. 

With travels suspended, my freelance journalistic work in the Middle East ground to a halt. In the first days of the pandemic, when northern Italy replaced China as the epicentre of the outbreak, I went out reporting from overwhelmed intensive care units and improvised field hospitals.  

But in a few weeks’ time, the news cycle had moved on and newspapers started slashing budgets amid global economic uncertainty. As work dried out, loneliness crept in. So did self-doubt, and shame for my 34-year-old single, unemployed self.  

One year into my solo lockdown, I resolved to find myself a lifeline. I will never be able to piece together how I came to book a one-way ticket to Nairobi in the midst of a pandemic, beyond that I was craving nature and had come across a documentary on Kenyan wildlife.  

"One year into my solo lockdown, I resolved to find myself a lifeline."

Upon arrival, I signed up for a safari and then set out to explore the country all the way to the coast. On a booking website, I spotted an accommodation advertised as a “Christian conservation centre”. Nature conservation work sounded just right for me, but the Christian part made me hesitate. I certainly did not want to risk my sunset beer.  

I resolved to stay only three nights. But as I was given a brief tour of the environmental field study centre at A Rocha Kenya – or as Kenyans call it, “Mwamba” – I had a strong feeling of being in the right place. Such foreboding does not go unnoticed when you’re someone who second-guesses every decision, so I asked if I could stay as a volunteer.  

Community life came as a gulp of water. Gathered around the same table were people from the four corners of the world whose love for nature made any land their home. Over a shared meal, I would learn about the resilience of pocket-sized birds as they fly intercontinental for thousands of kilometres or learn what turns bright-coloured corals a pale, ghostly white. Most of all, I relished in the shared sense of purpose, the awe-fillness of every discovery, the selflessness with which everyone offered to wash my dishes, and each and every soul-nurturing word of kindness.

Among them was Amanda, a British woman about my age who was volunteering alongside her husband. We had little in common and our interactions remained sparse and polite, until the day I noticed her sitting alone, visibly flustered.

Tears ran down her face as she confided in me that her marriage was falling apart. The storm of sorrow and grief that roiled inside her felt all too familiar.

"At A Rocha, I had hoped to find myself but found much more."

But something was oddly different in her turmoil. I sensed no self-deprecation, guilt or shame. Albeit disoriented, she had what struck me as an unrelenting hope for the future.

Her anchor in the storm, she said, was the God of Christianity, and I — rather mercilessly — proceeded to question her belief system from what I considered to be a rational standpoint.  

Whenever she didn’t have an answer — or, perhaps, was running short of her bountiful patience — she would simply reply: “that’s a good question, why don’t you go and look it up?’ And so I went down the rabbit hole of research, as fast as only a journalist can.  

Three months in, on one of my last days at A Rocha Kenya, I received the news that my grandmother had died. As I mourned, I joined the service held by Colin Jackson, the founder of A Rocha Kenya.  

Colin stayed behind at the end of the gathering to listen to me as I wrestled with my doubts on life after death, on good and evil, on my own existence — and, ultimately, the existence of God.  

He shared his own life-shattering sorrows and how God had walked with him through them. It was there, as he spoke words of truth on a rooftop overlooking the sea, that the veil dropped and I came to believe.  

At A Rocha, I had hoped to find myself but found much more.  

I found a community, which I have been back to visit twice. Once, in 2023, with Amanda, who baptised me in the Indian Ocean alongside Colin. The second in 2025, shortly after marrying the love of my life, Giuseppe.  

Most importantly, I came to know Jesus, to know I am loved, and that I am enough. He’s been my anchor ever since.  

Federica Marsi

Federica is a news producer with Al Jezeera and a journalist covering migration and environmental issues.

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Glimpsing The Sacred In Wonder

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David Gregory

Glimpsing The Sacred In Wonder

Playfulness and Communion.

An invitation to deeper attentiveness: exploring how science, faith, and the natural world reveal wonder, humility, and responsibility – calling us to live with care, gratitude, and hope within Earth’s fragile, interconnected community of life.

Cycling along a stream that runs through the parkland and forest of Milton Keynes, the UK city where I live, I came to an abrupt halt. Something wonderous had caught my attention. A Kingfisher sitting on the branch of a tree. Still, attentive, hanging over the waters. Stillness and attentiveness that connected us. A sacred moment, all too quickly over as perhaps are all sacred moments. A flash of blue glinting in the sunshine, it swooped fast and low over the stream, quickly lost to my view among the trees.

The Kingfisher is well named, capturing its behaviour and vibrant splendour. In the Bible God invites Adam to be attentive to the natural world. Bringing the animals before him ‘to see what he would name them’ (Genesis 1:19). Attentiveness connects humans with the Creator and a wonderous world that God declares good. 

Humans have deepened their attentiveness to the world around them through God’s gift of science. New windows have been opened to the splendour of the cosmos, near and far, large and small; of the beauty and complexity of life among which we live – beyond Adam’s knowing, even beyond our naming. Attentiveness evokes a louder, deeper ‘wow’ that responds to the wonderous garden that the Earth is: a good place, with a just right atmosphere and just the right temperature, just the right magnetic field and moon; interweaving factors allowing life in its splendour to flourish through the long journey of the Earth. The imaginative creativity of human science meets that of the divine artist, giving glimpses of the signs of God’s grace through the wonder of it all. Leading to humility?  And gratitude? 

Attentiveness connects humans with the Creator and a wonderous world that God declares good.

Today through God’s gift of science, we see the wonderous diversity of life in wider, deeper ways than our ancestors did, inviting us to encounter divine purpose and shaping of the world as we understand the role evolution has played in bringing the world to be. In the Bible, a troubled man, Job, is taken by the God on a tour of the wonders of the natural world. Just as we are awed by the stunning images of nature documentaries, he too was captivated. Yet is our response the same as his?  For at the end, Job declares, ‘My ears had heard of you but now my eyes have seen you’ (Job 42:5). Our view is wider, deeper, higher, broader. Yet can the same be said of our attentiveness. Our thankfulness? 

The world in which we live, and the life we share it with is shaped by God through the life of the Son of God, Jesus. ‘For in him all things were created … created through him and for him … in him all things hold together’ (Colossians 1:16,17). The beauty and glory of nature hints at this divine shaping. But what of the brokenness and loss seen in the long tragedy of life, remembered as fossils that reveal equally wonderous ages now long past? We still find and experience pain alongside beauty in our world. For while the Kingfisher is well named for its splendour, what would the fish in the stream name it?   

Beyond beauty, perhaps God is glimpsed within the loss and hope of it all. In the catastrophe of mass extinctions, life falls yet rises again in new and imaginative forms. This is a story of life held long in hope by the pattern of Easter. Death and resurrection, revealing the love of God for the world within its chaotic dance between order and disorder; his deep sharing in its suffering, his continual creative Spirit at work bringing it towards life and hope.  

Into the dance of the world, stepped the one who gives it life. Jesus, the divine, became ‘flesh and made his dwelling among us’ (John 1:14). Affirming the value of all forms of life, each part uniquely expresses God’s creative imagination, fitting within his purpose in ways that we do and do not perceive, affirming One from among the vast menagerie of life – One whose creativity, expressed in many ways including science, reflects that of the Creator. Jesus sees our world and the cosmos more fully and deeply than our satellites and scientific instruments allow. Yet he comes and sees the wonder of life through our eyes so that we might see it through his.  

"Beyond beauty, perhaps God is glimpsed within the loss and hope of it all."

Jesus lived as one of us, a sign of the connection between the divine and all that is living, the divine being attentive to that which is created in a new way and inviting us to attentiveness and to our part in the purposes of God. Too often we attend to our needs and security before those of our neighbours’, ahead of the community of life with whom we share the Earth.  

Too often we use our science and technical abilities to take for ourselves rather than delight over the divine wonder they reveal. In the Bible, humans were expelled from the Forest of Eden by their own folly. Now, by our continued folly, we expel others too. Long ago we named ‘the birds of the air and all the beasts of the field’ (Gen 2:20). But how might the animals name us in the world we are creating? 

The Bible’s story ends with a ‘river of the water of life, as clear as crystal, flowing … down the middle of the street of the city’ (Rev 22:1,2). As future generations pause by the stream winding through my city, will they have a chance to be attentive to the Kingfisher, a sign of the wonderful creativity of God in which our, and all life on Earth, is woven? Held in hope by God through falling and rising, it faces death yet is pulled towards fulness of life through divine presence: ‘When you send your Spirit they are created, and you renew the face of the Earth’ (Psalm 104:30).  

That same Spirit is at work in our lives, inviting us to share with God in bringing hope to people and the community of life with whom we share the Earth. Turning from lives that increase the disorder of the world, let’s live in ways that collaborate with the Creator to bring peace to the Earth. Now. And for the future. 

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David Gregory

David is a Baptist minister with a background in meteorology and climate science. He serves as Baptist Missioner for Science and Environment and convenes the Baptist Union Environment Network. His recent book, Divine Windows – Seeing God through the lens of science, was published by the Bible Reading Fellowship in July 2025 (https://www.brfresources.org.uk/) and explores how God might be glimpsed in the imagery of science through themes of wonder, play and communion. He is also the writer and presenter of the four-part film series ‘God Saw That It Was Good’ (www.gstiwg.co.uk), soon to be shown on the TBN UK TV channel. The blog was adapted from the last episode, ‘Life’.

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From Inherited Faith To Living Hope

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Sylvia Muia

From Inherited Faith To Living Hope

Rediscovering faith and wonder through creation.

A reflection on moving from inherited belief to lived faith—finding resilience, purpose, and hope through Christ, and rediscovering creation not as a source of anxiety, but as a place of wonder, presence, and renewed trust in God.

For a long time, being a Christian was more of an identity chosen for me by default, having been born into a Christian family. You start with Sunday school, learn Bible songs, graduate to teens’ church and eventually reach adulthood. It is then, I think, that the real question pops up: Why am I a Christian? 

For me, it all came back to how my relationship with Christ held me through some of the toughest parts of life – unemployment, brokenness, heartbreak and illness. Through it all, He was there. Even in the darkest moments, there was joy, as Psalm 16:11 (NIV) says:
‘You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.’ 

Living in a secular world made this connection deeply relevant and kept me sane practically, but it became much deeper once I began working with A Rocha. It felt like I had been walking through life zoomed in, only seeing what was right in front of me. I cared about the environment, but I had never fully regarded it as God’s creation – never fully zoomed out to recognize the hand of the Creator in every boulder and lake, each curved into its unique shape. 

When I worked as an environmental journalist, attending meetings and reading scientific reports, my mind was constantly crippled with anxiety, wondering what we would do once the climate clock ran out. It was a never-ending cycle of bad news. Most of the time, I would look at nature and immediately pick out what was going wrong, becoming a very negative environmentalist. 

Nature is calming and beautiful, and it has always been one of the places where I felt closer to God – but my anger blinded me from appreciating it fully. 

Nature... has always been one of the places where I felt closer to God - but my anger blinded me from appreciating it fully.

I recently finished my first year at A Rocha, and I am happy to say that this worry no longer looms over my head. One of the greatest lessons I learned early on was that we cannot care for the world without involving the Creator. Being reminded that the world is God’s, and everything in it, helped lift a burden that had been crushing me. What a relief!

I also have the privilege of being part of the first cohort of the A Rocha Conservation Certificate, alongside amazing people from all over the world – those actively caring for creation and others simply curious about it. One of the theology-based modules explored how God is not only the Creator of the world, but also deeply present within it. In pre-colonial times, many Indigenous communities in Africa and Latin America respected nature and its elements so deeply because of how they reflected God. 

Our first encounter with God is through creation, as Romans 1:20 reminds us:
‘For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities – his eternal power and divine nature – have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse.’ 

One of my favourite parts of the Conservation Certificate is the weekly awe and wonder time, where people share both the glorious and wondrous, and the destructive and terrifying parts of creation they experience, whether in New Zealand or Hong Kong or elsewhere. In all of it, we are drawn back to look up to the Creator in reverence and worship, continually amazed by the wonders he orchestrates. 

 

Picture of Sylvia Muia

Sylvia Muia

Based in the bustling Nairobi city, Sylvia connects A Rocha to the world through creative writing and social media posts. Sylvia is a trained journalist and has a degree in Corporate Communications and Management. Sometimes, she can be spotted knitting, painting or baking cottage pies if she is not catching up on her favourite show.

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Advent: The Drama Of Light And Darkness

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Debbie Wright

Advent: The Drama Of Light And Darkness

How the light of salvation overcomes darkness.

A reflection on Advent as a season of light in darkness – exploring how hope in Christ transcends place and season, inviting us into active waiting, renewed life, and a deeper awareness of God revealed through creation.

“The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned.” – Isaiah 9:2

These words from the prophet Isaiah resonate so much with us during the season of Advent. It is a treasured verse that points to Jesus as our great light who overcomes darkness in its many guises. 

I write this in London as our planet wings its way to the winter solstice on 21 December and to our shortest day of light – Advent and the promise of Jesus’s return brings comfort and symbolises a longing and hope within us.  We light candles, put up fairy lights, arrange Christmas walking trails – and take in the twinkly wonder of displays adorning trees and buildings and shop windows. In other parts of the world Christmas comes at the height of summer and Advent is bathed in sunshine.  

“The people walking in darkness have seen a great light.” These words were recorded in a  time of great turmoil and darkness for the Israelites. They faced both threats from the Assyrians and internal strife. Isaiah foretold that a “great light” would dawn, symbolizing the coming of the Messiah, Jesus Christ, who would bring hope, salvation, and guidance to a people lost in spiritual and moral darkness. There would be a new era of light during which the spiritual “shadow of death” would be overcome. 600 years later the prophecy was fulfilled and Christians started celebrating the birth of Jesus under another oppressive Empire, the Roman Empire.   

Christmas was formally celebrated on 25 December in Rome from around 336 AD, a date likely chosen to coincide with existing Roman winter festivals, marking the birth of Jesus alongside the pagan “rebirth of the unconquered sun”. Many traditions, like gift-giving, feasting, and bringing evergreens indoors, have roots in these ancient Roman celebrations. The Victorians embraced and elaborated Christmas creating a time of festivities and merriment during deep winter and now the source of many of our current traditions.  

“Advent is an active waiting!”

The word “advent” comes from the Latin adventus, which is about a coming or an arrival. The Latin translation of the New Testament uses adventus to describe God the Son arriving on Earth, born in Bethlehem.  But throughout Church history, Advent has more traditionally referred to Jesus’ future arrival, when he comes to complete his work of restoring all creation in the second coming.   

But what of our friends and fellow Christians who celebrate and mark Advent in the southern hemisphere, where the sun is at its peak and the summer solstice with long hot summer days coincides with Jesus’s birthday and the Christmas season? 

A pastor in Buenos Aires in Argentina reflects: 

“As I consider what I am waiting for this Advent, I think of new life. Jesus, the Good Shepherd, tells his disciples in John 10:10, ‘The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I have come that they may have life and have it to the full.’ Advent is an active waiting! Both Isaiah and John the Baptist proclaim the Advent of the Messiah by teaching the people to prepare the way, make straight paths, and produce fruit in keeping with repentance. This active waiting implies engaging in the new life that Jesus brings. Yes, we wait in hopeful anticipation for Jesus’ Second Advent, but we also live into and experience the fullness of new life offered today. 

“So, the new life of spring and summertime in Buenos Aires will once again be the lenses through which I engage in Advent this year. Our community serves among families living in poverty, including those who live and/or work on the streets. I seek to be an instrument of the Advent themes of hope, peace, joy, and love in the lives of my community by desiring to seek and live this newness of life in Jesus that stands in contrast to the things that steal, kill, and destroy. Advent for me is actively waiting in newness of life!” 

“Here in New Zealand the truth is represented in amazing light that lasts hour after hour, reflecting off water and sending luminous colours onto the hills.

And a Christian writer who has moved to New Zealand writes:

It can be challenging to develop a sense of inwardness, patience and contemplation when the Earth is on its outward breath, where we experience summer in its heat and intensity. The length of the days, and the brightness of the light, speaks to me about the Light who has come into the world in blazing abundance, reflecting the glory and wonder of heaven. And we can view the incarnation as a glimpse of the amazing glory of God, here with us on earth. What if we were able to see into heaven for a few minutes, knowing that in Christ the full glory of God is revealed? What if one of Jesus’ names, the Light of the World was demonstrated to us in blazing, abundant power at Christmas? That’s how I perceive the long days and the beautiful light at Christmas in New Zealand. 

“’What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it’ (John 1:3-5.)  In the Northern Hemisphere people see this verse represented in candles shining in cozy rooms and candle-lit churches. Here in New Zealand the truth is represented in amazing light that lasts hour after hour, reflecting off water and sending luminous colours onto the hills. This blazing light lifts my heart with its glory and abundance and speaks to me of the overwhelming wonder of God’s glory, brought to us in Jesus.”  

Whatever climate or hemisphere we are in during Advent, creation speaks of God. May God feel near this Advent. May the light from candles or the sun remind you that Jesus is the Light of the world. May God give you peace and hope in your hearts because the Light has come into the world in Jesus. 

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Debbie Wright

Previously a Producer and Director for BBC Education and Science, Debbie now writes creatively about her passions for local church, creation care and arts & media. In her spare time she is a marmalade connoisseur and fair-weather birdwatcher, whilst she lives in London with her husband and youngest daughter of four girls.

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An axe laid to the roots: Invasive plant removal in the Stenis Tract

Picture of Noah Guthrie

Noah Guthrie

An axe laid to the roots: Invasive plant removal in the Stenis Tract

Restoring native woodland through faith-led conservation.

Three A Rocha USA interns work to restore a Texas woodland by removing invasive species such as glossy privet that threaten native biodiversity. Through hands-on conservation, they wrestle with the tension between loving all creation and the necessity of ecological intervention. Grounded in faith, the work seeks restoration of the Stenis Tract into a thriving, diverse ecosystem where native plants and wildlife can flourish once again.

Beside the coiling waters of Bull Creek, three A Rocha USA interns waded through thorns, waging war against the Glossy Privet. As we heaved our shoulders through viper-green barbs, we brandished our weapons: a red flip-saw for hacking, a hawkbill knife for slitting trunks and a weed-wrench for dragging saplings headfirst from the soil.

All three of us were tree-huggers. What could have possibly compelled us to destroy these poor, ill-fated privets in the Southern US? They’re doing what God made them to do – namely, being fruitful and multiplying by their many seeds (Genesis 1:12). But they’re doing it in the wrong place.

The privets were growing in the Stenis Tract of Austin, Texas, a narrow wedge of land between Bull Creek and Spicewood Springs Road. About 57 acres, this area is a mix of open meadow and subtly sloped woodland, with myriad plants weaving through the soil: Spanish Oak, Ashe Juniper and Yaupon Holly, Cedar Sage and Bluebonnets, as well as the Live Oak – burly and mystic, arms undulating like kraken tentacles. By day, hikers and cyclists speed down the path and by night, stags nose their way between the trunks.

And then there are the invaders. King Ranch Bluestem bristles like blanched porcupine quills, Nandina flares its jade and scarlet starbursts, and canopies of privet leaves – perfectly shaped, perfectly polished, perfectly green – blot the sun, smothering the understory. As beautiful as they are, these exotic ornamentals rapidly out-compete local plant-life, lowering the overall health and diversity of the ecosystem.

"What could have possibly compelled us to destroy these poor, ill-fated privets in the Southern US?"

Since 2021, A Rocha USA has gone to great pains to remove these plants from the Stenis Tract – focusing on the privet, since it’s especially prevalent. We’ve joined forces with the Bull Creek Foundation to host more than 15 volunteer work days, employing over 500 volunteer hours to remove over 7,500 invasive plants. Our removal methods include weeding, weed-wrenching and girdling, the latter of which starves a tree over time by removing a ring of phloem tissue from its trunk, cutting off its circulation of nutrients.

In some ways, this systematic destruction of a species is especially hard for us as people of faith. God deems all the plants of Creation ‘good’ (Gen. 1:12), the Psalmist affirms God’s loving provision for trees (Ps. 104:16), and Jesus identifies even ‘the grass of the field’ as recipients of God’s lavish and varicoloured love (Matt. 6:28-30). To girdle a privet, in other words, is to strangle a member of God’s beloved Creation. Yet, girdling is meant to support the healing of the Stenis Tract ecosystem, and the Bible offers a framework for understanding that, too. While Genesis 1 and 2 affirm the innate value of each member of the biotic community, other scriptures affirm the need to uproot certain individuals for the sake of communal flourishing.

Depending on how we interpret Old Testament law, Exodus 21:28 and Deuteronomy 17:2-7 seem to allow for destructive creatures (an ox in one case; a human in the other) to be stoned for the greater good of the Israelite community. This principle also arises in the New Testament, when John the Baptist warns the Pharisees – who oppress the socially vulnerable in Israel – that ‘the axe is laid to the roots of the trees. Every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire’ (Matt. 3:10).

If God allows for certain people to be ‘chopped down’, then maybe we can justify doing it to invasive plants as well, as long as we do it with a two-fold love. First, love for the biotic community as a whole, refusing to allow invasives to impede the flourishing of their neighbours.

"If we’re forced to destroy, let it be from a desire for restoration."

Second, love for the invasives themselves, finding ways to honour them even as we’re forced to destroy them. After all, Jesus taught us to love our enemies. This tension between love and extirpation emerges among other members of the global A Rocha family, too. A Rocha Kenya, having noted the over 40,000 invasive crows distributed across the Watamu and Malindi areas in 2024, has used great quantities of avicide to try to thin them out, striving to protect local birds from the crows’ harassment and killings

Meanwhile, A Rocha Aotearoa New Zealand has removed over 14,000 invasive predators from around Mount Karioi, killing off ferrets, opossums, stoats and feral cats for the sake of native Ōi chicks. When we kill certain species, it can be hard to sustain our empathy for them. It’s easy enough to love the native and hate the invasive. What’s harder for us, as Christians, is learning to love both, even when forced to drive one of them out.

In the U.S., our Texas team has explored small ways of honouring the Stenis Tract’s invasive plants. Aside from verbally acknowledging their beauty, we’ve also fashioned laser-engraved ornaments from chopped privet wood, affirming the value of the privet’s life while also shaping it into fresh beauty. Meanwhile, we already see signs of a healthier, more diverse Stenis Tract being born. Sunlight washes through the bones of the privet canopy, painting the forest floor with native green sprouts. Across the meadows, which were once stifled by clots of King Ranch Bluestem, breezes of Bluebonnets revive the soil.

If we’re forced to destroy, let it be from a desire for restoration. If we’re forced to kill, let it be from a desire for rebirth. This is our hope for the Stenis Tract, a little resurrection garden spreading one patch of soil at a time.

If you want to support A Rocha USA’s invasive plant removal, feel free to donate to our Texas Conservation Project!

Picture of Noah Guthrie

Noah Guthrie

Noah supports A Rocha USA’s Churches of Restoration programme in Nashville, coordinating church creation care activities and communications. He brings experience in eco-theology, writing, and habitat restoration to inspire church-led environmental action.

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