As a local church we're trying to be as responsible as we can. A reduction in the use of paper, replacing of inefficient lighting with more efficient systems, and the strategic placement of recycling bins are small steps. We continue to explore better practices of stewarding the corner of creation entrusted to our care and responsibility.

Yet it seems that responsibility for creation involves more than these cost-effective decisions. If we explore the question theologically, we're forced to name the bifurcation between spirit and matter at play in our theological construction. As long as we believe our eschatology only includes our "spirits" or "souls" then we will have little commitment to the matter of creation.

In the act of the incarnation of God we find a definitive statement about matter. Simply put, matter matters. Creation matters and our acts of creativity matter. Our bodies matter. Flowers and trees matter. Even our buildings matter. Our responsibility is shaped theologically.

Spring showers in New England this past year dropped record amounts of water onto the earth. Rivers overflowed their banks. Streets and homes were flooded. Our church was not exempt from this. With our building just fifty yards from a marsh area we're required to have flood insurance for a reason!

Needless to say, water entered the building through a number of cracks in our cement foundation. We pumped water throughout the night. At points our laughter shielded us from our despair and disappointment. Early the following morning we realized that we were not going to win and went home. Over the next few days the waters continued to rise in the church basement. Classrooms and offices were emptied to salvage what we could of our "property."

After the waters receded, the clean-up began. The flood adjustor visited the flooded basement. Sunday school was canceled. The nursery was moved upstairs to the fellowship hall. Sunday worship services were held and we stopped singing songs about "opening the floodgates of heaven!" Jokes about Noah and the Ark abounded.

During the days and weeks following the rains, the church board had very interesting conversations. We considered strategies for clean-up. We returned to prior discussions about water drainage and proposals to keep the basement dry. We debated financial costs for specific proposals. As we considered options – some quite elaborate and expensive – one member asked a very simple question: if we keep our basement dry where will the water go? Another member responded quickly "our neighbors' basements," which prompted laughter. Amid the laughter an epiphany shone brightly. Our course of action became quite clear for us.

As a local congregation we came to realize that water will inevitably enter the building from time to time. Our strategy intends to reduce the impact of the inevitable flood waters. We've hung cabinetry to keep important documents and supplies off the floor. We've elevated our computers and wires. All this is a response to a simple question which demanded consideration of our neighbors as much as our own desires.

As practical theologians we're now suppose to ask critical questions. How did the congregation come to that decision? What was going on in that situation? How did the question of "being a good neighbor" come to be asked? Such questions, along with others, situate the practice of theology in critical reflection upon lived experience as it relates to faith, ministry, and one's social environment.

There are a number of potential lines of inquiry. A few examples include:

  • How did the congregation come to describe and identify the concept of "neighborliness"?

  • What role do biblical narratives and the practice of reading, studying, and reflection upon Scripture play in creating space for God to speak into the congregation's shared life?

  • How might one build church facilities in step with the slope and grade of creation?

  • How might church facilities reflect what the People of God believe about the Nature and Mission of God in the world?

In the end it seems that our role as pastors (aka: pastoral theologians) is to assist congregations in the practice of critical reflection on the lived experience of faith. In doing so we might discover that the journey (the lived experience of faith) is as important as any final decision made by an individual, church board, or congregation.

For me, I learned a lot about my congregation as we mopped floors and discussed plans. I learned that we care about our neighbor's homes and safety as much as we do about their "souls." I learned that our practices have shaped us to be able to answer the question – who is my neighbor? – even when we're knee deep in water.