CONSERVATION

I thought this would be just about right for my first story of the new year...

     Reverend Lissa Carnes finished her sermon with the banal platitudes she hated. “The earth is the Lord’s, and we are His stewards. Let us take care of what He has provided.” Lissa loved the earth passionately, almost savagely. It broke her heart to hear of forests cut down to make parking lots, beautiful bays filled in to make room for condos. Her soul trembled and wept for humanity as more and more habitations were lost; as factories poured poison into the oceans. But she could not put her feelings into words. She, who was moved to tears and terror, could not move others.

 

     As Lissa lifted her hand in benediction, her vision blurred. The world suddenly shifted, and she caught at the pulpit for support. Her bored congregation--surreptitiously looking at their watches--had vanished. Filling the pews were grim faced warriors, some with bows and arrows, some with spears, some with stone axes. Faces were daubed with colours; others were stark white. Some wore breech clouts and feathers; some wore the headdresses and flowing robes of chieftains. They did not speak each other’s languages, and certainly none of them spoke hers. But, as on the day of Pentecost, she understood them perfectly. “Restore our legacy. Heal the earth. Or pay the price!”

 

     “Yes!” she cried. “Yes I will!” Knowing they heard her, believing they understood her, as she understood them. There was another shift and Lissa’s congregation was back. She grasped either side of the podium firmly and found the words that had so long eluded her. “Your ancestors--my ancestors--stole good land from the Indians. Well now they’re pissed! We used and abused the earth, plundered her beauty, wasted her gifts. It has to stop. It has to stop now. And--damn it--that has to start with us!”

 

     The church members were roused from their usual apathy and not at all surprised at the harshness of their minister’s voice or the sharpness of her words. They too had seen the warriors and the weapons. Lissa did not give a blessing but strode firmly down the aisle of the church. As she shook hands with her parishioners, she did not say, as was customary “Go with God,” but “Do God’s work,” “Be God’s hands,” “Move as God’s messengers,” “Say God’s words.”

 

     And they did. That afternoon letters went out--some postal, some electronic. Telephone calls were made. Small bands roamed the neighborhood, picking up litter.

 

     The movement spread--from church to synagogue to mosque. Priests, monks, turbaned Sikhs marched forward with one goal in mind: “Restore the earth.” The pope proclaimed it a holy cause and gave his blessing. The Dalai Lama gave his blessing also and made a plea for peace and brotherhood. Every mafia don in the county issued a warning to the effect that anyone caught littering would have both legs and both arms broken.

 

     It did not happen in days, weeks, or months. It took decades of fighting inefficiency and wastefulness, pollution and greed. Millions of people, every colour, creed, religion worked in slums and marched on governments, all with the same goal: “Restore the earth.” They sang, pled, demanded. And finally they were heard. 

    

      Lissa did not live to see her promise fulfilled. But her great-great grandchildren breathed sweet, fresh air; drank clean water. They played on beaches without oil slicks, in meadows allowed to grow. Their blue skies were not hazed over with grey. They saw forests and flowers instead of factories.

 

     It can be done, starting in the right place, at the right time.

 

     Maybe here

 

     Maybe now

Reviews

[Justin Robben]

Others have said it below better than I can, but please know that I enjoyed this short story as well.

I wanted to point out an interesting departure from the standard byline typically found in such fiction...
"They too had seen the warriors and the weapons."
Small, but startling difference from what we're used to. Normally, the appointed is simply thought bananas and left to carry on their crusade until proof is given of their cause.
Brilliant. You have completely focused on the hope this piece represents...entirely.

Thank you for sharing it.

[Marie]

I'm glad you enjoyed it and appreciate your comment.

[Workvio]

An intriguing little story with a powerful, and much needed, message ...

[Marie]

Thanks. Most of my stories don't have messages in them, but I decided to put one out there with "Conservation."

[Jennie Baron]

Oh, this is so encouraging! I've been hearing nothing but doom and gloom about the environment for so long and felt helpless to do anything about it. What a wonderful dream that we could turn around all the damage we've done to the earth. But it took your expert writing to make the dream real, and I love the character of Rev. Lissa. Splendid writing!

[jake]

"But she could not put her feelings into words. She, who was moved to tears and terror, could not move others"
--this line, along with the rest of the piece was great.

[Marie]

Thank you. I think Lissa's feelings were transmitted into more than words...

[Gibbons]

Engaging narration, and a optimistic theme. I enjoyed it very much. Especially with the message spreading from one religion, to others, to the Mafia. Witty, charming and hopeful.

[Marie]

Thank you.

[Michael G.]

Your characters are always so believable. And your subject matter is brilliant. The Reverend is like a parent telling the whole world, "clean your room!" A fade away ending is a very nice touch, also.

[Marie]

THanks. THis is not anything I think could come true, yet anythng is possible...

[ANTO]

A lovely utopian tale Marie and witty. I enjoyed meeting this reverend too - fine stroytelling. thanks for sharing :)

[Marie]

I'm glad you enjoyed meeting the Reveren; she's a nice person. Actually "reverend" is not a nouon; I tend to forget that.

[Samuel Dickens]

Well, that was interesting and refreshing. I wish that would happen in every church. As it is, far too many have their heads in the sand.

[Woody]

a very commendable start of the year, Marie. seamless narration as usual and hope-filled short story.
I, like Frank, don't hold much hope for the near future. I believe we're far gone. sorry, I'm being pessimistic. let's hope and pray that our children and grand children will do better.

[Marie]

I agree that what happened in this story is very unlikely, but it's not impossible. If a few people would start such a moveket, and it would sread...

However, my hope t=is that the technology which seems to be ruining this world will somehow save it.

[Jimmy Yetts]

A grand vision penned by a grand lady!
I'm far too cynical, however, to believe that any such truly effective movement could actually happen--although, of course, I wouldn't mind at all if it did.
I pray I'm the one who's wrong.

[Marie]

Oh, I didn't write this believing it could happen, I just wrote it because I wanted to.