In one of the more memorable strips of Calvin & Hobbes, young Calvin stumbles upon a clear-cut patch of forest, stunned to discover that the woods he and Hobbes once explored have been reduced to a muddy wasteland. “Hey! What happened to the trees here?” he cries. “There used to be lots of animals in these woods!”
When Hobbes notices a nearby sign—“Future Site of Shady Acres Condominiums”—Calvin’s outrage only grows. “Animals can’t afford condos!” he fumes. His indignation rises until he shouts a wonderfully ironic question: “How would people like it if animals bulldozed a suburb and put in new trees?!”
In the next frame, Calvin and Hobbes stare off into space, clearly imagining the possibility. And in the final panel, we see the two of them searching for keys to a bulldozer, ready to raze some houses and plant a forest.
It’s funny, of course—but also painfully honest. The comic captures something all too familiar: our impulse to do something in the face of injustice, paired with the absurdity of how small our efforts can feel against vast systems of harm. Calvin’s mix of clarity, anger, and action is actually not far from the sort of moral vision that Earth Day is meant to inspire.
This year, Earth Day (April 22) falls during this first week of Eastertide. And maybe that’s fitting. Because Easter is, among other things, God’s loud and loving “yes” to life—life restored, life renewed, life overflowing. The empty tomb is a declaration that death will not have the last word. What might it mean, then, to live into Easter hope by loving this earth fiercely and faithfully?
To care for creation is not merely to feel sad about melting glaciers or endangered species. It is to change how we live. It is to examine our energy habits, our consumerism, our political complacency, and our theological assumptions about dominion and stewardship. It is to act—imaginatively, courageously, and sacrificially—on behalf of a world groaning for renewal. Yes, the problems are overwhelming.
Yes, our leaders often seem complacent or even antagonistic. But still—we act. Not because we are guaranteed success, but because we belong to a God who makes all things new.
Let us pray:
Creator God, whose Spirit hovered over the waters and breathed life into dust, awaken us again to the sacredness of this world you so lovingly made. Give us the strength to speak when others are silent, the imagination to dream new ways of living, and the creativity to plant seeds of hope in dry places. When our leaders falter, make us bold. When the scale of the crisis feels paralyzing, remind us that no act of love is ever wasted. May we be faithful stewards of this fragile earth, our island home, until it flourishes again with your justice and joy. Amen.