Jeremiah 8: 18- 9:1

Introduction: Jeremiah 8:18–9:1 expresses deep sorrow over the suffering of the people and the land. The prophet grieves not only human pain but also the desolation of creation: “Is there no balm in Gilead?” This lament echoes the Earth’s own cry under human exploitation. The prophet’s tears reflect God’s anguish over ecological devastation and injustice. Peace with creation begins with such lament—honest recognition of environmental harm and heartfelt compassion. Like Jeremiah, we are called to weep with the Earth and seek healing through repentance, justice, and renewed commitment to God’s vision for a flourishing world.

The dry earth, the unbound fountains, and the vanishing rivers and streams are not merely physical occurrences, they are signs, symbols of abundance or death. When the soil cracks and the water disappears, it is not only a matter of climate or misfortune, it is a sign that something has gone wrong in the relationship between people, creation, and the Divine.

The prophet Jeremiah cries, “O that my head were a spring of water and my eyes a fountain of tears, so that I might weep day and night for the slain of my poor people!” (Jeremiah 9:1, NRSV). His lament is deeply ecological. His tears are as abundant as springs and fountains, life-giving sources that now flow only in sorrow. This grief emerges after a communal reckoning: “The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved” (Jeremiah 8:20). These words cut deep. The harvest is supposed to symbolize sufficiency, joy, and the rhythm of life in its fullness. To say that the harvest has come and gone without salvation is to name a dissonance or a rupture between what should be and what is.

Filipino theologian Ferdinand Anno writes of this rupture through the lens of “creation wounded.” In his work on (Responsibility and Kinship with Nature), he describes ecological crisis as “the visible sign of a spiritual forgetting.” When we forget that the land is relative or kapwa, we stop listening to its cries, and begin to treat it as mere object, mere backdrop to human ambition. For Anno, creation care is not a moral add-on but an act of healing our fractured relationships with God, with one another, and with creation itself.

Indigenous spiritualities in the Philippines have long held this vision. Drought, famine, and disease are not simply natural calamities, they are seen as signs of a fractured relationship between human beings and the cosmos. In traditional cosmologies, everything is relational. A good harvest is not only the result of labor, it is the fruit of harmony with the spirits of the land, the ancestors, and the Creator. That is why rituals are essential. Babaylans, mumbaki, and elders are called to discern and to heal. Their work is relational theology in action. For the mumbaki in Ifugao, healing is a double task: the healing of plants and the healing of people. There is no division between ecological and human well-being. In fact, it is understood that when one suffers, so does the other.

In many Indigenous gatherings, such as cañao, people come together not only to celebrate abundance but also to renew the relational bonds that sustain life. Offerings are made, songs are sung, and dances are performed. At the core, these are participatory acts that affirm interdependence. The land is not a commodity; it is kin. This perspective is a far cry from extractivist worldviews that see the earth as an object to be subdued. In contrast, these spiritualities echo what theologian Rosemary Radford Ruether describes as the twin oppressions of ecological exploitation and human marginalization (Gaia and God, 1992).

In this sense, Jeremiah’s lament becomes our own. When we see typhoons increasing in strength, when heat waves scorch the soil and sea levels rise, we are also watching harvests vanish, water recede, and hope falter.

Our task, then, is not only to weep with Jeremiah but also to listen; to the cries of the land, to the wisdom of Indigenous peoples, and to the Spirit of God still hovering over the waters, even the ones that have dried. This kind of theology invites us to return to the relational. It calls us to see creation as sacred, interconnected, and groaning not for destruction but for renewal (Romans 8:22).

The streams and rivers of our time may be blocked or polluted, but the memory of living waters; of a world where the land provides and people rejoice, still flows through scripture, tradition, and Indigenous wisdom. Perhaps our call is to become springs again. Not only fountains of tears, but also fountains of hope and restoration.

O Jeremiah,

You do not lament alone.

The mother, whose bare feet press the ancient earth,

Chants with rhythms passed down through generations

Echoes of ancestors woven into each step.

The farmer, hands weathered by seasons and soil,

Whistles melodies of hope beneath open skies,

Dreaming of harvests yet to come.

The elders, who watch the shifting colors of dawn and dusk,

Turn their eyes toward the horizon with you,

Reading the signs the heavens reveal.

The children, playing in the river’s embrace,

Feel the weight of your sorrow and carry it forward

Your tears are not wasted.

Let them be rivers of justice,

Overflowing through the parched fields

Of forgotten bodies.

Let them seep through the cracks of the earth,

Stirring the soil to life once more.

Your tears are not wasted.

Let them be signs of rejoicing

Among peoples whose songs rise with the earth.

Sunshine Dulnuane, St. Andrew’s Theological Seminary in Quezon City, Philippines

NOTES ON THE OTHER READINGS

Psalm 79:1–9 is a lament over the destruction of Jerusalem, where the land and its people suffer due to violence and disregard for God’s ways. The psalm’s grief over the devastation of the land reflects how ecological destruction is intertwined with social and spiritual degradation. The plea for God’s mercy highlights a desire for restoration, not only for humanity but for the Earth itself. Peace with creation requires acknowledging how environmental harm affects both the planet and its people. As we seek God’s mercy, we are called to restore both relationships with God and the Earth.

1 Timothy 2:1–7 urges prayers for all people, emphasizing that God desires all to be saved and live in peace. This call for universal peace extends beyond humanity to all of creation. Just as God desires reconciliation among people, we are called to seek peace with the Earth, living in harmony with the environment. The passage’s emphasis on intercession and compassion mirrors the need for collective action to care for creation . Peace with creation involves recognizing the interconnectedness of all life, seeking justice for both people and the Earth, and living in alignment with God’s will for a flourishing world.

Luke 16:1–13, the parable of the dishonest manager, teaches the shrewd use of resources for a greater purpose, emphasizing faithfulness in small things. This passage challenges us to steward our resources wisely, not for personal gain but for the common good and the flourishing of creation. The manager’s use of resources to secure a future for himself parallels how we must use our wealth and influence to promote ecological justice and sustainability. Peace with creation involves shifting from wasteful consumption to responsible care for creation, ensuring that the Earth’s resources are used justly and sustainably for all. A wise steward must consider the needs of the generations to come.