There’s a brutal heat wave gripping much of the U.S. right now. Records are shattering. Roads are buckling. Millions are sweltering through triple-digit temperatures — and summer has barely begun.
It’s the kind of climate event we used to call “unprecedented.” Now, it’s just the new normal.
And still, many churches stay silent. Environmental issues are seen as political, divisive or simply not part of the Gospel. But maybe that’s because we’ve been starting the story in the wrong place.
“In the beginning …”
Three simple words launch one of the most influential — and most debated — books in human history. The Bible has inspired revolutions, divided families and fractured churches. Much of that conflict stems not just from what the Bible says, but where we begin the story.
Too often, the church skips straight to Genesis 3 — the fall. In doing so, we reduce the Gospel to a sin-management system. Salvation becomes little more than fire insurance. But that’s not where the Bible starts. And it’s not where we should either.
Genesis 1 and 2 are the foundation. Before sin, before shame, before exile — there was beauty, purpose and design. There was creation. God made the world and called it good. He made humanity and called us very good. He placed us in a garden not to consume it, but to care for it.
How we understand the beginning shapes how we understand everything else. And starting the story at the fall has left the church with a lopsided Gospel — one that’s more about escaping Earth than redeeming it.
But if we begin where Scripture begins, the message changes.
Genesis 1 introduces us to a creator who delights in the world he makes. Genesis 2 places humanity in that creation with a task: “The Lord God took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and take care of it” (Genesis 2:15, NIV). Stewardship was never optional. It was the original job description.
That calling hasn’t changed. But somewhere along the way, we abandoned the garden.
For much of modern church history, environmental issues have been seen as distractions — nice but nonessential. Some write them off as political, others as irrelevant to eternity. In evangelical spaces especially, the emphasis on saving souls often meant ignoring everything else. Why worry about a dying planet if we’re just passing through?
But that logic only works if you believe this world doesn’t matter to God. And Genesis tells a different story.
Creation care isn’t a trend or a niche theological idea — it’s baked into the beginning. Humanity was given dominion, yes — but not domination. The mandate in Genesis 1:28 to “fill the earth and subdue it” was never a license to exploit. It was a call to cultivate, to order the world in a way that reflects the heart of its creator. To subdue chaos, not cause it.
The consequences of forgetting that are everywhere. From polluted water to record heat waves to species extinction, the planet is groaning — and so are we (Romans 8:22). And while creation itself longs to be restored, too many Christians are still debating whether it’s worth saving.
It is.
Caring for creation isn’t about elevating nature above God. It’s about recognizing the sacredness of what he made — and treating it accordingly. It’s about seeing the world not as a temporary waiting room but as a gift. It’s about joining God in the work of restoration — not just of souls, but of everything sin has broken.
The Gospel isn’t just about personal salvation. It’s about cosmic reconciliation. As Paul writes in Colossians 1, through Christ, God is “reconciling to himself all things, whether things on earth or things in heaven.” That includes people. But it also includes forests, oceans, air and soil.
Creation care, then, isn’t some progressive add-on to the Christian faith. It’s central to what it means to live in God’s kingdom. It’s worship. It’s obedience. And it’s long overdue.
It’s time for the church to reclaim its God-given responsibility to care for creation. Not as a political stance, not as a trendy cause — but as an act of obedience rooted in the very beginning of our story.
The environmental crises we face are symptoms of something deeper: a spiritual disconnect from our role as stewards. This world isn’t just a temporary stop on the way to heaven. It’s a gift — and a responsibility. A place we were put in, on purpose, to work and to care for.
Caring for the Earth isn’t elevating creation above the creator. It’s worshiping the creator by honoring what he made. It’s time to see environmental stewardship as a core part of what it means to follow Jesus.
The story didn’t start with destruction, and it doesn’t have to end that way either.
