My Town is Home to Four Superfund Sites

WE OFTEN UTTER the phrase “Christ bore our sins” in a metaphysical sense, assuming sins occupy a place in our hearts, consciences, or spirits. Jesus died, we think, because of our spiritual transgressions. But I’m starting to see that sin isn’t just spiritual (as if anything could be just spiritual in our very physical world). Sin is also environmental. It impacts our air, water, and soil. It alters our ecosystems.

Sin might be defined as stepping out of right relationship with Creator and the rest of creation. The standard American lifestyle, which would require five Earths to sustain if everyone lived this way, puts the U.S. in a state of dire transgression. Pursuing a bloated illusion of progress, so many businesspeople, decision-makers, and culture-shapers have ignored the cost.

The wages of sin is death, says the apostle Paul (Romans 6:23). Today we are witnessing mass extinctions of species, destruction of homes and habitats by climate chaos, and premature deaths in communities closest to pollution sources. I live in one of these communities, though I didn’t know it when we moved here. My town is home to four Superfund sites, legacy pollution from a gaslight mantle factory that later produced thorium for the country’s atomic bombs in World War II. Though the sites have been remediated, residual contamination will pervade the land for millennia to come. Researching this history, I notice who moved away—white folks with resources—and who stayed—brown and white working-class folks who had no choice. Who would choose contamination?

I’ve grown to love this town and its people, but if I had known about our house’s proximity to the old factory site, I would have thought twice about moving here. Now that I’m here, though, I’m reading the story of Jesus’ incarnation differently. The son of God, who was without contamination, didn’t cling to his “pure” status, but instead came to live in our toxic world (paraphrasing Philippians 2:6-7). He held children whose lungs have been scarred by bad air. He touched bodies bent over from the burden of our endless production. Emmanuel, God is with us. Even in this land that we have tainted with our selfish, thoughtless deeds. Christ bore our contamination.

I am not Christ. I’m not here to bear sin, metaphysical or environmental. But Christ’s example of remaining with those whose bodies have been harmed by our collective transgressions prods me to ask: What does following Christ mean when I have the option to move somewhere without legacy pollution? What does following Christ mean for any of us who have choices in a world where others do not?

There are no glib answers here. But understanding that sin is also environmental helps. It means Christ’s work matters even here. Jesus is with us, not just in our heads and hearts but in our hurting bodies and on this groaning Earth. If Christ remains, even in this place, maybe I can too.