In peace with creation

Creationtide runs from 1 September until the Feast of St Francis on 4 October, and the theme of this year’s season is ‘Peace with Creation’. In the first of three articles by BRF Resources authors to mark the season, Ruth Bancewicz, editor of The Works of the Lord, considers the relationship between what we eat and living in peace with creation.

14 September 2025

Eating well?

A recent visit to a neolithic village on the west coast of Scotland set me off wondering what it would be like to be alive four thousand years ago. With only the relatively light impact of hunter–gatherer activities, the shoreline and hills of Argyll would no doubt have been full of food. There would have been plenty of fish, shellfish, plants and fungi available all summer, for those with the knowledge and skills to find them. On the other hand, you’d have to make your own tools and clothing, dodge predators, look for safe shelter at night, rely on your own knowledge to handle any health issues, and store as much food as possible to survive winter.

I’m grateful for the technology that has kept me alive so far, but it has come at a cost. It’s fairly safe to say that Christians have often prioritised our mandate to ‘fill the earth and subdue it’ (Genesis 1:28–29), over our calling to tend and keep creation (Genesis 2:15). On our Scottish holiday, we did not have to fear for our lives (except perhaps on the roads), had a comfortable home to stay in and plenty of food, and were well equipped with all sorts of outdoor gear. But, through greed or lack of wisdom, humankind has produced a world in which we had to walk under giant electricity pylons, pick swimming spots carefully to avoid sewage outflows, and bring all our own food (save some handfuls of blackberries). A neolithic era person visiting modern Scotland would no doubt grieve that much of the land is degraded, polluted and stripped of biodiversity.

A justified critique?

Some people have rejected Christianity because they see it as a vehicle for the destruction of creation’s intricately interconnected ecosystems, devaluation of non-human animals, and total severance of any relationship humankind has ever had with the land. This critique is fair, at least in part, as the people who shaped our land and colonised other countries were at least culturally Christian. Their actions did not always reflect the vision of healthy relationships between people and the rest of creation described throughout the Bible, including in this year’s Creationtide passage, Isaiah 32:14–18:

The fortress will be abandoned,
the noisy city deserted;
citadel and watchtower will become a wasteland forever,
the delight of donkeys, a pasture for flocks,
till the Spirit is poured on us from on high,
and the desert becomes a fertile field,
and the fertile field seems like a forest.
The Lord’s justice will dwell in the desert,
his righteousness live in the fertile field.
The fruit of that righteousness will be peace;
its effect will be quietness and confidence forever.
My people will live in peaceful dwelling-places,
in secure homes,
in undisturbed places of rest.
(NIV)

Living out biblical values involves caring for land as well as people, looking after our fellow creatures, enabling all of creation to keep praising God, and thinking about the future impact of our activities on the earth.

What does it look like to recover this deeply rooted creation-care theology? What does peace with creation look like, now that humanity numbers in the billions and, in densely populated countries such as the UK, higher predators have been largely eliminated and every inch of soil is cultivated or semi-cultivated?

What kind of inheritance?

My holiday reading included English Pastoral: An inheritance by James Rebanks, a Cumbrian farmer whose grandfather continued to use traditional mixed and rotational practices while his neighbours, including James’ father, were beginning to use more industrial techniques. The key ingredients for this way of life were sun, rain, soil, healthy animals, manure and human sweat. The family had a close relationship with the land and everything growing on it. As the highest predators around, they moved a variety of animals from highland pastures to the lowlands and back again with the seasons, keeping herd sizes small. They grew a variety of crops and kept pigs, chickens and a vegetable garden.

Their land was kept fertile and healthy without the need for vast amounts of artificial fertiliser and pesticides. Stubble was left on fields over the winter, protecting the soil and providing a food source for wild animals. With careful management and constant hard work, a reasonable amount of food was produced from a fairly small patch of land. These practices weren’t a route to get rich or have much time off, and as a baseline for biodiversity were no doubt still far from ideal. On the other hand, they did ensure that their land was a place where wild flowers thrived and non-domesticated animals could find food and shelter.

In the last 50 years or so, farmers and ecologists have often been pitted against each other, as if producing food and taking care of creation are incompatible goals. But Rebanks described a recent conversation where his farming friends were beginning to sound like ecologists, bemoaning the impact of intensive land use, the removal of hedges and woodlands, the straightening of rivers and the overuse of agrochemicals. Ploughing was no longer accompanied by flocks of seagulls because there were no worms in the soil. Straightened rivers resulted in terrible flooding. After producing the same crop twelve years running, a field that used to be very fertile was now giving a pitiful yield. A landscape was emerging that no one wanted to live in.

The real shock was when someone was called in to assess a traditional farm when it was acquired by a neighbour. The soil was in perfect condition.

What will we pay?

We can’t expect ancient farming techniques to produce enough food for all the people on this planet, never mind turning existing farms into wilderness, but there are plenty of signs of hope.

Rebanks has opted to move towards organic farming and is restoring wild areas on his farm, taking great financial risks because he loves seeing wildlife return. He recognises that others will take different approaches, perhaps opting for fewer chemicals and a lighter touch on the land. Neither method is perfect, and neither, in this era of supermarket-driven agriculture, provides a particularly secure income.

The elephant in the room in the sustainable farming conversation is how much we pay for our food. Peace with creation, for those of us who can afford it, could well involve spending a higher proportion of our income on buying more responsibly produced food. It includes recognising that food is cheaper in the UK than it has been at almost any other time in human history, but there are still people who can’t afford it. We need to advocate for everyone to be paid enough to afford not just things to eat, but good food.

For all of us, peace with creation probably means spending more time sourcing sustainably produced ingredients and preparing our own meals rather than buying cheap processed food. It could also include the joy of free food – going foraging or offering to take a neighbour’s unwanted apples off their hands. For total townies like me, it may mean getting to know farmers and finding out how to support them. For parents, it could involve helping their kids to experiment with local and seasonal ingredients.

As we celebrate Creationtide this autumn, can we take a step forward in these practices, exploring their deep biblical roots, honouring God by cherishing his creation, seeking justice for the land as well as people, and recognising the longer-term impact of our actions?