Dust and Breath
Then the Lord God formed man from the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and the man became a living being. —Genesis 2:7 (NRSV)
It may be my “Trini” bias, but little can compare to our island’s splendour. Those who have been kissed by the Caribbean can attest to the warmth of our golden sun, the rhythm and vibration of our people, and the diverse flavour of our culture. We even have a local saying that “God is a Trini,” which is both a testimony of our faith and our hope through the tumults of the future.
However, there are times when we doubt God’s favour upon Trinidad and Tobago. Our insides shudder whenever we hear a gunshot in the distance. Our souls cringe when we learn that another sister or brother has been abused and or murdered in their own home. Our children are challenged to thrive in a system built on the inequalities of racism and classism, yet we wonder when will the suffering end?
In the spirit of the Accra Confession, this is a kairos moment for the world, an opportune moment to read the signs of the times. During the current COVID-19 pandemic, our country’s lockdown gave us the necessary solitude to ponder whether the robotic life we cherish is in alignment with the will of God. Here, I propose we learn from the writers of Genesis and return to the essence of our creation: intimacy with God through dust and breath.
God’s intimacy with us begins with the narrative of God forming us out of dust. The picture conjured from the Hebrew word for “forming” (וַיִּיצֶר֩) shows the careful artistry of God as we are fashioned and moulded. In the Caribbean, we can think of the joy and determination of a child on the beach who eagerly builds sculptures in the sand. It is amazing that our first touch from God is through God’s handiwork with the earth. We are the result of God’s divine interaction with the earth.
Yet, our history tells the story of our rebellion from the earth. We have built our communities with systems that neglect our divine connection to nature. As written in the Accra Confession, “The policy of unlimited growth among industrialized countries and the drive for profit of transnational corporations have plundered the earth and severely damaged the environment” (8). We are now suffering because we have neglected to embrace biodiversity, manage our waste responsibly, and appreciate the earth and its gifts.
This is our call to be intimate with God once again through the dust. Although the Caribbean church has its beginnings with the empire, we are now able as an indigenous church to raise our prophetic voice for the earth—the blueprint of God’s grace that surrounds us. We, through our divine intimacy with the earth, can create and sustain life, rather than destroy.
God’s second act of intimacy was seen as God “breathed” (וַיִּפַּ֥ח) life into the earthling. We have forgotten that without God’s breath in us, we are just motionless, passionless sculptures. It is God’s breath alone that makes us alive and worthy. Therefore, there is no room for the arrogance that fools us into believing our family heredity, wealth, education, skin colour, or sexual orientation can place us in a hierarchy of worth. So, in the midst of inequality born out of our greed, we join with the Accra confession to declare, “We believe that God is a God of justice.... God calls for just relationships with all creation” (24).
This is a revolutionary moment for us. Let us acknowledge the earth as our divine connection to the abundance of life and celebrate the common gift of breath within all God’s people. We can experience the fullness of God’s reign on earth when we remember who we were created to be: beloved children of dust and breath.
It may be my “Trini” bias, but little can compare to our island’s splendour. Those who have been kissed by the Caribbean can attest to the warmth of our golden sun, the rhythm and vibration of our people, and the diverse flavour of our culture. We even have a local saying that “God is a Trini,” which is both a testimony of our faith and our hope through the tumults of the future.
However, there are times when we doubt God’s favour upon Trinidad and Tobago. Our insides shudder whenever we hear a gunshot in the distance. Our souls cringe when we learn that another sister or brother has been abused and or murdered in their own home. Our children are challenged to thrive in a system built on the inequalities of racism and classism, yet we wonder when will the suffering end?
In the spirit of the Accra Confession, this is a kairos moment for the world, an opportune moment to read the signs of the times. During the current COVID-19 pandemic, our country’s lockdown gave us the necessary solitude to ponder whether the robotic life we cherish is in alignment with the will of God. Here, I propose we learn from the writers of Genesis and return to the essence of our creation: intimacy with God through dust and breath.
God’s intimacy with us begins with the narrative of God forming us out of dust. The picture conjured from the Hebrew word for “forming” (וַיִּיצֶר֩) shows the careful artistry of God as we are fashioned and moulded. In the Caribbean, we can think of the joy and determination of a child on the beach who eagerly builds sculptures in the sand. It is amazing that our first touch from God is through God’s handiwork with the earth. We are the result of God’s divine interaction with the earth.
Yet, our history tells the story of our rebellion from the earth. We have built our communities with systems that neglect our divine connection to nature. As written in the Accra Confession, “The policy of unlimited growth among industrialized countries and the drive for profit of transnational corporations have plundered the earth and severely damaged the environment” (8). We are now suffering because we have neglected to embrace biodiversity, manage our waste responsibly, and appreciate the earth and its gifts.
This is our call to be intimate with God once again through the dust. Although the Caribbean church has its beginnings with the empire, we are now able as an indigenous church to raise our prophetic voice for the earth—the blueprint of God’s grace that surrounds us. We, through our divine intimacy with the earth, can create and sustain life, rather than destroy.
God’s second act of intimacy was seen as God “breathed” (וַיִּפַּ֥ח) life into the earthling. We have forgotten that without God’s breath in us, we are just motionless, passionless sculptures. It is God’s breath alone that makes us alive and worthy. Therefore, there is no room for the arrogance that fools us into believing our family heredity, wealth, education, skin colour, or sexual orientation can place us in a hierarchy of worth. So, in the midst of inequality born out of our greed, we join with the Accra confession to declare, “We believe that God is a God of justice.... God calls for just relationships with all creation” (24).
This is a revolutionary moment for us. Let us acknowledge the earth as our divine connection to the abundance of life and celebrate the common gift of breath within all God’s people. We can experience the fullness of God’s reign on earth when we remember who we were created to be: beloved children of dust and breath.
--Cynara Dubé-Sookoo
A theology student at the St. Andrew’s Theological College in Trinidad and Tobago,
she is currently serving in the Aramalaya Pastoral Region
of the Presbyterian Church of Trinidad and Tobago.
A theology student at the St. Andrew’s Theological College in Trinidad and Tobago,
she is currently serving in the Aramalaya Pastoral Region
of the Presbyterian Church of Trinidad and Tobago.