In December 2015, I walked from my home to the River des Peres Drainage Channel in St. Louis, where one of the worst floods in the city’s history had left its mark. Heavy rains had poured for days, causing rivers and creeks to overflow. Deer Creek rose 11 feet in three hours, and the Meramec River crested at record levels, flooding nearly 900 buildings and shutting down highways for days. 

The damage was devastating, but the polluted waters of the River des Peres near my family’s first home in South County struck me the most. Designed to carry neighborhood runoff, the channel had transformed into a grotesque river of filth. Litter, oil, and debris floated in its swollen currents. The water was as black as old blood, choked with the refuse of human carelessness.

As I stood there, I recalled the plague in Egypt when Moses struck the Nile with his staff:

The fish in the Nile died, and the Nile stank, so that the Egyptians could not drink water from the Nile. There was blood throughout all the land of Egypt — Exodus 7:21

The polluted channel reflected more than environmental neglect; it revealed our broken stewardship. God entrusted humanity to care for creation, yet the scene before me exposed how far we had strayed from that mandate. As Paul wrote:

For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now — Romans 8:22

The groaning of creation, visible in the floodwaters and debris, stirred in me what I can only describe as “stewardship grief,” which represents an awareness of how sin has corrupted the earth and the hearts of those tasked with protecting it. This grief wasn’t despair but a spiritual call, drawing me to consider how God sees His creation.

In the months and years that followed, I felt called to be involved in environmental activism in the St. Louis region through meeting venture capitalists at Cortex Innovation Community events, chatting with innovators and sustainability advocates at the T-Rex Coworking Space, encouraging their participation in local TEDxStLouis events that I helped coordinate, participating in Startup Weekend in 2018, and supporting local entrepreneurs as a preliminary judge for Arch Grants. 

Grief in Scripture often draws people closer to God, heightening their awareness of His sovereignty and deepening their longing for restoration. In Confessions (397–400), Augustine described grief as the soul’s cry for what it was created to know but has lost: communion with God. He wrote, “You have made us for yourself, O Lord and our heart is restless until it rests in you.” Grief is a restless longing for God’s redemption, a reflection of His heart.

This kind of grief is not an end but a beginning — a reminder of our role in God’s redemptive plan to renew His creation.

It Grieved Him to His Heart

Grief is not merely emotional; it is part of being made in the image of God. Genesis 1:27 reveals:

So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them.

Bearing the Imago Dei means reflecting God’s attributes, including His capacity for sorrow. Scripture reveals that God Himself grieves. When humanity’s wickedness overwhelmed the earth, Genesis 6:6 records:

The Lord regretted that he had made man on the earth, and it grieved him to his heart.

God’s grief is profoundly personal and profound. It is not the hopeless sorrow of human despair but the holy sorrow of a Creator whose love for His creation runs more profound than its brokenness. His grief reflects both His perfect holiness and His longing for restoration. This tension between sorrow and hope is foundational to understanding the Imago Dei. To be made in God’s image is to share, however imperfectly, in this divine response to brokenness.

Standing by the polluted waters of the River des Peres, I felt this resonance deeply. My grief was not limited to the physical damage I saw; it was a recognition of humanity’s spiritual failure to honor God’s creation. This was a grief born from the realization that we have fallen short of our calling as earth stewards, entrusted to care for what God has made. In that moment, I felt my sorrow align with God’s — a holy acknowledgment of the gap between what is and what should be.

This grief is not an end in itself but a call to action. It draws us toward God’s redemptive plan, reminding us that He does not grieve out of despair but out of love — a love that moves toward healing and restoration. As Viktor Frankl observed in Man’s Search for Meaning (1946), suffering finds purpose when it points beyond itself to meaning. For Christians, grief is transformative; it refines our perspective, aligns our hearts with God’s, and opens our eyes to His greater story.

Grief over the earth’s brokenness is not meaningless. It reflects the Imago Dei in us, reminding us of the Creator whose heart is moved by sorrow and hope. It is a holy invitation to respond — not with apathy or despair — but with faith-filled action. Grief invites us to participate in God’s redemptive mission, carrying the assurance that, even in brokenness, His purposes remain steadfast.

Rather than paralyzing us, this grief propels us toward restoration, urging us to act as stewards of His creation. It compels us to trust in the God who brings beauty from ashes, reminding us that His love surpasses the brokenness we now mourn.

He Has Put Eternity Into Man’s Heart

Grief often distorts our sense of time, stretching moments into eternity or freezing us in a single event. It disconnects us from the familiar rhythms of life, creating a tension between our temporal existence and the eternal perspective God has given us. Ecclesiastes 3:11 reflects this paradox:

He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into man’s heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end.

Standing by the polluted waters of the River des Peres, time seemed suspended. The devastation around me felt eternal, a weight that lingered. Yet even in that grief, there was an undeniable pull toward something more, something eternal. This tension reflects our unique human position: bound by time but created with a longing for eternity.

Augustine speaks to this tension, writing, “You, Lord, made time itself, and before you, there was no time.” He describes our restlessness as part of being creatures tied to the flow of time but yearning for the timelessness of God’s presence. Tied to the present, grief also reaches toward the eternal, reminding us that God’s timeline far exceeds our understanding.

Isaiah 46:10 assures us of God’s sovereignty over time and His redemptive plan:

I make known the end from the beginning, from ancient times, what is still to come. I say, ‘My purpose will stand, and I will do all that I please.’

Grief places us at the crossroads of time and eternity, forcing us to confront our finite perspective and trust God’s eternal purposes. The groaning of creation, described in Romans 8:22, is not without direction. It is labor — a painful yet purposeful process that moves toward God’s promised restoration.

As I stood by the river, unable to comprehend the fullness of what was happening, grief became an invitation to trust. I didn’t need to understand every detail; I needed to align my heart with God’s timeline, believing He would make all things beautiful in His time. Grief is not just an emotional response — it is a spiritual reckoning with time and eternity, urging us to trust in God’s promises even when we cannot see the whole picture.

The Earth Is the Lord’s, and the Fullness Thereof

The polluted waters of the River des Peres were also a stark reminder of humanity’s failure to balance dominion with responsibility. In Genesis 1:28, God commanded:

Fill the earth and subdue it, and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over every living thing that moves on the earth.

This call to dominion is often misunderstood as a license to exploit, yet Scripture reveals that it is tempered by responsibility. We are not owners of creation but stewards entrusted with the care of God’s handiwork. Psalm 24:1 reminds us:

The earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof, the world and those who dwell therein.

True stewardship requires us to see creation not as a commodity but as a sacred trust. Martin Buber’s concept of “I-Thou” relationships, articulated in I and Thou (1923), offers insight: we are called to view creation as sacred, entrusted to us by God. Buber emphasizes that treating the world relationally as a “Thou” honors its intrinsic value as part of God’s design while reducing creation to an “It” turns it into a resource for consumption, severing the relational ethic that should define our stewardship. This perspective aligns our care for creation with a more profound recognition of its sacred purpose in God’s plan.

The stagnant litter and debris in the river told a story of broken relationships between humanity and the earth and between humanity and God. Exploiting creation dishonors both the land and its Creator. Faithful stewardship reflects God’s character, balancing authority with humility and care.

Stewardship is not just an environmental issue; it is a spiritual calling. When we care for creation, we worship the One who made it, honoring His sovereignty and reflecting His glory. The polluted waters of the River des Peres challenged me to reevaluate my posture toward the earth. Was I approaching it as an “It” to be used, or as a “Thou” to be cherished in a relationship with God? This question is at the heart of stewardship ethics, reminding us that caring for creation is a sacred responsibility, not a choice.

Behold, I Am Making All Things New

In the flood’s aftermath, I was struck by the deep brokenness reflected in the blackened waters. Yet amid the grief, I yearned for something greater: a vision of restoration that transcends human effort. This longing points to the Biblical concept of shalom.

Shalom is often translated as “peace,” but its meaning encompasses far more. It represents wholeness, flourishing, and harmony — the fullness of God’s design for humanity and creation. Shalom is not merely the absence of conflict but the presence of complete restoration. As Isaiah 32:17 declares:

The effect of righteousness will be peace, and the result of righteousness, quietness and trust forever.

Grief over the world’s brokenness compels us to see the gaps in what God intended. Yet grief also points us toward hope, propelling us into action. Stewardship, rooted in the promise of shalom, becomes an act of faith in God’s ability to restore what sin has marred.

This theological vision of shalom surpasses Aristotle’s concept of eudaimonia, or human flourishing, as articulated in Nicomachean Ethics (c. 350 BCE). While Aristotle emphasized virtue and community as the pathway to fulfillment, shalom is distinct in its God-centeredness. Human flourishing in the Biblical sense is not self-derived but flows from alignment with God’s will and His redemptive purposes.

Revelation 21:5 encapsulates the promise of shalom:

Behold, I am making all things new.

This assurance reminds us that shalom is not an abstract ideal but a future reality guaranteed by God’s power. It anchors our present actions in the hope of His ultimate restoration.

As I stood by the polluted waters, I saw more than environmental devastation — I saw a reflection of the disordered relationships Shalom seeks to heal. The brokenness in creation mirrored humanity’s broken relationship with God, yet it also pointed toward the possibility of renewal. Shalom invites us to imagine a world where polluted waters run clear, dominion reflects care, and grief gives way to joy.

For in This Hope, We Were Saved

Grounded in God’s promises, hope sustains us through grief and empowers us to act. Unlike fleeting optimism, Christian hope rests on the character and faithfulness of God. Paul writes in Romans 8:24:

For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees?

Christian hope acknowledges the pain of the present while steadfastly trusting in God’s promises. In Man’s Search for Meaning (1946), Frankl described hope as essential for resilience in suffering, emphasizing meaning as the source of hope. While his insights resonate deeply, Christian hope goes further — it is rooted not in human effort but in the divine assurance of God’s promises.

Hope transforms grief into action, aligning us with God’s redemptive work. As Psalm 130:5 declares:

I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I hope.

Standing by the River des Peres reminded me that hope is not passive. It compels us to care for creation, trusting that even small acts of stewardship reflect God’s greater plan. Christian hope confronts despair with courage, holding fast to the promise that God is making all things new.

He Will Wipe Away Every Tear from Their Eyes

The polluted waters of the River des Peres remain a vivid reminder of humanity’s broken stewardship. Yet, as we have explored, grief is not the end of the story. It is a call to action, a reflection of God’s heart, and an invitation to participate in His redemptive work.

Grief aligns us with God’s sorrow over sin, reminding us of His promise to restore creation (Genesis 6:6). It challenges our temporal view of time, urging us to trust in His eternal plan (Ecclesiastes 3:11). Our stewardship is a sacred responsibility, not a choice, calling us to honor creation as God’s handiwork (Psalm 24:1). And through it all, hope anchors us in the assurance of shalom — the peace and wholeness God will one day bring.

As Christians, our response to the grief we feel for creation’s brokenness must go beyond introspection; it calls us to action. Living as stewards of hope means reflecting God’s love for His creation in tangible ways, no matter how small they may seem. At an individual level, our daily habits can become acts of worship. Adopting sustainable practices like reducing waste, conserving energy, or supporting renewable initiatives demonstrates faithfulness to God’s call for stewardship. These actions, while personal, carry a more considerable testimony: they show that every small step of care reflects God’s heart for restoration.

In our communities, churches have a unique role to play. By modeling creation care — reducing energy consumption, organizing cleanup initiatives, or partnering with local conservation groups — congregations can become visible examples of stewardship. Such efforts also create teaching opportunities, helping believers connect environmental responsibility with their spiritual calling.

On a broader scale, Christians are called to engage with the culture around them. Advocacy for policies that reflect Biblical stewardship principles and public engagement with discussions on climate care as a spiritual responsibility can transform how society views creation. Framing environmental care as a sacred trust moves the conversation from political to spiritual, reminding people that the earth is not ours to exploit, but God’s to sustain.

Let us live as stewards of hope, trusting in God’s promises and reflecting His glory through faithful action. Grief over brokenness is not the final word but the catalyst for faithful living. Each small act of obedience — personal, communal, or cultural — participates in God’s redemptive plan, affirming that our world is both a gift and a responsibility.

As Revelation 21:4 reminds us:

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.

Grief compels us to act; hope assures us of the outcome. Together, they lead us to live as faithful stewards of God’s creation, trusting that He will make all things new one day.

The opinions expressed here are my own and do not reflect the views or positions of my employer.

I’m just a dad who blogs about the intersections of life, faith, family, and technology. These are the threads that weave through my personal and spiritual walk.