When Pope Francis first gave us the encyclical Laudato Si’ in 2015, it was a great hymn of praise for creation—“Praise be to you, my Lord,” echoing the song of Saint Francis of Assisi. The gift of that document helped the whole Church to see that caring for our common home is not an optional concern, but a central part of our faith, flowing from our belief in the Creator. It was an invitation to wonder, to gratitude, and to action.

Eight years later, Pope Francis wrote again, offering us Laudate Deum, meaning “Praise God.” However this is not a second hymn of praise so much as a cry of urgency. While Laudato Si’ inspired us to begin the journey of caring more deeply for our common home, Laudate Deum confronts us with the reality that our response has, in many ways been too slow, too small. As the Holy Father says plainly: “With the passage of time, I have realized that our responses have not been adequate, while the world in which we live is collapsing and may be nearing the breaking point” .

So if Laudato Si’ was a song of wonder, Laudate Deum is a trumpet call to responsibility. It asks us to look honestly at what is happening to our land, our waters, and our communities, and to act with the urgency of faith, justice, and love.

For those of us who live in the North of Canada, we do not need to look far to see these signs. The warming of the land, the thinning of the ice, the shifting caribou migrations, the more frequent wildfires—these are not far-off projections, but realities we are already living.

Pope Francis insists that this crisis is not just scientific, but profoundly moral and spiritual. He says: “Human beings must be recognized as a part of nature. Human life, intelligence and freedom are elements of the nature that enriches our planet, part of its internal workings and its equilibrium.”

In the North, this rings true. Here, our lives are deeply tied to the land and waters, to hunting and fishing, to the rhythm of the seasons. Indigenous peoples in particular have long known that creation is a gift entrusted to us—not to exploit, but to respect.

So the question becomes: how do we respond as Christians? How do we live the Gospel in a time when creation itself is groaning?

I would suggest three paths, grounded both in our Northern reality and in Pope Francis’ teaching: gratitude, conversion, and solidarity.

First, gratitude.

Francis reminds us: “Our care for one another and our care for the earth are intimately bound together.” We cannot protect the land unless we first see it as gift.

In the North, gratitude comes naturally when we look up at the aurora, or breathe the crisp winter air, or share a meal of fish or caribou that comes directly from the land. Gratitude leads us to reverence. Before eating, we give thanks not just for the food itself but for the land, the hunters, the waters, and ultimately the Creator.

Gratitude is the beginning of care. As Francis says, “When human beings claim to take God’s place, they become their own worst enemies.” Gratitude, on the other hand keeps us humble and teaches us that the earth is not ours to dominate, but it is God’s creation, meant to be cherished.

Second, conversion.

Francis makes it clear that change is urgent. From the document we read, “It is undoubtable that the impact of climate change will increasingly prejudice the lives and families of many persons. We will feel its effects in the areas of healthcare, sources of employment, access to resources, housing, and forced migrations.”

We are already seeing this in the North—when floods force evacuations, and fires destroy homes, when hunters cannot travel safely on thinning ice.

Francis warns us not to think small: “Although the measures that we can take now are costly, the cost will be all the more burdensome the longer we wait.” Conversion means not only adjusting our personal habits, but also advocating for larger change in our communities, our governments, and even our Church.

For Christians, conversion always returns us to Christ. Jesus teaches us to live simply, to rely on God’s providence, and to build relationships of care.

From the Gospel of Matthew we read…
“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? … But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.”

Are we able to see God’s providence all around us, that so much of what we need is already provided.

I recall being part of an Indigenous spiritual gathering, an event that began with a prayer of blessing over the whole lake. Later I was to celebrate several Baptisms and I was searching for a baptismal font which was no where to be found. When I asked for help the people just smiled and patiently said why do you need a font when the whole lake was right there in front of us.

Yes, our Father in heaven truly is a great provider.

Finally, solidarity.

In Laudato Deum Francis stresses that the ecological crisis is global and interconnected. “Everything is connected, and no one is saved alone.”

Here in the North, we know that we are not the main cause of climate change, we have no large factories or highways filled with cars—yet we suffer many of the changing climate’s harshest effects. This places us in a position of solidarity with other vulnerable communities around the world as we strive for a good outcome for our own lives and the lives of future generations.

Solidarity means raising our voices together.

Our role as Christians is to insist that human dignity and the health of creation must come before short-term economic gain. We have seen that solidarity also takes on a very concrete and local form, when fires force evacuations, when storms cut off travel, when supply chains falter—it is the Church that can be a refuge, a place of hope and mutual care.

Pope Francis wrote Laudate Deum with urgency, even frustration, because time is short. But he also writes with great hope: “Hope is not naïve optimism,” he says, “ but a reality already present in creation and in the seeds of new life that constantly spring up.”

We know both the fragility of creation and the resilience of our communities. We can become witnesses to the world that another way of living is possible: one of gratitude, conversion, and solidarity.

So let us take up this challenge. Let us listen to the cry of the Earth and the cry of the poor. Let us care for the land, the water, and one another. And let us trust that in doing so, we are already living out the kingdom of God, here and now, in the beauty and the blessing of the land that God has given us.