Climate and ecological justice: from stewardship to custodianship to guardianship

And so when we speak about climate and ecological justice, we are not just speaking about an environmental issue. We are speaking about a spiritual crisis, a crisis of relationship, and a crisis of responsibility.

For many years, the church has spoken of stewardship. And stewardship has guided us well. But today creation is calling us deeper to a movement from stewardship to custodianship to guardianship.

This is not just a shift in language. It is a question for us as church leaders.

Who are we being called to be in this time of ecological crisis?

For many years, the language we have used in faith spaces has been the language of stewardship. Stewardship assumes that creation has been entrusted to us—to manage, to care for, to look after responsibly. It is not wrong. But today, it is no longer enough.

We are constantly holding this tension: how do we accompany communities with integrity, and at the same time bring their realities into spaces that are not always built to listen?

And this is where custodianship began to take shape for us, not as a concept, but as a responsibility. We began to ask ourselves difficult questions. Not about others—but about ourselves. Who owns the stories we carry? Who benefits when those stories are shared? Are we amplifying voices, or are we unintentionally extracting from them?

Can we speak about climate justice while being supported by systems that contribute to climate injustice? What does it mean to pursue clean climate financing, not just in outcomes, but in source?

How do we show up in communities?

It is within this journey that the Tuākoi ‘Lei Declaration emerged as a powerful theological anchor. At the Otin Taai +20 Conference in 2024, we gathered to reflect on 20 years since Pacific churches first raised their voice against the impacts of climate change. And what became clear is that the crisis has deepened but so has our understanding.

At the heart of the Tuākoi ‘Lei Declaration is a simple but profound question drawn from the Gospel: Who is my neighbour?

But in our context, this question expands. It asks us to be a neighbour not only to one another, but to creation itself. To communities most affected. To future generations. Even to those whose actions contribute to the crisis.

This is not stewardship language. This is relational language.

It calls us into a way of being where justice is not transactional, but relational. Where responsibility is not optional, but inherent in who we are.

Guardianship is not passive. Guardianship requires courage. It requires us to speak truth, to challenge systems, to stand in solidarity with those who are most affected—even when it is uncomfortable.

At the same time, the declaration calls us to reweave what has been broken.

Through the concept of reweaving the ecological mat, it invites us to bring together theology, Indigenous knowledge, science, and lived experience not as competing truths, but as interconnected wisdoms.

Because the solutions we need cannot come from one space alone. They must be woven, just as our lives are woven.

And importantly, it calls for a shift in power.

Toward community-led approaches. Toward amplifying the voices of those on the frontlines. Toward ensuring that those most affected are not just participants, but leaders in shaping the future.

This is what guardianship looks like in practice.

We often say, “put yourself in their shoes.” But perhaps what is needed is something deeper. Perhaps we are called to take off our shoes, to step onto the land with humility, to recognize that this is not our space to define but to listen, to learn, and to accompany.

Because sometimes, even with the best intentions, we approach communities from within our own frameworks—our timelines, our reporting structures, our expectations.

But true custodianship requires us to let go of control. And true guardianship requires us to be transformed by the very communities we walk with. This journey from stewardship to custodianship to guardianship is not just a shift in language. It is a shift in identity.

It asks us not only what we will do but who we will become.

Will we remain as managers of creation? Or will we become people who belong to it, who protect it, who are accountable to it?

Because in the Pacific, we know this truth: Creation is not separate from us. It is our vuvale. Our family.

And climate justice is not just about survival. It is about restoring right relationship with one another, with creation, and with God.