God in Creation
Ask the animals, and they will teach you;
the birds of the air, and they will tell you;
ask the plants of the earth, and they will teach you;
and the fish of the sea will declare to you.
—Job 12.7-8
It has always been easy for me to find God in creation. I would like to tell you what I mean by this.
Whenever I enter the woods or visit my favorite birding spots or the wetlands or the mountains or the ocean, whenever I am surrounded by creation, several things happen.
First, I become aware of a power greater than myself. Look, here are trees that were here before I was born and will be here after I am gone. Here are birds passing through on an ancient and vast migratory cycle. Here are animals representing a single still frame in the ongoing, brilliant film of evolution. Here is an ocean older and more dynamic than I can possibly imagine. Here are mountains made low by time. Here is a night sky that is nothing but questions, nothing but unknowns, nothing but mystery. What am I in the face of all this? This feeling of smallness is what I mean by finding God.
Second, when I am surrounded by creation my inner dialogue becomes audible. This is a result of my losing the self-consciousness that pervades my everyday life. Ten steps into the woods and I’m taking my temperature; I immediately know what kind of day I’m having and what I’m feeling. If my inner voices are noisy and troubled I can ask myself why, and in that place I can hear clearly enough to get to the bottom of things. If my inner world is calm then the light of creation is free to flood in, and it becomes possible to hear the voice of God—that voice beneath all others—which for me has always been a whisper. This experience of inner connection is what I mean by finding God.
Third, I see specific creatures and specific plants and I learn from them. Once my inner conversation is quieted, the sights and sounds of creation fill my perception. A pair of old sycamores adjacent to Peachtree Creek remind me of the stability of a God I cannot see. A scarlet tanager radiates with the gratuitous over-the-top extravagance of a Creator unsatisfied with mere utility. A winter wren, a small dark hard-to-find bird with a fabulous soprano, teaches me that beauty—and therefore truth—resides in the most marginal and unlikely of creatures. The ocean reminds me of how little I know, and how much trust is required to live this life. This education is what I mean by finding God.
Friends, you are surrounded by spectacular and intricately detailed beauty. Take a minute today to notice it and, if you are able, to learn from it, for it will teach you if you let it. In its teaching and in your learning is the very presence of God.
Paul Wallace, Pastor for Adult Education, First Baptist Church of Decatur