The colonizers of America saw the wilderness primarily as a storehouse of “natural resources” out of which to make products, a living, and perhaps even a fortune.  Lumber barons in great number accomplished the latter.  Our town of Grand Rapids and many other Midwestern cities are still graced with their opulent and elegant homes—some of which demonstrate masterful woodworking skills that are now mostly lost or considered too costly to “bother with.”

There was little understanding then about the other values of wilderness—and certainly no grasp of the fact that such “resources” could be depleted.  Our forebears lived as though there were no limits.  One result is highlighted in my last post about the redwoods, those long-lived and awe-inspiring giants of the forest that were seen as resources for the benefit of mankind alone until they were diminished to only four percent of the former range.  Those left are finally treasured by most of us, but are still threatened by those who see in them only an opportunity for their own financial gain.

Certainly the wilderness has provided us with wonderful natural resources. But we seem so slow to learn that it is so much more than a place of economic opportunity. When we look at an Appalachian mountain as mostly a mound of coal or a hill of timber for us to use for our own purposes, we may be failing to see it comprehensively. A second look can help us to see the same mountain as a watershed, a climate regulator, a source of clean air, a shield against flooding, a habitat for wild creatures, a thing of beauty, a place of peace and solitude, and a location for recreation. And we are not seeing it as God sees it—in all its glory with all its purposes.

It’s part of our God-given trust of the earth to have a comprehensive and biblical vision when looking at the wilderness. Followers of Christ have so many reasons to value the wilderness. Because we see the natural world as entrusted to us by an infinitely wise Creator, it’s not difficult to see the wilderness as a treasure of inestimable worth. It allows the wild creatures to fulfill their God-given responsibility to multiply and fill their portion of the earth. Caring for the wilderness is an aspect of the dominion and stewardship mandated to us by our Creator. Further, it helps to preserve our own health and to assure our continued survival. Further still, it no doubt holds many future benefits we are currently not even aware of.

Nancy Newhall reminded us over fifty years ago, in a book featuring the masterful black-and-white wilderness photos of Ansel Adams, that the wilderness holds answers to questions man has not yet learned to ask.

Finally, we come to an observation by John Muir: “Like most other things not apparently useful to man, [poison oak] has few friends, and the blind question, ‘Why was it made?’ goes on and on with never a guess that first of all it was made for itself.”

Muir was hinting at a purpose for the natural world that the patriarch Job learned when God paraded before his mental vision the entire cosmos He created. In the longest direct address of God in the Scriptures (the 129 verses of Job 38-41), the Creator Himself uses numerous parts of the natural world that were at that time in history beyond human control, human understanding, and human utility to humble Job with the reality that we cannot know all the purposes of God for wild creatures and wild places.

The apostle John, however, does reveal to us one of God’s purposes: He created all things for His pleasure (Rev. 4:11 KJV). So if the natural world was in part created to give God pleasure, are we not being irreverent when we forget that while people can preserve, conserve, or destroy the wilderness, only God can create it?

In the course of our enjoying and properly valuing the wilderness, we can be motivated by the words of Isaac Watts:

I sing the mighty power of God that made the mountains rise,
That spread the flowing seas abroad and built the lofty skies.
I sing the wisdom that ordained the sun to rule the day;
The moon shines full at His command and all the stars obey.

I sing the goodness of the Lord that filled the earth with food;
He formed the creatures with His word and then pronounced them good.
Lord, how Thy wonders are displayed where’er I turn my eye:
If I survey the ground I tread or gaze upon the sky!

There’s not a plant or flower below but makes Thy glories known;
And clouds arise and tempests blow by order from Thy throne;
While all that borrows life from Thee is ever in Thy care,
And everywhere that man can be, Thou, God, art present there.

See you outdoors!

Dean

Marge and I and our three boys lived in Marin County in Northern California from 1978 to 1982.  Our home in what was then the relatively small town of Novato was not more than an hour from some wonderful redwood groves.

If you would like to be amazed at these amazing creatures from the hand of God—and challenged in area of our creation stewardship responsibility, spend some time watching the video found at the link below.

See you outdoors!

Dean

http://www.ted.com/index.php/talks/richard_preston_on_the_giant_trees.html

Three writers have unwittingly passed the baton of spiritual and biblical truth to run a literary relay through my life: C. S. Lewis, Francis Schaeffer, and Os Guinness.  And what companions and encouragers they have been to me.  Lewis and Schaeffer in particular have helped me form my view of the meaning of the natural world.  And it was Lewis who introduced me to the literary and spiritual mentor who helped him form his view of the creation—among many other views: George MacDonald.  I have used MacDonald’s and Schaeffer’s thought extensively in the articles that reside on this site, but have somewhat ignored Lewis.  So today I am going to let “Jack” have a say.

First a little background:  I used to be a member of the Audubon Society—in large part in order to receive the always enjoyable Audubon magazine.  My membership, of course, also gave me access to the local Society meetings, which I attended for a while.  But, telling the truth, I always left those meetings with a feeling of sadness.  I didn’t attend long enough to really develop any significant personal relationships with other members, but the impression I received was that few, if any, were followers of Christ.  All seemed to be thoroughgoing naturalists in the philosophical meaning of that word.  Nature provided them with their highest source of joy and practically functioned as their god.  And when speakers would come and talk of the decline of this or that bird species or the continuing degradation of the natural world created by careless people, gloom settled on everyone.

If nature is the highest good and you believe that nature is all there is, it’s easy to understand why general depression presses down on you.  If there is no hope beyond the material world we live in, the degradation of the earth leads to the degradation of hope.  Here’s how Lewis explained it at the conclusion of chapter nine in his book Miracles:

Only Supernaturalists really see Nature.  You must go a little away from her, and then turn around and look back.  Then at last the true landscape will become visible.  You must have tasted, however briefly, the pure water from beyond the world before you can be distinctly conscious of the hot, salty tang of Nature’s current.  To treat her as God, or as Everything, is to lose the whole pith and pleasure of her.

Come out, look back, and then you will see: this astonishing cataract of bears, babies, and bananas [and birds]; this immoderate deluge of atoms, orchids, oranges, cancers, fleas, gases, tornadoes and toads.  How could you ever have thought this was the ultimate reality?  How could you ever have thought that it was merely a stage-set for the moral drama of men and women?  She is herself.  Offer her neither worship nor contempt.  Meet her and know her.

If we are immortal, and if she is doomed (as scientists tell us) to run down and die, we shall miss this half-shy and half-flamboyant creature, this ogress, this [saucy girl], this incorrigible fairy, this dumb witch.  But the theologians tell us that she, like ourselves, is to be redeemed.  The ‘vanity’ to which she was subjected was her disease, not her essence.  She will be cursed in character: not tamed (Heaven forbid) nor sterilized.  We shall still be able to recognize our old enemy, friend, playfellow and foster mother, so perfected as to be not less, but more, herself.  And that will be a merry meeting.

That is the joy of hope that resides in the heart of those who serve and love the true and living God.  So we are indeed saddened to see the creation degraded and abused and species formed by the design and power of the Creator driven into extinction by our carelessness, greed, and over-consumption.  But because we know the Creator and we know the hope that even nature has for its redemption and renewal in the coming Kingdom (Romans 8:18ff), that sadness ought to act as a motivation for us to once again become the stewards of creation we were intended to be.  Schaeffer believed that it should compel us to be involved even before the consummation in a “substantial healing” of all the rifts created by the Fall.

It was this truth about the natural world that was in part the motivation for Lewis to write the Narnia series where a perfected natural world in tandem with the lovers of Aslan cooperated to defeat evil.  The same understanding also works its way through Lewis’ less popular “Ransom Trilogy”—his three science fiction novels: Out of the Silent Planet, Perelandra, and That Hideous Strength.

Many of us in the north are caught in the late winter gloom of overcast skies, frigid air, and browning snow.  We sometimes feel like we’re under the oppressive rule of Narnia’s white witch.  But we do have hope, like nature, in God’s promise: spring will come; warmth will return; butterflies and bees will grace our days again.  While we wait, though, I’d like to recommend that you read some Lewis books or MacDonald novels to help lift your spirits and remind you of the coming eternal spring.  If you haven’t read Lewis’ science fiction series, give it a try—reading them in the order I’ve given above.

Lewis again:

Say your prayers in a garden early, ignoring steadfastly the dew, the birds, and the flowers, and you will come away overwhelmed by its freshness and joy; go there in order to be overwhelmed and, after a certain age, nine times out of ten, nothing will happen to you.  (The Four Loves, ch. 2, para. 28)

See you outdoors!

Dean

[Click on the images for a larger picture.  Then hit the back arrow.]

At least once each winter I try to get over to Lake Michigan to see what the season’s weather has done to the shoreline.  Yesterday was the day.  And am I glad I wore my coldest winter garb: the wind chill at the shore was probably about zero!

Michigan touches on four of the five great lakes (excepting Lake Ontario), so nearly everyone who lives in the state will refer to a visit to the coastline as going to the “big lake”—which lake is determined by the one you live closest too.  Our “big lake” is Lake Michigan, the only one of the five to lie entirely within the US.  Because both of the state’s peninsulas are surrounded by the Great Lakes, Michigan’s coastline length is surpassed only by Alaska’s with 3,117 miles of watery shores.  Now if you added to that total the shorelines of all our 11,000 inland lakes, you’d probably double that or more.

It is said that everyone in the state is no more than 6 miles from an inland lake or 85 miles from a Great Lake.  We are about 35 miles from Lake Michigan.  One of the favorite nearby beach towns is Grand Haven, where the Grand River reaches its mouth, the river that gave Grand Rapids its name—though the rapids are long gone (Some kayaking associations are now lobbying to have artificial rapids made to add to our tourism attractions).  The lighthouses on the Grand Haven pier are some of the most picturesque in the state, and are a favorite destination for photographers in all seasons.

Because Michigan is my native state, I, like so many others here, seldom stop to think how blessed we are with our access to fresh water: one fifth of the world’s supply is retained in the Great Lakes.  The only larger source of fresh water is the polar icecaps.

And polar ice cap is a lot like what I witnessed yesterday.  Because of our colder than average winter, the lake is frozen almost to the horizon where sun glints were giving us hints of distant wave action.  The surf was so far out that it was beyond hearing.  During other warmer winters, with waves close to shore, the light house on the end of the pier is sometimes totally covered with ice.  This year visitors can carefully pick their way to the very end—very, very carefully!  I was glad to have my ice grippers with me.  Unfortunately this pier is known for numerous drownings—mostly involving those who “dare” the waves when they are breaking over the top.

The beach near the pier is a popular state park, enjoyed by thousands of campers in the summer and fall.  In the winter the mostly abandoned beach mixes its sand with snow to form artful patterns in contrasting brown and white.  On my way back to the parking area I took a little side track that afforded me a scene right off the palette of Andrew Wyeth, and though my fingers were getting stiff by that time, I had to try to capture it with my camera.

So I leave you with this photo as a memorial to that great painter who died only ten days ago (January 17).  He didn’t seem to credit his Creator much with the subtle beauty he was able to capture, but his art was nonetheless both a reflection of God’s gift of creativity and a celebration of the wonder of creation.

See you outdoors!

Dean

[Clicking on the photos will enlarge them. Then hit the back arrow]