Earlier this week we started to look at the implications of 1st Century Christian apostle Paul’s foundational statement in his letter to the church in Rome: Since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—His eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that men are without excuse. (Romans 1:20 NIV). We began enumerating aspects of the natural world that might indeed reveal to us the existence of a Creator God whose power is eternal and whose nature is divine. Here are three more aspects that could compel us to believe that He is due our worship:

Fearsome, but essential, death. Most of life on earth depends on soil—and soil becomes life-giving because it contains dead organic matter. It’s both astounding and humbling to realize that the carbon atoms found in the earth’s living things have been recycled numberless times from the living to the dead and back to the living. The carbon atoms in our bodies were once in the bodies of the rich and famous, in the bodies of the poor and unknown, and in the bodies of mammals, fish, reptiles, insects, algae, and bacteria.

What a comfort it is to know that the God who sparks the dead into life underwent in His human form the separation of the soul from the body in death. That the caring and loving Creator would note the death of one sparrow has to fill us with hope that our souls, like that of Jesus Christ, will survive our material death. Having that hope, it is not morbid for us to see the necessity and ultimate goodness of surrendering our lifeless carbon atoms to new living things.

Awesome power. John Muir once wrote of his experience climbing as high as he could in one of Yosemite’s huge Douglas firs in a windstorm. He wanted to feel the power of the gale like a tree does. He writes:

When the storm began to abate, I dismounted and sauntered down through the calming woods. The storm-tones died away, and, turning toward the east, I beheld the countless hosts of the forests hushed and tranquil, towering above one another on the slopes of the hills like a devout audience. The setting sun filled them with amber light, and seemed to say, while they listened, ‘My peace I give unto you.’ As I gazed on the impressive scene, all the so called ruin of the storm was forgotten, and never before did these noble woods appear so fresh, so joyous, so immortal.

The power of the forces that God maintains to keep the engine of His creation going is so overwhelming that it too is beyond words. A blinding blizzard, a roaring waterfall, a surging wave, a bolt of lightning, a grinding glacier—their power has to fill your mind with wonder and compel your soul to worship their Creator.

Revitalizing stillness. While the displays of the Creator’s power are indeed awesome in wild nature, I’m often as much impressed by the stillness counterpoised to power: the dripping silence after a passing thunderstorm, a lake still flecked with the foam of whitecaps becoming placid as a mirror, the soundlessness of snow transforming thousands of square miles of northern landscapes, the almost infinite quiet of a sere desert landscape cooling under a multihued sunset sky, and the noiseless rising of the sun when all nature seems, for a few moments, to bow its head in quiet reverence for the daily miracle of light renewed. So be still, my soul. Rest in the Creator who, according to the psalmist David, “is faithful to all His promises and loving toward all He has made” (145:13).

[Lake photo source]