Currently lost in my files is a print of a painting that depicts Jesus in the arms of Mary with a small bird perched on His finger. That and this etching in which it seems that Jesus is instructing Mary on the merits of a rose were apparent artistic attempts to link Jesus the infant Savior to Jesus the loving Creator. The intent of this artwork is a good reminder for us as we consider the Christ of Christmas, God in human flesh.
Think of the earthly, material trappings that surrounded the birth of Jesus: the humble stable; the domestic animals; the shepherds sent by the angels from the fields where youthful David used to tend sheep and where Ruth, the Moabite ancestress of Jesus, caught the attention of Boaz; the glowing pointer in the heavens; and the rough linen swaddling cloth beaten from the flax stalks from the nearby hillsides. All of these give significance to the physical nature of Jesus and His birth that I feel we spiritualize far more than we should.
The creation Jesus entered is the creation He made, is the creation in which we live, is the creation John Muir loved, is the creation that groans under the heavy hand of sinful humanity, is the creation to which He will return, is the creation that He will redeem and reconcile to His Father, is the creation that in ways beyond imagination redeemed mankind will remain stewards of and continue to get sustenance from, and is the creation that will be blessed with the peace promised by the reign of Messiah whom we celebrate so joyously in the prophecies of Isaiah and in the music of George Frederick Handel.
Not surprisingly, it’s also the music of Handel that graces the poetry of hymn-writer Isaac Watts in one of Christianity’s Christmas favorites: “Joy to the World.” 
In the carol we hear the prophecies of Isaiah and John of the Revelation repeated: “No more let sins and sorrows grow, nor thorns infest the ground; He comes to make His blessings flow far as the curse is found” (Revelation 22:1-3). Keep in mind that while we sing this carol to celebrate Jesus’ first advent, it is written about His second advent—after which the creation will once again become the “peaceable kingdom” pictured by Isaiah (chapters 11 & 65). [Wolf and lambs photo source]
May these wonderful Scripture passages grace our Christmas and rekindle not only hope for our own redemption, but also fill us with joy in recognizing that Jesus will not abandon His creation. It too has hope. Someday, in fact, “all creatures here below” will praise their Creator and Savior along with us all!
Revelation 5:9-13 They sang a new song: “You [Jesus] are worthy to take the scroll and to open its seals, because you were slain, and with your blood you purchased men for God from every tribe and language and people and nation. You have made them to be a kingdom and priests to serve our God, and they will reign on the earth.” Then I looked and heard the voice of many angels, numbering thousands upon thousands, and ten thousand times ten thousand. They encircled the throne and the living creatures and the elders. In a loud voice they sang: “Worthy is the Lamb, who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength and honor and glory and praise!” Then I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and on the sea, and all that is in them, singing: “To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be praise and honor and glory and power, for ever and ever!”
John 1: 1-4 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of men.
Hebrews 1:1-3 In the past God spoke to our forefathers through the prophets at many times and in various ways, but in these last days he has spoken to us by his Son, whom he appointed heir of all things, and through whom he made the universe. The Son is the radiance of God’s glory and the exact representation of his being, sustaining all things by his powerful word.
Colossians 1:15-20 He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation. For by him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things were created by him and for him. He is before all things, and in him all things hold together. And he is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning and the firstborn from among the dead, so that in everything he might have the supremacy. For God was pleased to have all his fullness dwell in him, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether things on earth or things in heaven, by making peace through his blood, shed on the cross.
Romans 8:19-23 The creation waits in eager expectation for the sons of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies.
So the “Good News” promises grace not only to redeemed people, but to the redeemed creation as well—the wonders of which will never cease to amaze us.
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, to tell 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.
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.
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.
They were sometimes handfed by Civilian Conservation Corps workers during the Great Depression. They watched FDR pondering his war decisions at Camp David (then called Shangri-la!). Daily they visit the trees around the lonely crash site of Flight 93 near Shanksville. And there they are today in my summer-weary Juneberry tree.
Their boldness is a wonder—a boldness my oldest son and I experienced at a camp a couple decades ago. Seeing a small flock of them in a pine tree nearby, I told Greg to pick a few peanut pieces out of his Snickers bar, place them in the palm of his hand, and walk slowly toward a low hanging bough. It was hardly a minute before one of the little birds landed on his hand to grab a treat. I had my camera with me, so I instructed Greg to hold really still so I could capture the event on film. Looking through the eyepiece, I saw one land again and then disappear before I could trip the shutter. But I held the camera still, thinking it would return soon—which it did, but not to my son’s hand: through the camera I saw Greg smiling and pointing toward me. I slowly lifted my head and found the bird perched on my telephoto lens! Neither of us will ever forget the joy of the wonderful feeling a human being has when he is trusted by vulnerable wild creatures.
A hundred years ago, mass media communication was in its infancy. So most folks here in Michigan would have had little knowledge, if any, of disasters such as the devastating tornadoes this spring. Life for them would be going on as normal, their tending to day-to-day chores and attending to nature outside their own back doors. Now, because of the constant and oppressive flow of bad news from the world, we often need to deliberately take our minds of the crises, take out the lawn chairs, and sit down to absorb the joys of creation outside our back doors.
Sometimes I like to take my boat and wander off to parts of the river where variations in habitat make it possible to see or hear birds not commonly found along my own stretch of shore. Early one June morning I glided into a shallow backwater surrounded by deep forest. As always, I could hear more than I could see; I was soon aware of the presence of wild things not to be found in my own light bush and rock-strewn, swiftly flowing waters.
I listened for an hour, then started home. Why are the finest singers always somewhere else? I mused as I passed an open stretch alive with the music of indigo buntings and goldfinches. Why did my rocky acre seem to have so little of the glory that had refreshed and delighted me here?
Every habitat must by its very nature exclude many of birdland’s most gifted choristers. We must travel about from spot to spot if would hear their magnificent music or hope to view their vivid, flashing wings. But the homely song sparrow with his tiny, throbbing throat spreads beauty and joy, courage and hope almost everywhere.
The first time I remember seeing it, I could hardly believe my eyes—truly. It was on a visit to Yellowstone about 5 years after the 
He is the mountain streams’ own darling, the hummingbird of blooming waters, loving rocky ripple-slopes and sheets of foam as a bee loves flowers, as a lark loves sunshine and meadows. Among all mountain birds, none has cheered me so much in my lonely wanderings,—none so unfailingly. For both in winter and summer he sings, sweetly, cheerily, independent alike of sunshine and of love, requiring no other inspiration than the stream on which he dwells. While water sings, so must he, in heat or cold, calm or storm, ever attuning his voice in sure accord. . . .
I don’t think we really grasp the immensity of the cosmos and truly understand how rare life is within its vast reaches. If we did, I believe we’d all soon have the powers of observation that John Muir had. Life is a gift of God’s goodness and His love—a point that Muir made in nearly everything he wrote. How long has it been since you stopped to really observe and marvel at the common backyard creatures that you typically take for granted? Maybe you could take some time this week and emulate John Muir: grab a pen and notebook, go outdoors, and write out a word picture of one of God’s wonders that you hardly even give a second glance to. Then thank God for the gift of life—even life of the humblest sort.
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