I’ve enjoyed outdoor hobbies for as long as I can remember, and apparently even longer. (My first camping trip was at a mere 3 weeks old.) Some of my earliest memories are of exploring the “woods” next to our home in Clarksville, Michigan, with my brothers. Many of those experiences are as clear in my mind now as the moment they happened, and the memories bring with them the same emotion that accompanied the original experience.

It’s strange, the types of responses that our experiences in the outdoors can elicit. I can’t think of a single emotion I haven’t experienced in the outdoors. I’ve felt awe and fear and everything between. Oddly, I have never gazed at a sunrise or a sunset (or a mountain or the plains); seen the power, skill, and beauty of a wild animal; or thought about the delicate balance we know exists in every ecosystem, and concluded, “There must be a God who created all this.” The analogies are old and well-worn: the watch and watchmaker, the painting and the painter. If something is (particularly something complex), there must be someone who made it. But like I said, I have never thought that about the world around me.

Before you quit reading and write me off as a scientific naturalist, let me clarify. Psalm 19 and Romans 1, among other passages, assert that creation provides evidence that God exists. I’m not saying that creation doesn’t prove a creator; I believe with all my heart and mind that it does. I am merely saying that, for me, the existence of a creator has never been concluded, deductively or inductively, from the evidence of creation. God’s existence and role as Creator has never been in doubt; for me, it’s a foregone conclusion. I don’t wake up every morning and wait for evidence that there is air. I don’t even take a test breath, I just breathe. Air’s presence is a foregone conclusion.

What creation does is show me, as Romans says, much of what God is like. I don’t expect or require creation to convince me that God is. It reveals Who He is and what He is like. Those times, when my knowledge of God deepens because of what He has made, are the times that elicit the proper response from me—worship.

Creation speaks of the Creator. Are you listening? When you are faced with the grandeur, power, and beauty of creation, does your vision linger there or do you follow the sign to the object? Are you nearsighted, focusing solely on the beauty in front of you instead of on the God behind the beauty? And when you do see Him, how do you respond?

Consider Psalm 104: After writing 32 verses celebrating the work of our Creator, the psalmist gives us his response:

KEY SCRIPTURE:
I will sing to the Lord as long as I live; I will sing praise to my God while I have my being. May my meditation be sweet to Him; I will be glad in the Lord.  (Psalm 104:33-34).

 Post by J.R. Hudberg

It was in preparation for this post that I first saw the amazing parallel between Psalm 148:1-6, 11-13 and  Revelation 5:5:11-13.  Each passage offers hymns of praise to the Creator—the Psalm written almost a thousand years before the first coming of Messiah and the Revelation envisioning a celebration in heaven as Messiah (“the Lamb who was slain”) is honored before His coming back to earth to reign forever as Lord of the universe.

KEY SCRIPTURE:
Praise the LORD from the heavens, praise Him in the heights above. Praise Him, all his angels, praise Him, all His heavenly hosts. Praise Him, sun and moon, praise Him, all you shining stars. Praise Him, you highest heavens and you waters above the skies. Let them praise the name of the LORD, for He commanded and they were created. He set them in place for ever and ever; He gave a decree that will never pass away.

Praise the LORD from the earth, you great sea creatures and all ocean depths, lightning and hail, snow and clouds, stormy winds that do his bidding, you mountains and all hills, fruit trees and all cedars, wild animals and all cattle, small creatures and flying birds, kings of the earth and all nations, you princes and all rulers on earth, young men and maidens, old men and children.

Let them praise the name of the LORD, for His name alone is exalted; His splendor is above the earth and the heavens (Psalm 148:1-6, 11-13).

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!” (Revelation 5:11-13)

Each passage also has a simple two-part structure:  First the beings of heaven (who have always been intimate with the Creator/Savior) offer up their praise.  Then the creatures of earth—elements, animals, and people (who have often spurned intimacy with their Creator/Savior)—offer their praise.  Central to it all is the recognition that the Lord is above both heaven and earth.

But how do the cosmic elements and animals praise their Creator?  Theological tradition says they do it by carrying out their God-given functions within the creation.  That’s probably true; but is that all the truth?  In the Revelation passage we see more than mere utility in the non-human creation.  There we see content and some level of consciousness in nature.  By all appearances, all things created have within their different natures some capacity to respond to their Creator.  This was also alluded to by the apostle Paul: “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” (Romans 8:19-21).

There is expectation and hope in the non-human creation, expectation and hope tied directly to people—those who were made to be creation’s stewards, guardians, rulers, and keepers.  Forty years ago, Francis Schaeffer encouraged us to be involved in a “substantial healing” of all the rifts created by the Fall—including the rift between people and nature.  How have we been doing?

For those who are familiar with The Chronicles of Narnia and The Cosmic Trilogy, it does not come as a surprise to understand that Scripture in many ways hints at the reality behind these works of fiction so artfully crafted by C. S. Lewis (and more complexly by Tolkein): the evil and the good of human behavior are tied directly to the state and temporary fate of the creation.  Creation’s ultimate fate, however, awaits the coming again of Messiah, who will ensure that justice once again reigns on earth—justice not only for those people have given themselves faithfully to the cause of love, goodness, and stewardship through the power of the Holy Spirit and have accepted the atoning sacrifice of the “Lamb who was slain,” but justice for all His creatures who have suffered at the hand of those who have not been given to love, goodness, and faithful stewardship.

Take courage, His people.  Take courage, His suffering creatures.  As the excited hosts of heaven already know, justice and reconciliation is on the way!  (Colossians 1:20)

[You may want to read a PDF article on this website related to this devotional: The Lion, the Curse, and the Evangelical.]

Few people fail to be touched by a stunning photo of natural beauty or a gripping verbal description of natural events.  But that’s not enough for our souls.  To allow creation’s meaning to touch us deeply, we must experience it. Wild nature highlights our finitude, vulnerability, and our utter and complete dependence upon the creating and sustaining power of God. He becomes large; we become small.  In places where we more or less “run the show,” that order is reversed.  We are often creatures with swollen heads and shrunken hearts.

John Calvin called the natural world the “theater of God’s glory,” but it is even more than a theater; it’s a cathedral.  And awareness of the sacredness of God’s handiwork occurs only when we enter it with the right spirit.  The word “cathedral” comes from the Latin term for “chair”: cathedra.  Traditionally a cathedral is the sacred place where a church bishop has his chair of authority—his throne.  While human church leaders should have always kept us mindful of our stewardship role in the created order, too often the trappings, traditions, and troubles of men hinder our capacity to hear the “still, small voice” of God in our church buildings.

For that reason, it’s important for us to preserve and treasure the cathedral of the wild where we see that God, the ultimate authority, is clearly on the throne and where His wordless revelation can still be clearly seen and understood (Romans 1:20).  When truly attentive people enter the wild, they immediately recognize the signs that this is holy ground—a place where to them a flaming autumn maple is no less evidence of God’s miracle-working power and presence than the burning bush was to Moses.

Also important is for us to recognize that in the wilderness sanctuary we’re not alone in the impulse to worship.  God’s other creatures worship there as well.  As the prophets Isaiah and David remind us, all created things in their own nature respond to God—even trees, rivers, and mountains. (Isa. 55:12; Psa. 98:8)  This amazing truth from the Old Testament is echoed in the Revelation where all God’s creatures are seen as worshiping the One who died in order that the cosmos may be redeemed: “Every creature which is in heaven and on the earth and under the earth and such as are in the sea, and all that are in them, I heard saying: ‘Blessing and honor and glory and power be to Him who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb [Jesus Christ], forever and ever!’” (Rev. 5:13)

Let this wonderful hymn, penned by the psalmist some three thousand years ago, resound in your heart whenever you worship in creation’s cathedral:

KEY SCRIPTURE:
Praise the Lord from the heavens; praise Him in the heights! Praise Him, all His angels; praise Him, all His hosts! Praise Him, sun and moon; praise Him, all you stars of light! Praise Him, you heavens of heavens, and you waters above the heavens! Let them praise the name of the Lord, for He commanded and they were created. He also established them forever and ever; He made a decree which shall not pass away. Praise the Lord from the earth, you great sea creatures and all the depths; fire and hail, snow and clouds; stormy wind, fulfilling His word; mountains and all hills; fruitful trees and all cedars; beasts and all cattle; creeping things and flying fowl; kings of the earth and all peoples; princes and all judges of the earth; both young men and maidens; old men and children. Let them praise the name of the Lord, for His name alone is exalted; His glory is above the earth and heaven (Psalm 148:1-13).

 [Photos from Wikimedia Commons]

Some time ago one of my WOC posts ended up in the nether world of cyberspace where it got bounced around by some art lovers who rankled at my statement that “if I saw a Picasso in nature, I would know it was not from the hand of God.”  As George MacDonald emphasized, God’s creative hand, wherever it does its work, produces beauty.  My conclusion was considered by these aficionados to be that of an art ignoramus.  And I do have to confess that there is a lot I don’t know about modern art.   [See Picasso article and image source here]

Nonetheless, I subsequently ran across a 1914 essay by Russian Orthodox philosopher Nicolai Berdyaev on his first encounter with the work of Pablo Picasso.  Here is his first sentence:  “When one enters into the Picasso room in the gallery of S. I. Schukin, one is seized with a feeling of subtle terror.”  He had entered the Picasso room from the room featuring the idyllic and dreamy world of Gauguin.  Berdyaev goes on: “After this golden dream one is roused wide awake in the room of Picasso. Cold, gloomy, frightful. The delight of an embodied and sun-bright life has vanished. A wintry cosmic wind has torn away veil after veil; all the blossoms have faded, all the leaves, the skin of things is stripped away, all the coverings, all the flesh, manifest in forms of imperishable beauty, has fallen away.”      [Picasso postcard source]

Berdyaev’s revulsion at the work of Picasso is a lot deeper and classier than mine!  I more or less think most of it is ugly.  It is true, though, that Picasso was a talented craftsman with the brush and other art media.  Berdyaev confesses: “Picasso is a remarkable painter, profoundly agitating, but in him there is no attainment of beauty. He is all transitional—all crisis.”  Beauty is important to Berdyaev—so important that in another essay he said, “Beauty will save the world.”

I still have a lot more pondering to do to grasp the whole philosophical meaning of that statement, but the first thing that strikes me is the place of beauty in works of God.  In Genesis 2 we discover that the first thing said about the trees of the Garden in Eden is that they were “pleasing to the eye”—they were beautiful.  That statement comes after we learn that God’s creation is good.  Goodness is beautiful. Beauty is good.

KEY SCRIPTURE:
Now the LORD God had planted a garden in the east, in Eden; and there he put the man he had formed. The LORD God made all kinds of trees grow out of the ground—trees that were pleasing to the eye and good for food. In the middle of the garden were the tree of life and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil (Genesis 2:8-9).

I think that’s why few things anger me more than seeing God’s creation defaced.  For instance, industrial forestry that leaves mere destruction in its wake raises both my ire and blood pressure.  I understand the importance of speed and efficiency to the making of profit, and I even understand that there may be some ecological benefits to clearcutting if done carefully.  But to leave a once majestic forest ripped and bleeding its soil is the epitome of ugliness.  If there is no provision to restore its health and beauty as quickly as possible, such “industry” becomes a beast reminiscent of Tolkein’s Mordor. [Image source].

Berdyaev felt that much of Picasso’s painting is a vision of deconstruction and destruction that offer no hope of the recovery of beauty: “Picasso is not the new creativity. He is the end of the old.”  As a Christian, Nicolai Berdyaev looked forward to the coming of Christ and the Kingdom and the restoration of a new beauty that would surpass even the old beauty reflected by the art of Leonardo DaVinci and other classical artists.  My assumption is that that understanding comes close to the meaning of “beauty will save the world.”

Followers of Christ would emulate the Creator in being beauty savers, beauty lovers, and beauty dreamers—taking our inspiration from the wonder of creation (which includes people) and looking forward to the coming of the Source of goodness and beauty when all once again becomes  “pleasing to the eye.”

["Mount Washington painting by John Frederick Kensett  "Information reproduced from the Web site White Mountain Art & Artists authored by John J. Henderson and Roger E. Belson.  Visit their Web site at http://whitemountainart.com/."  ]

At the age of 37 I entered a three-year “dark night of the soul” called mid-life crisis.  No, I didn’t buy a red sports car, abandon my family, and become a beach bum.  Mostly I cried a lot.  Sometimes at night I would go outside, look up at the stars, and ask, “God, where are you?” and weep again because the heavens were brass.  One day I fell crying into my wife’s lap—telling her that I needed God to step out of heaven and tell me that everything will be all right.  Her answer was Spirit-inspired: “God is not going to step out of heaven and tell you that, but I’m here and I’m telling you that everything is going to be all right!”  Marge and my friends became the voice and heart of Jesus during that bleak time.  They took my hand and carried the Light for me throughout the night until morning came again.

Among the many lessons I learned at that time is when your soul is in anguish, the wonder of creation loses its capacity to create joy.  I even wrote a psalm about it—my mid-life crisis psalm.  The sum of my psalm was that I bewailed the loss of joy in my vocation as a Christian school administrator, in my wife and children, and in the natural world.  Living in Northern California at the time, I had access to some of the world’s most amazing natural wonders: Big Sur, the redwood forest, the Sierra Nevada, Point Reyes, and typically awe-inspiring Yosemite.  Yet they became incapable of giving me joy.  I was heartsick and only God and His people could heal me—which they eventually did.  And I learned the lesson that C. S. Lewis taught in Screwtape Letters:

Sooner or later [God] withdraws, if not in fact, at least from [the believer’s] conscious experience, all. . . supports and incentives. He leaves the creature to stand up on its own legs—to carry out from the will alone duties which have lost all relish. It is during such trough periods, much more than during the peak periods, that it is growing into the sort of creature He wants it to be. [Chapter 8]

The creation by itself never satisfies the soul—a fact learned when one is heartsick.  It’s the existence, love, and care of our Creator/Savior and His people that makes joy in anything possible.  If the soul of someone in your sphere of influence is struggling in the night, stay with them and carry the Light; and keep reminding them that joy—and growth—will come again with the morning.

KEY SCRIPTURE:
His anger is but for a moment, and His favor is for a lifetime. Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning. Psalm 30:5

 [This is a repost from January 2010 with photos I took in Yosemite this past summer.  God gave me back my joy!]