God's Language

We are the products of the world around us. Not just our bodies - fed by the nutrients of the soil and particles in the air, and absorbing the chemicals in the water, our bottles, packaging, pots and pans.

It is not just our bodies that are molded by the shape and texture of the world around us but our spirits as well. At first blush it seems a bit odd to imagine that matter can leave a fingerprint on the soul; that the material world can leave an impression on the spirit. But there it is, nonetheless.

The ecologian, Thomas Berry, wrote: "If we lived on the moon, our mind and emotions, our speech, our imagination, our sense of divine would all reflect the desolation of the lunar landscape."

(And while I strongly agree, I might also counter that if the moonscape were our spiritual landscape, perhaps we would find beauty in the subtle, sandy hues; the sharp textures of light; the brilliant blueness of the earth. And that, then, would shape us. So while Berry's point is valid, and is the jumping off point of this entry, the affect might be mistaken. The moon might not feel so desolate to a native as we think.)

Our spirit is fired up by the natural beauty around us. The grandest poems in the Bible speak of God being adorned with, served by and literally wrapped up in nature:

"The LORD wraps himself in light as with a garment; he stretches out the heavens like a tent and lays the beams of his upper chambers on their waters." Psalm 104

We encounter God through nature. God appeared to Moses in a bush; was present to the Israelites in a cloud; bore the Israelites to freedom on eagle's wings. God blesses us with abundant rain, fertile land and bountiful harvests.

The Bible is steeped in the laws of agriculture, how we must treat the land and what we must do with our harvest. Lessons of gratitude, the nature of ownership, the responsibilities to community, social justice all play out in the context of nature.

In short, the lingua franca spoken between God and the Jews is the language of nature.

But our ancestors were much more fluent in it than we are. That is reason enough for us to return to the soil; to know the qualities of different trees; to grow our vegetables and learn the names of our local farmers; to know the many ways snow falls.

We gain, thereby, a greater sense of place, belonging, connection and awe.

(Photo: a burning bush in my mother's garden)