It’s autumn, which means my house is an art museum and my windows are the portraits. They frame gold and orange leaves delicately attached to knotty branches on the backdrop of a deep blue sky. And then there’s a breath of breeze putting it all in motion. If made by man, spectators would stand in mile-long lines to gape at such sophisticated artistry.
But I just complain about all the raking.
Romans 1: 19-20 says, “For what can be known about God is plain to them, because God has shown it to them. For his invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made. So they are without excuse.”
Christians talk a lot about nature. We sing of peace like a river and sorrows like sea billows. We liken trials to tempests and mercies to mornings, almost like the analogies are programmed into us; and they are. Paul informs us that the beauty around us isn’t an accident. Nature’s job is to shout truth to our hearing-impaired hearts.
Have you ever careened around your house looking for your keys, only to realize they’re in your hand? Worse, have you searched and called frantically for your toddler, only to find he’s on your hip? It’s pretty embarrassing when this happens in a roomful of people. (Trust me on that one.) Sometimes we fly around our lives in a similar way, looking everywhere for God. “Where can he be? He seems so absent. I wish I could see him. What if he isn’t real? Oh, where is he?!”
All the while, gold-dipped maple leaves flutter against the windowpane, invisible breath blows voluminous clouds across the sky, and glints of sunlight shine through branches onto our kitchen tables in kaleidoscope patterns. They testify to “his eternal power and divine nature,” and they’re obvious enough to be “clearly perceived.” Magic only God could make surrounds us, pointing faithfully to its Creator, but we so often forget to look…forget to behold.
God reveals himself fully in his Word and through his Son, but he reveals some of his characteristics through his creation and places them as ready reminders right outside our windows.
Notice the intricate leaf designs of a God whose designs for us are meticulously perfect.
Notice the dying grass that in spring will be raised to life by a God who makes all things new.
Notice the stately trees that point their branches to a God who towers over nations.
Notice the V of Canada geese that are led by a God who loves the small and insignificant.
Notice the wind that is borne from a God whose imprint is everywhere, even though we can’t see him–yet.
The creed of creation calls to us. Let’s stop and listen and look and wonder, drawing strength from the message. Our hope is sure: the Artist lives. Just look out your window.