Creation

Standing at a place of deep history, surrounded by Sand Martins: swooping, diving, fluttering, darting, speeding along above the cliff-top, disappearing over the edge where, unseen, their nests lie. Floating serenely past, a pair of gulls fly – fly? Mainly glide, smoothly, seldom moving a wing, till they coast down, down, landing (sea-ing?), resting on the un-resting water. The Martins are ever-moving, up, down, along, following their food source; the gulls are slower, majestic until … they, too, find their food, then gathering, crowding, rioting, clamouring gulls from far around create a scene seen miles away. Appropriately, this place of deep history, with roots far back, this place of mammoths and ancient humans, has its’ representative dinosaurs in these so different birds who live along the shore, in that space between land and sea. A liminal space, boundaried, as this cliff-top represents, still, a place between now and then, between future and far past. Standing now, the wind whipping my habit, and untidying my hair, this wind gives space for the wind farm, seen far out to sea. Yet it is still a place which could be seen, recognised, by many born since those far past times. A place of grass, and scrub; a place of thrift and insects; a place for Martins and Gulls. A place where, in this instant, you can see very little of the modern encroachment everywhere, creeping not too far away, but not here, now. A place to stand or lie and look as birds fly about their daily life, to sit and study the minuteness gathering of flowers, and the insects that feed from them. A place to take time to stand and be, to remember we do not own this place, but are gifted it for future generations; we are not gifted it, for so it stands not ours, not theirs, but God’s.

Do you ever take time to stand and stare, to be, in nature, in any part of God’s creation? Whether or not you can get outside built-up areas to somewhere wilder, it is worth taking this time; whether it is a broad landscape, or merely taking time in a park or garden to watch a bird, a tree, a flower; to really look at it, to get to know it. For it seems to me that we have somehow divorced ourselves from nature. It is apart from us, something that we think we can control or own. It is not something that we are part of, something that we are integral to. Yet, we are; we, too, are part of God’s creation, just as those birds and that cliff-top is. It can only be as we see ourselves as a piece of Creation, as existing in it, as one of the community that Creation is, that we see both nature, ourselves and God in the proper context. For just as nature is not our own, so we are not our own. It is not for us to say that we want this or that, or we wish to do this or that with our lives; it is for us to seek to be in that place where God is calling us; to acknowledge that we do not just follow God, but that we are God’s, just as much as the rest of creation. This does not mean that we should abandon decision-making, or that we must bow completely to anyone who suggests that they ‘know’ God’s will for us. God has given us talents and intelligence, and expects us to use it. It is more of an inner attitude, I think: that we recognise that we belong to God, and that informs our prayer and our daily life; that we search to be in that place where God wants us to be; that in our prayer and bible reading we come to know God and allow the Spirit to shape us in their way. There may be times when we do need to specifically pray and search for God’s will in our lives; there may be other times when we are where we are, and that searching is more about how and who we are than where we are. There will be times in all of our lives when commitments mean that where we are is where we need to stay, but, still, in our journey of faith we can follow along the path of becoming more and more God’s; to become who we are created to be.

Nature can be part of this, although preferably not in a way that increases our separation from it. To spend time in Creation, knowing and learning that we are part of it, part of God’s whole, may help centre us more clearly in God. Where that takes place will vary according to circumstance; it is not necessary to get out in to the wild, but to walk through a local park or to watch the birds from your window – assuming, of course, that you have the time to spare, which you may not. But can we get to a point where we can see that the tree out there exists in its’ own right, not just for my benefit? That the birds have their own place, however irritating it might be when that place means our car becomes covered in their droppings? To begin to sense that, means we can begin to sense that we, too, are part of God’s world. This world, which has gone far astray from God’s will, is not ours to do as we like with, but God’s. To sense and explore the long history of our planet, so much of which has been without humanity, might be to begin to see something of the wonder of this God who creates but does not bully; something of the wonder of this God who creates with love, not force. To begin to sense that is to begin to sense who God is, who we belong to.