he early Celtic people—Irish Christians—had a name for the places in nature where they felt closer to God. They called them “the thin places.” While worshiping next to the ocean or praying in a grove of ancient oak trees, they felt nearer to the presence of God. The wall separating them from God was thinner.
Encountering the Divine in the midst of the wild is as old as humanity. Throughout history, men and women have had profound epiphanies in the wilderness. The Bible, Torah, and the Koran all relate stories based on an individual’s encounter with God in the midst of nature, from Buddha to Moses, Elijah, John the Baptist, Jesus, and Mohammed. Each went on to change the world.
As Americans, we should be proud that nearly a century ago wise political leaders recognized the spiritual and intrinsic value of our nation’s “thin places” and protected many of them as national parks. Today, millions of people—individuals and families—encounter the divine in their midst.
For those with a religious faith, it’s really a simple concept: If we love the Creator, we must take care of creation. It’s a philosophy that puts environmentalists and evangelicals in the same boat—awkward companions to say the least. Although their divergent belief systems have led them to view each other with a fair degree of mistrust, they have much in common.
I’ve been reading my Bible in national parks for a long time. Years ago, while I was an evangelical minister, I trekked through the national parks of the Pacific Northwest, covering 1,000 miles in four months. While camping in an alpine meadow near Mount Rainier, I was awoken in the middle of the night. The sound of snapping twigs and rustling leaves told me something was walking around my tent. Then the stillness of the night was broken by a scream—a piercing, woeful, and eerie cry unlike anything I had heard before. Startled, scared, and suddenly wide awake, I quietly crawled out of my tent and hid in the moon shadows.
A bull elk and his harem of 20 cows had come into the meadow to graze under the full moon. Only 30 yards away, still ignoring my presence, the bull elk lifted his head, tipped his impressive rack of antlers toward the ground, his cold breath streaming to the heavens. Then he bellowed. It was a cry of power and of strength, of rut and of kingship. Watching him, I stood in awe. It was a magnificent expression of the wild.
Standing there, I was reminded of the verse in Genesis 1:31 that says, “God saw everything he had made and it was very good.” The word “good” in Hebrew is tovh, meaning whole and complete. It is a word reminiscent of an artist who looks at his creation and declares it finished; something in his soul knows he has achieved a masterpiece. That night God revealed to me goodness—the goodness of the elk and the goodness of the wild places that provide a home for them. God allowed me to partake in a masterpiece. I had an epiphany of the soul, one that changed my life forever.
But my relationship with the Earth is more than that of art-lover. When we read the covenant between God and Noah we realize that God has placed humans into a special relationship with the rest of the living world.
“I now establish my covenant with you and your descendants after you and with every living thing that was with you—the birds, the livestock, and all the wild animals, all that came out of the ark with you—every living creature on earth,” said God. “This is the sign of the covenant I am making between me and you and every living creature with you, a covenant for all generations to come.” Genesis 9:8,12,17
Micah 6:8 says, “He has shown you what is good, and what the Lord requires of you…to act justly, to love mercy, to walk humbly with your God.” That is what natural wonders can do for us—they can call us to justice, to mercy, to humility. I am reminded of so many other Bible verses:
The mountains and the hills will burst into song before you. Isaiah 55:12
The wild animals honor me, the jackals, and the owls. Isaiah 43:20
Praise the Lord from the Earth, you great sea creatures…you mountains and all cedars, wild animals, and flying birds. Psalm 148
Standing in that ancient forest, surrounded by trees that were 800 years old, I also had an epiphany of insignificance. That moment when you realize what an awesome, wild, and majestic world surrounds us. The moment when you be-come small before God. The Bible gives us an example in Job who, in Chapter 38, complains about how poorly God has treated him. God responds by ex-tolling the mighty works of creation—mountain goats giving birth, wild donkeys thriving in the salt flats, the soaring of an eagle, the strength of the horse, the majesty of mountains, and the relentlessness of the oceans. Chapter upon chapter, verse upon verse God chastises Job with examples from the natural wonders. Job, then properly rebuked, re-sponds by saying, “I put my hand over my mouth!” an ancient Hebrew idiom for “I am small before you, Lord. I am humbled beyond speech!”
My faith tradition teaches that hu-mans are unique in all of God’s creation—only we are made in the image of God, and we alone have the divinely given capacity of self-awareness and of free-will. We alone create art and music, build tools, and construct language. Hu-manity has an exceptional place in the created order, but we seem to have forgotten that we were created last and designed by God not to be independent of the rest of creation. We were made from the dust of the Earth, we are still connected to the Earth, and we will return to the Earth. This is the epiphany of interconnectedness.
Our national parks—the geysers of Yellowstone, the grandeur of Yosemite, the deep blue waters of Crater Lake, and the peaks of Rocky Mountain National Park—are our nation’s “thin places.” My faith was renewed in the meadows of Mount Rainier National Park, and I can only pray that my great-grandchildren are able to experience them in much the same way. Whether we see these special places as reflections of our creator or simply reflections of nature’s beauty, our national parks present a brilliant opportunity to find common ground, in every meaning of the words.
Peter Illyn is executive director of Restoring Eden, a ministry working to help Christians appreciate nature and make meaningful changes consistent with an environmental ethic.
The early Celtic people—Irish Christians—had a name for the places in nature where they felt closer to God. They called them “the thin places.” While worshiping next to the ocean or praying in a grove of ancient oak trees, they felt nearer to the presence of God. The wall separating them from God was thinner.
