He answered, “I tell you, if they keep silent, the very stones will cry out.” (Luke 19:40)
At 4:00 a.m. I batted spiderwebs, and pushed my way into the black Fijian jungle. The source of intense chirping was near. It woke us every night, and I wanted to know, was it a frog, a bird, or what? The voice maintained a steady pulse—a one second whistle, then a one second rest—but the pitch rose to a fevered urgency. There, in a clump of secondary plants intertwined with a massive tree, the animal trumpeted his presence. He was high in the canopy, though, and I’d never know who filled the night air with his zealous call.
A biologist would probably listen to my mystery creature and say something like, “That’s a male Oceanic Warblecryer, calling for a mate.”
The scientist would be right, but I hear more. I hear another declaration as the animals of the earth squawk, croak, or roar. The same statement is made throughout nature, repeated in a myriad of voices. Planets circle their orbits, ocean surf booms, and cardiac pulses beat—all with redundancy that’s humorous, once you start listening. I hear them filling our time governed existence with a single message, “Our Creator is great.”
Jesus said that, if necessary, the stones would cry out to glorify him. So take a calcite rock for example. Because of its atomic bond pattern, it breaks into rhombohedral chunks. No matter how small you break the pieces, they will be rhombohedral. While they don’t do squat to heal humans, crystals, and even stones, declare the genius of their maker by their elegant structure.
Scientists will analyze nature’s repeating themes and see fundamental laws of physics at work. Artists will recognize beauty and passion, while philosophers may point to the logical necessity of repetition as an increase in the potential to thrive. What I hear are the stones, and every other created thing, shouting out the glory of God.
Prayer: Mighty God, I join all of nature to extoll you.