The Seminary of Creation - All Creatures Sunday, Second Sunday of the Season of Creation
Author: Pastor Scott Schul
September 14, 2025
On this “All Creatures”
Sunday, I can’t help but think of the marvelous books, movies, and TV series
about James Herriott and his intrepid team of vets in England’s Yorkshire
Dales. Alf Wight was James Herriott’s
real name, and it was quite a thrill for us to visit his actual veterinary
clinic in the north of England many years ago. The names of all his books came from an old 19th century hymn
with this beautifully poetic chorus: “All things bright and beautiful,
creatures great and small, all things wise and wonderful, the Lord God made
them all.”
Now, if your only
takeaway from worship today is a reminder that “the Lord God made” all of
creation, that’s not a bad start, but it’s only a start. And so let’s explore this notion a little
more deeply with a somewhat silly question. Where did Jesus go to seminary? Did he have the good sense to make his way to Gettysburg, PA, like so
many of the pastors who have served Grace? Of course we know that wasn’t the case. There was no Gettysburg and certainly no Lutheran seminaries in the time
of Jesus.
So where did Jesus learn his theology? After all,
though Jesus was fully divine, he was also fully human, and that aspect of him
grew over time. His body developed. He learned how to speak and read. His father taught him a trade, the synagogue
taught him the scriptures, and I think Mary taught him to pray, to serve, and
to love others regardless of the cost. But there was one more source that was like a seminary for Jesus: creation.
Today’s Gospel is a
prime example of how Jesus’s observations of birds and wildflowers provided an
earthy, accessible way for him to teach. These verses from Luke’s Gospel are essentially a commentary or
explanation of what’s commonly called “The Parable of the Rich Fool.” It’s the story where a rich man, propelled by
greed, worry, and an insatiable need for worldly security, invests everything
he has into tearing down his barns and building even larger ones, only to find
out that all his worries and preparations were wasted energy as he faces imminent
death.
Having walked some of
the very trails Jesus walked in the Holy Lands, I can tell you that in certain seasons
they overflow with natural beauty. Perhaps the flowers Jesus saw on his long walks to Jerusalem comforted
him and eased his worries. Perhaps as he
took a break and looked up at the birds flying in the sky, they reminded him
that he need not be consumed with anxiety and fear. And I hope that when we slow ourselves
down, enter the beauty of the present moment, and dwell deeply with flowers,
insects, birds, and all creatures “great and small,” we too are comforted by
our Lord, and relieved from the burdens of worry and stress.
Today’s Gospel is just
one of many examples of Jesus using creatures and creation to teach us. For example, he often referred to himself as
a vulnerable, gentle, sacrificial lamb. In a similar way, he compared himself to a mother hen, offering shelter
to weak and vulnerable chicks, willing to accept and absorb the lethal bites
and blows of predators.
A few more instances:
Jesus used the preposterous example of feeding a child a scorpion, in order to emphasize
how we can trust God to give us good things. Jesus’s choice to ride a donkey on Palm Sunday was a way of teaching
that he was there as a prince of peace, not a warlord mounted on a powerful
warhorse. Jesus spoke about fig trees,
mustard seeds, and sparrows, and memorably counseled his followers to “be wise
as serpents and innocent as doves.” All
of creation taught, informed, and blessed Jesus, and Jesus used and continues
to use all of creation, almost like a second Bible, to teach, inform, and bless
us.
I know many of you feel
a sense of sacred holiness in creation, as do I. Creation was and continues to be one of my seminaries. And so on this All
Creatures Sunday I will share a very personal story of one of the hardest and
most enduring lessons I ever learned in creation. I’ve never shared this story with anyone
before. It happened a long time ago,
probably 45 or 50 years ago. I was just
a kid, up north in rural Kane. I had
somehow talked my parents into letting me buy a little air-powered BB pistol. Single shot. Pretty useless for anything but target shooting.
I used to pass the time
in the backyard shooting whatever old rocks or cans I could find. But eventually that got a little boring. The robin I spotted one afternoon was a much
more entertaining target. So I pumped
the gun, raised it, aimed, and fired one BB, figuring at that distance I’d
surely miss and simply enjoy the spectacle of a frightened bird taking flight.
But you can guess what
happened. The BB somehow hit the robin
square in the chest, and it immediately fell over dead. I was shocked. But even more, I felt such deep shame. My shame wasn’t because I’m a vegetarian; to
this day I eat lots of beef, chicken, and fish. Nor am I opposed to hunting. I
was ashamed because I treated one of God’s beloved creatures as something as
worthless as an old tin can. All these
years later, I still feel shame for what I did that day, because in that moment,
that poor robin revealed to me the emptiness and estrangement that comes from
reducing creation to something merely to be exploited, used, or abused. And if as a boy I could do that to a bird,
was it possible I could eventually devalue human beings just as easily? It shook me.
I’m sure God has
forgiven me for that thoughtless act, but on occasion I willingly reenter that
boyhood moment and relive it in my mind, because I never want to forget how
awful I felt. For me at least, it’s the
best guardrail to prevent it from happening again. I thank God for that little robin and the
lesson it taught me about the inherent dignity and holiness of all created
things. I try to take that spirit of
loving reverence and respect for creation with me as I tend my flower beds, pet
my cats, and work with the bees and hives at the monastery I visit in Kentucky.
But in these fractured
and divided times of ours, we benefit from a reminder that our fellow human
beings, even the ones whose looks and beliefs differ from ours, and especially
the humans who, for whatever reason, we may not like very much, nevertheless
possess inherent dignity and holiness. Why has that lesson been so challenging for people throughout history to
learn and apply? Perhaps that brings us
back full circle to our Gospel. Most of
our hatred and mistreatment of one another is rooted in fear and
insecurity. So friends, as Jesus
counseled, find time to consider the ravens. Consider the lilies. And do not
worry. Do not be afraid. I know that sounds simplistic. There’s an overabundance of things in this
broken world of ours that have the capacity to frighten us.
So what’s the
solution? Well, how about we spend a
little more time in the holiness of creation, just like Jesus did? When I feel discouraged and a little hopeless,
I often read a poem by the great Wendell Berry that gives me great peace. With the publisher’s permission, I’ll close
by sharing it now with you, in the hope that it gives you peace too.
“When despair for the world grows in me/ and I wake in
the night at the least sound/ in fear of what my life and my children’s lives
may be,/ I go and lie down where the wood drake/ rests in his beauty on the
water, and the great heron feeds./ I come into the peace of wild things/ who do
not tax their lives with forethought/ of grief. I come into the presence of
still water./ And I feel above me the day-blind stars/ waiting with their
light. For a time/ I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.”1 Amen.
© 2025 Rev. Scott E. Schul, all rights reserved
Citations:
1 The Peace of Wild
Things by Wendell Berry, published in The
Gift of Animals: Poems of Love, Loss, and Connection (Ed. Alison
Hawthorne Deming), © 2025 Storey Publishing, pg. 71. Used with the express
written permission of Storey Publishing and the Hachette Book Group, Inc.
Lessons: Job 39:1-8, 26-30; Psalm 104:14-23;
Rev. 5:1-10
Gospel: Luke 12:22-31
22 [Jesus] said to his
disciples, “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will
eat, or about your body, what you will wear. 23 For life is more
than food and the body more than clothing. 24 Consider the ravens:
they neither sow nor reap, they have neither storehouse nor barn, and yet God
feeds them. Of how much more value are you than the birds! 25 And
which of you by worrying can add a single hour to your span of life? 26 If then you are not able to do so small a thing as that, why do you worry about
the rest? 27 Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil
nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like
one of these. 28 But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which
is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more will he
clothe you, you of little faith! 29 And do not keep seeking what you
are to eat and what you are to drink, and do not keep worrying. 30 For it is the nations of the world that seek all these things, and your Father
knows that you need them. 31 Instead, seek his kingdom, and these
things will be given to you as well.
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