I can find God in nature, in animals, in birds and the

The words of Pat Buckley—“I can find God in nature, in animals, in birds and the environment”—are not merely a poetic musing, but a sacred reminder of humanity’s oldest understanding: that the divine dwells not only in temples and scriptures, but in the living world that breathes around us. In the days of our ancestors, before stone cathedrals and gilded altars, humankind looked to the wind, the sea, the forest, and the creatures within it to understand the mystery of existence. The sunrise was their hymn, the river their scripture, and the cry of a bird their prayer. Buckley’s words echo this ancient truth — that God is not confined, but revealed in every pulse of life.

The origin of this belief reaches deep into the heart of creation stories across civilizations. The druids of old Ireland, where Buckley herself was born, worshipped amid oak groves, seeing every leaf as a reflection of divine breath. The philosophers of Greece, too, found wisdom in nature — Heraclitus spoke of the river as a symbol of life’s eternal flow, and Aristotle found the divine in the logic of living systems. Even in the East, sages such as Lao Tzu and Buddha taught that harmony with nature leads to harmony with the soul. These ancient voices agree: to see God in nature is not to reduce the divine, but to understand that creation itself is sacred.

Consider the life of Saint Francis of Assisi, the humble man who called the sun his brother and the moon his sister. He preached to the birds and healed wounded animals, for he saw no separation between the Creator and creation. To him, the environment was a cathedral, and every living being was a fellow worshipper. His life stands as a radiant example of the unity Buckley describes — a life in which compassion for all living things becomes an act of prayer.

This truth is not lost, but it is often forgotten in the thunder of modernity. Today, humanity rushes through cities of steel and glass, deaf to the song of the earth. We speak of dominion over nature, yet in doing so, we exile ourselves from the very spirit that sustains us. When Buckley says she finds God in animals, in birds, in the environment, she is reminding us that the sacred is not distant; it is near. Every time we destroy a forest or pollute a river, we are not merely harming the earth — we are silencing a voice of God.

To live by this wisdom is to practice reverence. It means pausing to watch the morning dew on a leaf and recognizing it as holy. It means tending to an injured creature not out of pity, but out of kinship. It means walking gently upon the soil, knowing that beneath our feet lies the same spirit that beats within our hearts. This is the ancient covenant between humanity and the divine world — a covenant not of dominance, but of stewardship.

The lesson is clear: to love God, we must love the world. When we plant a tree, feed a bird, or clean a river, we are participating in divine creation. When we protect an animal from harm, we honor the life-force that flows through all beings. This understanding transforms faith from mere belief into living action, and prayer from whispered words into compassionate deeds.

Let every generation, then, remember this truth: that the divine is not a hidden treasure to be sought in distant heavens, but a living presence that breathes in every corner of the earth. To find God in nature is to open our eyes, our hands, and our hearts to the miracle that surrounds us. The wise will not wait for revelation from the clouds — they will listen to the wind in the trees, the cry of a bird, and the silence between the waves, for in these moments, God speaks.