God in Nature - Paragraph 15
Today we visit the religions that Roberts describes as founded on the revelation of God in Nature. Here is the text:
Religions Founded on this Revelation
“The revelation of God’s Omnipresence and Immanence is the origin of all man’s “Nature Religions,” so called because the focus is on God’s presence in nature. Religions that grew up around these particular revelations can be found in every age, and are as much alive today as ever. There especially comes to mind those indigenous tribes who witness to the “Great Spirit” in nature. From this revelation we can find sects from sunworshippers to forms of animism. I also think this is the origin of polytheism - the various gods representing the various forces in nature. Much of the diversity is due to the circumstances of the original revelation - did God seem to emerge from fire, sun or moon? It could be anything in nature. In some of these sects the goal is placating an awesome Spirit through various forms of sacrificial offerings; in other sects, the goal was becoming one with this Spirit.”
Long before there were temples or doctrines, there were human beings standing under the stars; looking…listening. Before theologies or rituals there was the trembling awareness of something alive in the wind, in the fire and in the waters. What Roberts calls the revelation of God in Nature, Omnipresence and Immanence, has been known to humanity from the beginning. It is what she names the root of all “Nature Religions,” those early and ongoing expressions of awe before a Living Presence that infuses all things.
When I sit with her words, I find myself moved by her generosity of vision, her recognition that even the oldest, most ancient ways of worship were responses to some revelation. I imagine an early people gathered around a fire at night, the flames dancing against stone walls, or an ancient woman standing at the river’s edge at dawn. The mist rises; the light touches the surface of the water; and somewhere in her, there stirs the deep knowing: this is alive. This is holy. It feels human to name what we sense, to bow before what we cannot contain or explain. To speak to it, to offer something of ourselves, to listen for what it might say back.
In that moment, I can understand how so many of the world’s early religions emerged, not from ignorance but from intimacy. From the experience of being met by a living, breathing Presence that feels vast, mysterious, and near. This is the Great Spirit the indigenous traditions speak of, not a god apart from nature, but the pulse within it. The felt sense of participation and communion.
Roberts’ insight helps frame how this revelation of God-in-nature is not separate from the transformative journey we walk today. The outer reverence of ancient peoples mirrors our own inner unfolding. For those of us practicing presence through silence, meditation, prayer, or simply a deepening awareness of what is, we, too, come to experience the same revelation from within. The inner journey is, in its own way, a return to what our ancestors knew: that God is here, in and through all that is. The revelation, as Bernadette says, is revealed as we move along, not all at once, but gradually, tenderly, through our willingness to see.
So, what are these words asking of me today?
They seem to invite toward a greater openness, a broader inclusivity of heart. To remember that Omnipresence means just that: there is nowhere God is not. The same Presence that fills the cedar trees and rivers also animates every person I meet. Even when another doesn’t see it in themselves there can be a sense of the spark, the ground of being, the living light within them.
It also calls me to live with greater curiosity, to notice, again and again, how easily the mechanical patterns of the day dull my awareness. Most people, as Eckhart Tolle says, live “out of their minds” caught in repetition, moving unconsciously through the hours. But this revelation asks for attention. It asks for the slow, deliberate noticing that allows wonder to return. The more I bring compassion and mindfulness to my own inner life, the more this Presence reveals itself.
And how is that going?
If I’m honest, I’m learning to practice in motion. Life right now is full of transition, packing boxes, changing addresses, workmen, dinner calling, and granddaughters needing care. The rhythm is unpredictable. I used to believe I could only touch the sacred if I had my 20-minute sit, quiet and undisturbed. But these days, I’m finding grace in the interruptions. I touch the touchstone many times a day: the feel of my breath, the ground beneath my feet, the color of the sky, the voice of someone helping me along. Presence doesn’t require perfect stillness. It asks only that I show up.
And perhaps that’s where this ancient revelation can become most alive for us, in realizing that God-in-nature is not just in the forest or the sea but in the ordinary, changing landscapes of our lives. The sacred does not withdraw when we’re busy or burdened. It moves with us, within us, waiting for recognition.
So I wonder, how might you let yourself be met by this same revelation?
Maybe this week, pause for a moment. Step outside or stand by a window. Let your eyes rest on something living, a tree, light on a wall, the face of someone near you, and allow yourself to sense the Presence that fills it. Feel your breath as part of that same rhythm. Notice how the Great Spirit of this very moment is not elsewhere, not far off, but here, animating everything, inviting you to see, to belong, to remember.
