The Psalmist wrote that the heavens declare the glory of God — not in language, but in their being. This sonnet listens for that older hymn: the worship that creation has been offering since the morning of the world, quietly, without a single word.
The Sonnet
The forest does not need a word to praise, The mountain stands and offers all it is, The river bends along its winding ways And keeps its long and unrehearsed amen. The morning glory opens to the sun Without a sermon, without doctrine taught, And every blade of grass, when day is done, Has offered up the only prayer it brought. I, who have words, so often miss the song — So caught in language I forget to be, Mistaking noise for what is truly strong, The silent worship of a single tree. So teach me, Lord, to join creation's choir, And let my being be its own desire.
Reflection
Humans were given words, and words are a gift — but they can also distract us from a deeper kind of praise. The mountain praises by being a mountain. The river praises by flowing. They cannot help it. Their worship is not separate from their existence; it is their existence, rightly offered.
There is something to learn from this. We tend to think of worship as something we do — a song sung, a prayer spoken, an hour set aside. But the older, deeper kind of worship is what we simply are, when we are most fully ourselves. To be alive in this world, attentive and awake, is already to join a chorus older than language.
Step outside today, even briefly. Listen for the hymn already underway. You don’t have to add to it. You only have to belong.
