All Things Bright and Beautiful — A Beautiful Hymn, An Ugly Reality

Photo Jacques Batista — Photo: Jacques Batista

“The heavens declare the glory of God; the firmament proclaims the work of his hands.” — Psalm 19:2

For more than a month, I have been writing, rewriting, deleting, adding, pruning and replanting this article. I had too many ideas. Too many themes. Too many Scriptures. Too many questions. Too many raw material. Too little fertiliser.

I wanted to say something about creation, ecology, environmental justice, St Francis of Assisi, Laudato Si’, the Season of Creation, water, our oceans, our rivers, our animals, our responsibility as Christians, and the world we are leaving to our children.

But somehow, the words would not settle. The article was like a river looking for its source. Suddenly, I realised I had been trying to write about the river without first returning to the spring from which it flows. I needed to go back to the beginning.

“In the beginning, when God created the heavens and the earth…”

Genesis 1

And this is where the story begins. It is also the first reading proclaimed at the Easter Vigil — the Church’s great proclamation of creation, redemption and new life.

And God saw that it was good. Again and again, Genesis gives us those words: God saw that it was good. Before humanity named it, measured it, bought it, sold it, fenced it, mined it, polluted it or exploited it, God called it good.

And then we arrive at Genesis 1:26: “Let us make humankind in our image…….”

And God gives humanity dominion. But perhaps we have misunderstood that word. Dominion was never a divine licence to ravage creation. The Church’s own theological tradition understands humanity’s dominion as stewardship — a delegated responsibility under God, not ownership independent of God. Our beloved and visionary, the late Pope Francis, put it even more plainly in Laudato Si’: we are not God. The earth existed before us and has been entrusted to us. Our task is to “till and keep” it — to cultivate, protect, preserve and care for it. That changes everything. We are not owners standing above creation. We are creatures standing within creation. And what God has entrusted to us, God will one day ask us about.

The Heavens Have Been Preaching All Along

That brought me back to Psalm 19. “The heavens declare the glory of God; the firmament proclaims the work of his hands.”

Creation does not need a microphone. The heavens preach. The stars preach. The oceans preach. The rivers preach. The forests preach. The birds preach. The changing seasons preach. LISTEN!

Creation is a basilica, and the heavens are constantly proclaiming the glory of its Creator. Our forefathers understood something that perhaps we have become too sophisticated to hear. They looked at the sun rising and recognised order. They looked at the night sky and recognised majesty. They watched rain fall and understood dependence. They saw the harvest and understood grace. They understood that humanity existed in relationship with the Creator and with the rest of creation.

Psalm 19 captures something of that ancient wonder: creation speaks without words, yet its message travels throughout the earth. And perhaps the tragedy of our age is not that creation has stopped speaking. It is that we have stopped listening. Ons het doof geword vir Moeder Natuur.

We have been singing about it since we were kids…….

We sing: “All Things Bright and Beautiful, All Creatures Great and Small.”
We sing: “All the Heavens Declare the Glory of the Risen Lord.”
We sing: “Let Your Living Waters Flow.”

And generation after generation of Christians have sung about God’s creation, God’s glory, God’s beauty and God’s living water.

Then there is Michael Jackson’s haunting “Earth Song” — a very different voice, but one that cries out from the wounded earth and asks whether we actually care. It is difficult to listen to that anguished cry without feeling that creation itself is asking humanity a question. And perhaps that is the uncomfortable question for us as Christians:

Do we believe what we sing? We sing that all creatures belong to God. But do we treat them as though they do? We sing of the beauty of the earth. But what are we doing to that beauty? We sing of living waters. But what are we doing to the water?

This year’s Season of Creation has given us somewhere to go.

Living Water

Its biblical foundation is Ezekiel 47:1–12 — a breathtaking vision of water flowing from the Temple of God. The water begins as a stream and grows progressively deeper until it becomes a river. And wherever the river goes, life follows:

Barren land is restored. Waters are renewed. Fish flourish. Trees grow. Fruit is produced. Leaves become instruments of healing.

The official Season of Creation material describes the 2026 invitation as “Immersion in Living Water” — not merely looking at the river, but stepping into it, deeper and deeper, and participating in the renewal of creation. Ezekiel doesn’t invite us to admire the river from a safe distance.

He takes us into it. Ankles. Knees. Waist…….Deeper. Until the river becomes too deep to cross. How deep are we prepared to go?

I Have Stood Beside That River

On the evening of 8 November 2025, I had the privilege of proclaiming Ezekiel’s reading at Saturday Evening Mass.

It remains one of the most moving Scriptures I have ever proclaimed. As I read, I looked up. One by one, I saw parishioners lifting their eyes from the missals they were following. They were listening. Ezekiel was at his best. He was cooking like a bursting volcano.

There was something about that river. Something about water flowing from the Temple. Something about a world that was dead becoming alive again. Something about trees whose leaves bring healing.

And now, as I return to that reading in the context of the 2026 Season of Creation, I find myself thinking about those people who looked up. My prayer is that this season will cause all of us to look up — and then to get up. To put down whatever keeps us standing on the riverbank. To put aside our excuses. Our indifference. Our convenience. Our consumerism. Our “someone else will do it” mentality. And to follow the living water back to the source.

The Ugly Reality

Because there is another story being written:

It is written in polluted rivers. It is written in thoughtless littering. In plastic-choked shores. In disappearing forests. In dying oceans. In land stripped of its fertility. In communities without reliable access to clean water. In extreme weather. In people whose homes and livelihoods are destroyed. In the poor who so often suffer first and hardest from environmental degradation they did little to cause.

The question therefore becomes much more uncomfortable: What is flowing from us?

Ezekiel saw a river flowing from the Temple, and everything it touched began to live. What happens when the Church enters a community? Does life flourish? Do the poor find dignity? Do our streets become cleaner? Do our water supply become healthier? Do our children learn to love creation? Do our parishes become places where ecological conversion is actually practised? Or do we simply speak about it?

We are already entering the third week of the Season of Creation. So perhaps this is the moment for an honest examination of conscience. What have we actually done within our parishes? Not what have we announced. Not what have we printed in the weekly newsletter. Not what have we placed around the altar.

What Have we done?

What if parishes organised a prayer gathering in a garden?
What if parishioners gathered for a beach or neighborhood clean-up?
What if a parish dedicated a Mass or prayer service specifically to creation?
What if we showed a film that made people confront the state of our common home?
What if every family leaving Mass received a small plant — something they could take home, nurture and grow?
What if our children were given the responsibility of caring for a parish garden?
What if our parishes distributed rubbish bags and turned a Sunday celebration into a practical act of stewardship?
What if our youth groups asked not merely, “What does the Bible say about creation?” but “What is God asking us to do about it?”

These may seem like small streams. But Ezekiel teaches us something about streams. They can become rivers. Imagine the witness of the Church. The Catholic Church now numbers more than 1.4 billion people worldwide. Imagine if even a fraction of that Church moved from awareness to action.

Imagine millions of Catholics: Planting. Cleaning. Recycling. Restoring. Protecting. Educating. Praying. Advocating. Changing habits. Protecting water. Defending vulnerable communities. Teaching children that creation is not disposable and to not needlessly discard their chips packets and sweet wrappers in the street.

The Season of Creation leads us towards 4 October — the feast of St Francis of Assisi. Francis looked at creation and did not see merely resources. He saw relationships: Brother Sun. Sister Moon. Brother Wind. Sister Water. Mother Earth. He recognised that creation points beyond itself to the Creator. And Pope Francis, in Laudato Si’, saw in Francis of Assisi an example of a healed relationship between humanity and creation — a healing of the rupture caused by our attempt to put ourselves in God’s place. St Francis did not need a climate conference to tell him that creation mattered. He understood something much more fundamental:

Everything belongs to God. And therefore everything deserves our reverence.

Back to the Beginning

So perhaps my journey through all these books, Scriptures, hymns, documents and questions has brought me exactly where I needed to be. Not to the end. Back to the beginning. Back to Genesis. Back to the first waters. Back to the first light. Back to the first garden. Back to the Creator saying: “It was good.” Back to Psalm 19: “The heavens declare the glory of God.” Back to Ezekiel: “Where the river flows, everything will live.” Back to St Francis: Back to Brother Water. Back to the living source.

Because this Season of Creation cannot simply become another item in the liturgical calendar. It cannot be reduced to a line in the bidding prayers. It cannot become a beautiful display beside the sanctuary that disappears when October arrives.

Will We Listen?

The Church has given us five weeks. Five weeks to pray. Five weeks to reflect. Five weeks to act.

So let us step in. Not ankle-deep Christianity. Not knee-deep concern. Not waist-deep commitment. It requires complete and total immersion into deep but life giving waters. Living water should carry us beyond our comfort. Until our faith becomes visible. Until our worship becomes action. Until our parishes become streams of living water flowing into our communities.

Because the beautiful hymn is still being sung: “All things bright and beautiful. All creatures great and small”.

But perhaps we need to ask ourselves whether the beauty we sing about will still be here for the generations who come after us. And perhaps that is the prophetic word of this Season of Creation:

The River Is Flowing

The question is no longer whether God is speaking. The question is whether we are listening — and whether we are willing to get into the water. And may our journey take us, like the river of Ezekiel, all the way back to the beginning.

“In the beginning, God created…”

And God saw that it was good. Now it is our turn to make sure that what God entrusted to us can still flourish.