Day 11 - All Things Bright and Beautiful

At a recent funeral service, the hymn All things bright and beautiful was chosen. Unfortunately, the crematorium no longer provides hymn books, and the family had not had orders of service printed, so the familiar tune started and we all dug deep in our memories to recall the lyrics surprisingly successfully. How familiar those words were, that have echoed through generations, inviting us to pause and marvel at the world around us. Whether sung in a sunlit chapel, a school assembly, or a quiet country church, this hymn stirs something deep within — a sense of wonder, gratitude, and belonging.

At its heart lies a profound theological truth: creation is not accidental or disposable. It is intentional, intricate, and beloved. Genesis 1:31 tells us, “God saw all that he had made, and it was very good.” Not just good — very good. This divine affirmation is not reserved for the stars or the seas alone, but for every creature, every colour, every corner of the earth.

The hymn’s verses mirror this biblical vision. From “purple-headed mountains” to “the river running by,” from “the cold wind in the winter” to “the pleasant summer sun,” we are reminded that creation is diverse and dynamic. It is not static or sterile, but alive with rhythm and contrast — seasons that shift, creatures that crawl and soar, landscapes that whisper and roar.

In a world that often rushes past beauty in pursuit of productivity, All Things Bright and Beautiful calls us to slow down and see again. To notice the “glowing colours” of a flower, the “tiny wings” of a bird, the miracle of breath and being. It is a hymn of attentiveness — a spiritual practice of paying attention to the sacred in the ordinary.

But this hymn is not just descriptive; it is also invitational. It invites us to praise. To join the chorus of creation in worshipping the Creator. The mountains and rivers, the sun and wind — they all sing their silent songs of glory. And we, made in God’s image, are called to add our voices, not in domination, but in harmony.

This reflection also carries a challenge. If all things are made by God and declared “very good,” then how do we treat them? How do we honour the earth, the animals, the ecosystems entrusted to our care? How do we teach our children to see the world not as a resource to be exploited, but as a gift to be cherished?

In this light, the hymn becomes more than a nostalgic melody. It becomes a call to stewardship. A reminder that creation is not ours to own, but ours to tend. That every act of care — planting a tree, reducing waste, protecting a species — is an act of worship.

So let us sing with fresh conviction. Let us look at the world with Genesis eyes — eyes that see goodness, beauty, and divine fingerprints in every living thing. And let us live in such a way that our lives, like the hymn, become a song of praise.

Debbie Wilson