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Romans 1:19–20 “Since what may be known about God is plain to them, because God has made it plain to them. For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse.”

Think

Some things in life are hard to understand. Quantum physics. IRS tax code. Why you can never find matching socks. But then there are things that are so obvious, we’re almost embarrassed to admit we missed them.

That’s how Paul talks about God’s revelation in this passage. He says God hasn’t hidden from us. He hasn’t left us in the dark. His fingerprints are everywhere. His eternal power and divine nature are woven into the world he made. The problem isn’t that he’s hard to see—it’s that we’ve trained ourselves not to look.

It’s like trying to read a map while ignoring the landmarks. The signs are there, but we’re too busy looking down to notice. Paul is saying creation is one giant billboard pointing us toward a Creator. The mountains preach majesty. The oceans echo depth. The sunrise tells a story of new mercies. And the human heart—that deep, aching sense that we were made for something more—is not a glitch. It’s a clue.

God has made himself plain, Paul says. The word means “obvious, evident, unmistakable.” This isn’t about needing a seminary degree. This is about the undeniable pull in your soul when you stand under a night sky and something inside you whispers, “There’s no way this is random.” But we’ve gotten really good at ignoring the obvious.

It’s like walking through an art gallery and pretending the paintings just appeared. Imagine someone standing in front of Van Gogh’s Starry Night saying, “I’m not convinced anyone made this. Probably just happened over time.” That sounds ridiculous. And yet, we often treat creation with that kind of selective blindness. We see beauty but deny the Artist. We experience order but reject the Designer.

Paul is pressing into that disconnect. He’s saying, look around. Look within. Look up. God is not hiding. He’s revealing. And not just in the spectacular—the Grand Canyon or the northern lights—but in the ordinary. The rhythm of seasons. The detail of DNA. The way a baby instinctively knows to grasp a finger. These are not accidents. They’re invitations.

But here’s the uncomfortable part. Paul says that because this revelation is so clear, no one has an excuse. That doesn’t mean everyone has full knowledge of the gospel. But it does mean everyone has been given a reason to reach. A reason to wonder. A reason to acknowledge that there’s more than what we can see.

This is what theologians call general revelation. It’s the idea that God reveals himself to all people, at all times, through the world he made. It’s not enough to save you—but it’s more than enough to stir your soul. Enough to point you toward the truth. Enough to make you ask questions, hunger for answers, and recognize that you are not the center of the universe.

But if we ignore that revelation long enough, something starts to shift. We become numb to awe. Bored with beauty. Suspicious of wonder. What should draw us to God starts to feel like background noise.

It’s like when you buy a new air freshener. At first, it’s all you can smell. But over time, your nose adjusts. The scent is still there—you’ve just tuned it out. Creation works the same way. If you stop letting it speak, eventually you stop hearing it at all. And once that happens, you’re left with a world full of wonder but a heart full of apathy.

The tragedy isn’t just that people reject God’s truth—it’s that they reject his nearness. He is so close. Closer than breath. He’s speaking through the rustling leaves, the crashing waves, the quiet stillness of early morning. Not in a mystical way, but in a relational one. He is the God who reveals, not the God who hides. But we have to want to see him.

If your soul feels dry right now, ask yourself: “When was the last time I let creation preach to me?” When was the last time you stood in silence and let the sky remind you that God is vast? When did you last notice a flower blooming and remember that God is faithful? When did you last hear thunder and remember that God is powerful?

These aren’t just poetic ideas. They’re pathways. Roads that lead from everyday beauty to eternal reality. You don’t have to wait for a sermon to hear God speak. He’s already preaching. Through what he’s made. Through what you’re walking past every single day. Maybe it’s time to slow down and look again.

Apply

Today, take a ten-minute walk with no music, no phone, no noise. Let creation speak. Look for something that reflects God’s power or presence. When you find it, say out loud, “God, I see you here.” Let your surroundings become sacred ground.

Pray

God, forgive me for how often I miss you in plain sight. You are not hiding. You’re revealing. I want to see again. Wake me up to wonder. Teach me to pay attention. Let the world you made stir worship in me—not because it’s beautiful, but because you are. In Jesus’ name. Amen.