God and Nature 2025 #4
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By Lori Christerson
After Jesus rose from the dead, He appeared to Mary Magdalene. In her grief, she didn’t recognize Him at first and mistook Him for a gardener. It wasn’t until He called her by name that she realized who He was (John 20:11-18). The truth revealed in the Gospel of John is that Christ often shows up in ways we least expect. Christ is right in front of us, hidden in plain sight, showing up in the people we pass by, in the faces of our friends, and in the most unexpected place of all—inside ourselves.
Consider the story of Elijah, who fled into the wilderness feeling defeated and alone after facing immense challenges (1 Kings 19:1-18). Isolated and despairing, he felt utterly abandoned. In his moment of deepest loneliness, God met him—not in the wind, earthquake, or fire, but in a gentle whisper. In the stillness and peace of his heart, Elijah was reminded that he was not alone.
God whispers to us in our quiet moments of need, reminding us of His steady presence and eternal love. When friendships, health, family, or finances fail us, or when we face loneliness, God reminds us of His eternal friendship. Hebrews 13:5 reads: "Let your conduct be without covetousness; be content with such things as you have. For He Himself has said, ‘I will never leave you nor forsake you'" (NKJV). In Him, we find not only the Father who never lets us down but also the inner strength and hope to face our earthly lives without fear. But let’s be real—for some of us, or perhaps many of us, it’s not an easy task to make that connection with Christ within ourselves. For me, building that divine connection seemed impossible because I felt I couldn’t believe in something too good to be true.
After Jesus rose from the dead, He appeared to Mary Magdalene. In her grief, she didn’t recognize Him at first and mistook Him for a gardener. It wasn’t until He called her by name that she realized who He was (John 20:11-18). The truth revealed in the Gospel of John is that Christ often shows up in ways we least expect. Christ is right in front of us, hidden in plain sight, showing up in the people we pass by, in the faces of our friends, and in the most unexpected place of all—inside ourselves.
Consider the story of Elijah, who fled into the wilderness feeling defeated and alone after facing immense challenges (1 Kings 19:1-18). Isolated and despairing, he felt utterly abandoned. In his moment of deepest loneliness, God met him—not in the wind, earthquake, or fire, but in a gentle whisper. In the stillness and peace of his heart, Elijah was reminded that he was not alone.
God whispers to us in our quiet moments of need, reminding us of His steady presence and eternal love. When friendships, health, family, or finances fail us, or when we face loneliness, God reminds us of His eternal friendship. Hebrews 13:5 reads: "Let your conduct be without covetousness; be content with such things as you have. For He Himself has said, ‘I will never leave you nor forsake you'" (NKJV). In Him, we find not only the Father who never lets us down but also the inner strength and hope to face our earthly lives without fear. But let’s be real—for some of us, or perhaps many of us, it’s not an easy task to make that connection with Christ within ourselves. For me, building that divine connection seemed impossible because I felt I couldn’t believe in something too good to be true.
...it pointed to a grand design and purpose that could both create and bring such a complex system to life. |
When I was a toddler, circumstances of life moved my parents and me across the country, far from the embrace of extended family that had been my entire world on the East Coast. Thus, I grew up in the heart of America’s Bible Belt—in a town where churches weren’t just abundant, but the lifeblood of the community.
In my town, there seemed to be a steeple on every corner. As a young child, I remember driving past those beautiful, towering buildings with their intricate stained-glass windows. Curious, I asked my parents, “What are those buildings with all the colored windows?” With a casual shrug, they replied, “Oh, those are churches.” They then explained that we don’t go there because we don’t believe in God—that stuff is just a fairy tale people tell themselves to feel better about dying. For someone so young, those words cut deep, like a wound without a blade. As I grew older, my heart ached for a better answer. And so, as a young adult, I had an existential crisis. I was perpetually on the outside looking in, watching my friends find comfort in their beliefs while I stumbled blindly through life in doubt and confusion. I had no one to turn to for guidance, and my search for meaning became something distant and forgotten, like a dusty book left untouched on a shelf.
The wound in my soul hardened into a scar somewhere in the dark recesses of my heart. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something vital was missing. And though I was instinctively drawn to a truth my heart couldn’t ignore, finding my faith felt like trying to solve an enigma wrapped in a puzzle, buried inside a riddle.
Then, one day, a friend invited me to attend a church youth group across town. There I was, sitting in a kind stranger's living room with twelve other teenagers, eating cookies and sipping fruit punch, reading and speaking the words of a Lord I’d never personally known.
It was startling, to say the least. For the first time, I felt a small flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was relief for the loneliness and uncertainty I carried inside. The parables in the Gospels felt like a natural truth that resonated deeply. After that, I returned to Bible study, allowing the divine guidance from the Holy Bible to fill the God-shaped hole in my heart with love, joy, and truth.
If it could only be that simple… The voice of doubt—the one my parents had planted so long ago—quickly stepped in to ruin my sense of peace. The tightness from that childhood scar of disbelief kept tugging at me, evaporating my newfound sense of joy and contentment. I couldn’t shake the feeling that faith was an impossible goal for me. I felt like my faith was an illusion, like I would always be searching for something I could never recognize.
The more I tried to grasp at faith, the more I realized I was reaching for a King I couldn’t see, someone I couldn’t truly know, someone just out of reach. Yet even feeling blind to faith, I was determined to keep trying. I opened my eyes wide, searching for a connection with God—one that would strengthen me from the inside out, offering a kind of support and courage I had never had.
Most everyone has times when we get bogged down in the details of life, feeling abandoned and lost as we face fear that blinds us in our faith. Follow your heart, and in times of doubt, keep showing up. In time, you will hear God’s voice and will find the courage to ignore the lies that fear tells you.
Let me take you back to the moment when everything began to change for me. I rediscovered my faith in the unlikeliest of places: within the ivory tower of science itself. As a graduate student studying molecular biology, I became fluent in the language of DNA, the genetic code in which the instructions to make living things, including a complete human being, are written. One day, I found myself standing in the lab, staring at a sequence of DNA, and for the first time, I wasn’t just seeing molecules and structures. I wasn’t just observing the usual patterns and formulas. At that moment, everything clicked. The riddle I had been trying to solve finally made sense: DNA wasn’t a random collection of molecules that evolved over eons to build life. It was so intricate and precise that it built and maintained life itself.
And how could mere molecules do all of this? This realization pointed to something far beyond the microscopic structures I was studying—it pointed to a grand design and purpose that could both create and bring such a complex system to life. I began to see the parallels between the genetic code and the codes we use in technology. And if a molecular code can design beings that somehow in turn know how to design artificial intelligence independently of DNA, isn’t life itself part of a grander design? A design that transcends the material world?
Around the same time, I picked up a book written by one of my favorite contemporary scientists, Dr. Francis Collins, a physician-geneticist and the former director of the National Institutes of Health (NIH). Collins, who led the Human Genome Project, wrote about this idea in his 2006 book The Language of God: A Scientist Presents Evidence for Belief. In the book, Collins discusses how the complexity and elegance of DNA, as well as the genetic code, which he termed “the language of God,” led him to see evidence of a divine creator.
I remembered the verse from the Bible that speaks about God’s mysteries, about how our imagination and creativity are the keys to understanding the divine: "What no eye has seen, what no ear has heard, and what no human mind has conceived—[these are] the things God has prepared for those who love him" (1 Corinthians 2:9, NIV). This verse had always resonated with me, but on that day in the lab, it took on new meaning.
I had the key all along, and I didn’t even realize it. The veil had lifted, and I could see how much of God’s plan was woven into the very fabric of creation, but I had been so focused on the ingredients of life that I had missed the most important ingredient of all: the creative act of our imagination to make all things new. My imagination rekindled my faith, and the realization that the kingdom of God was within the very foundation of my being took on profound meaning. "[N]or will they say, 'See here!' or 'See there!' For indeed, the kingdom of God is within you" (Luke 17:21, NKJV). Indeed, the truth had set me free! Each of us holds the key to the door connecting us to God. When we dare to use our imaginations, we will remember that the kingdom of God is within us, within the very DNA that makes us who we are.
The eureka moment in the lab was pivotal, but the real work came in the consistent steps of changing my habits of mind. I had been lost on the side-trails of doubt for so long, and I needed to strengthen my path by committing to daily spiritual practice. It was as if, over time, my faith was being woven into a suit of armor—not just any armor, but the clothing of the Holy Spirit.
With each passing day, my faith grew stronger until it wrapped around me completely. The fears, anxieties, and self-doubts that had often threatened to overwhelm me became insignificant in the presence of Christ’s divine strength. Today, I am no longer blown about by the winds of change. I am anchored in His Truth; the chaos in today’s world no longer has the power to bend me towards fear. I see the fruits of my transformation in my shift from my medical research career to high school biology teacher at a Catholic school.
Jesus is no longer in disguise for me. I can see Him in my students and my colleagues. I feel joy knowing that I am helping my students and fellow teachers discover the strength they carry within, empowered to claim God’s love for themselves. We are, indeed, Christ in disguise for one another. Together, we help each other to see the Divine within each of us. Remember this the next time you look into the eyes of another, for you may be looking at Christ Himself, hidden in plain sight, waiting to be recognized, loved, and embraced.
Lori Christerson, BS in Chemistry and PhD in genetics, is a high school biology teacher at Bishop Brady High School, and an adjunct professor in the Community College System of New Hampshire.
In my town, there seemed to be a steeple on every corner. As a young child, I remember driving past those beautiful, towering buildings with their intricate stained-glass windows. Curious, I asked my parents, “What are those buildings with all the colored windows?” With a casual shrug, they replied, “Oh, those are churches.” They then explained that we don’t go there because we don’t believe in God—that stuff is just a fairy tale people tell themselves to feel better about dying. For someone so young, those words cut deep, like a wound without a blade. As I grew older, my heart ached for a better answer. And so, as a young adult, I had an existential crisis. I was perpetually on the outside looking in, watching my friends find comfort in their beliefs while I stumbled blindly through life in doubt and confusion. I had no one to turn to for guidance, and my search for meaning became something distant and forgotten, like a dusty book left untouched on a shelf.
The wound in my soul hardened into a scar somewhere in the dark recesses of my heart. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something vital was missing. And though I was instinctively drawn to a truth my heart couldn’t ignore, finding my faith felt like trying to solve an enigma wrapped in a puzzle, buried inside a riddle.
Then, one day, a friend invited me to attend a church youth group across town. There I was, sitting in a kind stranger's living room with twelve other teenagers, eating cookies and sipping fruit punch, reading and speaking the words of a Lord I’d never personally known.
It was startling, to say the least. For the first time, I felt a small flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was relief for the loneliness and uncertainty I carried inside. The parables in the Gospels felt like a natural truth that resonated deeply. After that, I returned to Bible study, allowing the divine guidance from the Holy Bible to fill the God-shaped hole in my heart with love, joy, and truth.
If it could only be that simple… The voice of doubt—the one my parents had planted so long ago—quickly stepped in to ruin my sense of peace. The tightness from that childhood scar of disbelief kept tugging at me, evaporating my newfound sense of joy and contentment. I couldn’t shake the feeling that faith was an impossible goal for me. I felt like my faith was an illusion, like I would always be searching for something I could never recognize.
The more I tried to grasp at faith, the more I realized I was reaching for a King I couldn’t see, someone I couldn’t truly know, someone just out of reach. Yet even feeling blind to faith, I was determined to keep trying. I opened my eyes wide, searching for a connection with God—one that would strengthen me from the inside out, offering a kind of support and courage I had never had.
Most everyone has times when we get bogged down in the details of life, feeling abandoned and lost as we face fear that blinds us in our faith. Follow your heart, and in times of doubt, keep showing up. In time, you will hear God’s voice and will find the courage to ignore the lies that fear tells you.
Let me take you back to the moment when everything began to change for me. I rediscovered my faith in the unlikeliest of places: within the ivory tower of science itself. As a graduate student studying molecular biology, I became fluent in the language of DNA, the genetic code in which the instructions to make living things, including a complete human being, are written. One day, I found myself standing in the lab, staring at a sequence of DNA, and for the first time, I wasn’t just seeing molecules and structures. I wasn’t just observing the usual patterns and formulas. At that moment, everything clicked. The riddle I had been trying to solve finally made sense: DNA wasn’t a random collection of molecules that evolved over eons to build life. It was so intricate and precise that it built and maintained life itself.
And how could mere molecules do all of this? This realization pointed to something far beyond the microscopic structures I was studying—it pointed to a grand design and purpose that could both create and bring such a complex system to life. I began to see the parallels between the genetic code and the codes we use in technology. And if a molecular code can design beings that somehow in turn know how to design artificial intelligence independently of DNA, isn’t life itself part of a grander design? A design that transcends the material world?
Around the same time, I picked up a book written by one of my favorite contemporary scientists, Dr. Francis Collins, a physician-geneticist and the former director of the National Institutes of Health (NIH). Collins, who led the Human Genome Project, wrote about this idea in his 2006 book The Language of God: A Scientist Presents Evidence for Belief. In the book, Collins discusses how the complexity and elegance of DNA, as well as the genetic code, which he termed “the language of God,” led him to see evidence of a divine creator.
I remembered the verse from the Bible that speaks about God’s mysteries, about how our imagination and creativity are the keys to understanding the divine: "What no eye has seen, what no ear has heard, and what no human mind has conceived—[these are] the things God has prepared for those who love him" (1 Corinthians 2:9, NIV). This verse had always resonated with me, but on that day in the lab, it took on new meaning.
I had the key all along, and I didn’t even realize it. The veil had lifted, and I could see how much of God’s plan was woven into the very fabric of creation, but I had been so focused on the ingredients of life that I had missed the most important ingredient of all: the creative act of our imagination to make all things new. My imagination rekindled my faith, and the realization that the kingdom of God was within the very foundation of my being took on profound meaning. "[N]or will they say, 'See here!' or 'See there!' For indeed, the kingdom of God is within you" (Luke 17:21, NKJV). Indeed, the truth had set me free! Each of us holds the key to the door connecting us to God. When we dare to use our imaginations, we will remember that the kingdom of God is within us, within the very DNA that makes us who we are.
The eureka moment in the lab was pivotal, but the real work came in the consistent steps of changing my habits of mind. I had been lost on the side-trails of doubt for so long, and I needed to strengthen my path by committing to daily spiritual practice. It was as if, over time, my faith was being woven into a suit of armor—not just any armor, but the clothing of the Holy Spirit.
With each passing day, my faith grew stronger until it wrapped around me completely. The fears, anxieties, and self-doubts that had often threatened to overwhelm me became insignificant in the presence of Christ’s divine strength. Today, I am no longer blown about by the winds of change. I am anchored in His Truth; the chaos in today’s world no longer has the power to bend me towards fear. I see the fruits of my transformation in my shift from my medical research career to high school biology teacher at a Catholic school.
Jesus is no longer in disguise for me. I can see Him in my students and my colleagues. I feel joy knowing that I am helping my students and fellow teachers discover the strength they carry within, empowered to claim God’s love for themselves. We are, indeed, Christ in disguise for one another. Together, we help each other to see the Divine within each of us. Remember this the next time you look into the eyes of another, for you may be looking at Christ Himself, hidden in plain sight, waiting to be recognized, loved, and embraced.
Lori Christerson, BS in Chemistry and PhD in genetics, is a high school biology teacher at Bishop Brady High School, and an adjunct professor in the Community College System of New Hampshire.