by Chris Koellhoffer, IHM October 18, 2026
Right now, in my corner of the world, there’s a riot going on. A riot of color, wild and extravagant. In this part of densely wooded Pennsylvania, autumn is showing off, dressed in glittering gold, fiery crimson, sunburst orange. This is perhaps the most vibrant fall in memory, one without a single pale, washed-out tint in sight. I gasp and gasp and gasp and want to fall on my knees and name my gratitude.
These days, driving on the Casey Highway with its elevated mountaintop view or navigating Business Route 6 requires a certain discipline, demanding I keep my eyes fixed on the road rather than wandering off in the direction of beckoning trees. Sadly, soon after drinking in miles of spectacular beauty, I’m jarred by a somber, unexpected sight: acres of felled trees, mowed down and flattened as if by some giant’s hand. New construction? Data centers? No signage hints at the reason for the disappearance of our leafy neighbors.
Immediately, my spirit sinks. You might think I’d be impervious to heartache after having witnessed daily news cycles of the human family’s cruelty, of homes and cities bombed into dust, of desperate refugees longing for safety yet met with violence and separation, of precious oceans littered and their inhabitants choked by disposables, of the multitude of ways our world is wounded by indifference and greed. These repeated scenes can erode a sense of hopefulness, can strike us songless like the exiles in Psalm 137 as we lament and weep.
And I wonder: what match is the beauty of autumn against the visible actions and attitudes that oppose God’s dream for our world? The trees and I, longtime friends, have been in the kind of discussion Mary Oliver describes in Thirst: “Love for you and love for the earth are having such a long conversation in my heart.” As I listen, I hear the trees share their primal wisdom. Resist, they say. After all, isn’t that what beauty can be: a form of subliminal resistance?
The trees observe that at other times of the year, we tend to take them for granted and pass them by. But in autumn, as they shine in radiant glory, we’re impelled to slow down. We stop. We pause. We may spend a weekend strolling or hiking or biking just to be near them. We may even get out of our cars and focus our binoculars to zoom in on their fleeting beauty.
And even when trees surrender their foliage, we seem to want to linger, to accompany them still. To make art out of their falling. To gather them together for play. To jump into piles and toss them into the air with abandon. Perhaps to cover the earth with them in a protective blanket for the slumbering life below.
In autumn, it seems, the forest senses a subtle difference in our energy and focus and re-directs our attention. Isn’t that what happens when we encounter the transforming power of beauty? With respect to Sister Wendy Beckett, try substituting “beauty” for the word “art” in her observation, “All art that draws us to look at it is deeply spiritual. Art accepts all the sadness, and transforms it, implicitly affirming that beauty is essentially the presence of God.” May the Holy One console us through this autumn gift as we grieve, contemplate, and move into action for the sake of our beloved planet.
We intuitively sense that beauty moves us. That our heartbeats quicken. That we’re somehow softened by wonder and awe. That we simply can’t depart the peaceful panorama of maples and oaks, aspens and birch, and remain as we were on our first gazing. That when we finally say good-bye at season’s end, we leave mysteriously shaken by what we’ve witnessed, more given over to stillness and reflection, and so much better equipped to resist all that stands in opposition to the Holy One’s dream, our dream, for Earth and all who call her home.
Especially in the season of autumn, let’s give the trees time to work their magic and to help transform not only us, but our beautiful yet wounded world, one colorful leaf at a time. May it be so!
Takeaway
Enter into stillness with the Holy One.
Today or any day, take time to dwell in the presence of whatever form of natural beauty captures your heart.
Immerse yourself in the focus of your gaze.
When you’re ready to move on, join your prayer with the millions of neighbors around the world who share your hope for a world marked by works of justice and attitudes of peace.
Featured Images: Ciocan Ciprian, Unsplash; Sophie Bonneau, Unsplash
NOTE:
Please hold in your prayer today and in the days ahead the millions of people working to protect the right to vote and to work towards a world marked by the fullness of inclusion. Thank you to all who show up in myriad ways to advance this dream.
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