Singing with Every Creature in Heaven and on Earth!: Easter 3C
Sébastien Doane, Université Laval
Rediscovering the Creaturely in Scripture
The Bible is teeming with life — not just human life, but the lives of animals, plants, earth, and sky. While theology has often placed human beings at the center of the story, a closer reading reveals a vibrant, creaturely world deeply involved in the drama of salvation. From the blood-soaked ground that cries out to God in Genesis, to the lamb on the throne in Revelation, Scripture invites us to see beyond ourselves and into the interconnected web of creation. These reflections explore key biblical passages through an ecological and more-than-human lens — considering what happens when we take seriously the presence and participation of animals in the sacred story. What might it mean to follow a lamb, to worship with all creatures, or to encounter God in the gaze of another species? These commentaries open space for rethinking discipleship, worship, and ethics through the lens of creaturely kinship — challenging us to live more humbly, attentively, and lovingly within the community of all God's beings.
Commentary
-
This reading is the first of three accounts of Paul’s so-called “conversion” in the book of Acts. Like much of the Bible, it focuses on human experiences and their relationship with the divine. Interestingly, tradition has reshaped this human-centered narrative by inserting an element absent from the text itself: a horse.
Paul—referred to here as “Saul,” though it’s the same person—falls to the ground, but the passage never specifies whether he was walking or riding from Jerusalem to Damascus. The journey spans about 130 miles, or roughly 62 hours on foot, assuming all goes well. A donkey or horse would certainly have helped, especially for someone who could afford it.
So why do we remember a horse?
Renaissance painters almost always depict Paul falling from a horse. When we picture this scene today, many of us visualize the animal—even though the text doesn’t mention it. While some commentators point to this as an example of how we distort Scripture, there’s another way to look at it.
Of course, adding animals to biblical scenes can be seen as filling in narrative gaps. But choosing not to include them can be just as interpretive. In the ancient world, animals were woven into daily life—essential for food, labor, and travel. So even if the text is silent on the matter, imagining animals in the background is hardly unreasonable. Omitting them entirely might be just as misleading as inserting one.
Horse or no horse—does it matter?
Well, no. The heart of this story is Saul’s profound, personal transformation through his encounter with Jesus. It’s not about how he traveled, but about who he became.
But also—yes. “The higher they are, the harder they fall,” as the saying goes. To be “on your high horse” is to act superior or self-righteous. In first-century Palestine, horses were symbols of Roman power—military and political. Saul was traveling under orders from the high priest, a position often tied to Roman authority. Imagining him on horseback emphasizes the contrast: from a place of authority and control, he’s brought low, quite literally. His fall—whether from a horse or not—becomes a powerful symbol of humility, transformation, and the overturning of worldly power by divine encounter.
-
“Will the dust praise you or declare your faithfulness?”
This rhetorical question in Psalm 30 assumes we’ll respond: “No—only living humans can!” But is that really the only possible answer?In Genesis 4:10, we encounter a striking alternative: Abel’s blood cries out to the Lord from the ground. Here, the voice of a dead man—through his blood—and the soil itself act as agents that provoke divine attention to human injustice. And crucially, it works. God hears the cry that rises not from human speech, but from the earth itself.
A more joyful and expansive vision appears in Daniel 3:57–88, where all creation is invited to bless the Lord:
“Let the earth bless the Lord. Praise and exalt him above all forever.
Mountains and hills, bless the Lord.
Everything growing from the earth, bless the Lord.”This litany of praise includes not just humans, but the whole cosmos—living, growing, and elemental.
While Psalm 30 may center praise as a distinctly human response to divine deliverance, these other texts challenge a “humans-only” perspective. Instead, they invite us to consider a broader, more inclusive vision of worship—one where creation itself participates in the recognition and declaration of God’s justice and faithfulness.
-
Singing with Every Creature in Heaven and on Earth!
Traditionally, the animals in Revelation are interpreted symbolically, standing in for aspects of human relationships to the divine. However, in Revelation 5:13 we read that “every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and in the sea, and all that is in them” sing a hymn of praise. Worship, in Revelation, is far from being an exclusively human act. This passage stands as one of the most powerful New Testament expressions of the biblical theme of all creation worshiping God—a theme that has not received the attention it deserves in Christian theology.
To fully appreciate this pericope, we need to return to the preceding chapter, which introduces the four living beings (zōa): one like a lion, another like an ox, the third with a face like a human, and the fourth like a flying eagle. It's noteworthy that the figure with a human face is not placed first or last in this sequence—a subtle detail that unsettles our anthropocentric tendency to see humanity as the center of the universe.
In Revelation 4, these four creatures lead the heavenly worship, singing “Holy, holy, holy…” day and night without ceasing. Early church fathers like Irenaeus and Augustine famously interpreted them as representing the four Gospel writers. This reading re-absorbs the non-human figures back into a human-centered framework—a move that arguably misses the radical inclusiveness of Revelation’s vision. What’s really happening in Revelation 4–5 is not simply symbolic representation but a cosmic, more-than-human liturgy.
In Revelation 5, this worship is directed toward an animal: the Lamb. This figure breaks down all boundaries between humanity, animality, and divinity. The Lamb is called such—an animal. It is human in that it recalls Jesus, a man who—like many lambs—was slaughtered for the benefit of others. And it is divine, seated on the throne and receiving worship alongside God.
This interwoven worship of the Lamb involves all forms of life. Verse 11 names the participants: thousands of angels, the four living creatures, and human elders. They are then joined by “every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and in the sea, and all that is in them.” Rather than listing species, this taxonomy organizes life by location—a move that resists hierarchical classification. The message is clear: wherever they dwell, all creatures are drawn into the act of worship.
This biblical vision brings together hamsters and worms, eagles and humans, penguins, belugas, angels—every being imaginable. Humans are just one part of a vast creaturely choir with direct access to the divine.
The ethical implications of this vision are profound. If we truly believe that all creatures praise God, we can no longer treat animals merely as resources for our consumption or pleasure. We cannot affirm this passage and still accept the logics of agribusiness or petrocapitalism that exploit and destroy God's creation. Revelation 4–5 presents a vision in which creation itself participates in the divine liturgy—and this should reshape how we relate to the natural world.
The multi-species worship of Revelation challenges us to transcend human-centered spirituality. It opens us to new and transformative ways of understanding our relationship to both creation and the Creator. This more-than-human assembly is not just a poetic image—it can be the foundation for a renewed spiritual and political practice rooted in humility, kinship, and shared praise.
-
Reading John: Becoming Sheep, Becoming Shepherd
Reading the Gospel of John can transform disciples—and readers—who begin by gazing upon the Lamb (John 1), follow this quadrupedal figure, and gradually become sheep (John 10), only to be entrusted as shepherds themselves (John 21).
The disciple is inscribed in the narrative from the very beginning, in the encounter with the Lamb: “And as he watched Jesus walk by, he [John] exclaimed, ‘Look, here is the Lamb of God!’” The two disciples hear this and follow Jesus (1:36–37). The first mention of Jesus as the Lamb of God (1:29) ties his identity to the act of “taking away the sin of the world.” From an ecological perspective, this “sin” may also be understood as the rupture between the Creator’s intention and the current state of the world—a disconnection between humans and the rest of creation that the Lamb comes to heal.
Following an animal—human or otherwise—reshapes identity. Donna Haraway (2019, 40) speaks of “companion species” to describe how close interspecies relationships transform both partners over time. In the Gospel, following the Lamb initiates this transformative process.
By John 10, the Lamb becomes a shepherd, and the followers become sheep:
“I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.” (10:11)
At the Gospel’s end, this movement culminates in the resurrected Jesus' dialogue with Peter. Peter, once a sheep-disciple, is now called into the role of shepherd—responsible for the very flock that Jesus, the Shepherd-Lamb, has tended. This dialogue (John 21) emphasizes three times Peter’s love (φιλέω and ἀγαπάω) as the necessary condition for assuming this responsibility.
Verses 18–19 foreshadow Peter’s death and describe a shift in agency. In his youth, Peter could act freely: he dressed himself (ζωννύω) and walked (περιπατέω) where he chose—walking being a basic capability shared by all legged animals. In old age, however, another will gird him (ζώννυμι) and carry him (φέρω) where he does not wish to go. This loss of autonomy evokes the fate of domesticated animals and human slaves, but also mirrors Jesus’ own path as the slaughtered Lamb—led to death in a Passover context.
Giorgio Agamben and other critical animal studies scholars highlight how the human/animal boundary is porous and unstable. Historically, certain humans—like slaves—have been treated as subhuman or animal-like, their personhood denied. To be bound and led to death is the common fate of sheep, who rarely die of old age. In this context, the deaths of Jesus and Peter blur the distinction between man and beast. As Ecclesiastes 3:19 observes:
“The fate of humans and the fate of animals is the same; as one dies, so dies the other... humans have no advantage over the animals, for all is vanity.”
The final words Jesus speaks to Peter—“Follow me!” (John 21:22)—echo the Lamb’s initial call to the first disciples. Strikingly, Peter is not invited to follow at the beginning of the Gospel, but only here, at the end—after the Passion and Resurrection, after the transformation from follower to shepherd, and only once he is prepared to die out of love for the flock, just as Jesus did (John 10).
Jesus, the Lamb (John 1), who became the Shepherd (John 10), now entrusts his flock to Peter, one of his own sheep—on the condition that he loves and continues to follow, even into death by slaughter (John 21). In the Gospel of John, Jesus, Peter, disciples and readers are all invited into the fate of the lamb: to inhabit an animal body that can be destroyed, and yet paradoxically to enter into a promise of eternal life.
The Gospel begins with the incarnation of the divine in animal flesh—and ends with the call to follow that incarnate being into a new life beyond death. It is an invitation to reflect on eternal life as something that transcends and transforms our current world. In this vision, that promise is not reserved for humans alone, but opens the possibility of renewal for all creatures—human and otherwise.
Teaching and Preaching Ideas
Encountering a Lamb
Have you ever truly encountered a nonhuman animal? Not just passed by, but paused—to notice, to feel, to be present. What did you sense in that moment? How did their presence affect you? And how did yours affect them?
Have you ever watched a bird chirping in the early light? A cat playing in a sunbeam? A cow slowly chewing in the stillness of the field? Can you imagine that each of these creatures is in a living relationship with the Creator?
Philosopher Jacques Derrida once described the unsettling and humbling moment when his cat gazed at him as he stepped out of the shower—a look that led him to reconsider what it means to be human, and how profoundly distinct and other animals are. For Donna Haraway, her deep bond with her agility dog became central to her worldview—proof that relationships across species can be transformative and real.
The Bible, too, is filled with animal encounters. Jonah met a great fish, and it changed his story. Eve spoke with a serpent. The wounded man in the parable of the Good Samaritan was carried to safety on the back of an animal—an act of mercy only made possible by the creature’s strength and presence. Time and again, biblical narratives—like the stories of our own lives—are shaped by encounters with animals.
What are your own stories? Has an animal encounter ever changed the way you see yourself, the world, or even God?
It may sound strange—silly, even—to suggest we follow a lamb. But what if we did? What would it mean to walk behind a vulnerable, gentle creature? Could such a path reconnect us to other lives, lead us to care more deeply, even to the point of self-sacrifice?
Imagine Ourselves Worshiping with Other Creatures
The awe-inspiring visions of Revelation push the boundaries of our imagination. But what if we tried to see them—really see them?
Close your eyes for a moment. Can you picture the four living beings: one like a lion, one like an ox, one with the face of a human, and one like a soaring eagle? Can you envision a slaughtered Lamb seated on a throne, radiant and victorious?
Now imagine every creature—every bird, worm, whale, spider, sheep, and human—joining together in a song of worship. Can you hear that interspecies chorus? Can you sense the harmony of voices not just human, but cosmic and creaturely?
What does such a vision mean for how we think about Church? About salvation? About ethics? Might this image invite us to imagine a broader, more inclusive spiritual community? A Church where all creation has a voice? Might it inspire us to live differently—to act with humility, compassion, and kinship toward all living beings?
Perhaps in worshiping together with other creatures, we could begin to heal the fractures between humanity and the rest of creation. Perhaps this is not just a vision of the end—but a call for the present. A way of seeing. A way of living.
Sources and Resources
Bible Odyssey’s pages on The Bible and the Environment
https://www.bibleodyssey.org/collection/the-bible-and-the-environment/
Contributor bio
Professor of biblical studies at Université Laval, Sébastien Doane is cochair of the Society of Biblical Literature The Bible and Animal Studies unit. He recently published Reading the Bible amid the Environmental Crisis Interdisciplinary Insights to Ecological Hermeneutics, Lexington, 2024. He is also editor for Routledge The Bible and Ecology book series.
Image description
Image is a small table from above. A child in a red dress sits at the table, playing with an assortment of wooden animal toys and blocks.