The title Pilgrim at Tinker Creek suggests a core theme of seeking God. A "pilgrim" typically describes someone journeying to a sacred site, and for the narrator, Tinker Creek holds as much sanctity as a church. At this place, she encounters divine grace in its purest form: "So many things have been shown me on these banks, so much light has illumined me by reflection here where the water comes down, that I can hardly believe that this grace never flags." By using water to symbolize God's presence and grace, Dillard draws on a longstanding religious tradition.

In the book, Dillard delves into the contrast between heaven and Earth, depicting God as the creator of both beauty and terror. The book's imagery frequently emphasizes nature's beauty and complexity, reflecting God's grace. The narrator senses God's generosity in every sunset, egg case, and snake skin. Yet, she also confronts nature's harsh realities, like a praying mantis consuming her mate or parasite infestations, prompting her to ask, "What kind of a world is this, anyway?" She ponders whether cruelty is part of God's design, speculating that perhaps God has crafted "a fabric of spirit and sense so grand and subtle, so powerful in a new way, that we can only feel blindly of its hem." Ultimately, she appears to conclude that humans must embrace life's contradictions, accepting both death and darkness as essential to the cycle of life and light.

Dillard's profound knowledge of the Bible is evident through the numerous biblical quotes and references throughout the text. Central to her perspective is the belief that the natural world provides spiritual insight. Just as the narrator has learned to approach wild animals with patience, she must also seek God, finding Him where and as He is.

A recurring theme in Pilgrim at Tinker Creek is the narrator's struggle to choose between immersing herself in nature and engaging with human society. She seems to lack close connections with other people. Although she occasionally mentions playing baseball or pinochle—activities that require others—she never reveals who her companions are. She is familiar with local boys and knows the names of property owners along Tinker Creek and those at risk of flooding. However, she shows no strong feelings, positive or negative, about any human interactions. While a puppy or a sunrise can leave her in awe, people do not evoke the same reaction.

Her isolation is both inevitable and intentional. On one hand, she feels different from others. She doesn't know anyone else who gets as enthusiastic about slugs and spiders as she does, and sometimes she feels like "a freak." More importantly, she has chosen solitude, preferring the natural world over the urban one. She has experienced both, and in "The Present," she recalls the "human companionship, major-league baseball, and a clatter of quickening stimulus like a rush from strong drugs that leaves you drained." Human connection can be distracting, making it difficult to remain in the present. In the same chapter, she nearly slips into a memory of dancing and music from the past, but forces herself to let go: "I stir. The heave of my shoulders returns me to the present … and I yank myself away, shove off, seeking live water."

Although the persona exploring Tinker Creek from January to December 1972 lives alone with only goldfish and spiders for company, Annie Dillard was married and living with her husband when she wrote the book. She spent a lot of time volunteering in her community, meeting with a writing group, and socializing with friends. The narrator's solitude is, therefore, a deliberate creation...