Spoken into Creation

Genesis 1:1-2:4a

There is a restaurant in Austin Texas called El Arroyo. It has become famous, not for its food, but for its sign. Every day they put up some new witty saying – often reflecting an issue of the day, sometimes just weird and off-the-wall.  Like this one: There’s no way that “everybody” was Kung Fu fighting. 

Or: 90% of marriage is shouting “What” from different rooms.

Or this one: We all think we’re smart until we try to turn on someone else’s shower.

The sign has become a marketing bonanza for El Arroyo. They’re happy to sell you coasters, magnets, tea towels, Christmas ornaments with some of the cleverest sayings from over the years. It’s way more popular than the restaurant, and it caught my attention because, many years ago, I worked at the restaurant – for about five minutes.

I started working there as a waitress when I was in graduate school. I had worked in other restaurants before – I thought this job would be okay. But then I had a run-in with the manager. I was going about my work and suddenly she snapped at me so harshly I jumped. I didn’t respond to it very well; I called her the next day to give her my notice. She said don’t even bother to come back.

This was unfortunate because it could have gone so differently. It’s so easy to ask for something kindly rather than scream murderously.

And that is one of the things that struck me this week as I spent time with this creation story from Genesis 1. God speaks the world into existence – gently, gently.

Let there be light.  Let there be; it’s like a suggestion from the creator of the world, from the source of all wisdom. It’s as though God looked around at this formless, wet, dark, limitless void and out of pure goodness thought to do something about it. “Let us bring light into this void,” God said, because God is light.

Then God separated the light from the dark, giving order to the cycle of days. And God then tackled the waters. There is much to say about water.

Ancient people had a healthy fear of water. Water is a forceful thing, a chaotic thing – storms, floods, mudslides. People have always known that water has the power to give life, but also has the power, when unleashed, to take life.

The story imagines that God’s first act to tame the waters was to separate the waters into the water above and the water below. When these people looked up at the blue sky they imagined that it was all water, and that God had created a dome which protected us from the waters above. And the dome was called sky.

Then God turned back to the earth and gathered the waters together, organizing the wet and the dry, so plants would have a place to be and grow. In a similar way, God ordered the lights in the sky, separating day from night. Then God went about the business of creating life.

Creatures of all kinds, we are told, God says, let there be. The creatures that walk and creep upon the land, the creatures that fly in the sky, the creatures that swim in the seas – every kind, let there be. The rich diversity of life on this planet is God’s good intention of how it should be.

Finally, God created humankind. God spoke us into existence, saying “Let us create humankind in our image.” And God created them in God’s image; male and female, God created them in God’s image.

Notice that this is different from what we read in the second chapter, the second creation story about Adam and Eve. They are different stories, coming out of different traditions, each with its own purpose. The story of Adam and Eve, you might say, is the “Why Bad Things Happen to Good People,” version. The story we have before us today, the first story, is the grand, ordered narrative where God is at the center of it all, where God reveals the goodness that is God’s essence.

At every stage of creation, God declared God’s pleasure with it. “It is good.” And at the end, God said, “It is very good.” Then God rested.

And this is, perhaps, the most extraordinary thing of all. God rests, and the planets still spin. God rests, and the rains fall, the sun shines, day follows night, season follows season; plants, animals, and humans are born and live and grow and die, then new lives begin; and so it goes, on and on. And God rests.

This is not to say that God grew bored with the world and disengaged from it. The rest of the scriptures make very clear that God is deeply connected to us and the whole creation. Isn’t it fascinating, though, that God can let go? And that we, of course, are called to do the same.

As God rests, so should we. God made us as co-creators of this beautiful world along with God. And I assume we are to follow God’s lead. As God is gentle and kind, as God takes pleasure in the creation, so shall we.

The commandment that would come later says, “Remember the Sabbath and keep it holy.” We would do well to remember it.

We might remember the Sabbath as a statement of our inherent worth to God – a worth that is given to each one of us in equal measure. As I read this story of creation, I see it as a story of gift. God holds the world lightly, with grace and blessing, and takes sacred joy in this creation. How could we ever imagine that we should do any differently?

Hold it lightly, as God holds the creation lightly. Know that we are all, every one of us on this earth, created in God’s image. Hold it lightly, with an open hand, not a closed fist. We are all, every one of us, worthy.

Remember this as we hear the invitation to the table today. All are welcome, there is room enough for everyone.

Remember this throughout your week – as you go about your tasks and as you listen to the news. All have the right to food and shelter and human dignity.

God made this beautiful world with enough for us all. And we each have a hand in keeping it this way.

Let there be.

Photo by Rahul Pandit: https://www.pexels.com/photo/photo-of-person-s-hand-with-paint-colors-3893650/