a reflective paraphrase of the biblical report on the most important moment in history

The story of everything you’ve ever seen, everyone you’ve ever heard about, and every place you’ve ever been begins the same way:

“In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness covered the surface of the watery depths, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the surface of the waters.” (Genesis 1:1-2, CSB)

But you’ve read those words. You’ve heard them countless times. Allow me to paraphrase them for you. But you’re going to have to focus. Stop thinking about everything else for a moment.

Focus.

Quit looking around and incessantly do-ing.

Focus.

Give this five minutes of your time.

Focus.

Right when nothing was suddenly displaced by everything: God.

When out of nowhere, everywhere was surprisingly there: God.

Where the train of time first began bouncing down its bumpy tracks, and the inexorable line began adding before to its after: God.

Elohim, the Hebrew Scriptures call Him. Elohim, a plural name, working in such singular unity that His actions are singular verbs. The point of everything, the star of the show, the Alpha before the beginning, and, spoiler alert, the Omega going beyond the ending, is introduced but without any real introduction. As we read, we are like concertgoers who’ve been given tickets to a show for an artist we know nothing about. We sit in darkness, complete and total stillness. No hearts beating, no lungs breathing, no clocks ticking, no amplifiers humming, no LEDs glowing.

We sit.

We wait.

We wonder.

We expect a spotlight, a screen to blaze a hype video, an emcee to tell us something, anything.

Instead, and without warning, a symphonic crescendo blasts into our senses. Quasars and quantum foam, spinning galaxies and silver stars, imperceptibly tiny atoms and imperceptibly massive angels come whirling up and around and through, crashing into our still senseless senses. We don’t know what they are, just that they are and are way beyond our control.

In the middle of it all, we gasp at the sucking vacuum spaces interdwelling in the great everything surrounding us, crushing us beneath the tremendous multitude of its mysteries and matter. A voice like many waters speaks, and suddenly we sense a vast water that ripples and roars beneath and around and over us. There is no light, no up, no sense of order. All is chaos and violence and darkness.

But we are not overwhelmed. We are not crushed. We are not perishing. For in the midst of all the furious futility, we know, though we do not know how, that hope is hovering just above and slightly beyond the chaos, far enough not to be caught up in it but close enough to engage and intervene. That floating presence gives us peace, its unseen light points us toward love, its sovereign position promises us salvation.

And that’s enough for us to take our eyes off the crazy chaos and fix them on the Creator who reigns. Enough for us to respond to Him in worship. Even if this is where the story ended, it would be enough to draw our hearts to Him in praise. But this isn’t where the story ends…it’s just where it begins