Creation Series #2
June 11, 2007
Many people believe that the creation stories tell us a great deal about humanity and about the world we live in. Although I believe that’s true, I think we often forget to examine what the creation stories tell us about God.
So let’s begin in the beginning: Genesis 2:4-25.
But wait, you say! How is chapter 2 the beginning? Shouldn’t we start with chapter 1? Well, actually, the first two chapters of Genesis comprise two entirely separate creation accounts which use distinct vocabulary, style, and structure, indicators that they come from different periods. Over time, these two different narratives were combined into the document we now know as the Torah.
Of the two, the second is older and so instead of starting with ‚ÄúIn the beginning, when God created the heavens and the earth…‚Äù (Gen 1:1) we’ll start with ‚ÄúIn the day that the Lord God made the earth and heavens…‚Äù (Gen 2:4)
What does this story tell us about God? First, it tells us that God is immanent, real, and above all, creative. Adam (heb: ‘adam) is not created out of nothing, he is created out of dirt (heb: ‘adamah). Furthermore, the when God forms Adam from the soil, the same verb (yatzar) is used that you would use for a potter making a bowl. God is not some abstract spirit thinking (or speaking) the world into existence; instead God is a craftsman with rolled up sleeves, an artist with brush in hand, a real, physical presence in the world which sculpts the earth and breathes into Adam’s nostrils.
The story also tells us this creative God is collaborative, both in shaping the world and in shaping human history. There is no fatalism here, no sense of any ineffable divine plan; to the contrary, God seems to be improvising.
First, Adam is made and given food to eat. When God notices that Adam is alone, all the animals and birds of the world are crafted to keep Adam company. Each new creation is brought to Adam for naming, making him a partner in the creative process.
This is such a playful, childlike image. I’m reminded of the many finger paintings and lego constructions I made as a kid – immediately upon completing a project I would run to my parents and present it for approval. Imagine God having the intense concentration of a child at work, making giraffes and hedgehogs and redwoods, and joyfully gushing, ‚ÄúAdam, Adam! What do you think of this one?‚Äù
Adam, for his part, gives them names, validating and affirming God’s efforts, being as patient and appreciative an audience as my parents were for me. This must have gone on for quite a while, because God did not make just one of everything, he made fields of lilies, flocks of birds, and forests of pine ‚Äì the joyful act of creation being repeated over and over, just like a gleeful child saying ‚ÄúDo it again! Do it again!‚Äù
Ultimately, Adam and God are unable to make a true partner for Adam out of the soil. So together they make Eve, God providing the creative energy and Adam providing the raw materials from his own body. Adam and Eve cling to one another, become one flesh, and the chapter ends.
The divine improvisation is not complete, however, for at this point the future is open-ended. No forbidden fruit has been eaten, no children have been born, no cities have been built, and all the creatures of the world wonder what might come next.
So what does this mean? It means that our actions matter. If we are co-creators with God, then global warming matters. If we are co-creators with God, then nuclear proliferation matters. If we are co-creators with God, then urban sprawl matters. This creation story rejects the divine watchmaker, who created the earth and then left it to run on its own, but it also rejects the all-powerful master of fate, in whose hands rests the future of the world. As inheritors of Adam, we are called to join with God in creative, improvisatory collaboration, bringing things of joy and beauty into the world and caring for the things that are already here.