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Biology II was held in a corner classroom on the second floor of my high school. Desks were situated in groups of five. I usually got to class early after lunch, and I was often greeted by a friend who liked to make fun of the books I read at my desk before the lecture started—J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter, Philip Pullman’s Dark Materials, V.C. Andrews’ Flowers in the Attic. Faded posters lined the concrete walls—diagrams of cell structures, the human skeletal system, the evolution of man. Like any other teenager taking high school biology, I learned major scientific theories about the origin of the universe and the beginning of life—the Big Bang theory, evolution. I memorized facts for unit tests, long forgotten now. I loved studying genetics and the systems of the human body, but at the time, origin theories seemed dusty and dry, like the pages of my worn science textbook. They were not nearly as interesting as the novels I hid under my desk, whose characters and worlds thrilled, expanding the corners of my imagination in a way science did not.
As a child, I was told that God created the world in six days and on the seventh he rested. I believed in these literal days of creation for most of my childhood. Even as I was presented with contradictory scientific theories, I didn’t question the creation story because I had been taught not to. As the world around me grew larger, and the creation story grew smaller and less supported, I continued to defend it with the often-quoted verse from 2 Peter: But do not overlook this one fact, beloved, that with the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day. (2 Peter 3:8, ESV). Words were my passion, and the idea that God spoke and life unfolded—well, that was really something. In my imagination, I pictured creation unfolding much the same way as it does in The Neverending Story, when Bastian creates Perelin, the Night Forest. At least as I remember it, he speaks and a magical, bioluminescent garden appears in the nothingness of Night.
Over the last decade, I’ve been on a faith journey of deconstructing and reconstructing—call it what you like. I’ve become increasingly frustrated with the fundamentalist theology so pervasive here in the American South. Biblical literacy is at a severe low, and many vocal Christians base their theology on conservative American ideals instead of Biblical ones. That said, I am grateful to live in a time where a hundred years of biblical scholarship (and scientific scholarship) is at our fingertips. The Bible is a book, after all. To study it literally instead of literarily misses the depth of symbolism, metaphor, and imagery throughout the text, and quite frankly, often misses the point.
Contrary to what I once believed, the creation story is not something that needs to be defended or proved by science. It’s also not something we have to hide. The creation narrative is not about how God created the world. It isn’t meant to be a scientific treatise nor is it designed to be chronologically accurate. It’s a poem about God—an introduction to a much different deity than those commonly worshipped in antiquity. The main takeaway from the text is not a scientific claim about how the world was formed. It’s poetry that describes the nature of God and his relationship with His creation. At first read, we are to understand that this God is orderly, powerful, and creative. He is a God that is kind and generous, who provides for His people instead of creating people to provide for Him. Most importantly, He calls us, humans, the pinnacle of His creation— not just good but very good. We are made in His image; we are His delight, and that is our primary identity. That is where the story begins. This crucial point gets overlooked in the literalism of the fundamentalist view. The story does not start with our sin. It starts with our belovedness.
If we dig deeper into the scholarly literature, we learn that Genesis 1 isn’t just any poem. It’s a specific type of structure called a chiasm. Hourglass or diamond in shape, chiastic poetry is written in such a way that layers of truth, a hidden treasure, can be mined from its heart. A chiasm is identified by repetition, like the phrases: it was good, God saw, evening and morning. Find the edges of the chiasm, which in Genesis 1 is the idea of nothing—chaos in the beginning, rest at the end. From there, you can find the center—verse four, sacred time, which is an English phrase that correlates to Sabbath. (Most of this information comes from Episode 1, Trust The Story, of Marty Solomon’s The BEMA Podcast. His discussion of scripture is enlightening and liberating, and I encourage you to have a listen if this post interests you.)
I’ve quoted Rabbi Ben Bag Bag before, and I will quote him again. Of the Torah, he once said, “turn it and turn it again for everything is in it.” At the heart of the creation story is the Sabbath. God wants us to have the same rest he has. We are His representatives on Earth, made to create and rest in His image.
Imagine you are an Israelite who has just been liberated from slavery in ancient Egypt. Your life, and that of your people, exists for manual labor, making bricks from sunup to sundown, in order to build an empire for the Pharaohs. You’ve just walked across a dry sea, escaped into the wilderness, and you’ve seen the God of your ancestors protect you—first with plagues and now with columns of cloud and fire. He’s provided you with streams in the desert and manna to eat, and now, here you are, surrounded by heat and wilderness, at the foot of Mount Sinai, hearing the origin of your people for the very first time. Chiastic structure was a known literary device in the ancient world, but even if you missed the form or the layers of meaning, what you’ve just heard would have resonated. Here is a God who created the world by speaking—not by violence. Here is a God who can make order from chaos. And here is a God who calls you good before you’ve ever produced a single thing. Could there possibly be any better news than this: You are a good creation, beloved as you are right now. And the God of All Things wants to preside in your midst. He wants to be in relationship with you, giving you protection and rest.
This story is an ancient one, but here we are, in 2024, similarly enslaved. The exodus story is central to the Biblical narrative for a reason—it’s the human story. Humanity continues to fall into slavery—slave to empire, slave to master, slave to self. But we were not made to serve an empire. We were made to bear fruit in a garden. How do we do that? It seems we must prioritize rest; we must prioritize a day of Sabbath. Not a day of napping, but a day where we experiment with living off-grid. Where we shut off the narratives of the empire—those ads coming through Instagram and TikTok and television. Where we stop finding our identity in what we produce and remember who we really are. Richard Foster, author of Celebration of Discipline, says “the purpose of the Disciplines [which includes practicing a Sabbath] is liberation from the stifling slavery to self-interest and fear.” It makes me wonder if this rampant fear and hostility on both sides of the political spectrum in America might just ease a little if we all took back a true day of rest? Would it hurt to try?
This week, I’d love to hear from you. Tell me about your Sabbath practice, if you have one. Share your own views about creation. Use the comment space below, or download the Substack app and find me in the chat.
Blessings,
Jenica
Ordinary Joy
Words of Jubilee
I’m sharing my own words here today. I’ve been experimenting with poetry, which is generally out of my wordsmithing wheelhouse. But this is one I wrote after listening to the first BEMA episode. I found it helpful to process the content in this way, and I would love your feedback.
Out of nothing,
God made sacred
time, Sabbath rest—
the treasure
upon which all
creation hinges.
We traded treasure
for the pursuit of Empire,
and we made a new kind
of human—slave,
instead of resting
in our worth as good
creation. Now all
that His hands formed
cries out: Stop.
You bring us to ruin.
This was not the thing
for which you were made.
A Few Good Things
Here is the link to the BEMA Podcast, which I highly recommend if you are interested in geeking out about Biblical interpretation.
I am currently participating in this year-long workshop by Summer Brennan, thanks to the generosity of another writer, and I am grateful and excited about the process.
Here is an interesting account from the perspective of an American veteran in regards to the genocide in Gaza. Don’t forget to keep learning, posting, sharing until we see peace rise from the ashes.
Housekeeping
As I mentioned, this year I’m walking through The BEMA Podcast in my church community, and I hope these lectures will frame my faith writing this year. I’ll continue to share about motherhood, as well as more personal essays, as part of the year-long workshop I’m participating in. Writing has always been my dream, and I would love if this project could become a financial supplement to our family while I’m staying home with our kids. If you enjoy reading these posts, I’d love it if you would comment, share, or support my work as a paid subscriber. Your generosity and encouragement mean so much. You can share this post or upgrad\e your subscription by clicking the buttons below.