Creation, Day Three: The Story Takes Root

And God said, “Let the waters under the heavens be gathered together into one place, and let the dry land appear.”  And it was so.  God called the dry land Earth, and the waters that were gathered together he called Seas.  And God saw that it was good.

And God said, “Let the earth sprout vegetation, plants yielding seed, and fruit trees bearing fruit in which is their seed, each according to its kind, on the earth.  And it saw so.  The earth brought forth vegetation, plants yielding seed according to kind.  And God saw that it was good.  And there was evening and there was morning, the third day.                 Gen. 1:9-13

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Once upon a time, “going to the movies” was as much an event as the movie itself.  I barely remember this, as a child in the 1950s growing up in Dallas, Texas.  Our down-market movie experience was the drive-in (with its own tacky romance, gone forever!) but once in a great while I recall getting just a little dressed up to go downtown with my family to the Majestic or the Palace, both of which began their lives as vaudeville theaters.  Rocking in a tip-backed, velvet-upholstered seat, staring into the firmament of a domed ceiling so high it made me feel dizzy, was the closest I came in those days to concentrated anticipation.  The lights would dim, a clash of windy chords would sound, and the MIGHTY WURLITZER organ rose ponderously from the orchestra pit.

The thing was so huge (in my memory, at least), with such a multiplicity of keyboards and stops, it was a bit shocking to locate the little person in the middle making it all go.  He or she probably played no longer than ten minutes before the platform descended and the massive curtains in front of the screen rolled back.  Perhaps it’s not surprising that I remember the prelude to the movie more than the movie itself, and when I think of “let dry land appear,” the first image that comes to mind is the Mighty Wurlitzer rising from the dark depths, all flash and dazzle.

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But we don’t know exactly how it was.  “Let dry land appear” could mean something like, Bring dry land up from the waters like a thousand erupting volcanoes.

Or it could mean, Set dry land down among the surging waters.

Was the land already “there,” like dry land was there under the Red Sea and merely required a bit of water removal?  Were the primeval waters pregnant with molecular bits of minerals that coalesced on command?  Or did God voice it into being ex nihilo?  Perhaps none of those possibilities, or a combination of all, but we must guard against the habit of thinking that the dry land was already hulking under the water waiting to be shaped, like granite awaits the stonemason.  God calls things that are not as though they were (Romans 4:17), and when he calls, “it is so.”

The earth was in his mind, and then, whether the work of a day or a billion years, the earth was outside his mind.

Was it spectacular, a gigantic swirl of molecules pulsing with light and shouting for joy before each took its proper place as stone or soil?  Or was it a steady shuffling of elements until all had shaken out?  However it happened, it was without conflict.  No element butted heads with another or struggled for pride of place.  Just as, much later in time, the stormy winds and sea would obey the command, Peace!  Be still!–just so, at their master’s command, granite, marble, sand, iron, loam, clay, gold, limestone, diamonds and chalk “appeared” in the midst of the water.

With all the elements we call “earth” came everything we would need: stone for shelter, soil for food and cotton and flax, metals base and precious waiting to smelted out of the cracks:

Man puts his hand to the flinty rock

                        and overturns mountains by the roots.

            He cuts out channels in the rocks,

                        and his eye sees every precious thing.

            He dams up the streams so that they do not trickle,

                        and the thing that is hidden he brings to light.           Job 28:9-11

But in addition to all that, ground gives us grounding. Terra firma.  Out of the flux of waters comes a place to stand.  Columbus could not discover new worlds without starting from an old world.  He could not venture forth without venturing from.  To use the old metaphor of life as a voyage, we little Columbi are always venturing out from something: a home, or a family, or if we’re lucky, both.  The location of home and the composition of family may change, but our greatest emotional need is a place to belong, and our first creative necessity is a place to begin.

This is what we were given on the third day: a home.  The scenery of the earth would change, and one given spot may overbuild while another is destroyed.  But we always have home base, a place to build.

Except for the one time it was taken away.

Picture Noah, adrift in a huge wooden box for seven months.  The waters above the earth have wrung dry and the fountains of the deep have exhausted themselves and the primeval chaos is back for a return engagement.  In a massive act of judgment, God temporarily reversed creation, pouring water back over the land he had earlier brought forth.  Forty days and nights of deluge was only the beginning; after the rain stopped, 150 days passed before the waters even began to subside.  But all this time, The Lord had Noah in mind. (Gen. 8:1, NIV).  Just has the Lord had had the ground itself in mind before causing it to be.  On the seventh day of the seventh month, “the ark rested upon the mountains of Ararat.”

Peter Spier’s classic picture book Noah’s Ark shows a rough landing: the ark strikes Mt. Ararat’s rocky peak like a fist and everything slews sideways.  Correcting waves would level it a bit, but that one pictorial moment is enough to suggest that the re-creation of the world, its second reclaiming from chaos, was not nearly as smooth as the first.

The water recedes slowly, blown by the wind.  It would be another four months before dry land “appears” again in bountiful measure.  The flood was a warning, an example, and a reminder that we can’t take our foundations for granted.

The other vital element of creation established on the third day: continuity.  Plants grow, and with them, seed.  Organic life takes root on dry land, and because the land isn’t going anywhere, the plants will have time to propagate themselves.  Imagine what is stored in each tiny seed: the potential to grip the soil while reaching upward toward the light.  Each tiny seed packs generations that will span millennia.  Generation (from the same root as “Genesis”) means beginning but it also means continuing.  It’s a promise that this page will be turned; history itself emerges from the watery flux and takes root with the first plant.

Sp the three great realms of creation are established by the third day: sky, sea, and finally earth, rising like the Mighty Wurlitzer with all the stops pulled out and its bellows going full blast.

Now we can turn the page.

Creation, Day Four: Dancing with the Stars

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1. Go outside on a clear night and lay down in the grass.  Spread your fingers wide and imagine yourself holding on to the earth as it turns.  Can you feel it?  Close your eyes and try to tune out artificial sounds; can you hear it?  What does it smell like?  Does it seem dead to you, or somehow alive?
2. This is a children’s exercise, but I still get a kick out of it.  Fold and roll up enough paper towels to fit inside a clear drinking class.  Tuck several seeds of different kinds (flower, vegetable, even tree, such as a maple wing) between the glass and the paper towel.  Water the paper towel until it’s damp but not dripping and keep the glass in a dark place, such as a kitchen cupboard, for several days.  Keep the towel damp, and after just a few days you should see the seeds begin to sprout.  What does this tell you about the life stored inside them, and the capability they have of renewal?