In the beginning.
In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth.
In the beginning was the Word.
In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters.
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being.
Then God said, “Light, come into being.” And light came into being.
What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.
And God saw that the light was good. And God separated the light from the darkness. And there was evening, and there was morning, the first day.
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.
Then God said, “Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness; and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the birds of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the wild animals of the earth, and over every creeping thing that creeps upon the earth.”
He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.
So God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them. And God blessed them.
And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.
God saw everything he had made, and indeed, it was very good.
From his fullness we have all received grace upon grace.
In the beginning.
In the beginning there was no form, no matter, substance, no shape. In the beginning, the earth was a formless void.
But there was something. In the beginning was the Word. With God, was God. In the beginning was the Word.
And then, into this vast nothingness, God spoke. Or, better put, God sung. With a wind, with a breath, with the Spirit, God sent the Word, God’s voice out over the vastness and called out. With the Word, God sung out light, and light came into being. And then, suddenly, in the vast dark nothingness, light shone. And God saw that it was good.
And from there, God went on. Again and again, God sung into the vastness, sending out the Word in melodies of increasing complexity. The song God had begun as a single note took on depth and breath and movement as God added more and more pieces to create a symphony. And as God sung, as the Word traveled, the nothingness took shape. Waters and sky, land and seas, plants. The sun and the moon, birds for the air, fish for the seas, wild animals, cattle, and all that creeps upon the earth. And God saw that the song was good, and God saw that creation was good.
But the song, though beautiful, was lacking something. There was no harmony to the melody, no dissonance to add creativity. So God sung again. And through the creative power of the Word, God created humanity. And humanity was different than the rest of creation, because humanity too could sing. Created in the image of God, God gifted humanity with its own voice, its own power to build and to shape and to sing things into creation. And humanity added its own voice to the song, and God saw that it was very good.
And for centuries, millennium, God and humanity sang together. And God was delighted with the people’s improvisations. But sometimes, the people would become too creative, too confident, too eager to carry the song alone. And the melody would become lost in convolutedness, muted by people’s desire to hear its own song over the tune of creation. So God would enter into creation, turning the song back to the original melody. God sung through the trust of Abraham, through the dreams of Joseph, through the voice of Moses. God sung through prophets and kings, psalmists and teachers. And the people responded in echoes to God’s song.
At times the melody seemed lost, the song hopelessly drowned out by the abuse of the Pharaohs, the war drums of the Assyrians, the oppression of the Romans. Sadness and grief, illness and anxiety could make the song almost silent. But no matter what happened, what crises arose, what darkness enveloped, the song carried on. Even in the darkest, deepest places, over crashing symbols or in crushing silence, still the song carried on.
But the people would not listen. Would not quiet their own voices to hear the strains. Instead they insisted on singing their own song louder to fill the void. And the louder they sang, the further their melody drifted from the song of creation, the more dissonant and jarring the melody became.
And so, God sent a new riff. God sung into creation a bridge, casting the tune off into a completely new direction. This bridge was again the Word, with God from the beginning. But this time, the Word became flesh and entered into the song of the people. Instead of shaping the people’s song, this time the Word learned the song of the people, and sang alongside them. From within the people’s own song, the Word brought them back into accord with the melody of God. And what had been a division, two voices singing in opposition, was one song once more. Still creative, still harmonious, still dissonant, unique and strong, but united once more by the Word made flesh, who ordered humanity’s song.
This new song burst into the world in a stable in Bethlehem. It sung to kings and concubines, lepers and legislators. It blessed a feast of bread and fish, brought forth an abundance of wine for a wedding, made mud that caused the blind to see, wept at the tomb of a friend. On a dark Friday afternoon, it died on a cross. And for three long days the song felt silent. But the silence was a rest, not the conclusion. Deep in the earth, the song still went on. And then, in the glorious blaze of a Sunday dawn, the stone rolled away to reveal the empty tomb, the song bursting forth in trumpets and cymbals and shout of Alleluia.
The song ascended into heaven. And in tongues of fire the song carried on through the church. Fractured, imperfect, dissonant, and grace-filled. The song is carried in word and water, bread and wine, fellowship and prayer and praising. All of it, all of us, new chords, new harmonies, new improvisations, to the old, old song of God’s love. Amen.
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