CREATION (GENESIS 1)
I am no art expert, but one of my favorite artists is the modernist Marc Chagall. I appreciate how with his bright colors and stark lines he can tell well-known Bible stories in such bold and provocative ways. Although I have read Chagallâs biography and seen a documentary about his life, I have never felt better in touch with the artist than when I visited the Chagall Museum in southern France. When you have an opportunity to stand right in front of a Chagall piece, and then move slowly to the next Chagall painting, and then the next one (guided by the audio tour, courtesy of a rented headset), it feels as if youâve spent the day with the man. Yet I remember thinking at numerous points, âHeadset or no headsetâI just donât get whatâs going on here.â I mused how great it would be if only the artist himself could give some explanation as to what he was thinking. As we approach the âwhatâ questionâWhat is the kingdom of God?âitâs helpful to reflect on the fundamentals, acknowledging that thatâs kind of how it is with God, creation, and the Scriptures.
Creation, Scripture tells us, is Godâs handiwork, Godâs art. This means that we are all essentially living in a museum filled with Godâs artwork. When we open our eyes every morning, we are confronted with the glory of God revealed in creation (Ps. 19; Rom. 1:19â20). The canvas reflects the artist. We can take our tour of creation on our own, but it is recommended that we get some help from the ârented headsetâ of special revelation, the Scriptures, whence we can hear from the artist himself. Scriptureâs first and most basic account of creation is found in Genesis 1. Thereâs a lot to sayâand a lot that has been saidâabout this passage. But what do we learn about Godâs creation thatâs related to the âwhatâ of the kingdom? Two points: creation is a sovereign act and a paradigmatic act.
âIt is also fitting, therefore, for us to pursue this particular search for God, which may so hold our mental powers suspended in wonderment as at the same time to stir us deeply. And as Augustine teaches elsewhere, because, disheartened by his greatness, we cannot grasp him, we ought to gaze upon his works, that we may be restored by his goodness.â1
Creation as a Sovereign Act
Sovereignty is one of those words that gets thrown around a lot, at least in certain Christian circles. But what do we mean by this word or the related word sovereign? Webster defines a sovereign as âone possessing or held to possess supreme political power.â That definition works here. When God (Yahweh) is first introduced in Scripture, he is introduced as one who creates sovereignly. The act of creation is a completely autonomous act. There is nothing within Godâs character, much less anything external to God, that compels him to create (theologians classify creation as one of Godâs opera ad extra, âworks on the outside,â which are not intrinsically necessary to who God is). No external party put God up to this. Nor did he consult anyone or get anybodyâs permission. Entirely on his own, as the supremely powerful figure in the universe (whatever âuniverseâ means at this point), God created simply because he chose to do so. We can be more specific along these lines. In particular, we notice that when God takes care of business, he does so as a king. The divine word is spoken and immediately fulfilled; God speaks (âLet there be light . . .â), and it is done. The first readers of Genesis would have understood this right away: in speaking creation into existence, God is acting like a king. God is not just a king, but the king of the cosmos.
Yahweh is also an intimately involved king. Emerging around the time of Christianity, many ancient Gnostic groups believed that creation was carried out by a being other than the highest God. As the earliest Christian heretics saw it, it was entirely beneath the dignity of the Supreme Being to dirty his hands in all the messiness of creation. Accordingly, Gnostics did what they could to distance the highest god from the activity of creating. (Not surprisingly, Gnostics themselves believed that physical matter and earthy realities had nothing do with salvation.) But this is the opposite of what Scripture takes pains to say. According to Genesis 1, God is not just the architect who leaves the building business to his lowly minions. Rather God is both architect and builder.2 Creation is all his, from start to finish; all that is contained in creation belongs to God, because God brought it into existence. Again, this highlights his sovereignty.
âAnd herein lies the peculiar dignity of the creation, that as the external beginning of all things it stands in certain respects in direct confrontation with its inner beginning, its eternal source in Godâs decision and plan. It has no external presupposition; it follows immediately the eternal will of God. Beyond it we can think only of Godâs triune being in all its perfections, of the depth of the holiness and grace of His decree. It is emphatically the work of Godâs freedom, and therefore also emphatically Godâs miracle.â3
Paradoxically, even though God fills the universe, the same creator God is utterly independent of creation, even while creation remains utterly dependent on his sovereign rule. This theological fact excludes two common misunderstandings of God: pantheism and theism. Pantheism is the belief that God is to be identified with creation. By contrast, Genesis 1 is careful to draw a distinction between the Creator and the created. Some people, including a few muddled Christians Iâve met over the years, subscribe to a view close to pantheism, called metaphysical dualism, the belief that matter has been around as long as God has been around. But the problem here is that this puts God on par with physical matter; it demotes God from ruler of the cosmos to being simply a member within the broader set of âstuff in the universe.â Scripture makes both pantheism and metaphysical dualism non-options: the sovereign God of Genesis 1 transcends creation.
Deism, the second misunderstanding, is also a very common philosophical option, especially in the West. Deism identifies God as a cosmic clockmaker who walked away from his handiwork once the clock was complete and running. As a matter of policy the god of Deism refrains from intervening in creational affairs. But this also stands opposed to the thrust of Genesis 1, which presents Yahweh as the engaged King of the cosmos. Normally speaking, ancient Near Eastern kings donât establish their kingdoms simply to leave their subjects with a never-ending string of âOut of Officeâ replies. Instead they are expected to take up the business of ruling with a vested interest and look after the welfare of their kingdoms. This is no less true of the Creator king: he not only creates, but continues to be involved in his creation.
Creation as a Paradigmatic Act
The moment of creation not only images Godâs sovereignty but also serves as a model for understanding Godâs natural and social order. For example, after the Noahic flood, we are informed that the regularity of the seasons comes to serve as a reminder of the faithfulness of God (Gen. 8:21â22). Just as the seasons consistently follow one another (even here in Chicago where we have only two seasons, winter and construction), so too God is consistent. The same faithfulness also undergirds, at least ideally, the sociopolitical realm. That is why in Psalm 89 statements regarding Yahwehâs righteousness (Ps. 89:5â18) are intertwined with assertions regarding the stability of Davidâs throne (vv. 3â4, 20â37). The kingly rule of Yahweh is meant to serve as a model for Israelâs king, the one whom God has appointed to serve as his vice-regent. And if Yahwehâs creation was to provide a kind of audiovisual reminder of righteous behavior for the appointed royal mediator, it was the royal mediatorâs job to image that righteousness for the people. In this sense, Davidâs royal role was also priestly. A well-ordered cosmos matched by a well-ordered body politicâboth of these followed on the order which Yahweh had imposed on the unruly primordial soup.
In the ancient Near East, it was not uncommon to think of kings and priests, or royal priests, as beings made in the image of the divinity they served. So, any non-Israelite hearing Psalm 89 would have assumed that the Davidic ruler was tasked with serving as the image of God. But the creation narrative is distinctive in that it tells us that the image is in fact borne by all of humanity:
Then God said, âLet us make mankind in our image (selem), in our likeness (demuth), so that they may rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, over the livestock and all the wild animals, and over all the creatures that move along the ground.â
So God created mankind in his own image,
in the image of God he created them;
male and female he created them.
God blessed them and said to them, âBe fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it. Rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky and over every living creature that moves on the ground.â (Gen. 1:26â28)
Scriptural interpreters and theologians down through the centuries have wrestled with what it means for humanity to be made âin the image and likeness of God.â Whatever else might be said about this, the following points are crucial. First, Adamâs sharing in Godâs image means that there is a basic structural similarity, a homology, between humanity and God. Although human beings are similar to animals in that they are gendered and sexually reproduce, they are unlike animals in their status as divine image-bearers. The homology shared by Adam and the creator God inevitably implies some kind of filial relationship (sonship), as becomes clear when Adam has a son âin his own likenessâ (Gen. 5:3). Thus humanity distinguishes itself through its special capacity to reproduce the image of God (just as God had done in making Adam), making good on the divine mandate to âbe fruitful and increase in numberâ as the image of God (Gen. 1:28).4 More to the point than the imageâs filial function is the sheer fact of Adamic sonship: in the words of Meredith Kline, âTo be the image of God is to be the son of God.â5 Second, we know from ancient Near Eastern backgrounds that kings would regularly leave 2-D or 3-D âimagesâ and/or âlikenessesâ of themselves in territories and cities where they sought to establish their reignâanalogous to, say, the massive portrait of Mao Zedong that currently graces Tiananmen Square. By creating Adam and Eve in the divine image, God intended to stake out legal territory, establishing his jurisdiction through the image-bearing presence, wherever humanity might be found. This is closely associated with Adamâs assigned task of ruling and subduing creation on behalf of God (Gen. 1:28). Adam was to have an active, distinctively royal presence.6 Third, because the term selem (âimageâ) was also applied to cult statues, which not only embodied divinity but also designated that divinityâs sacred space, we must think of Adam as a kind of living, sacred projection of Yahweh.7 Along these lines, as Catherine McDowell has helpfully shown, the concept âimage of Godâ pertains to kinship, kingship, and cultus.8 So, then, although the image of Yahweh was assumed to reside in Israelâs priest-king in a special sense, there is another sense in which God created humanity as a whole with a view to (1) establishing a father-son/daughter relationship with humanity; (2) extending a real divine presence through a proxy, tasked with ruling and subduing creation; and (3) carving out sacred space physically centered around the image-bearer. Our identity as image-bearers has major entailments of kinship (our relationships), kingship (our authority), and cultus (our vocation of worship). In the following chapters, we will see how important these three categories prove to be in understanding the kingdom.
Depicting creation as a sovereign and paradigmatic act, Genesis 1 speaks to Yahwehâs rule over the cosmos, as well as the central role of the divine image in the administration of that kingdom. By all rights, Yahweh is not just the creator God but is the superintendent Lord, th...