Genesis

The Primeval Mythology of Genesis - Creation

John 19:38-42

After these things, Joseph of Arimathea, a follower of Jesus, though a secret one because of his fear of the Jews, came to Pilate and asked if he could take away the body of Jesus. Pilate gave him permission; so he came to remove his body. Nicodemus, who at first had come to Jesus by night also came, bringing with him a mixture of myrrh and aloes weighing about one hundred pounds. They took the body, wrapping it in the spices and linens, according to the Jewish burial customs. Now, there was a garden in the place where Jesus had been crucified and in the garden there was a new tomb in which no one had ever been [buried.] So, because it was the Jewish Day of Preparation, and because the tomb was nearby, they laid the body of Jesus there.


“The Primeval Mythology of Genesis: Creation”

I’ve already heard some curiosity – maybe mixed with some cynical suspicion – about the title of this new sermon series: “The Primeval Mythology of Genesis.” Curiosity and suspicion aren’t terrible things and I think it’s the word “mythology” that stirs the pot for some people, which was kind of our goal. Part of the point with this next round of sermons is to remind ourselves and each other that we’re called to read the Bible LITERATELY, not LITERALLY, and to see that its message and good news – its grace, hope, and promise – go deeper and wider when we do.

So first, things, first … which is what “primeval” means, sort of … first things; of the earliest ages; the beginning of the beginning, you might say. The first eleven chapters of the Bible’s first book are where we will spend our time the next few weeks. The good stuff before the good stuff. The stage-setting. The foundation. The genesis, is where we begin.

And the word “mythology” rightly ruffles feathers if we are inclined to equate the foundational narrative of our faith story with the fables, fairy tales, and fictional “myths” of, say, the Greek gods (Zeus, Poseidon, Aphrodite, and the like); or Aesop’s fables; or the tall tales of the wonderful world of Walt Disney. But that’s not what we’re up to.

“Myth” and “mythology” can mean something more, something deeper from a theological perspective, which is what we plan to wrestle with. I would contend that, when we limit stories like creation, where we are beginning this morning, to all and only what we can glean from it LITERALLY, that that’s precisely how and when we reduce it to something like a mere fable, a fairy tale, a fictional “myth,” rather than when we wonder about the holy, sacred, profound Truths that this story – and the others like it in Scripture – hold for our life and faith in this world.

And where better to start than at the very beginning – “it’s a very good place to start” – in the beginning, with the fact that, if we’re honest, the two very different versions of creation that we just heard – from Chapters 1 and 2 of the same book – make it really hard to take either of them LITERALLY?

I mean, those are two very different versions of the same story, right? (Many Bibles, like the ones we read from each Sunday, say it plainly. Chapter 2 is “another story of creation.”) The story in Chapter 1 tells of the day-by-day, very long work-week of the Almighty, who creates first this, and then that, with a break and no small measure of satisfaction between each.

“…and God saw that it was good…” “…and God saw that it was good…” “…and God saw that it was good…”

“…and there was evening and there was morning, the first day…” “…and there was evening and there was morning, the third day…” “…and there was evening and there was morning, the fifth day…”

But Chapter 2 goes down altogether differently. In that version of creation, God – like some sort of holy potter, or divine craftsman, or sacred sculptor – makes a man from the dust, then plants a garden and puts him to work, then decides he could use a companion and some help, so then creates all the rest, and a woman, to boot.

In version #2, we don’t know which came first or next, on which day. And none of that matters.

What matters is that God, something Divine, did something divine – created the heavens, the earth, and all that is in them. What matters is that it was and is good. What matters is that we are part of that goodness – you and I – and all people – created good, by God; and created for good, for God’s sake.

What matters, if you ask me, is that we stop reducing the Bible to some sort of prehistoric science book – the authors of which never could have known a thing about bunker-busting missiles or atomic bombs; about Gaza or the West Bank, as we know of them today; about electric cars, school shootings, cancer, chemo-therapy, Medicaid or social media. And that’s okay. These stories have something to say to all of that – and to all of us – nonetheless.

Because what the creation stories tells us – among so many other things – is that we are made in the image of the divine, even though we do so much to make that hard to believe. And we are made in the image of the divine, not just because we have heads, shoulders, knees, or toes…

…but we are made in the image of the Divine because we are made for community, like God; with the power to create and care about and have compassion, like God; that we have the capacity to do justice, like God; make sacrifices, like God; be generous, like God; forgive, like God; and love one another, like God.

Oh, and this is important: the stories of creation make it very clear that none of us IS God and that we shouldn’t try to be – which Pastor Cogan will get to next week, I believe.

Instead, for now, let’s let the stories of creation inspire within us what, I believe they were meant to inspire and to teach and to proclaim all along: a sense of reverence and awe about what God can do; a posture of humility and gratitude for our part in the grand scheme of things; and a response from each of us – and all of us together – that is generous, careful, and full of service that acknowledges our connection to all people and to the grand scheme of things.

Because today’s good news includes the notion that we are created “just a little lower than the angels” – as the Psalmist puts it – and that God calls us to live differently because of that Truth. God invites us to tend to and care for what belongs to God – the earth and all that is in it. God calls us to replenish what we use up – from the earth and from each other, too; to give more than we take, save, and keep for ourselves.

So, what if these primeval creation stories are nothing more – and certainly nothing less – than prehistoric best efforts at describing something that cannot be described; that is too big for words; that are meant to love us and leave us in awe and wonder for what God has done for us – and hopes to do through us – for the sake of the world where we live?

What if these primeval creation stories are nothing more – and certainly nothing less – than poetic prose from a prehistoric Mary Oliver, who could marvel at creation as well as anyone, as far as I’m concerned? Her poem Wild Geese, goes like this:

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

What if the point of the creation stories is simply, and profoundly, to announce your place – and mine – in the family of things?

And what if these primeval creation stories are nothing more – and certainly nothing less – than like clever song lyrics from a pre-historic John Prine, encouraging you, with a wink and smile to…

“Blow up your TV, throw away your paper
Go to the country, build you a home
Plant a little garden, eat a lot of peaches
Try and find Jesus on your own.”

What if these primeval creation stories are nothing more – and certainly nothing less – than prehistoric pieces of art – trying to capture, with words, something like Van Gogh’s “Starry Night”:

or Monet’s “Water Lilies”:

or even Ansel Adams who, like the story tellers of Genesis, certainly had a thing for trees.

But, speaking of John Prine, I hope the Gospel reading wasn’t too on the nose this morning. But I wanted to connect all of this to Jesus, of course. Because it is as poetic and powerful to me that our faith story begins and ends, in a garden, sometimes.

There aren’t enough of even the most beautiful words, songs, poems, or prose to adequately convey the power of God’s love in creation – or by way of the Word made flesh, in Jesus. And I think the two different versions of creation that we find in Genesis aren’t in competition. They’re just evidence and acknowledgment of that fact – of how grand and glorious and full of grace this God is that we worship.

So I think it’s a beautiful thing that both versions of creation’s origin story – and the consummation of God’s resurrection in Jesus … God’s defeat of death … Christ’s victory over Sin for our sake … I think it’s beautiful that all of that, too, takes place in a garden – where light shines in the darkness; where the goodness of God bears fruit for the sake of the world; where sin never gets the last word; where we are all made and made new in God’s image; and where hope rules, in spite of the chaos, because of the grace, mercy, and love of the God we know in Jesus.

Amen

On the Road & Wrestling with Angels

Genesis 32:22-31

The same night he got up and took his two wives, his two maids, and his eleven children, and crossed the ford of the Jabbok. He took them and sent them across the stream, and likewise everything that he had. Jacob was left alone; and a man wrestled with him until daybreak. When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he struck him on the hip socket; and Jacob's hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him. Then he said, "Let me go, for the day is breaking." But Jacob said, "I will not let you go, unless you bless me." So he said to him, "What is your name?" And he said, "Jacob." Then the man said, "You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with humans, and have prevailed." Then Jacob asked him, "Please tell me your name." But he said, "Why is it that you ask my name?" And there he blessed him. So Jacob called the place Peniel, saying, "For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life is preserved." The sun rose upon him as he passed Penuel, limping because of his hip.


Today we are beginning a sermon series about Biblical road trips. It’s a clever idea from Pastor Mark, who realized that the themes of journey, exile, and movement resonate with how many of us have experienced these past several months. We, like Jesus, have left the building. In the coming weeks we will explore some stories in scripture about what can happen when we hit the road. Trust me when I say, it’s good news. 

I have watched my fair share of movies whose plots are built around the road trip motif. The road trip genre--a uniquely American contribution to cinema--is one of my favorite genres. You can probably think of several examples on your own, but here are a few movie title just to help you understand what we’re talking about: Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, Thelma and Louise, Easy Rider, Little Miss Sunshine, The Road to Perdition, O Brother, Where Art Thou?, Green Book, RV, Are We There Yet?, just to name a few. Most road trip movies follow the same plot structure. The story begins with an individual or collection of people who are clearly lacking something, most often a healthy emotional connection to someone else. This person or groups sets off on a presumably straightforward journey. Something unexpected happens which prompts a series of shenanigans and encounters with people that challenge them. They are forced to reckon with parts of themselves they prefer to keep hidden, resulting in a process of personal growth that is painful but often hilarious and heartwarming. They arrive at the destination, or return home, having uncovered a deeper purpose to the trip than they originally anticipated. The end. 

If you haven’t recently seen a movie from the great American road trip genre, I encourage you to check one out before we get too deep into this sermon series. You will likely see some important parallels and it will help make sense both of what we’re doing here as well as what you’re experiencing as this pandemic and quarantine existence continues.

I’m no stranger to the great American road trip experience myself, having lived in so many different states over the past two decades. I have a couple favorite road trip stories that I will space out over the course of this sermon series. Here’s my first:

In the mid-2000’s my wife and I lived in Southern California. It was there where we made our first big purchase as a married couple: a used 2-person ocean kayak. It was 12’ and 60 lbs of open-topped molded royal blue plastic. It was fantastic. We found the only free beach parking in all of So Cal and would coast along the top of the Pacific alongside dolphins, seals, and even once a whale that came close enough to our kayak to slightly unnerve us both. 

My ocean kayak circa 2007.

When it came time to move from California to Minnesota we plotted out a course that would allow us to stop at a different body of water each day and use the kayak. As the movers started to shut the door to the van packed with our stuff they reminded us there was still room to put the kayak in the van. That was not part of the plan, so we politely declined and instead strapped it on the roof of our Nissan Sentra and embarked on a 2,250-mile journey to our new home. Our first stop was to be the San Francisco Bay.

Several hours later, as we were driving north on I-5 through the agricultural heart of California we were met with incredible gusts of wind that were pummeling the driver’s side of the car. We stopped at a rest area and double-checked the knots and straps that were holding the kayak to the roof rack and the roof rack to the car. All secure. 

Not ten minutes after continuing our windblown journey north on the interstate, we felt the car shift, heard a horrific metallic scratching noise, and caught a glimpse of a flash of blue out the passenger side windows. Though I had witnessed the whole event, I could hardly believe my wife when she told me the kayak had blown off our car. I immediately pulled onto the shoulder of the interstate, waited for a break in the traffic, and got out to inspect the damage. The only thing left on top of the car was one roof rack bar and two huge indents where the other bar had once been adhered. Down the 30’ slope down to the ditch, and about 50 yards behind, I saw the overturned kayak. In no time at all a CHiPs officer pulled up behind our car and he was completely uninterested in our story or in trying to help us. He demanded we get off the shoulder immediately. There was no way to put the kayak back on the car so we got back in the car and drove away in shock and disbelief. That was the last we ever saw that kayak, though I imagine that CHiPs officer came back for it and still enjoys using it today. 

Here’s why I tell that story alongside today’s story of Jacob’s roadside wrestling match with an angel: the stories illustrate the difference in personal agency in demanding to receive God’s promise of good gifts in the midst of difficult situations. 

In the biblical story, Jacob demanded something good to come out of his tribulations. He did not have a single moral or ethical leg to stand on, yet he demanded a divine blessing from the God whom he knew freely gave out blessings, and would not let go of the angel until he received it. That takes some chutzpah. The man known as “the deceiver” felt he was as entitled to the blessings of God as anyone else. And he was absolutely correct.

In my story, we did not demand anything from the situation. We didn’t demand the officer help us. We didn’t demand the roof rack company admit their product was faulty. We didn’t demand anything from anyone that would have helped us get that kayak out of the ditch and back into our possession. We walked away, feeling only shock and disappointment. I remember thinking “We’re good people, why did this happen to us?” Of course, I immediately felt ashamed for thinking like that, given how it was such a minor inconvenience and there were obviously other people who had more to complain about than we did. There are very few biblical examples of people being filled with shame and still receiving blessings from God. 

We gave away our agency and floated along the current of life (which would have been fun to do on a kayak). In our disappointment we felt and acted powerless. But not Jacob. That dude demanded a blessing despite not having any right to it. The whole reason Jacob was on his road trip was because he knew his brother would kill him for his earlier betrayal of him. If a guy like that could demand and receive a blessing from God, why couldn't we?

I tell you this story because I want you to demand blessings from God. You have every right to demand blessings from God for yourself and for others. It is very clear from scripture and tradition that God enjoys giving blessings to those who ask. It seems that God simply likes to be asked. Failing to demand blessings from God is not an exercise in humility; rather, failing to demand blessings from God is a sign that you’re hedging your bets because deep down you don’t trust God. I never once prayed that God would help me with the kayak situation. The reason is because I didn’t think God would help in that situation. I never asked and I never received. Imagine how much better that story would be if I had pulled off on the shoulder of the road, prayed to God for help, and looked up in time to see our moving van pull up behind us and put the kayak on the van!

But road movies don't end when the disruptions start happening. Those events take place in the middle of the story in order to introduce humor and tension and set the stage for later character development. The resolution or climax of the story comes later, when those disruptions start to change the characters for the better, so that they can return home not simply with souvenirs such as beat-up cars, new friends, or a newfound criminal history, but rather with a new perspective on life and personal agency.

I have told my kayak story many many many times, but only recently have I started to see the lesson of it. Only recently have I started to demand more from God. I have started asking God for things. I have tried to familiarize myself with God’s word so that I would trust the things I ask for are in line with what God is eager to give me. I pray for healing for people who are suffering. I pray for equality and justice for those who are oppressed. I pray that the planet would be stewarded so that future generations can not just enjoy God’s creation but simply survive in it. I pray for safety and security and daily bread. I pray for these things because I have come to see God as a loving giver of gifts. I pray that you would come to see God in this same way. Amen.