For Worship with the Arts
Sunday, October 30, 2016
In the beginning, God
creates.
Sand and clay are
kneaded, formed into a sphere, fired in the kiln of the universe.
Clouds of vapor are
lightly whisked into place, applied gently with even brushstrokes.
A glow, increasing in
brilliance, burns through the darkness, illuminating space.
Shadows slowly creep
back in monochromatic shades, original black-and-whites.
A cosmic thread gathers
together the heavens, stitching stars and planets into patterns.
Below splash the waters,
roaring and foaming in a rhythm unique to the deep.
Dividing the sea comes
an expanse, knit together with moss and soil, mud and rock.
Earth: fashioned with
mountains, constructed of woods and prairies, fastened together.
Vegetation takes root
producing seeds, form, and texture—a profusion of color.
Every imaginable hue on
the palette is established in the composition of each design.
Life is called forth in an
infinite variety, painting the landscape in coordinating colors.
Globes of brightness,
one for day and one for night, begin the keeping of time.
Woven into the
atmosphere, light dances on the water to a song not yet written.
Under the surface are perfectly
adapted fins, scales, webbed feet, synchronized.
Feathery wings glide through
polka-dot skies to papier mache nests, a macramé roost.
Creeping, hopping, hoof,
claw, pouch, trunk; the Creator’s imagination is boundless.
From the dust arises a
man, from his rib a woman, and the two begin to sort it out.
Dancing in the garden,
they breathe in the fragrant new creation in all of its glory.
In the beginning, God
creates.
And it is good.
