in the beginning

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.