“In the beginning…”
The opening words of Genesis don’t just start a story—they strike a chord that resonates through every particle of reality. And yet, somehow, we’ve reduced them to… a calculator?
Last Sunday, our preacher opened to Genesis 6—a rich and enigmatic chapter—but before diving into its depth, he announced that the Earth is only 6,000 years old, maybe 10,000 max. Why? Because, he explained, if you trace the years from Adam to Abraham (2,000), Abraham to Christ (2,000), and Christ to now (another 2,000), voilà—6,000 years. Simple math.
But something in me recoiled—not from arrogance, but from grief.
Because that moment was not just the flattening of time, but the flattening of wonder.
🌌 The Universe is Not a Spreadsheet
Modern science tells us that what we once thought of as "formless"—empty space—is in fact alive with mystery. Quantum fields, dark matter, unseen energies ripple and hum beneath the surface of what our eyes can’t perceive. And Augustine, writing over 1,600 years ago, had already asked:
What does it mean for something to be “formless”? Can something exist but not yet be shaped?
He didn’t try to fit Genesis into a human timeline. He stood back in reverence and said:
“Let us not be quick to assume one meaning, where God may have intended many.”
Augustine saw God as timeless, creating not in days as we count them, but in movements of order, purpose, and beauty. And more importantly, he warned that misusing Scripture to say foolish things could harm the very faith we claim to defend.
“When unbelievers catch us making a mistake in a field they know well and hear us maintaining our foolish opinions about our books, how are they to believe those books contain divine truths?”
— Confessions, Book V
🕯️ A Gospel for the Hungry Mind
When sermons ignore the wonder of creation and treat Genesis like a dusty genealogy ledger, it’s no wonder some people—especially the curious, thinking ones—walk away from the Church.
Not because they hate God.
But because they’ve been fed stale bread, when they were starving for mystery and meaning.
We need to stop shrinking Scripture down to fit our charts. The Bible was never meant to be a science textbook or a punchline against astronomers. It is a living word, inviting us to behold a God who creates not from boredom or need—but from the overflowing joy and harmony of Triune love.
📖 When the Bible Meets the Cosmos
When I read Genesis now, I don’t see a stopwatch—I see a song.
A cosmic liturgy where light speaks, chaos is calmed, and meaning emerges from the void.
And maybe what was once called “formless and empty” is not so empty at all.
Because God was there.
And that’s never nothing.
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