Lenten Meditations on the Cosmic Riddle, Part 1

 In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.

-Gen. 1:1 


Praise the LORD from the heavens;
Praise Him in the heights above.
Praise Him, all his angels;
Praise Him, all his heavenly hosts. ...

Praise the LORD from the earth,
You great sea creatures and all ocean depths, ...
Young men and women,
Old men and children.
-Ps. 148


I have not learned wisdom,
Nor have I attained to the knowledge of the Holy One.
Who has gone up to heaven and come down?
Whose hands have gathered up the wind?
Who has wrapped up the waters in a cloak?
Who has established all the ends of the earth?
What is His name, and what is His Son's name?
Surely you know!
-Prov. 30:3-4


Do not be quick with your mouth,
Do not be hasty in your heart to utter anything before God.
God is in heaven, and you are on earth,
So let your words be few.
-Eccl. 5:2


Our Father, who art in heaven,
Hallowed be Thy Name.
Thy kingdom come,
Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven....
-The Lord's Prayer 


Now you're going to have to bear with me for a minute, or two, or ten, or a few weeks ... because I'm a theologian, and an engineer, so everything I think about has layers upon layers.  I promise, it will all make sense eventually--

 When I was growing up, I was taught that the ancient Hebrew language did not have a word for the "universe" or "cosmos;" therefore, when the author of Genesis wanted to say that God created the "universe," they wrote "the heavens and the earth" to communicate that idea.  Kind of like we might say, "the whole kit and kaboodle" (but not exactly).  There's a literary term for this kind of expression; it's called a "merism," meaning the enumeration of parts in order to communicate the concept of the whole.  

I have now learned enough about ancient Hebrew to conclude that this understanding of the phrase, "the heavens and the earth," is not accurate.  Instead, I am convinced that when the ancient Hebrew authors said "the heavens and the earth," they literally meant "the heavens" and "the earth" -- i.e. two distinct spheres, or dwellings.  In short, "heaven" is the dwelling place of God, and "earth" is the dwelling place of humanity...

...and never the twain shall meet.  We are here; God is there.  This is one of the most fundamental problems of the Hebrew Bible.  One cannot fully understand the Scriptures without understanding this basic conflict in the biblical story.

The passages I've listed above demonstrate this cosmological worldview of the ancient Hebrews.  They were preoccupied with this great gulf between heaven and earth, and specifically, how one might get through from one side to the other, either from us to God or from God to us.  I have a term for this dilemma of the ancient Hebrew worldview: I call it, "The Cosmic Riddle."  Who can ascend from earth to heaven?  And who would descend from heaven to earth? 

[Now, if you're a Christian, you know the answer to this riddle.  But if you're reading this, please try to forget that you know the answer, but rather enter into the Hebrew mindset.  You would like to get to God, but how?  And more importantly, how can God get to you?  No, scrap that.  God can get to you if He wants to.  The real question is, "why would He want to?"]

God created the earth for us; it is our proper dwelling, our habitation.  The earth is where we belong, it is our "home."  But one of the fundamental lessons of the Torah (the first five books of the Bible, and the bedrock of the ancient Hebrew worldview), and especially the first 11 chapters of Genesis, is that the earth stands under God's wrath because we humans have messed it up.  The ancient world was judged once by water, and one day the present world will be judged again by fire.  So why should God take thought of the earth?

And therefore, why should God take thought of us?  After all, we are made of the stuff of earth.  We are but flesh.  We came from dust, and to dust we shall return.  Sure, God is good and kind and loving and patient and gentle and faithful and meek and temperate, but He is THERE.  And I am here, an earthen vessel.

I, Joel, am at home on earth.  Particularly, in an expanse of fertile plain that stretches outward from the middle of the North American continent among a community of stoic and precision-minded white-skinned immigrants transplanted from a middle-European nation with a somewhat sordid history of political ambition, Reformation Christianity, and beer-brewing.

Yes indeed, even though I don't live in that place anymore -- on earth, I ... no, we ... are home.

[to be continued]