E=mc2 in Genesis 1

Charles Spurgeon’s Morning Devotion for today was on Genesis 1:4. The context reads like this: “3 And God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light. 4 And God saw that the light was good. And God separated the light from the darkness. 5 God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.” (Genesis 1:3-5) This has always been a fascinating passage for me in two ways; one relates to the physics, and the other to the linguistics.

First the physics. You don’t have to be Bill Nye the (atheistic) Science Guy to find this passage a bit puzzling. These verses recount the activity of God on the first creation day. It is not until the fourth day that God created the elements which we think of as the sources of light. The question, even for believers, is how there could be light without a source of light.

As my regular readers know, I am interested in physics in a general way, although the absence of any advanced math skills makes it difficult for me to follow many of the usual explanations for how things work. Case in point: E=mc². According to NOVA, “It's the world's most famous equation, but what does it really mean? ‘Energy equals mass times the speed of light squared.’ On the most basic level, the equation says that energy and mass (matter) are interchangeable; they are different forms of the same thing. Under the right conditions, energy can become mass, and vice versa. We humans don't see them that way—how can a beam of light and a walnut, say, be different forms of the same thing?—but Nature does.”

Substitute the word “God” for NOVA’s “Nature,” and the puzzle continues. This may mean that by causing light to come into existence on the first creation day, God introduced the building blocks for everything we call the material universe. We now know that at the most elemental level, at a sub-sub-microscopic level, matter is made up of energy. Every molecule has constituent atoms made of little packages of energy spinning about a central package of energy. At this point in our sub-atomic understanding, physicists haven’t found anything that can be called “matter.” It’s all energy organized into structures that become what we know as matter.

Enough with the nuclear physics. Genesis 1 also has an interesting linguistic element that may actually flow from E=mc². I will not enter the debate about whether the creation day lasted precisely 24 hours; if you want to believe that, the text allows for that interpretation. However, there is something interesting about how the creation days are bounded. “And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.” Unlike our Western thought, the Hebrews saw evening as the start of a day. The word for evening is rich in meaning, but it primarily refers to the coming of darkness. The first creation day began in darkness into which God spoke light.

Similarly, the Hebrew word for morning used in Genesis 1:5 carries the idea of the coming of light, often indicating the period before the sun rises. So what this verse tells us is that God started with nothing (darkness) and spoke something (light) into existence. Light itself is a mysterious element. (I’m getting back to physics again.) Scientists tell us it is like a beam of particles when observed as matter, but it is a wave of energy when observed as energy. Either way, Genesis says God brought order into disorder.

Skim through the entire Bible and you will find numerous instances where light is equated with all that is good, and darkness is equated with evil. That which is good is that which aligns with God’s order; that which is evil is outside of God’s design. John says that Jesus is the true light coming into the world. The Spurgeon devotional which inspired this piece contains this prayer: “O Lord, since light is so good, give us more of it, and more of thyself, the true light.” A prayer for light is not a bad prayer for a new year – or anytime, for that matter.

The Temple in the Manger

I have been reading Nehemiah in my through-the-Bible schedule the last few days. I noticed that it was the condition of the walls of Jerusalem that first incited Nehemiah’s sadness (Nehemiah 1:3-4). I had not previously considered why the walls might have been of such concern to Nehemiah. Certainly, he would be concerned for the safety of the Temple treasury and all the riches that Ezra had returned to Jerusalem with Zerubbabel years earlier. But I suspect that there was much more.

Psalm 137:1 says, “By the waters of Babylon, there we sat down and wept, when we remembered Zion.” Jerusalem, or Zion, was so much more than a city to the Jews; it was the only place where they could connect with God. While they were captive in Babylon, their beloved Zion lay in ruins, and the Temple had been destroyed. Some of them, particularly Nehemiah (1:5-11), realized that their predicament was their own fault. God had allowed the destruction of Jerusalem and the captivity of its people because of their waywardness. Nehemiah’s sadness was related to his desire to see the Temple and the city fully restored again.

Flash forward some 400 years. We find Jesus weeping over Jerusalem shortly before He was going to die for her sins. “And when he drew near and saw the city, he wept over it, saying, ‘Would that you, even you, had known on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes. For the days will come upon you, when your enemies will set up a barricade around you and surround you and hem you in on every side and tear you down to the ground, you and your children within you. And they will not leave one stone upon another in you, because you did not know the time of your visitation.’” (Luke 19:41-44)

From the desert wanderings after Egypt to the see-saw unfaithfulness of the Judges to the failure of one king after another, Israel was the poster child for disobedience. If only they had known, “the things that make for peace.” Nehemiah thought better walls and a restored Jerusalem were needed. By Jesus’ time, it was clear that the new heart of Jeremiah’s prophecy (24:7) was the only way to make for lasting peace. It still is.

God promised to dwell in the temple at Jerusalem as long as the nation of Israel was faithful. Jesus said that He would dwell in believers if they were faithful. Paul makes it very clear that the body of Christ, the church, is the temple. Each believer individually and corporately constitutes the New Temple. When I think of the New Jerusalem (the church) and her people (the Temple), I am saddened like Nehemiah. Our walls are torn down, and the temple (us) is in pretty sad shape. How’s this for a New Year’s resolution: “We promise together not to neglect the Temple of our God” (Nehemiah 10:39).

Thoughts on December 7

FDR declared December 7, 1941, “A date that will live in infamy.” Then he declared war on the perpetrators. Not everyone in America agreed with the decision to go to war, but an entire generation was changed by the events that followed FDR’s declaration. That was my father’s generation, sometimes called the greatest generation. Almost everyone pulled together to defeat the enemy.

On September 14, 2001, George Bush made his famous “bullhorn” pronouncement. He told the crowd assembled at the site of the Twin Towers disaster, “I can hear you! The rest of the world hears you! And the people -- and the people who knocked these buildings down will hear all of us soon!” It was another infamous date; more people died on 9/11 than died at Pearl Harbor. Not everyone agreed with the way Bush prosecuted the “War on Terror,” but it did change all of America for a short time, maybe a year or two. Almost immediately there were those who voiced strident opposition.

Because there was no Emperor or Fuhrer to declare war against, George W. Bush had to rely on sketchy intelligence reports to locate “the people who knocked [those] buildings down.” For his efforts he was accused of lying (Bush lied; people died) or of trying to finish his father’s (George H. W. Bush) war. There is no doubt, in perfect hindsight, things could have, perhaps should have been done differently. Iraq became a failed nation-building exercise. Afghanistan became another Vietnam-like quagmire. ISIL grew out of the milieu, and continues its war of terror to this day.

I worry about today’s young people. My experience teaching classes of mostly millennials convinces me that they will not think of my generation as great at anything but making messes. Actually, their lack of historical perspective makes me doubt they will think of anyone but themselves. Most were just children in 2001, and while they may have been confused or scared, few seem to have grasped the real significance of the event. (For memories of 15 millennials see this Bustle article.) They seem primarily concerned with comfort and convenience and the latest gadget from Apple.

The millennials’ older brothers and sisters will remember 9/11. Many thousands went to war “against terror,” and many never came home. Many more were injured physically in ways that they will always struggle with. And then there are the countless thousands who still fight battles deep within; their bodies are often perfectly whole, but their lives have been changed in ways that have virtually stolen “normal” from their existence.

When I look at the deep divisions that plague America, I long for the way the December 7’s and 9/11’s in our history have caused us to come together in common cause, if only for a while. Surely there is more to unite than divide Republican and Democrat, black and white, gay and straight, religious and not-so-much. If ANTIFA and Black Lives Matter and Gay Pride marches are the social mechanisms on which we must rely, I fear it will take another “date that will live in infamy” to wake us up.

Since December 7 remembrances come as most of us begin to look forward to Christmas, and I am writing this while listening to Christian Christmas music, the incongruity strikes me. I wanted to share a line or two from a poem by W.B. Yeats, but I can’t decide what not to share, so with your permission, I will present the entire poem for your thoughtful consideration.

The Second Coming

Turning and turning in the widening gyre  

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere  

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst  

Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;

Surely the Second Coming is at hand.  

The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out  

When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi

Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert  

A shape with lion body and the head of a man,  

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,  

Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it  

Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.  

The darkness drops again; but now I know  

That twenty centuries of stony sleep

Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,  

And what rough beast, its hour come ‘round at last,  

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

Two World Wars and the Irish struggles for independence in his homeland gave Yeats a cynical outlook. I may disagree with his conclusions about political governance, but this poem reminds me that anarchy is not the answer either. In fact, the only answer is bringing more and more of this sin-wracked world under the kingdom rule of the One who made the First Coming in Bethlehem. This poem also makes me long more intensely for the real second coming. Maranatha, Lord Jesus; come quickly.

Childlike, Not Childish

My wife and I are staying in the Salt Lake City area this winter. We normally go someplace a bit warmer, but there are two things in particular that are making the cold bearable: we get to spend lots of time with our new granddaughter, and we can attend Capital Church every Sunday. This is one of those churches that makes you excited to get up on Sunday morning. You never know what you’re going to hear, but it is always timely and drawn directly from the Word of God.

The sermon series we’re hearing now is called “Christmas at the Movies.” My first reaction when Pastor Troy Champs announced the series was doubtful. I wondered if we were going to move away from Bible preaching and get into some warm, fuzzy Christmas culture stuff. I needn’t have worried, although I was really curious when I saw that the first movie we would look at was Elf.

If you haven’t seen Elf, I’ll just say it always struck me as a cross between really sappy and really dopey. In spite of that, the speaker not only drew a solid biblical message from it, but it made me think deeply about what it means to come to Jesus “as a little child.” First let me distinguish between childish and childlike. If the adjective childish is applied to an adult, it is most often derogatory, and this is how I originally saw the message of Elf; it is silly. Most of the humor in the movie is drawn from the main character, Buddy’s, childish behavior. It is funny to see an adult doing ridiculous, childish things, but there is not much material for a biblical application.

However, Buddy was also unswervingly trusting and totally uninhibited like a child. There is the biblical message. Our speaker Sunday pointed out just how relevant this is to Jesus’ words in Matthew 18. In 1^st century Jewish culture, children were considered of no value until they could contribute to the family’s support. They were on the lowest step of the socio-economic ladder. In this context Jesus said, “Unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 18:3) Kingdom entrance requires complete trust, total absence of an agenda, and an admission of our complete worthlessness outside of God’s grace, in other words, a childlike attitude.

It struck me as I was reading about the visions of God in the first few chapters of Ezekiel this morning that a childlike view of the indescribable things the prophet saw is necessary. An adult artist’s concept of perspective and spatial relationships makes drawing what Ezekiel saw virtually impossible. Many have tried. Just Google “Ezekiel’s vision image” and see them, all 405,000 of them. Yet I suspect a child would have no trouble putting crayon to paper and representing the vision. Cast aside all the grownup ideas of what can and cannot be “real,” and the Bible becomes more “real” than ever. I’m thinking of things like The Garden of Eden, Jacob’s ladder, crossing the Red Sea, David and Goliath, the visions of the prophets and so on endlessly.

The other thing that really struck me after thinking about a childlike attitude is all the places where Scripture refers to believers as children of God. The Israelites were repeatedly called the Children of God. According to New Testament teaching, believers today are children of our Heavenly Abba, adopted into His family through the work of Christ on the cross. Even secular writers sometimes say we are all children of God, which is true, but only a select few enjoy the benefits of inheritance. Disobedient children will not fare so well in the next life.

I still think Elf is pretty dopey, but I also think that my attitude toward God and His Word might look “dopey” to the unbelieving world. I have often heard the intellectual elite of the world talk about how ridiculous it is for thinking adults to buy into all the myths or fairy tales of the Bible. If we were believing in Zeus or the evil stepmother, that would be childish. However, I believe Ezekiel saw a wheel-in-a-wheel, even though I will never be able to draw it. I also believe the Messiah rose from the dead and reigns over all the earth today. That is childlike faith, and it is far from childish.

The Goodness of Wrath

If you follow my blog regularly, you know that recently I confessed to some waywardness in my daily Bible reading due to an overwhelming sense of the wrath of God as expressed in the Old Testament. (See “Daily BibleReading” and “Not Our Fathers’ God.”) I came to the somewhat snarky conclusion at one point saying, “He’s a God of wrath; get over it.” In my procession through the Old Testament, I am now at Jeremiah, the weeping prophet as he is sometimes called. I note that the God of Israel is also said to weep over the condition of His wayward children. This opened my eyes to something I had forgotten.

Jeremiah 9:24 says, “Let him who boasts boast in this, that he understands and knows me, that I am the LORD who practices steadfast love, justice, and righteousness in the earth. For in these things I delight, declares the LORD.” While it is true that “justice” which can be translated “judgment” is prominent, and I note that it is executed in “righteousness,” both words are preceded by another, softer phrase.

The phrase “steadfast love” as in the ESV or “lovingkindness” in the KJV is where I want to focus. Neither translation fully captures the essence of the Hebrew word “hesed.” The King James Bible Word Book has this to say about it: “Hesed is a covenant word. Its original use was to denote that attitude of loyalty and faithfulness which both parties to a covenant should maintain toward each other…. When the word came to be used predominantly of the Covenant between Jehovah and Israel, it was realized by the prophets that such a covenant could be maintained only by that persistent, determined, steadfast love of God, which transcends every other love by its nature and depth.… The most important of all the distinctive ideas of the Old Testament is God’s steady and extraordinary persistence in continuing to love wayward Israel in spite of Israel’s insistent waywardness.”

God chose to love His children in spite of their “insistent waywardness.” The Hebrew word, hesed, is frequently translated “mercy” in recognition of the fact that because of His love, God does not give Israel everything she deserves, but chooses mercy over complete annihilation. The theme of a remnant to be saved appears throughout the prophets. So while the God of Israel does exercise righteous judgment, He also commends His merciful love to His people.

This is a comfort to me also. God does not give me what I deserve, but shows mercy in the gift of righteousness purchased by the precious blood of His only-begotten Son. I deserve wrath; I receive mercy. Someone has said that we only appreciate light because we know darkness. If God did not pour out His wrath against sin, His merciful love would be meaningless. Because He does judge the wicked, His love of the redeemed is more significant.

I am going to retract my snarky comment; I don’t think we should “get over” the wrath of God. I think we should revel in its significance. There but for the grace of God go I. God emptied His wrath on Calvary’s Savior so that I could enjoy eternity basking in His merciful love. The Old Testament is still bloody awful, but I am prepared to make the defense that it was bloody necessary. 

Keep Yourselves From Idols

Little children, keep yourselves from idols. That’s how the Apostle John ends his first epistle. When we finished studying the book recently, that last admonition seemed to come out of left field. Throughout the letter, John talks about the love of God, love of the brethren, and avoiding sin. The warning against idol worship doesn’t appear to fit the general context of the letter.

Certainly, idol worship is a sin. Just as certainly, John’s audience lived in a culture where idols, literal statues of supposed gods, did exist in plenty. Yet because the only specific sin John had mentioned in the letter was failure to love the brethren, idolatry came as a surprise to me. Until I looked back at the immediate context of the closing remark.

The ESV translators titled the last section beginning in verse 13 as “That You May Know.” Know what? John wanted to be sure that his readers knew where true life comes from. The life John refers to here is the “life of the ages,” as the Greek puts it. It is the same life that Jesus prayed about according to the gospel of John 17:3; knowing God and the One He sent, Jesus said, is life, true life, eternal life.

So John ends his letter saying we know God and His Son, and we know He is true life. The life offered by the idols was not true life; it was fake. The “life” offered by idols tended to lead people away from what was true, from true life. That makes sense if you are a first century reader; idols were everywhere. It would be easy for John’s audience to equate following idols with sin, and that sin led away from truth, as all sin does.

But that doesn’t seem too important to John’s readers today. There aren’t many people in the 21^st century who bow to wood or stone. But what is an idol, really? You have undoubtedly heard someone say that modern idolatry is putting anything else in the place of God in your life. Like putting fake life in the place of true life. Hmmmm.

It is easy to see how an addiction puts something fake in the place of the true. A heroin addict puts finding the next fix at the center of life. Nothing is more important than finding the next high. An alcoholic is in much the same boat. So is the porn addict, the gambling addict, the sex addict and so on. We can see that, but we are none of those; we are not addicted.

Our idols are much more subtle than that. Mine is cars. I love cars. The one time I went completely off the rails was when I bought a $42,000 car on impulse; I succumbed to the lust to have that car. It took center place in my mind/heart/life. I rationalized away all the reasons why I should not buy it, and I bought it. My wife came close to throwing me out of our house when I brought it home. (Right; I didn’t tell her what I had done.) My salvation came in the form of a salesperson who knew me and my wife well enough not to turn in the deal immediately. We cancelled it the next morning with nothing but my shame to pay for.

What is your idol? If it’s not needles, it could be noodles. If it’s not gin, it could be gin rummy (or lottery tickets). It could be nicotine or caffeine. These “lesser” idols may not become complete masters of your life the way drugs or alcohol can, but they can assert a kind of mastery that becomes sin. Anything that causes you to think of it first, whether it’s the first cigarette, the first cup of coffee or the fast lane to the job promotion or the best golf club or whatever, it has become an idol. It has taken first place in your heart, and it has become an idol. Idols replace the love of what is true in our hearts. John wants his readers to know what is true. “Little children, keep yourself from idols.” Now that makes sense.

A New Way of Seeing

At my age, especially with my tendency to think too much (as some have suggested), it is rare for a new thought to come to me. Yet this morning as I was trying not to wake up, I began to see something in a way I cannot remember seeing before. I’m sure someone has seen this before, but it is new to me, and therefore exciting, as I always thrill at new thoughts.

Here it is: it occurred to me that claiming not to believe in God is like claiming not to believe in gravity. From a human standpoint, the two share several common traits. Both are invisible; both are powerful; both are indescribable to some extent; neither can be fully explained by the laws we count as fundamental; neither can be disregarded without dire consequences. On this last point, it might be said that one can apparently live as if neither gravity nor God exist, but eventually one will reach a point where the existence of both will intrude consequentially upon one’s life.

It also seems that both God and gravity are pretty much innately understood at a very young age. At around nine months, babies seem to gain a respect for the existence of gravity. Researchers are not sure why this understanding comes about, but it does nonetheless. Normal boys won’t climb to the upper branches of a tree and step out into thin air; they know better. Likewise, grown men don’t step out of a flying plane without a parachute. They understand that gravity exists, even if they can’t explain it. In a similar way, a sense that a higher power exists must be driven out of the mind of most people, according to Romans first chapter.

A man could step out of a flying plane without a parachute claiming that he does not believe in gravity. He might say that because it is invisible and indescribable by the laws of physics, he chooses not to believe in it. This disbelief could be maintained for some time, depending on the altitude of the plane from which he jumped. At some point in time, however, the man would come to believe in gravity, albeit only for a split second before he entered eternity.

It strikes me that this is much the way some people are living their lives. They go about insisting that God does not exist, and, for the most part, they may be able to maintain their existence without apparent consequences. However, at some point, whether sooner or later, they will discover the existence of God. For some it will be after death, for Scripture teaches that in the final analysis, every knee shall bow, and every tongue confess that Jesus is Lord.

It would seem strange indeed to hear someone say they don’t believe in gravity, but it should strike a believer as equally strange to hear someone say they don’t believe in God. After all, God is as real to me as gravity: I trust God will someday plant my feet on Heaven’s streets as much as I trust gravity to keep my feet planted on terra firma for the time being. A wise man once said it is the fool who says there is no god. It’s just as foolish as saying there is no gravity, but the consequences are far more unpleasant and long-lasting. Remember that the next time you hear something foolish from an unbeliever.