Brooding Spirit, Deep Waters

Genesis 1:1-5

Rev. Monte Marshall

Before us this morning is water—plain, ordinary water, straight from the faucet!  But when plain, ordinary water is brought before the people of God in worship, it becomes something extra-ordinary.  For us, water is more than H2O; it’s a powerful metaphor infused with meaning.  In fact, for us, there is no such thing as mere water.

We find water in the creation story of Genesis 1:  “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.  But the earth became chaos and emptiness, and darkness came over the face of the Deep—yet the Spirit of God was brooding over the surface of the waters.” 

Now please bear in mind that Genesis 1 is not a scientific treatise on the origins of the universe.  The writing is not in the flat, descriptive language of the scientist.  Instead, Genesis 1 is a theological proclamation cloaked in the majestic and epic prose of liturgy.  The truth it expresses is contained in the rich images and powerful metaphors of an effective storyteller.    

So in Genesis 1, the earth is in a wild and chaotic state.  Darkness is shrouding an untamed, watery abyss called “the Deep.”  This image of primordial waters is shared with other ancient Near Eastern creation stories.  It symbolizes chaos.  It’s the same term used later in Genesis to tell the story of Noah and the wild, raging flood waters that emanated from the Deep to cover the face of the earth.[1]  

But notice this:  The story says that brooding over the surface of the turbulent waters is the Spirit of God.  In Hebrew, it’s the ruach Elohim—the wind of God—or the breath of God—or the Spirit of God—that broods over the waters.   One commentator notes that the Hebrew verb translated as “brooding” in the Genesis text, is also used in the book of Deuteronomy “to speak of a mother eagle hovering or brooding over her young ones.”[2]

Author Kristen Johnson Ingram writes imaginatively of ruach in this way:   Ruach “burgeons with life, she creates constantly, unnecessarily, she’s always on the nest, always hatching out another galaxy or a wolf pup or something….Ruach blows where she will, and is the lover part of God:  Ruach loves so much more than sensibility demands.

“Ruach moved over the face of the waters, roughing them up as she blew over them, sending her own divine Breath into the deep, sending down all the primal Causes through whatever was here when there was nothing…. She is Life-giver, the Paraclete, the wildest force known to God.  She is God and she is also God’s breath…Ruach is the Spirit of God, the wind that blows stars and Magellanic clouds and gravity and particles clear from heaven and then calls them back again.”[3] 

And while this brooding Spirit hovers over the Deep, God speaks a word:  “’Light: Be!’ And light was.”  And more creative words are spoken until the creation is finished and God takes a rest.  The end result of God’s creative labors to bring order out of the chaos and life to the formless void is deemed good—very good.  So for us, there is no such thing as mere water. 

But there’s more to be said here.  As one commentator puts it, the creation story in Genesis is but “the first in a long series of stories about God creating order out of chaos.”  As we’ve already seen, this theme extends to the Noah story, but it also passes through the Red Sea, and right on down into the muddy waters of the Jordan River where Jesus is baptized.[4] 

When Jesus steps down into the waters of the Jordan, he steps down into the chaos of life.  But then what happens?  The Spirit of God that broods over the face of the Deep at the beginning of creation descends upon Jesus as he comes out of the waters of the Jordan.  The voice that says, “’Light: Be!’” at the beginning of time now declares in Mark’s version of the baptismal story, “You are my Beloved, my Own.  On you my favor rests.”  And then, in every version of the gospel story, Jesus is portrayed as the one who trusts God to create order out of chaos time and time again, even through him.   

And isn’t it true that the baptismal waters that washed over us have been infused with the same meaning?  Isn’t baptism a sign for us that God’s Spirit is forever brooding over us and the chaos that still threatens our lives?  And isn’t baptism a sign of hope for us that God will once again create life out of the turmoil that sometimes marks our existence?

Noted author and speaker Anne Lamott knows this baptismal hope.  There was once a time of utter chaos in Anne’s life when she was addicted to drugs, alcohol, tobacco, and bad men.  She lived in a dirt poor neighborhood with a church nearby.

The church was nothing more than a ramshackle, run down, dilapidated hole-in-the-wall, with a handful of old black women who could sing.  Sometimes Anne would stop by the church to listen to the music.  She would stand by the door and listen.  Sometimes she hummed along with the melody.  But she would leave before the sermon began.  She wanted nothing to do with Jesus.

Then one day she found out she was pregnant.  The father was married to someone else.  Besides, he was no on she wanted to build a life with.  She was in no shape financially or in any other way to raise a kid.  With the help of a friend, she got an abortion.  She didn’t go to church that week.  Instead, she went to her bedroom with a pint of booze and the codeine the nurse had given her, and she began drinking.  She spent all week drunk, stoned and drugged.  That Saturday night, she began hemorrhaging.  She was too disgusted with herself to wake up a friend to ask for help.  She treated herself until the bleeding stopped several hours later.

Weak and shaking she got in bed.  After awhile, she became aware of a mysterious presence with her, hunkered down in the corner.  She knew beyond any doubt that it was Jesus.  She felt him just sitting there on his haunches in the corner of the loft, watching her with patience and love.  She thought that all of this was some delusion brought on by too much booze and the loss of blood.  But during the week, that mysterious presence seemed to accompany her no matter where she went.  She tried to push the feeling aside, but it persisted.

Anne did go back to church though.  She actually went in and sat at the back of the sanctuary.  She even stayed for the sermon.  The congregation sang a song that got to her.  She says that it felt like something was rocking her in its bosom, holding her tight like a scared kid, and she opened up to the feeling—and it washed over her.

She began to cry and left the service before the benediction.  She raced home, but she still sensed that presence with her.  She opened the door to her house, stood there a minute, and then hung her head and said, “I quit.”  She then took a long deep breath and said out loud, “All right.  You can come in.”[5]

It took Anne a year to get sober and another year to be baptized.  She describes herself today as a “bad Christian.”  But she calls baptism “profound.”  She writes:  “Left to my own devices, I’m like a tidal pool, with these little crabs and animals struggling for survival.  I run out of soul food or emotional nourishment.  Then from the audience or from my church or whatever, I can feel the tide come in and bring with it little bits of seaweed or krill or nourishment.  It’s gentle but it’s startling—the cold water is startling and it brings with it everything I need….That’s why baptism is so profound—you’re submerged, you can’t breathe, and you sputter for a minute—but when you come out, you’re a different person.”[6]

Before us this morning is water—plain, ordinary water, straight from the faucet!  But when plain, ordinary water is brought before the people of God in worship, it becomes something extra-ordinary.  For us, water is more than H2O; it’s a powerful metaphor infused with meaning.  For us, there is no such thing as mere water.

So today, with the Spirit of God still brooding over us as chaos threatens—still creating and re-recreating—we have the opportunity to come again to the baptismal waters and renew our hope in the creative power of God at work in our lives and in the world.