In the beginning there was chaos,
even if there was yet no order against which to identify disorder.
In the beginning there was formlessness,
even if no form yet existed that might be negated
In the beginning there was writhing, menacing darkness.
even if no light yet existed which that darkness might extinguish.
In the beginning, it seems, there was not nothing — but primordial, untamed, chaos.

The Hebrew language tries to capture this opaque reality with alliteration. It’s an almost untranslatable pair of words which describe the “stuff” that preceded God’s creative act — the earth, the Hebrew says, was tohu vabohu. This pair of terms are what scholars call a “hapax legoumenon” a one-time occurrence. These words describe nothing else in the bible, nothing else in the world, except for that which was not the world — the chaos that preceded creation.

I’ve already said more about tohu vabohu;
this “stuff,”
this chaos that preceded creation
than Genesis itself does. There are only two verses worth of description about the world before it was — the world.

In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, [our scripture says] the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep.

This is not the world. It is merely a dimension. It is only an amorphous depth.
But the dark, stewing danger of “the deep” is allowed to linger in our imaginations only for a brief moment. For just as quickly as the surging chaos is named it is given a sort of limit. It is taken in and surveyed by the Spirit of God.

a wind from God swept over the face of the waters.

Under the creative gaze of the Spirit of God, this dangerous primordial chaos shows itself to be — water. This water is not yet the livable space of creation, but it is somehow less chaotic, less opaque. Still dark, still dangerous, but in a certain sense amenable, even obedient to the word that might be spoken over it.

Then God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light. And God saw that the light was good;

In the beginning of the containment of chaos,
there was light
and there was goodness.
The deep and surging waters are now made fully visible under the light of the sun. And within a few verses they will be gathered together and dry land will begin to appear. And soon enough there will be creatures to populate this emerging and hospitable new space.
The movement from formless void to livable space is one that is inaugurated by a word from God. God spoke over the water and from it emerged form and life. And over that form and over that life God speaks another word: a word of blessing and pleasure— God calls it “good.”

***
Is it beginning to make sense why, on this day, when we recall the Baptism of Jesus, we are also reading the story of the first day of creation?

Let’s listen again to the words from today’s Gospel:

In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

Do you see the similarity of the scenes?
There is water,
there is the Spirit of God hovering over the water,
and there is a word of blessing and pleasure over the life that emerges from the water —
“You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

***
So, what might it mean to consider Jesus’ baptism in light of the divine creation that it seems to invoke?

Could it be that there is more at play here than simply an encounter between an eccentric prophet named John and an unknown messiah in the nether regions of Palestine, some two thousand years ago?

Could it be that the inauguration of Jesus’ ministry — his baptism — not only opens the space for a divine word of pleasure and confirmation, but that something entirely new is coming to birth in this moment? That this too is an instance of creation — of a new creation? Of a new creation coming into being, that once again circumscribes the chaos that has somehow persisted after the original creation?

The persistence of chaos.

Whatever theological problems may emerge in light of the fact that God did not create the waters, but demarcated and contained a pre-existing “deep,”
(and there has been extensive debate about this throughout the history of the church, up until the present today)
it doesn’t change the fact that this is what the text tells us.

“Let the waters under the sky be gathered together into one place, and let the dry land appear.” And it was so. God called the dry land Earth, and the waters that were gathered together he called Seas.

Chaos persists.

The biblical story attest to the fact that chaos persists.
There is now order, there is blessing, and there is life. But chaos persists.
Surging, from time to time, from within and sometimes beyond its circumscribed domain.
In the time of Noah, God allows the earth to, as it were, revert to “the deep” of pre-creation.
In the Psalms and in the book of Job we hear of strange and massive sea creatures like the leviathan — reminders of a chaotic pre-creation that, though contained, still threaten.
Jesus is able to calm a storm while at sea — thereby showing that he, like God, can keep the primordial chaos at bay.

And in much of the iconography of Jesus’ baptism we see the imagery of chaos being once again contained. Look at the creatures that hide beneath the surface of the water on the icon on the cover of your bulletin.

Just as God’s original act of creation brings into being a broad space for life and blessing. Jesus’ baptism points to the new space of life and blessing that becomes possible in baptism.

Chaos does not disappear. But it is contained, under Christ’s feet.
It does not have the last word.

In our lives we each know that chaos is never fully overcome.
It surges forth and threatens us.
It even occasionally overtaking us.
There are times when we are thrust into the dark and swirling deep.
in the depth of depression
in the pain of loss
at the prospect of death
in the midst of a painful conflict


But in these moments, we can know that chaos will not have the last word.
For chaos has been contained.
Contained in the creative act of God.
And contained in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus.
Contained by the presence of the Holy Spirit
who descends also on us with the reminder that, like Jesus, we too are the beloved of God — in whom God is well pleased.

The realization that chaos is contained,
and the life that becomes possible with this realization
is inaugurated and enacted in our baptism.
In baptism, we participate with Jesus in his life, death, and resurrection. And in so doing we are also invited, not just to take part in a ritual,
but to be created anew.

But in baptism, in becoming a new creation, we are not magically spared from chaos. Instead we are enabled to face it. Indeed, we are empowered to confront and inhabit it. This is how former Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams puts it:

the new humanity that is created around Jesus is not a humanity that is always going to be successful and in control of things, but a humanity that can reach out its hand from the depths of chaos, to be touched by the hand of God. And that means that if we ask the question “Where might you expect to find the baptized?” one answer is “In the neighbourhood of chaos.” It means you might expect to find Christian people near to those places where humanity is most at risk, where humanity is most disordered, disfigured and needy. Christians will be found in the neighbourhood of Jesus — but Jesus is found in the neighbourhood of human confusion and suffering, defencelessly alongside those in need. If being baptized is being led to where Jesus is, then being baptized is being led towards chaos…

Out of the depths of the deep, may we rise to encounter, with Jesus, the opening of the sky, the descending of the Spirit, and the assurance that we are the beloved of God.

Out of the waters of baptism, may we return to the waters of chaos,
in order to accompany those who are threatened or overtaken by confusion and suffering.
Let us offer words and actions the unveil, not our good will or our cliched comforts, but the truth of creation itself — that chaos persists, but does not have the last word.
And the truth of the new creation — that Jesus has opened a new and broad space for us to inhabit:
a space where chaos persists, but will finally be overcome by justice, peace, and joy in the holy spirit.


Amen.