Creation and Re-Creation (Gen. 1 & Jn. 1)
9.7.25 – Sermon written and preached by Leigh Rachal @ FPC Abbeville, LA
Genesis 1:1–2:4a and John 1:1–5
“In the Beginning: Speaking Light, Breathing Life”
This Sunday we begin a new journey together.
Through the Narrative Lectionary, we will walk the long arc of scripture (from Genesis to Revelation)
listening for the ways God’s story shapes our story.
Each year, this lectionary anchors us in one gospel, and this year it is John.
John’s gospel is different from the others.
He doesn’t begin with a genealogy like Matthew,
or a manger scene like Luke,
or a baptism in the wilderness like Mark.
John reaches further back. He begins before time itself: “In the beginning.”
John writes with poetry and
with a vision of Christ as the One who not only walked the roads of Galilee long ago,
but who was present at creation’s dawn.
John tells the story of Jesus as the story of new creation.
God is making the world new again through the Word made flesh.
And so, week by week, as we hear the stories of Genesis, Exodus, and beyond, we will also listen for their echoes in John’s gospel.
We will look for how the same God who spoke light into the darkness in the beginning still speaks through Christ today, calling us into the rhythm of new creation.
In the beginning.
These are the three little words that open the great story of scripture.
Those same words echo again at the start of John’s gospel.
Genesis begins with a formless void, darkness swirling over the deep,
and a Spirit (God’s breath) hovering, waiting.
You can almost feel the hush, the anticipation,
as if the whole cosmos is leaning forward to hear what God will say.
And then: God speaks. “Let there be light.”
And there was light.
John begins his Gospel with the Word, the Logos,
who was present with God in the beginning, speaking life into being.
Both tell us that before there was anything, there was God.
Before the world had its rhythms,
before light and dark could be told apart,
before we had names for oceans or stars or seasons….
God was.
God spoke.
And it was so.
And it was good.
Genesis 1 is written less like a report and more like a poem.
In fact, some call this first portion of Genesis, the Creation Hymn.
It moves in stanzas.
It sings in a rhythm.
Over and over we hear the refrain:
• God speaking order out of chaos.
• God seeing the good and providing what is needed.
• God separating light from shadow, life from death.
• God naming us “Beloved.”
• God blessing with grace.
• God resting with us in holy peace.
It is a liturgy of creation, a song of order rising from chaos,
goodness repeating like the chorus of a hymn.
Light is called out of the dark.
Waters are parted,
dry land appears,
seeds sprout,
stars scatter,
creatures learn to swim, crawl, and fly.
And with each breath of God’s word, the world becomes more itself, more alive, more good.
John hears that same rhythm when he tells the story of Jesus.
“In the beginning was the Word…
All things came into being through him…
John is making a very clear point:
Jesus, The Christ, The Logos, The Word was NOT a late arrival.
Not a patch to fix what went wrong.
But is part of the eternal rhythm,
The Word is the voice that called forth light,
And the Breath that breathed chaos into the goodness of creation.
John wants us to know that when we meet Jesus, we are not meeting a stranger to this story.
We are meeting the One who was there from the first word spoken.
For John’s Gospel, just as God spoke in Genesis,
so God speaks again in Christ.
The Word is not only sound, but flesh.
The Word walks among us, breathes with us, carries our joy and our sorrow.
The Word shines light into every shadowed corner and breathes life into every withered place.
This is not only the story of long ago.
It is the story of every beginning.
Every time chaos swirls and darkness closes in,
God is there,
still speaking order out of chaos.
Every time we cannot see the way forward,
God is there,
still seeing what is Good and providing what is needed.
Every time we are tangled in what destroys,
God is there,
still separating light from shadow, life from death.
Every time we forget who we are,
God is there,
still naming us beloved.
Every time we grow weary,
God is there,
still blessing us with grace.
Every time we need to be held,
God is there,
still resting with us in holy peace.
You have probably known those dark nights
when the weight of worry keeps you awake,
when the future seems uncertain,
when hope feels like it has slipped through your fingers.
And yet—even there—the light has a way of breaking through.
Sometimes as small as a candle flame,
sometimes as dazzling as the sunrise,
but always enough to remind us:
the darkness does not win.
The light shines in the darkness.
And the darkness does not overcome it.
The darkness could not overcome the light at creation’s dawn.
Darkness could not overcome the light that broke forth in Bethlehem at the Savior’s birth.
Darkness could not overcome the light of the world even when he was lifted onto the cross.
And the darkness cannot overcome us now.
The light of Christ keeps breaking through.
This is God’s story.
And this is our story.
We are called to find ourselves in God’s story: living in the rhythm God began.
We are called to speak words that build and bless.
We are called to see the goodness God has placed around us.
We are called to separate ourselves from what destroys and draw near to what gives life.
We are called to name one another as beloved, blessed, chosen.
And then, we are called to rest in God’s peace, trusting that the world does not depend on our constant toil but on God’s faithful word.
This rhythm—speaking, seeing, separating, naming, blessing, resting—is not only how God created the world.
It is how God continues to re-create us through Christ.
In the beginning, God spoke light into the world.
In Christ, God speaks again and again,
always inviting us into the new creation:
There will be a new heaven and a new earth.
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it.
Thanks be to God! Amen.