Genesis 1:31 And God saw every thing that he had made, and, behold, it was very good. (KJV)
In the very beginning, there was Nothing. No trees or flowers or rocks or waterfalls or dirt or grass or land or ocean. There weren’t even stars or lights or days or nights or moons or months or years or anything. And God decided to take this Nothing and make . . . well, everything.
God started with an enormous breath. And then he spoke. And his words were deep and sharp and strong like a knife. And they separated one thing from another. He said, “Let there be light,” and the light separated from the darkness. Dark over here. Light over there. And the light and dark grew bigger and fuller and brighter and darker. From the light and the dark, God spoke the sun, the moon, and the stars into being. And God looked at his creations and saw that they were good. And they were.
God spoke again and separated out land, water, and sky. God breathed in, and the land grew, steady, firm and dry. And the water rushed down the land, running and leaping and swirling into rivers and lakes and oceans. And the sky stretched wide like she was just waking up, filling the space with oxygen, wrapping the land and the water with a blanket of air. And God looked at his creations and saw that they were good. And they were.
God breathed in again and spoke. And his voice was like a deep breath, breathing life into the world. And soon there were octopuses and whales and manatees in the ocean. And on land, plants began to grow. And soon animals were crawling, and walking, and running across the earth. Frogs, beetles, bears, tigers, and monkeys. God looked at his creations and saw that they were good. And they were.
On the plains were deer, buffalo, and lions. In the mountains were marmots and pikas and sheep. Trees grew from the ground into forests, and squirrels played in their branches. Soon, the animals leapt into the sky. Owls, bats, and eagles flew over branches and cliffs. Life was spreading and dividing and separating further and further.
God looked at all his creations and saw that they were good. And they were. So good, in fact, that God was ready to put his own children on the earth. And so he took dust from the ground, and he spat on it to make clay. And he formed that clay into a human. And then God took another breath, in and out. And as he breathed out, the human breathed in.
And God called his child Adam. And Adam was happy. Because how could he not be happy amongst all of God’s beautiful, good, lovely creations? He was living in a garden with flowers and enough fruit hanging from the trees to have a picnic every single meal.
Adam woke in the mornings with the sun on his face, and he’d eat grapes and apples and nuts and berries and then swim all day with alligators that didn’t bite or play with lions that didn’t growl, and then he would watch the most marvelous sunsets as he fell asleep.
But then one evening, as the sun was setting, it was even more magnificent than normal. Shafts of yellow and red and even purple dashed across the clouds, and Adam said, “Isn’t that beautiful?” But there was no reply. And that made Adam feel hungry. No, not hungry. It was like hunger but even deeper and sadder. It was not a hunger for food, but for a person. For the first time in the history of the world, a man felt lonely.
And the beauty all around Adam only made his loneliness worse. He wanted to share it with someone. He wanted someone to talk to. Someone to laugh with. Someone to watch sunsets and have picnics with. So that when he said, “Isn’t it beautiful,” they’d respond, “Oh yes, isn’t it!”
And God was watching Adam and knew just what to do. Separating everything was just the beginning of creation. The world he’d made with all its difference and diversity would continue to separate, and splinter, and fall further and further apart into a million-billion-gazillion shattered, lonely, desperate pieces unless it was held together by something.
And so God created another human. This one was a woman named Eve. And God introduced Adam and Eve and explained that they would help hold the universe together. And he taught them what they had to do. “Cling to each other,” he said.
Cling, a definition:
To hold onto something so tightly that you don’t float apart.
And that’s what Adam and Eve did. They clung to each other. They watched sunsets together, they prepared picnics, and when they woke in the morning, they held hands before getting out of bed. It was easy now. They were a new couple. They hadn’t had their first argument, or had babies, or lost jobs, or lived with in-laws, or had anything but perfect days and pleasant weather. They were new to love. They didn’t know how far it could stretch without breaking, how deep it could go without dissolving, how long it could last without expiring.
Some day, they would have to learn all of this. They would learn to love like God loves and to cling like God clings. But while their love was young and inexperienced, it was also precious. And God saw the way they looked at each other and knew that it was good. No, not just good. Very good.
Because the world needed love. And Adam and Eve would have to hold onto each other no matter what happened next. Even if the garden died away and the fruits turned bitter. Even if they got hurt, sad, or injured. Even if they felt scared or alone or confused or didn’t know if they could go on. Even if they fought, or their children died. Even if their world shattered. Even in the face of war and famine and tornado and fire. Even if they grew bored or angry or tired. No matter what, they had to cling to each other and to the world with everything they had. They must love. Their world depended on it.
And someday, Adam and Eve would raise children. And they would teach their children to be clingers, too. To cling to each other and to the world God created. You are one of their children. They have passed this most important job down to you.
You are a clinger. And so when you feel lost or scared or sad, or if it seems like the world is splintering and falling apart, or if you see someone who’s lonely or cast out, do what Adam and Eve learned to do: love. Love each other. Love the world. Love your mother. Love your father. Love your sister and brother. Love your neighbor. Love the refugee. Love the animals and the plants. Love the oceans. Love the sunsets.
Because while the universe was separated by the power of God’s lungs, it is bound together by the gravity of his love. And you are a lover. You are a clinger. And so love on. Cling to each other. And cling to the God who already clings to you. And we will hold the world together.
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