1:1 The book of Genesis opens with an introductory statement that sums up God’s great work in history: “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.”15 This summary statement covers the whole of what follows in Genesis 1 and is balanced by the summary completion statement in Genesis 2:1: “Thus the heavens and the earth were finished, and all the host of them.”

The Hebrew word “create” (baraʾ) generally implies a finished product, not merely the manufacture of raw materials.16 So when Genesis 1:1 tells us that God created the heavens and the earth, it does not mean (as some have thought) that he creates the raw materials in verse 1, out of which he then proceeds to create the cosmos in the remainder of the chapter (perhaps after a lengthy gap of time). “Created” describes the end of the process, not the various stages in that process.

The word baraʾ by itself does not necessarily imply creation ex nihilo (cf. Ps. 51:10), and indeed it is used synonymously with ʿasah (“to make”) in Genesis 1. However, it is always used, when God is its subject, to describe the origin of things that he alone can manufacture. What is more, the combination “heaven and earth” functions as a merism, so together these terms include everything that exists, implying that ex nihilo doctrine.

What this means is that “In the beginning” in Genesis 1:1 refers not to a time prior to creation but rather to the initial six days of creation, as a summary heading; the rest of the chapter lays out the development of God’s initial purpose in the ordering of space and time.

1:2 Having begun with a universal focus (“the heavens and the earth”), the creation account immediately focuses on the center of God’s purpose, which is the earth. Its initial state is tohu vabohu (“without form and void”), a rhyming pair in Hebrew that is hard to translate. Tohu often refers to the wilderness or wasteland (cf. Deut. 32:10; Isa. 34:11), and the combination with bohu is used in Isaiah 34:11 and Jeremiah 4:23 in judgment passages, where formerly habitable land is rendered uninhabitable. The reference here is thus not so much to a primordial chaos, as older scholars argued, but to a wilderness that is unsuitable for life (“desolate and empty”) yet transformed into a perfect environment.17 The unusual dual combination tohu vabohu alludes to the two-phase creation project, God’s forming the environments in days 1–3 and filling those environments with occupants in days 4–6.

The deep sea and darkness were the most inhospitable conditions to life for the Israelite, so “darkness . . . over the face of the deep” describes a wilderness that must necessarily be devoid of life. Yet even this scene is not hopeless, because over it all is the Spirit of God, hovering like an eagle over its chicks (cf. Deut. 32:10–11). Without God the scene would be one of total, hopeless desolation, but when God is present—whether in a universe or in the life of an individual—he brings life, order, and hope. Even the most inhospitable conditions cannot prevent him from establishing life in a world of beauty, splendor, and majesty—the best of all possible worlds. In Genesis 1 the darkness and the sea are the elements from which the cosmos takes shape, but in the new creation described in Revelation 21 even these are gone: “I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more” (Rev. 21:1); “Its gates will never be shut by day—and there will be no night there” (Rev. 21:25).

The phrase “Spirit of God” (ruakh ʾelohim) could also be rendered “wind of God” or “mighty wind,” which draws our attention to the parallel situation at the height of Noah’s flood (Gen. 8:1). Then too darkness was upon the face of the deep: water was everywhere and every living soul perished, except for the few occupants of the ark. But when God remembered Noah and sent his ruakh over the waters, he once again brought life and hope out of a wilderness world.

1:3–5 Having described the inhospitable pre-creation state in verse 2, Genesis 1 goes on to report the process of creation by the word of God. It is described as taking place over six days, each of which has the same basic structure. The day begins with an announcement: “And God said.” God’s will is expressed through his all-powerful word. Following the announcement comes a commandment (“Let there be”) and a report (“And so God made . . . and he separated”). The report is followed by naming, as God not only brings the universe into existence but defines its essential nature. God names only the basic ecosystems, the static life-support systems; the animals, in contrast, he brings to Adam, the first man, for him to name as an act of subordinate authority under God’s rule (2:19–20). Finally, there is an evaluation (“And it was good”) and the whole is placed within a sequential, temporal framework (“There was evening and there was morning”). The latter is an essential element of the creation narrative since it demonstrates that in creation God is ordering not merely cosmic space but time as well. In contrast to ancient views of history that were cyclical or essentially timeless, the biblical understanding of history is linear, proceeding from an origin point (“the beginning”) and moving toward an ending point, as anticipated by the Sabbath rest that is the goal of the original creation week.

In addition to the repeated themes within the days, there are also patterns that run across the days. For instance, the six days subdivide into two sets of three days. In the first three days, with four creative words (each beginning with “And God said”) God creates the spaces and life-support systems of the universe:

(1)  light (one word; 1:3–5)

(2)  sky and waters (one word; vv. 6–8)

(3)  land and seas; vegetation (two words; vv. 9–10, 11–13).

In the first three days God replaces an inhospitable wilderness with an inhabitable universe. Then in the next three days, again with four creative words, God creates various moving creatures to fill these spaces:

(4)  sun, moon, and stars (one word; vv. 14–19)

(5)  fish and birds (one word; vv. 20–23)

(6)  various beasts; humans (two words; vv. 24–25, 26–27).

In these last three days God replaces emptiness with fullness. The sun, moon, and stars on day four correspond to the light on day one; the fish and birds in day five correspond to the seas and skies in day two; and the beasts and man in day six correspond to the land and vegetation on day three. In each triad the creative work moves from the heavens to the water to the earth. Each triad ends with two creative words on the last day and with the earth’s bringing something forth.

This structure is designed to call attention to the sixth day, which is the chronological and literary climax: the report of the sixth day takes up twice as much space as any other day. Not only that, but God breaks into poetry over the man he has created (v. 27); for the first time a day is deemed not simply good but “very good.” This, the sixth day, with the creation of man, is the high point of the story so far, to be surpassed only by the seventh day and the cosmic rest it anticipates.

In keeping with the structure described earlier, the first day revolves around the creation of light and its separation from darkness (vv. 3–4). God is not said here to create darkness (though cf. Isa. 45:7), perhaps because darkness is perceived as a negative entity rather a positive one. Separation is a key concept in Genesis 1, flowing from the idea of there being a proper place for everything, with boundaries determined by God. A collapse in the boundaries between the distinct realms of light and darkness would be a sign of God’s returning cosmos to chaos as an act of ultimate judgment (e.g., Zech. 14:6–7).

Light and darkness are thus imagined not in modern scientific terms as the presence or absence of electromagnetic radiation but rather as two distinct realms: a realm of light and a realm of darkness, each of which will receive its proper inhabitants on day four. These realms are given their names, “Day” and “Night,” by God in an act of sovereign determination. The privilege of naming someone or something was a sign of power in the ancient world; for example, an Egyptian pharaoh renames Eliakim as “Jehoiakim” before placing him on the throne of Judah in place of his deposed brother (2 Kings 23:34). God is not sovereign merely over humans, on occasions giving them new names (cf. Genesis 17); he rules even over the foundational structures of the universe, such as day and night. His authority is finally evident in the new name that will be given to “the one who conquers” in Revelation 2:17.

By beginning his work with the creation of day and night God starts out by ordering time as well as space, a theme underlined by the refrain that divides the creative acts: “There was evening and there was morning, the [number] day” (Gen. 1:5, 8, 13, etc.). Much ink has been spilled on the question of whether the days are normal, representational, or analogical. These questions are important, and each reader should be convinced in his or her own mind.18 However, it is worth remembering that these questions would have been unlikely to occur to the original readers, or most readers throughout the history of the church, so the meaning of the passage should be able to be established without recourse to this discussion.

1:6–8 The second day begins with the creation of a raqiaʿ (“expanse”; KJV: “firmament”). This word is hard to translate into English; the underlying Hebrew verb means to beat out metal (Isa. 40:19), though most uses of the noun refer back to the creational context. It seems plausible that the underlying metaphor depicts the bright sky as a metal mirror19 that God has hammered out and set in place (Job 37:18), but the poetic image should not be pressed too strongly. Robert Alter suggests “vault,” like a vaulted ceiling, which seems as good a concept as any.20

More importantly, the spreading out of the raqiaʿ represents a mighty act of God’s incomparable power, as well as establishing a fundamental division between the heavenly realm and the earthly (cf. Ezek. 1:22). The raqiaʿ is part of the heavenly realm and may thus be named “the heavens,” in contrast to the earth. It is also an element of the water cycle, dividing the waters above, from which the rain and dew descend, and the waters below, which include rivers as well as seas and the subterranean deeps (Gen. 1:6–8). As a result, God is sovereign over the provision of the life-giving elements of dew and rain, as well as the chaotic seas (cf. Psalm 29).

1:9–13 On the third day two creative words are spoken by God. His first word gathers the waters under the heavens, so that dry ground can appear (Gen. 1:9), which is then named “Earth” (v. 10; or “land”). After this the land is commanded to bring forth vegetation, which it does: each plant has within it the seed necessary to propagate itself according to its own kind (v. 12), stressing again the orderly universe that the Lord has created. This is the first occurrence of the word “seed,” which will have a prominent role to play later in Genesis: like the plants, humans too carry seed, and each generation will reproduce the image of the father in the children. The distinction of different “kinds” of animals anticipates the later Levitical laws against mixing species (Lev. 19:19)—God’s order for creation is to be respected.

Although the earth “brings forth” the plants, this is in no way conceived as a naturalistic process; these elements too are part of what God has made (cf. Gen. 1:24–25, where the animals that the earth brings forth are “made” by God). The lesson for an agricultural community is obvious: God makes the ground fruitful, not the pagan deities. Vegetation belongs in the first triad of days because it does not move, unlike the various elements of the second triad.21

1:14–19 On day four the second triad of days begins, as the spaces created in the first triad receive their occupants. Day and night were created on day one, and, correspondingly, God creates the sun, moon, and stars on day four (v. 16). Their purpose is also assigned: to distinguish between day and night; to distinguish between seasons, months, and years; and to act as signs, as well as the more obvious function of imparting light to the earth (vv. 14–15). The announcement in verses 14–15 is fulfilled in reverse order in verses 17–18, placing the focus on the creative act itself in verse 16.

The function of these heavenly bodies is carefully limited to providing services to those on earth. Though they have the honor of “rule” over day and night (v. 18), they have no independent status as deities, as they do in other ancient Near Eastern creation accounts. Indeed, the sun and moon are not even called by name in Genesis 1 but are denoted as “the greater light” and “the lesser light” (v. 16). The stars, which were conceived by many in antiquity as controlling human destinies and whose creation comes before the moon and the sun in the Enuma Elish, are almost an afterthought at the end of verse 16. Although the heavenly lights are good and useful to humanity, there is nothing in their nature that deserves worship or praise. Indeed, part of their function is to remind humans of the appropriate time to worship their Creator: moʾadim in verse 14, which the ESV renders “seasons,” generally has religious festivals in view (cf. Lev. 23:2). The stars also serve as a testimony to the Lord’s power and authority (cf. Ps. 19:1–6).

1:20–23 On day two the skies were formed first, followed by the seas, whereas on day five the skies and seas are populated in reverse order. The seas are filled with smaller, “swarms of living creatures” (Hb. sherets), which conjures up an image of abundant schools of fish (Gen. 1:20). The seas are also the home of “great sea creatures” (tanninim); these sea monsters, like Leviathan (cf. Job 41; Ps. 74:14), feature in cosmic battles in other ancient creation narratives, but in the biblical account they are merely one more of God’s obedient creatures (Ps. 148:7).22 There is no intense battle against chaos in Genesis 1, out of which the earth finally emerges. Rather there is the simple, repeated, unruffled combination “And God said . . . and it was so.”

The skies are likewise filled with birds or, more precisely, “flying things” (cf. ESV mg.)—ʿop is a broader term than zippor (“bird”), encompassing insects and bats as well (cf. Lev. 11:19–20). All these are “living creatures” (nepesh hakhayyah; Gen. 1:21); like the beasts and humans, they are to be fruitful and multiply under God’s blessing in their proper place, in the waters of the seas and upon the earth (v. 22). The Levitical laws will later divide animals, birds, and insects into the categories of “clean” and “unclean,” but these divisions are not there in the beginning: at the outset of creation all creatures are “good.” They are “blessed” with the ability to procreate, a key linkage between the original creation and God’s new order that will be established in Noah (9:1, 7), and ultimately in Abram in Genesis 12:1–3.

1:24–31 The sixth day parallels the third in that both record two creative words of God (“And God said”). On the third day the land appeared and brought forth vegetation, while on the sixth day the land brings forth animals and vegetation is assigned to them as food. As noted earlier, the sixth day is the literary and chronological climax of creation thus far, with the longest description of any of the days. The living creatures are brought forth from the earth and reproduce after their own kind, as was the case with vegetation (cf. 1:11–12). However, they acquire a special honor in being brought into existence on the same day as humanity, and, along with humanity, they are given the plants and trees as food (vv. 29–30).

The formation of humanity in the image of God is the climax of the sixth day, and with it of the entire creation week. Humans are the only part of creation addressed directly by God, setting them apart from all other creatures. The concept of all humanity, male and female, slave and free, as being made equally in the image of God was radically countercultural in the ancient Near East. A proverb dated to the reign of the Assyrian king Esarhaddon (r. 681–669 BC) claims, “Man is the shadow of a god, a slave is the shadow of a man; but the king is like the (very) image of a god.”23 Women did not merit a mention in the proverb, being ranked even lower than slaves! In the Bible, however, women are fully equal to men in status, even though the sexes are assigned different roles in Genesis 2. This passage also shows that our gender as male or female is an essential feature of God’s design from the beginning, not a mere social construct that can be reconfigured in a multitude of ways according to one’s desires or feelings.

The importance of the decision to make mankind is underlined by the unusual act of self-deliberation preceding it: “Let us make man in our image” (v. 26).24 This plural is not merely an address to the heavenly council. No such body appears in this passage (unlike in Isa. 6:8, where the plural may perhaps have that force), for reasons that should be obvious: nothing can distract from the relentless monotheism of the creative process. There is no divine or angelic being but God, the Lord, involved in creating the world (cf. Isa. 40:14). Humans are made not in the image of angels but in the image of God himself. There is not yet here a full revelation of the Trinity, but later biblical revelation fills out that doctrine, showing us God’s creation by the Word (Jesus; cf. John 1:1–14), through the work of the Spirit (Gen. 1:2). In that regard it is intriguing that it is as “male and female” that humanity is made in God’s image, hinting at the relational dimension at the heart of the Trinity as a differentiated unity. But no earthly analog can ultimately explain the mystery of the Trinity.

Genesis 1 does not unpack all that is involved in being made in the image of God. But this text is a striking affirmation for the OT, which is so resistant to any attempt to image God in worship in any form—human or nonhuman (Ex. 20:4).25 In context, the emphasis on man’s ruling over the lower creation as a vassal king fits the ancient Near Eastern emphasis on the relationship between image and kingship. There are a nobility and a rule assigned to humanity by being made in God’s image, as well as the implication of the possibility of a relationship with the God who made us sufficiently like him that we could come to know him. Theologians have organized a number of attributes under this theme—rationality, morality, goodness, and so on—and have sometimes sought to distinguish between “image” (Hb. tselem) and “likeness” (demut). However, in Genesis these seem to be broadly synonymous terms, as is common in Hebrew poetry, and both image and likeness continue in man after the fall (Gen. 9:6; James 3:9), though damaged through sin and in need of renovation. Although God has no body, even our physical bodies reflect something of the nature of God: our ears reflect his power of hearing, and our arms image his power to save (cf. Deut. 26:8; Ps. 94:9). Since we are inscribed with God’s image, we belong to him and owe him our service (cf. Matt. 22:20–21).

Having made humanity in his image, God then blesses them, turning his face toward them in favor (Num. 6:24–26) and endowing them with the gifts of fruitfulness and life (Gen. 1:28). Together as male and female they are to fill the earth with their offspring and subdue it—not in an oppressive way but by organizing it productively and beautifully so that its varied aspects cohere in form and function. In the beginning the animals and birds have no fear of humanity or each other, just as it will be in the new heavens and new earth (cf. Isa. 65:25).

As a final act of blessing, God provides food for humans and animals, assigning them plants and fruit as their food (Gen. 1:29–30). This does not necessarily mean that all creatures were vegetarians before the fall, any more than it means that humans could have eaten grass. The point is that God has made a world in which everything necessary for human and animal flourishing has been provided. The original inhabitants of the world God has made lack for nothing, so much so that at the end of the creative process God can survey the universe he has made and declare it “very good” (v. 31).

2:1–3 It might seem, now that the creative work is done, that the initial episode is over—hence the ending of chapter 1. The heavens and the earth (days 1–3) and all their inhabitants (days 4–6) are now in place (Gen. 2:1). However, the author adds a crucial seventh day to the week, recording the fact that on it God rests from all his labors (v. 2). Since God never gets tired or weary, this cannot be a rest for his own sake but makes sense only as a model for humanity, made in his image, to follow. Other cultures in antiquity had significant cycles of seven days, but the concept of breaking up time into a series of seven-day weeks seems to be original to the OT.26 A seven-day system cuts across all natural rhythms that may be derived from the sun and moon (such as years and months) and therefore becomes a means for Israel to subordinate its time to God’s rule. It is a weekly reminder that God made the universe without our help and that the universe can continue on without us. Six days of labor culminating in a seventh day of rest points humanity forward, even before the fall, from the work of this world to the ultimate rest for which humanity has been created. The original world, good though it was, was never intended to be humanity’s final destination. God created time as well as space, and his intention from the very beginning was to bring both to an ultimate conclusion in Christ.