Harry Potter’s destiny was shaped by a prophecy that defined his entire life. That’s not so unusual. In many a great fantasy book there is a moment when our hero overhears some snatch of insight from a seer or a palantir or an ancient legend foretelling a moment of truth, a showdown of good versus evil in which Johnny Unlikely has a critical role to play.
What if I took you by the hand, pulled out a brittle papyrus scroll, and unrolled it to the very beginning—here. See this bit? It’s about you.
In fact, Genesis 1-3 has a lot to say about you—your identity, your mission, your purpose on the planet, your enemy, your destiny, the curse that seeks to snare you. It’s not a maybe-you-will-maybe-you-won’t incidental side fact about you, it’s fundamental to who you are, and why. If Harry Potter, grim and determined, mustered all of his being to vanquish the Dark Lord, how much more should it affect us to realize that all the way back in the dawn of time we were written into The Great Story?
After a long and complicated symphony of creation, God did something unusual. The Trinity, in a significant little conversation, says, “Let us make man in our image, after our likeness. And let them have dominion…” (Gen 1:26)
The creation of Adam was different than all preceding creative play. God did not simply say, “Let there be Adam and there was Adam.” This time he used hands and breath, intimate, personal.
He scooped dirt. He pushed and pulled and stretched it out, taking his time, sculpting a masterpiece. It was a tiny, perfect man, brown as an acorn, but glowing, eyes closed in sleep, an expression of contentment spread across his face. “Wake,” whispered the King, and lifting him up in one hand, breathed upon him. The man began to stir, stretching his arms, rolling his neck, and opening his eyes to blink in wonder at the world.
Can you imagine the sound of God laughing? It tumbled, rolled like mighty waters. Can you imagine the delight, the love, the upswing into the arms of God, the rumbling voice? “You shall be called Adam. Welcome home.”
In the beginning, the first human was created “in God’s image,” a tiny reflective mirror. Not to be a god, but to represent God. God didn’t make a million, just two, and entrusted to them a mission. Be fruitful, multiply, fill the earth with the likeness of the Creator. Every tribe, every tongue, every race would scatter in all of their variety, together forming a giant mosaic to reflect the goodness of God.
Humans were created to resemble their wildly abundant, generous, loving, joyful, innovative Father. (Do I overuse the word abundant? Perhaps because it is so striking. God does nothing stingy, half-hearted, or merely sufficient. His gladness, compassion, grace, holiness—they are all infinite, abundant, free.)
Resembling God is an identity-level hardwiring into the heart of every human being ever born. Can you imagine meeting someone like this? A “little Christ”? A “Christian,” in the true sense of the word?
Humans were created to reign with God. Adam and Eve were given every possible natural resource coupled with nearly unlimited freedom to explore the vast earth. (It’s that abundant thing, remember?) They were given intelligence and imagination to invent every possible adornment for civilization. “What if we took some wood and put it together like so, and maybe made a kind of, shall we say, cushion… voila. Bed.” Every creative work ever embarked upon by a human being flowed from that initial mandate: “fill the earth and subdue it.” Roads, bridges, cities, libraries, ships, windmills, and gardens.
Don’t forget gardens. If we create in the likeness of the Creator, we will love this loamy earth, love getting our hands dirty in it, delight in fruit trees and flowers, bumblebees and rivers. We will care for it, tend it, steward it, nourish it, share it well. It is a gift, and God said it is good.
Reflect, resemble, represent, reign, and all of it in relationship: this is the mission of God’s people. This is our calling.
For all of the glowing attributes of Eden, it had one serious flaw for Adam. It was lonely. And so in a first Wendell Berry task (zoology, farming, poetry), God paraded all of his creatures before Adam. “How about this one? Is it smart enough? Beautiful enough? Strong enough?”
“I shall call it hippopotamus.”
None were enough, not until God made Eve, bone of his bone, flesh of his flesh. Not to serve under him nor to rule over him, but to complete him. And finally, creation was finished. And it was very good.
Notice that Adam and Eve were called and beloved before Lord Voldemort shows up on the scene. The plot thickens in chapter 3, but our mission is not contingent on Satan. Long after he is vanquished, we will just be getting started. To use every ounce of happy creativity and energy, to build with Christ a kingdom worthy of the King? That will take eternity.
Catherine's Letters 