The sun will climb its way down sky’s ladder and evening will ascend. Crested upon its coming will be Rosh Hashanah and a new year, 5781.
Clay was cast on this day, many twinkles and twilights ago. All was awakened and awed by the beginning of His works. The entirety patterned uniquely with the evidence and eternity of clay’s Creator and breath’s Bringer.
But before the beginning, in moments or millenniums preceding, something was fashioned. Wisdom was woven. A pattern found form.
The Lord possessed me at the beginning of His creation, before His works of long ago. Proverbs 8:22 CSB
The Lord made me as He began His planning, before His ancient activity commenced. Proverbs 8:22 ISB
Rosh Hashanah is not a commemoration of first day and world sprung, as much as a call for us to live as if we originated there and bear the seed of that soil. For that clay still clings to us, we are ruddy with the recognition of that day, on this day. In every day since.
It is not just what Elohim created that marks us, but the how of the creating. He surrendered us subtly sown with a pattern not obvious unless heart aims deep and wide for the unifying of the entire work. Close inspection reveals finite brush strokes and hidden hues.
Something radical entered on that day that endures to this one. A being so beautiful and bountiful began to speak, lips lined with story. The story hasn’t stopped, won’t stop, unless we draw conclusions based on chaos and calamity.
We are here not for story’s end, but its conveying, through drawn breath and given grace. All of creation is womb weighted, awaiting the next birthing which reveals Him to a part of creation unremembering of the fullness of Him. How He feels inside of us, unafraid of us.
We must know, never forget, that the creation of us is no problem to solve. No, we are the public of His purpose. Carriers of calm. Purveyors of pattern.
Wisdom was used to make something out of nothing. On that day, we are told, Wisdom rejoiced at the creation of mankind. There is delight in our design. We are swatches of His splendor after all. After all.
Being patterned makes us wild like Wisdom. It allows us to sketch the beauty bound in chaos, to find its order and release its meaning. There is intent only known by the Storyteller, until we see all for what it is, for what all and every means to Him and marry the meaning to a creation groaning for this resounding, resonating revelation.
Like Wisdom, we go. Beyond church and chapel to hedges and highways, mountains and valleys, ships and storms, castles and cottages. Wisdom cries out where paths meet, gates open, hearts turn and kingdoms crumble. We testify to mountains not yet settled and seas not yet bound.
Humans unkind often destroy where called to create. We lose limitlessness when we begin to build for ourselves what should only be, can only be, created with Him.
A day comes when we awaken to the truth that there is a universe around us. When creation becomes for us, a gaze at the Eternal. A call to consider, not consume. We each have a choice to let the story be told through us, to sing our own song of praise to the Author. There are moments we meet the story He has told till now, line by line, with the stanzas of our praise. Majestic moments. Oh, there is an unspeakable oneness until we tell of it.
On a Rosh Hashanah eons ago and in the days that followed, Pappa was crowned King by all of creation. Shofar’s blast and candle’s light will reckon with us to crown Him again. Today. Every day. We are each here, beings beginning to live up to the magnificence sown inside. Crown carriers who bear a coronation each and every time we recognize Him, appreciate Him, adorn Him and tell the story from this day forward, with all history hemming it in.
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