In a recent meditation from the Center for Action and Contemplation on the difference between domination and dominion, Brian McLaren is quoted musing on the gentle, permission-giving phrasing we hear in the creation story:
The book of Genesis is often blamed for the domination story because, in the Garden of Eden story, human beings are given dominion over the rest of creation (Gen. 1:28). People assume dominion means domination, but I don’t think you have to read the story that way. The nature of God in the first creation story isn’t God dominating and forcing the world into a certain mold. It is “Let there be light.” It’s a permission-giving power.
Along similar theological lines, German theologian Jürgen Moltmann uses the Jewish kabbalistic concept of tzimtzum (Hebrew for contraction) to help us understand the movement of God in the act of creation. According to this idea, God who is infinite and all-encompassing contracts in order to make room for that which is not God – to make room for an other with whom to be in real relationship. This understanding has long been so compelling to me, as it points to a God who not only desires relationship with us, but who also gives us the gift of free will and autonomy as creatures in order that this relationship is genuinely two-sided, rather than like the relationship between marionette and puppet-master. God desires creation to thrive and flourish on its own terms, so that the relationship between Creator and creature might be truly alive.
But McLaren’s language of “permission-giving” shifts my attention and adds, for me, another layer to consider: As God’s image-bearers, how are we called to the same sort of life-giving generosity? By generosity, I don’t mean a material generosity in giving what we have (though as Christians we are certainly called to that sort of generosity!), but rather a spiritual generosity – and humility – to tolerate and even celebrate what is other than, outside of, or even foreign to our lives and worldviews. And the spiritual generosity of creating good for its own sake, for the world’s sake and releasing it.
Releasing ownership of and control over whatever good we might create in the world, trusting that God is present in and working through all that is good. How might we embody this posture of dominion rather than domination, permission rather than control in our own lives? And what difference might that shift make in our closest relationships with God, self, and those closest to us? It seems to me that there’s a posture of holy curiosity implied here. What might change if we committed ourselves to staying curious when the temptation to control, deflect, or avoid comes up? Can we say “let there be _________” and also let it be outside of our control, trusting that God is good and always at work?
My vegetable garden last summer might be an appropriate metaphor for this. I planted and fertilized it and then more or less let it do its own thing. Some of the plants I was most excited about failed to thrive, while others were unstoppable. Each morning during harvest season, I went out to gather all that was ready to be picked. Some days, the garden gave me what I most wanted from it. Other days it gave me something else. But it was all a gift, all good, and sometimes what I didn’t think I wanted was exactly what I needed.
Let there be tomatoes and peppers. Let there be cool mornings, sunny afternoons, and fertile soil. Let there be light.
By the Rev. Sarah Reynolds, Associate Rector