God's silence and mine are one. The billions of years of emptiness, before that mystical moment when life sparked into existence in the primordial ocean, while time worked slowly to prepare for nature-- this is God's patience.
I know this emptiness now.
But nothingness was not forever, emptiness did not prevail. The language of dna, the very language of life, are God's most pronounced words. Pure action, not voiced, moves proteins about in every cell that has ever existed, in the most complex language ever spoken. The surest language God has spoken to me is this inaudible whisper- "live."
In silence, life struggled against the merciless onslaught of death- the churning, sucking forces that make all things poor. The unbelievable improbability of life was matched by the utter possibility of Time- so vast that to dwell upon it for too long is like sitting on the edge of a cliff, looking down, and knowing utter vertigo. Somehow, life not only was made, but it survived. The cell did not "evolve." It is irreducibly complex. Natural selection could not create it- for before it there was no evolution. No. It was made, billions of years before there were eyes or ears, and billions more before anything could ask why or how. And somehow, in this most precious root of life, the simplest and smallest building block of all of living things, there was written a mechanism that could beat death. Self can die. But to give birth, to pour ones body into another, this is the way death is beaten. Love, this abstract concept exists at the most material level of all things- the inner language that says, "Perhaps I cannot live forever. But if I embrace death, and hand my life over to something new, Death will be pillaged of its satisfaction." All cells say this. They have no other choice. In silence, all things pass away, and nothing was designed to be self sustaining. No. Then the gift of self would never be necessary. The lesson here is that Death and Love are one. To give one's self to either is to learn the other.
Can you hear it? The same voice that wrote DNA, says, "This is my body, which shall be given up for you." The same words that told the first cells to live, resonate in Christ;" I came to serve, not to be served." The Heart of the World beats the same in both."
Then, the second creation movement of life- cells learned a new lesson: togetherness is better for beating death, cells learned. Cells joined- and built. They did not only reproduce themselves, but they reproduced their entire organisms. A million years of time slowly passed, and there was algae, coral, flowers. Some cells learned though, that they could steal from others, and they became viruses. They took by force the life that was freely given by others. These stayed singular- they could never build, and they never made the transition to become organisms. The lesson here is that Death teaches some to Love and some to Steal, and has done so since life's first birth.
The third movement, as mystical as the others took place when, moved by the simplicity of need, of survival, an organism that could feel was born. Nature was being overcome. Fish swam in the sea, insects buzzed through the air. The ruthlessness of death drove these organisms to kill each other in order to continue reproducing. But love had started, and could not be stopped. Death could not challenge it, it could destroy each generation, but not before its grip on the universe had been weakened by new births, each more resilient then the last. Living was an exchange that multiplied upon itself. It was both cyclical and linear each generation rhymed the last, but was not synonymous with it. The universe moves in circles, but love moves in one direction- always more, always up.
The most beautiful thing happened. Organisms did not self produce, but learned sex. Intimacy and family became the mechanism for creation.