“In the beginning,” John writes. It’s a bit like, “Once upon a time”: a good beginning for a very good story. As we might expect, John’s words echo the beginning of Genesis, the earlier story of the world’s beginnings. In John’s retelling, though, the focus is different. It’s on a person. The Person through whom the world came into being.

I had the privilege a few weeks ago of auditing a course that helped me both continue the process of reviving my very rusty Biblical Greek and learn to pray with the Greek Scripture. As part of my review, I’ve been memorizing the prologue to John’s gospel in Greek, and the familiar passage has come to life for me all over again as I find myself hearing the verses as a drama.

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God! In Greek, word order shifts to emphasize what’s most important, and though it’s impossible to replicate in English, John pushes that final “God” forward in the sentence so we don’t miss this astounding statement: The Word wasn’t just with God, he was God.

In case we’re sleeping, John repeats, pointing to the primary character in the drama not with a simple personal pronoun, “He,” but with a demonstrative pronoun: “This one­”—this one standing among us here on our little planet—”was in the beginning with God.” John the Gospel-writer reminds me of John the Baptist here, as he points to Jesus, saying, in essence, “Look! This one who’s among us? This one is the one to watch.”

John continues, telling us more about the centrality of this person in the history of the world:

“All things came into being (ginomai) through him, and without him came into being (ginomai) not even one thing which has come into being (ginomai). Not even one thing: not one cell, one glint of light, one music note or scent of lilac or baby’s belly-laugh came into being apart from him.

This verb ginomai, turning up all over these first verses of John, catches my attention. Perhaps it’s the obstetrician in me, particularly alert to a verb with meanings including “to be born” and “to be created.” (Its broader range of meanings can be summarized by “to be, or to come into being”).

The story of creation continues and deepens: “In him was life, and the life was the light of humankind.” And then a shift from the past to the present, from creation to this side of the cross and the tomb: “And the light is shining in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” I want to write those final words in italics with an exclamation mark: “. . . the darkness has not overcome it!”

And then ginomai again, as John points out another character in the drama coming on the scene as part of God’s continuing work in the world: “A man came (ginomai), sent from God, his name (was) John.” As he did with the Word, John turns to this character he’s introducing and points, not with a simple personal pronoun but with a demonstrative pronoun: “This one came as a witness, in order to witness to the light, so that all people might believe through him.”

The Gospel writer wants to make sure we don’t mix up these two characters, so he repeats, clarifying and confirming: “He was not the light, but came as a witness to the light.” And then he continues, “The true light, who gives light to every person, was coming into the world.”

These next two verses almost make me cry with the absurdity, the sadness, of what we missed: “He was in the world, and the world came into being (ginomai) through him, but the world didn’t recognize (or know) him. He came to his own (“his own” here is neuter, i.e. His own things, the world which he had brought into being) and his own (this time “his own” is masculine, i.e. his own people) did not receive him.”

But a few did, and “to as many as received him, he gave the authority and power (exousia) to become (ginomai again) children of God.” I love that both the sense of authority and power are rolled up in that one word, exousia.  We need both authority and power to become God’s children. It’s a privilege requiring authority to enter, and a position we cannot attain without being enfolded in Christ’s own person and carried into it. In Jesus, we’re given both: authority and power to become God’s children.

But back to ginomai. As I listen to it echo through John 1, I fall in love with this verb and become alert to the richness it carries, the layers of creation and new creation, the mystery and profundity of the blessing into which Jesus brings us as he himself becomes (ginomai) flesh and lives among us. And so when I encounter the verb once again in the Lord’s prayer, I am stopped in my tracks.

 “Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” Be done. I expect to find behind these English words the simple Greek verb poiew, meaning to do or to make. Instead, I discover my friend ginomai, “Your will come into being (ginomai), as in heaven, so on earth.” Here in the Lord’s prayer, I hear echoes from John 1, the mystery and creative power at play as God invites us to pray this way and prepares to answer our prayer. God’s will isn’t something we by ourselves can make or do. No, it’s something we pray for, asking this ginomai-expert—this God who brought into being all the grand and intricate details of the world, this God who became flesh, and gave us, in himself, authority and power to become children of God—asking this God to bring into being his will in this world of his. Asking him to do what only he can do. Asking him to work in and through us in whatever way he wishes as he brings his will into being in us and in the world.

Your kingdom come,

your will come into being,

As in heaven, so on earth.

Let it be so. Amen.

____________________

First photo by Jeremy Thomas on Unsplash. Second photo by Greg Rakozy on Unsplash, Photos 3-6 by Carolyn Watts. Final photo by NASA on Unsplash.