Hebrew language

Elohim Chaiyim

Bright strings and warm winds awaken the hall, tuning the symphony to life, the crass of the brass ringing as it reaches the audience. With every huff of breath, stroke of the hand and take of the bow, the muse shows its face. In music, a variety of instruments play, many notes draw forth from many sources, and in the most intricate and sophisticated of music, notes are even implied beneath the audible level. Through music: creation.

Today as I was driving back to Texas A&M University, I enjoyed the time to mull over the complexity of such creations, and I came to a simple yet profound conclusion: music is alive. Breathing, flowing, music evolves from its creators, the players.

As man, we are made in the image of God, the creator—made to create. That is our muse, that is our privilege and rite on this earth, to steward God's creations and creatures well and to worship Him in our actions.

And we worship in music and trade by creating.

We are creatures of ingenuity and passion, of thought and soul in the same package; our human condition allows us the special ability to create and imagine like no other creäture on this earth. As man, we may create like none-other for one reason only: we are created like none other.

In Jeremiah 10:10, we hear of the Living God, a god who continues and currently lives and interacts with our world; a living god is infinitely more complex and beautiful than any of the shadows so often called gods by others: there is only the one true, living God of Abraham.

But the LORD is the true God; he is the living God, the eternal King. When he is angry, the earth trembles; the nations cannot endure his wrath.
— Jeremiah 10:10


Ponderosa pine fills the air, the scent of a comforting cool vanilla milkshake as it wafts across the nose. Mountain air holds a tight, uncomfortable chill around shoulders, the sun warming from across the peak and behind the front-line protection—the ranging Rockies—but ever out of sight behind the dreary, misting sleet.

Have you ever slept under the stars? Ever spent time in the out-of-doors, in the elements? Or possibly spent time in a damp, drizzling forest? Oh, how beauty shows!

Nature sustains itself with healing rain, with seasons and circling life. Majesty mounts the peaks with the first and last golden rays of sunlight, and misting frozen rain dresses the rough-hewn edges of the mountains with peaceful beauty before my eyes.  And from the behind the range—the thunder rolls.

Power pours from nature's every opening, and the strength and might of a sudden flash of lightning, or of a fiery flare in the forest, stand against all the powers of humanity.

Cold evening settles, the stars hidden behind the fog but the moon glowing softly beneath its humid halo of cold fog. A small campfire crackles to warm and dry the sharp bite from the air, and offer a more jovial glow from below the forest canopy.

Face it, we're scattered and broken ants across the face of the earth, and we don't even stand a chance against the awesome, creative, healing power of the natural world around us.

In the midst of natural power—we are utterly powerless.

None of that matters, though, in light of one, singular fact: that nature only faintly shadows the sheer, raw power of God.

In Genesis 1:1, the first name of God in the Bible appears: "In the beginning, God*..."

"Elohim" holds the unusual property of being a plural noun—used with singular verbs; it is the first-and-foremost portrayal of the Trinity in the Christian biblical texts. The name bases itself in the Hebrew for "strength" or "power", and is the name for the creator god*.

Also, variations of this Hebrew word show many of the aspects of the character of God*.

NOTE: When I use "God" (with a capitalized 'G'), I reference the character, name, and personality of the god of Abraham; when I use "god" (with no capital lettering), it is a reference to the loose concept of a deity in general, of any existing god, regardless of character, power, or other descriptions.