What Kind of Book Is This?

Scan the chapter headings of Genesis (chapters 1 through 50) before proceeding, noticing the sweep of the whole book. (Genesis 1:1–2:3, the creation account, will be the focused reading for the next session.)

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.

— Genesis 1:1

Genesis is the first book of the Bible, and what we make of Genesis tends to shape what we make of everything that follows. If the foundation is wrong, the building will sag. If the foundation is right, we have somewhere to stand.

Before we open chapter one and begin walking the text verse by verse, we need to spend a session getting our bearings. What kind of book is Genesis? Where does it sit in the canon? How is it put together? Who wrote it? What are we supposed to do with it as Christian readers in the twenty-first century?

These are not idle questions. The way a reader answers them determines what the reader will see when he opens Genesis 1:1 next week.

Genesis in the Canon

Genesis is the first book of the Bible. That is not a trivial statement. Of the sixty-six books that the Lutheran tradition recognizes as the canon of Scripture, Genesis comes first — and by intentional placement, not by accident.

In the Hebrew canon, Genesis is the first of the five books of Moses, the Torah. The Hebrew name for the book is Bereshit — the first word of the book, which means “in the beginning.” Hebrew books are often named by their opening word. The Greek-speaking Jewish community translated Bereshit as Genesis — “origin,” “coming-into-being” — and that is the name the book has carried into Christian Bibles ever since.

Genesis is foundational in a way no other book of the Bible is. Every doctrine taught later in Scripture has its first root somewhere in Genesis. The doctrine of God is established in Genesis 1:1. The doctrine of creation is laid out in Genesis 1 and 2. The doctrine of humanity made in the image of God — the imago Dei — is announced in Genesis 1:26–27. The doctrine of marriage is given in Genesis 2. The doctrine of sin, the doctrine of the fall, the doctrine of original sin, the doctrine of death — all of these are established in Genesis 3. The first gospel promise comes in Genesis 3:15. The doctrine of God’s covenants, the doctrine of justification by faith, the doctrine of God’s choice of a particular people for the sake of all people — these are all developed in the Abrahamic narratives. The doctrine of providence is shown in the Joseph story. The line of the coming Christ through the tribe of Judah is announced in Genesis 49.

When the apostles preach Christ in the New Testament, they reach back constantly to Genesis. Paul argues for justification by faith from Genesis 15. Paul argues for original sin and the Second Adam from Genesis 3 and Genesis 5. Hebrews tells the whole story of the patriarchs as a story of faith. Peter draws on Noah and the flood as a type of baptism. Jesus himself, when asked about marriage, takes his audience back to Genesis 2: Have you not read that he who created them from the beginning made them male and female?

It is no accident that the four-volume series begins here. To know Genesis well is to know the seedbed in which the rest of the Bible grows. To miss Genesis, or to misread it, is to start the rest of the Bible already disoriented.

The Opening Claim

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.

That is how the Bible begins. Ten words in English, seven words in the Hebrew. There is no preface. There is no introduction. There is no explanation of how the author came to know what he is about to tell us. There is no defense of his right to make such a sweeping claim. The Bible opens with a declaration, and the declaration is the most momentous declaration in the history of human language.

Notice what verse 1 does. It establishes four things in one breath.

It establishes a beginning. In the beginning. There was a moment when things began. Reality is not eternal in its current form. There was a starting point. The universe is finite in its past. It had a beginning.

It establishes God. In the beginning, God. The Hebrew word is Elohim — the standard word for God, the deity. The opening verse of the Bible does not argue for the existence of God; it assumes the existence of God; it announces that the existence of God is the framework inside which everything else exists. God is the prior reality. Before there was anything else, there was God.

It establishes God as Creator. In the beginning, God created. The Hebrew verb is bara’ — the verb that, in Genesis 1, is used only of divine activity, only of God. The Christian and Jewish traditions have read this verse as teaching creation out of nothing — a doctrine confessed in 2 Maccabees 7:28, Romans 4:17, and Hebrews 11:3, and taught by the church across the centuries — though the Hebrew verb bara’ itself does not carry the ex nihilo meaning by lexical force alone. The God of the Bible is not a god who shapes pre-existing matter, like the gods of the ancient Near Eastern myths. The God of the Bible is the God who brings being out of non-being, who calls into existence the things that are not. This is creation ex nihilo — out of nothing — and the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo is built on this verb and its repetition through Genesis 1.

It establishes the scope. The heavens and the earth. The two words name the totality. The heavens — everything above and beyond. The earth — everything below and around. The phrase is a way of saying “all that exists.” God created everything that exists.

In one verse, four foundational truths. There is a beginning. There is a God. The God created. He created everything. Everything that follows in Scripture rests on these four affirmations.

The Lutheran Confessions assume Genesis 1:1 as the cornerstone of the doctrine of God. The Augsburg Confession Article I — on God — simply states that God is the eternal Creator of all things. Article I is, in compressed form, Genesis 1:1. The Apology takes the same position. The Formula of Concord assumes it throughout. To be Lutheran is, among other things, to read Genesis 1:1 with the seriousness it deserves and to let it govern the rest of one’s theology.

It is also the verse the New Testament most often reaches back to. The Gospel of John opens by deliberately echoing Genesis 1:1: In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through him. John writes in the beginning because he wants his readers to think of Genesis 1:1, and he wants them to know that the Christ they confess is the One through whom the heavens and the earth were created. The opening of the Bible’s first book and the opening of the Bible’s fourth Gospel rhyme on purpose. We will hear more of this in the next session.

Toledot: The Spine of the Book

If you sit down with Genesis and read it straight through — even slowly, even with a commentary at your elbow — you may not, at first, notice the structure. It can seem on first reading like a sequence of stories: creation, then the fall, then Cain and Abel, then Noah, then Babel, then Abraham, and so on. The connections from one story to the next can feel like the connections in a folk-tale collection — one thing after another, with some genealogies stitching them together.

But Genesis is not a folk-tale collection. Genesis is a carefully structured book, and the structure is on the surface of the text once you know to look for it.

The structuring device is a Hebrew formula: elleh toledot — usually translated “these are the generations of…” The formula appears ten times in Genesis, at carefully chosen points. Each occurrence marks a transition from one major section of the book to the next.

Genesis 2:4 — These are the generations of the heavens and the earth — opening the second account of creation and the story of the garden.

Genesis 5:1 — This is the book of the generations of Adam — opening the genealogy from Adam to Noah.

Genesis 6:9 — These are the generations of Noah — opening the flood narrative.

Genesis 10:1 — These are the generations of the sons of Noah — opening the table of nations.

Genesis 11:10 — These are the generations of Shem — the line from Shem to Terah.

Genesis 11:27 — Now these are the generations of Terah — opening the Abraham cycle.

Genesis 25:12 — These are the generations of Ishmael — briefly accounting for Ishmael’s line.

Genesis 25:19 — These are the generations of Isaac — opening the Jacob narrative.

Genesis 36:1 — These are the generations of Esau — briefly accounting for Esau’s line.

Genesis 37:2 — These are the generations of Jacob — opening the Joseph narrative.

(Some scholars count Genesis 36:9 as an additional Esau toledot, making eleven; the precise count varies slightly, but the structural function is the same.)

What is the formula doing? It is doing something very specific. The formula does not simply say “this is the genealogy of X.” The Hebrew word toledot is broader than that. It means “the begettings of,” “the things brought forth by,” “the descendants and what came of them.” The formula is announcing: what follows is what came of X. The story of the garden is what came of the heavens and the earth. The story of the flood is what came of Noah’s line. The story of Abraham and his descendants is what came of Terah.

The formula structures Genesis into deliberate sections. It is the book’s spine. Read with the toledot in mind, Genesis ceases to be a folk-tale collection and becomes what it actually is: a tightly designed account of God’s dealings with humanity from creation through the descent into Egypt, told in ten articulated movements.

This structural attention matters for how we read. The toledot formula tells us that the author was careful. He was not merely passing on inherited stories; he was arranging them with intention. He was building a structure. The structure assumes coherence: each section connects to what came before, and the whole arc traces what God is doing with the world he made.

There is also a theological point in the formula. The toledot always introduces what is brought forth by an earlier figure. The book is interested in what comes next. It is interested in the line that runs from creation through the seed of the woman to Noah to Abraham to Judah — and that line carries the promise of the One who would crush the serpent’s head. Genesis is a book that looks forward. Each toledot pushes the line one step further toward the goal that the rest of Scripture will eventually disclose. The book is shaped for the Christ who is coming.

Genesis and History

In the series introduction we named historicity as one of our four commitments. The Old Testament narratives are history. We read them the way the text presents itself.

Nowhere is this commitment more contested — or more important — than in Genesis. And so it is worth saying out loud, at the start of our volume on Genesis, what we are doing.

Genesis presents itself as continuous history. The toledot formula we just walked is a historical formula — a what came of whom framework. The book presents the patriarchs as real men: Abraham left Ur, traveled to Canaan, fathered Isaac, was buried at Machpelah. The book presents the events as real events: the flood actually happened, the tower of Babel was actually built, Sodom was actually destroyed. The book gives names, places, dates, and lifespans. The book makes no signal that any of this should be read as something other than what it presents itself as.

The same applies to the earlier chapters. Genesis 1–11 — the so-called Primeval History — presents itself as history too. The creation week is presented as a real sequence. Adam is presented as a real first man. Eve is presented as a real first woman. The fall is presented as a real event in the garden. Cain killed Abel. Noah built an ark. The flood came. The text does not signal a change of genre between Genesis 11 and Genesis 12, between the Babel story and the call of Abraham. The toledot formula runs straight through both. The whole book is one continuous historical narrative.

To read it as Lutherans, in the tradition of the Confessions, is to read it the way the text presents itself. Adam was a real man. The fall really happened. The flood really came. Abraham really left Ur.

This does not mean we read with our heads in the sand about the questions modern science and modern biblical criticism have raised. Those questions are real. They are out there. They will come up in any class that takes Genesis seriously, sooner or later. The Teacher’s Guide will address some of them directly. For now, the framing is this: we read Genesis as history because that is what it claims to be, because the New Testament treats it that way, and because the doctrinal weight that rests on it — original sin, justification by faith, the work of Christ as the Second Adam — requires it. Where the text is presenting Hebrew poetry, we read it as Hebrew poetry. Where the text is presenting historical narrative, we read it as historical narrative.

The opening lines of the Augsburg Confession’s Article II — on original sin — depend on a historical Adam. Without a historical fall, the article makes no sense, and the structure of doctrine built on it collapses. Luther’s Lectures on Genesis — which run to eight volumes in the modern Luther’s Works edition, the longest commentary he ever wrote — take Genesis as history throughout, without apology. The confessional Lutheran tradition has never wavered on this. Neither will we.

Authorship and Date

A word on who wrote Genesis.

The traditional answer — held in Judaism for two thousand years and in the Christian church for nearly as long — is that Moses wrote Genesis. The first five books of the Bible are called the Pentateuch, the “five books,” and the Pentateuch has historically been referred to simply as “Moses.” When Jesus referred to these books, he said Moses. When the New Testament authors referred to these books, they said Moses. The Pentateuch and Moses have been synonymous since long before Christ.

This does not require us to insist that every word of Genesis was put down in writing by Moses’ own hand in the wilderness. There are clearly editorial touches in the Pentateuch that suggest a later updating — most obviously the note at the end of Deuteronomy 34 describing Moses’ death. The traditional understanding is that the substance of the Pentateuch comes from Moses, with the recognition that minor editorial work occurred later as the text was preserved and copied.

Modern critical scholarship has, since the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, proposed alternatives — most famously the documentary hypothesis (J, E, D, P), which holds that the Pentateuch is a composite work of multiple sources stitched together over centuries by various editors. The hypothesis has been refined and rebutted and revived many times. It is not a settled scholarly conclusion. Among confessional Lutheran scholars, the documentary hypothesis has generally been rejected on both methodological and theological grounds, and Mosaic authorship has been retained.

We will not relitigate the documentary hypothesis here. The lay reader who comes to Genesis with a study Bible from a confessional Lutheran publisher will find Mosaic authorship assumed. We assume it too. When we say Moses wrote Genesis, we mean what the tradition has always meant: the substance is Moses’, composed by him under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, given to Israel as part of the Torah, preserved and transmitted faithfully across the centuries.

The date follows from the authorship. Moses’ lifetime is dated traditionally to roughly the fifteenth century BC, with the exodus from Egypt falling around 1446 BC according to the early-date reading of 1 Kings 6:1. Genesis would have been composed by Moses during or shortly before the wilderness years — perhaps drawing on earlier oral and written sources that the people of Israel had carried with them from Mesopotamia, perhaps under direct inspiration as Moses sat on Sinai. Either way, the book reaches us as the inspired Word of God, given through a real man at a real time in real history.

That is the book we are about to read.

The Map

A brief map of what lies ahead. Genesis falls into four major movements, marked by the toledot structure we have just walked.

Primeval History (Genesis 1–11). From creation to the tower of Babel. These eleven chapters cover the most vast sweep of any portion of Scripture — from the absolute beginning of time, through the creation of humanity, through the fall, through the flood, through the scattering of nations at Babel. The narrative pace is fast; great events are compressed; the scale is cosmic. These chapters establish the world we live in, and they establish the universal human condition that the rest of the Bible will address.

The Abraham Cycle (Genesis 12–25). The pace slows dramatically. Where Primeval History covered everything, the Abraham cycle covers one man and his family. God calls Abram out of Ur, makes him promises of land and seed and blessing, walks with him through twenty-five years of waiting for a son, tests him on the mountain, and brings him to a peaceful death. The cycle establishes the patterns — covenant, promise, faith, sacrifice, the people of God set apart for the sake of the world — that will run through the rest of Scripture.

Isaac, Jacob, and the Covenant Line (Genesis 25–36). The promise passes from Abraham to Isaac, and from Isaac to Jacob. The book spends little time on Isaac and considerable time on Jacob — the scheming younger brother who becomes Israel after wrestling with God at Peniel. The twelve sons of Jacob are born; the covenant line is preserved and multiplied; the people who will become Israel are formed.

The Joseph Narrative (Genesis 37–50). The book closes with one of the most carefully constructed narratives in all of Scripture — the story of Joseph, beloved son sold into Egypt, falsely accused, exalted to second in command of the kingdom, and used by God to save his family from famine. The Joseph narrative is the longest sustained story in Genesis, and it is set up so deliberately for christological reading that the patterns are almost impossible to miss. Beloved son. Rejected by brothers. Sold for silver. Suffered. Exalted. Forgave those who had tried to kill him. The shape of the gospel is in this narrative.

Genesis ends with Joseph’s death and his request that his bones be carried up from Egypt when God brings his people home. The book closes with a coffin and an unfinished promise. That coffin is a pointer forward — to the exodus, to the conquest, to the kingdom, ultimately to the Christ who would be the substance of every promise the patriarchs had received. Genesis sets the stage; the rest of Scripture plays it out.

Gathering the Threads

Before we open Genesis 1 next session, this session has asked: what kind of book is this? The answers shape everything that follows.

Genesis is the first book of the Bible — the seedbed of every doctrine that comes after, the soil in which every promise is planted. It opens with a single sentence that establishes the doctrines of God, beginning, creation, and the totality of what exists: In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. Everything that follows in Scripture rests on this foundation.

The book is structured by the toledot formula — these are the generations of… — which appears ten times to mark the major sections. The formula tells us the book is carefully designed: each section traces what came of what came before, and the whole arc moves forward toward the Christ who will eventually come.

We read Genesis as history. The book presents itself as a continuous historical narrative from creation through the descent into Egypt, and we honor that presentation. Adam was real. The fall actually happened. The flood actually came. Abraham actually left Ur. The doctrinal structure of Christianity rests on these affirmations.

We accept the traditional ascription of Genesis to Moses — the same Moses Jesus pointed to on the road to Emmaus when he opened the Scriptures and showed the things concerning himself. The book reaches us as the inspired Word of God, given through a real man at a real time.

And we have a map of the four major movements: Primeval History, the Abraham cycle, Isaac and Jacob, Joseph. We know where we are going. We know the structure. We have our bearings.

Next session, we open chapter one. We will meet the God who speaks. We will see creation come into being through his Word. We will hear, in the first chapter of Scripture, the echo that the Gospel of John will pick up on the first page of its book: In the beginning was the Word. We will begin to see, in our very first chapter of exegesis, what it means for Christ to be in the Old Testament.

For Discussion

The following questions are for group discussion or personal reflection.

1. This session called Genesis the seedbed of the canon — every later doctrine has its first root somewhere in Genesis. Which doctrine, when you trace it back, do you find most striking to find rooted in Genesis? Why?

2. Genesis 1:1 establishes four things in one verse: a beginning, a God, an act of creating, and the totality of what was created. Which of these four does contemporary culture have the hardest time accepting? Which do you find hardest to hold with confidence?

3. The toledot formula reveals Genesis as a carefully designed book rather than a collection of folk tales. How does knowing about the book’s structure change the way you approach reading it? What might you watch for that you would have missed before?

4. We have committed to reading Genesis as history. This is increasingly counter-cultural — even within some parts of the church. What pressures have you encountered, from outside or inside the church, to read Genesis as something other than history? How might you respond to them?

5. The traditional ascription of Genesis to Moses has been challenged by modern critical scholarship, but the confessional Lutheran tradition has retained Mosaic authorship. Why does it matter who wrote Genesis? Or does it?

6. Genesis ends with a coffin and an unfinished promise — Joseph’s bones, waiting to be carried home. What does this suggest about how Genesis fits into the larger story of Scripture? How does the book set up everything that follows?

Looking Ahead

Session 3 begins the work of actually reading Genesis. We open chapter one — the seven days of creation — and meet the God who creates by speaking. The chapter is one of the most theologically dense in all of Scripture, packed with claims that establish the doctrine of God, the doctrine of creation, the dignity of humanity, the goodness of created order, and (read with the eyes of John 1) the pre-existence of Christ as the Word through whom all things were made.

Before next session, read Genesis 1 once more, slowly and prayerfully. As you read, watch for the refrain And God said… and it was so… and God saw that it was good. That refrain is the chapter’s pulse. Then read John 1:1–14 in your New Testament. John writes the prologue to his Gospel in deliberate echo of Genesis 1, and the two passages, read together, are one of the foundational christological pairs in all of Scripture.

Closing Prayer

Lord God, who in the beginning created the heavens and the earth — who spoke and they came into being — we worship You. Open our eyes to see what You have given us in this book. Make us careful readers of what You have carefully written. Where we are tempted to disbelieve what Your Word plainly says, give us faith. Where we are tempted to look down on this ancient book as belonging to another age, remind us that it is Your Word, given by Your Spirit, written for our learning. As we open Genesis chapter by chapter in the sessions to come, do for us what You did for the disciples on the road to Emmaus — open to us the Scriptures concerning Christ, and let our hearts burn within us. Through Jesus Christ Your Son, who is the Word through whom all things were made, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, one God, world without end. Amen.