Genesis 1:23

Letters to the Faithful - Genesis 1:23

Berean Standard Bible

And there was evening, and there was morning—the fifth day.

King James Bible

And the evening and the morning were the fifth day.

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To the beloved of God, scattered across nations and generations, from the fields and villages to the cities and shores, to the faithful who lift up holy hands and keep their lamps trimmed for the appearing of the Lord—grace and peace to you from God our Father, who made all things by His Word, and from Jesus Christ, the Word made flesh, through whom and for whom all things exist.

I write to you today concerning a seemingly quiet verse, tucked within the symphony of creation: “And there was evening, and there was morning—the fifth day.” At first glance, it appears as a closing phrase, a rhythmic refrain of Genesis chapter one. Yet within its brevity lies an ocean of truth, for all Scripture is breathed out by God and carries purpose beyond human comprehension. This small sentence—marking the close of the fifth day—does not merely tell time; it tells of divine order, sacred rhythm, and the voice of a sovereign Creator who speaks life into being and upholds it by the word of His power.

Let us not overlook what came just before this marker. On this fifth day, God filled the seas with creatures great and small—schools of fish, mighty whales, living things in infinite variety. He filled the skies with birds of every kind—those that soar, those that glide, those that dart and dive. It was the first day in the creation narrative where the world was no longer empty but teeming, animated, moving, alive. The silence of creation was broken by sound—splashing, flapping, chirping, calling. And over this world of water and sky, God declared it good.

Then comes the verse in question: “There was evening, and there was morning—the fifth day.” This, dear saints, is not mere chronology. It is divine rhythm. The Creator was not hurried in His work. He moved with intention, creating and observing, speaking and pausing, filling and blessing. He called each phase “good,” not because it was finished in its entirety, but because it was complete in that moment—part of a greater unfolding design.

And here we must pause and reflect deeply, for this verse speaks to our generation as powerfully as it did in the beginning. We live in an age of rush and restlessness, of endless striving and hurried ambition. We often despise the process, yearning always for the next stage, the next breakthrough, the next accomplishment. But God, in His wisdom, ordained a pace to creation. He who could have made all things in an instant chose to shape the universe in ordered days. With each day, He added beauty, complexity, and life—each phase building on the last, yet each standing as a testimony of divine satisfaction. God Himself looked at partial progress and called it good.

So too must we learn to honor the process of growth and transformation in our lives. The work God is doing in you may not yet be finished, but it is good. Do not despise the day of small beginnings. Do not curse the season where the waters stir and the skies open, but the ground remains untouched. The God who began a good work in you has already declared that work “good” before its completion. The evening and morning of your season are not wasted hours—they are sacred markers of progress in the hands of a wise Creator.

This verse also reveals the value of cycles—the evening and the morning, darkness and light, rest and activity. In the beginning, God set this rhythm not for Himself but for us. He who does not grow weary established a pattern of time so that we, His creatures, might learn to live in harmony with the design. Evening precedes morning in this divine order. It is as if God would have us understand that rest is not the reward of labor but its foundation. That darkness does not signify defeat, but the prelude to dawn. That God begins His days in stillness and completes them in fullness.

Let us then be people who align with this rhythm. Let us lay down our burdens when the sun sets and entrust the unfinished to the God who never slumbers. Let us rise in the morning not in dread, but with expectation, knowing that if God filled the sea and the sky in one day, He can fill the emptiness in our lives as well. Let our prayers flow in rhythm with creation—night and day, asking and listening, working and worshiping, confident that each day is another stroke of the Master’s hand upon the canvas of eternity.

This verse also challenges us to marvel again at the beauty and intention of the created world. In the swirl of modern life, it is easy to lose our wonder. But on this fifth day, the Creator did not merely function—He delighted. He filled the earth with variety, with creatures of splendor, movement, and mystery. He gave life that would reproduce, sing, migrate, dance, and display His glory. Should we not, then, lift our eyes from our screens and behold again the works of His hands? Should we not be the first to celebrate the beauty of a bird in flight, the playfulness of dolphins, the glimmer of light on water—declaring with every glance, “Our God is wise and wondrous in all He does”?

And yet, this fifth day was not the end. It was preparation. The sea and the sky were filled, but the land was not yet complete. The stage was being set for something greater still—something that would come on the sixth day, when God would form man from the dust and breathe into him the breath of life. So also, we must understand that every season in our lives, even those that seem external, preparatory, or peripheral, are laying the foundation for something greater. God is never wasteful in His order. What He creates on one day becomes the environment that supports what He forms the next.

Therefore, do not grow weary in the middle of God’s process. Do not mistake transition for abandonment. If you are in the fifth day of your life—where things are being stirred but not settled, where newness is felt but fullness not yet seen—take heart. The evening and the morning declare that God is still working. Your tomorrow is not the product of your own striving but of divine orchestration. Yield to the rhythm. Trust the timing. Declare it good, even now.

May we be a people who live in harmony with the Creator’s design—who do not rush past the evenings, who do not fear the darkness, who wake with the morning light ready to walk in obedience and awe. May we labor without anxiety and rest without guilt. May we speak of His works with joy and steward our moments with wisdom. And may we, like the creation itself, reflect the order, purpose, and glory of the One who made us.

To Him be honor and majesty forever—He who declared the fifth day good, and who will declare the last day glorious.

Amen.

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O Eternal and Sovereign Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth, the One who alone stretched out the heavens and filled the sea with its hosts, we bow before You in reverent awe and holy wonder. You who spoke and it was done, who commanded and all creation stood firm—You are the Author of time, the Designer of order, the Fountain of all life. We come before You, acknowledging Your majesty in the rhythm of Your creation, in the glory of Your days, and in the sacred cadence by which You shaped all things, declaring evening and morning as one full day in Your sight.

We behold the beauty and wisdom revealed in the portion of Your work marked by these words: “There was evening, and there was morning—the fifth day.” Not one phrase of Yours is empty. Each carries eternal weight and truth, and even this simple line whispers to us Your holy intentions and perfect design. We thank You, O Lord, that You are not a God of chaos but of order. You did not rush Your creation, nor did You leave it formless or unfinished. You moved with holy precision—each day unfolding with purpose, each phase preparing the way for what would come next.

We see, Lord, that on the fifth day You filled the seas and the skies, and You brought forth the great creatures of the deep and the birds of the air. The waters teemed with life at Your word, and the skies above echoed with the flutter of wings You had designed. You looked upon Your work and called it good, not only for its usefulness but for its reflection of Your creative power, Your boundless imagination, and Your divine joy in life itself. How great You are, that from nothing You formed such variety, such harmony, such majesty!

We praise You that You did not create in haste but by rhythm, teaching us in Your pattern how to live. You gave us evening and morning, cycles of rest and rising, boundaries of grace in time, so that we would know how to dwell in balance, in dependence, and in trust. You wove into the very fabric of creation a call to stillness before action, to reflection before striving, to order before ambition. And so, Lord, we pray: teach us again how to live within Your rhythm. Teach us not to rush beyond the seasons You have appointed. Teach us to trust in the passing of evening and the promise of morning, to know that in each new day You are working, even when we cannot yet see the fruit.

O God, how often we grow impatient in our days. We despise beginnings, we long for outcomes. We grow weary of process and resistant to stillness. Yet You, the Eternal One, moved in six days and rested on the seventh—not out of need, but out of desire to model for us the beauty of Your pace. Forgive us, Lord, for the ways we abandon Your rhythm. Forgive us for resisting rest, for striving without stillness, for rushing past Your voice in the morning and ignoring Your presence in the night. Forgive us for treating days as burdens rather than as gifts, as calendars to conquer rather than as offerings of grace.

Help us, Father, to rediscover the holiness of our days. Let us not view evening as the end of usefulness, but as the start of worship and renewal. Let our mornings be consecrated to You, not consumed by anxiety, but marked by trust that the One who watched over the night now walks with us in the day. Let us find comfort in the truth that You dwell in both evening and morning, in both silence and song, in both preparation and performance.

And Lord, as we meditate on the fifth day of Your creation, we ask You to awaken us again to wonder. The sea creatures that roam unseen depths, the birds that soar across skies we cannot reach—each was made by Your hand, each sustained by Your will. You crafted ecosystems and movements we cannot fathom. And yet we, the crown of Your creation, have grown blind to such wonder. Restore to us, O God, the awe of creation. Let us not pass over the ordinary without praise. Let us not treat the beauty of the world as background noise, but as a daily invitation to worship the One who fills it all with life.

May the birds that rise in the morning remind us to sing Your praise. May the waves that crash in rhythm tell us of Your faithfulness. May the stars that emerge with evening teach us to rest under Your sovereignty. May we live each day, like the fifth day, as a sacred interval in the ongoing testimony of Your glory. Let us join all creation in declaring that what You have made is good—because You are good.

We pray also, Lord, for the grace to trust You in the in-between. The fifth day was not the end, nor the beginning, but the middle. And many of us dwell in the middle seasons—between promise and fulfillment, between planting and harvest. We ask that You teach us to honor the middle. Teach us to rejoice in what is, even as we wait for what will be. Let us not despise the days that seem incomplete, for You do not measure our lives by accomplishments alone but by faithfulness and alignment with Your will.

As we rise to meet new days, may we remember that each morning is evidence of Your mercy, each evening a sign of Your provision. Let our prayers bookend our days—gratitude for what was and trust for what will be. Let us walk through our days with reverence, knowing that You fill time with meaning and eternity with purpose. Let each day, like that fifth day, end with the blessing of Your presence and the peace of Your voice declaring, “It is good.”

So now, Lord, we surrender our pace, our expectations, our restless ambitions. We surrender our days to You. You who have numbered them all, teach us to live them in Your light. May our evenings be filled with reflection, our mornings with resolve, and our lives with the knowledge that each day—no matter how quiet or full—is held in Your hands, counted in Your purpose, and formed for Your glory.

In the name of Jesus Christ, through whom all things were made and by whom all things hold together, we offer this prayer.

Amen.