The Hebrew word תְּהוֹם (təhôm, pronounced teh-HOME) appears in the Bible’s opening scene: “Darkness was on the face of the deep” (Genesis 1:2, NKJV). It refers to deep waters, the ocean depths or a vast watery abyss. Before God formed the earth into an ordered home filled with light and life, darkness covered the təhôm.
For people in the ancient world, deep water represented a realm human beings could neither master nor fully understand. Yet Genesis does not portray təhôm as a deity, monster or rival struggling against the Creator. The deep does not speak, resist or threaten God. From the beginning, it is entirely under His authority.
Even more reassuring is the presence of “the Spirit of God” hovering over the waters. The Hebrew word translated “hovering” comes from the verb רָחַף (rāḥap̄). Its participial form, (mĕraḥep̄et), describes gentle, yet purposeful movement. The same verb is used of an eagle fluttering over its young in Deuteronomy 32:11. The Bible’s first scene of darkness is therefore not a scene of divine absence. Before light appears, God is present. Before creation takes shape, God is already at work.
Then God speaks: “Let there be light” (Genesis 1:3).
The darkness cannot silence His word and the deep cannot swallow His light. God gives boundaries to the waters, brings dry land into view and fills the earth with life. What was “without form, and void” becomes a world He pronounces “very good” (Genesis 1:31).
Təhôm appears again in the Flood narrative. Genesis records that “all the fountains of the great deep were broken up” (Genesis 7:11). The waters cross their appointed boundaries and the ordered world begins returning to disorder. Yet even here, the deep remains under God’s authority. God remembers Noah, restrains the waters and brings the ark safely to rest (Genesis 8:1–4).
Psalm 104 also recalls creation: “You covered it with the deep as with a garment” (verse 6). Even the waters that cover the earth remain subject to God’s command.
The Psalms also use the imagery of the deep to describe suffering and helplessness. The psalmist cries, “Deep calls unto deep at the noise of Your waterfalls; all Your waves and billows have gone over me” (Psalm 42:7). Trouble feels like wave following wave, with no opportunity to recover. Nevertheless, the psalmist also declares that no depth can separate us from God: “If I make my bed in hell, behold, You are there” (Psalm 139:8).
We encounter our own kinds of depths: grief too heavy to explain, illness that unsettles the future, fractured relationships, unanswered prayers and fears concealed beneath a calm appearance. Genesis does not deny the darkness or minimise the depth. Instead, it directs our attention to the One who is present above it.
As a missionary child growing up in Fiji, I travelled with my family by ship to Tonga for furlough. By day, sunlight glittered across the Pacific, even when the sea was rough. At night, however, that same ocean became frightening. Waves thumped against the ship as it rolled through the darkness. There was no land in sight—only restless water and the immeasurable depths beneath us.
Those voyages taught me that the sea could be both beautiful and frightening. They also taught me that a difficult passage could end in a joyful reunion. However dark the ocean appeared, the voyage was carrying us home.
The Spirit who hovered over the first deep remains present in our unfinished stories. God may not immediately calm every troubled sea or shorten every difficult voyage, but no depth places us beyond His reach.
Creation also points towards re-creation. Paul writes that the God who commanded light to shine out of darkness “has shone in our hearts” through Jesus Christ
(2 Corinthians 4:6). The Creator still enters lives disordered by sin, speaks light into darkness and leads His people towards wholeness.
When life feels like a dark sea, and the waves thump against the vessel carrying us, remember təhôm. The darkness may be deep, but it is not ultimate. God’s Spirit is present, His word remains powerful and the deep remains under His authority.
Limoni Manu O’Uiha is the dean of the School of Theology at Fulton Adventist University in Fiji.
