Lenten Service (1), 2008

Lenten Service - Feb. 13, 2008
Genesis 6: 5- 6, 7: 1-5, 11-18, 8: 6-18, 9: 8-13;


NOAH

You know, it is a strange thing to read the story of Noah from an ordinary Bible. All I have here are words on the page. And there are no pictures. It’s all black and white. No color. And it is a strange thing to read the story of Noah while standing up here in a formal robe, with all of you sitting there neatly in your chairs, eyes toward the front, dutifully attentive—and you look so terribly serious! You see, it is strange because when I think of reading the story of Noah, it’s really supposed to be done while sitting on the couch in a bathrobe and slippers. With children squirming around, and tumbling down on the floor, and getting impatient for the story to begin—even though they know that it is nearly time to go to bed. And the book—it shouldn’t be a plain book—it should be a great big story book, without too many words, but with lots of pictures on every page. That’s what captures the wonder of the tale.

You scarcely need the words it seems, because the pictures will show you old man Noah with his flowing white hair and his huge bushy beard that comes down to the middle of his chest. And you scarcely need the words because the pictures will show you the piles of lumber scattered all over his yard, while old man Noah cuts away at a plank with his saw, and pounds away with his hammer with an ostrich looking over his shoulder and some goats staring at him from the side. And you can see the frame of the ark taking shape with its big wooden bow, and the huge layered sides, and the cabin on the top with its pitched roof and shingles. And there in the side is an enormous doorway, with a ramp stretching up into the interior of the ark. And that is when the best part begins.

That is where you get the parade of the animals. The spectacular parade of all the creatures of the world coming into the ark two by two. No child bothers to worry about how Noah managed to round them all up. To even ask such a question would simply be an annoying distraction. For a child, there is simply the delight in seeing them come. There are the lumbering camels and huge gray hippos, the horses strutting along with their heads held high. The cattle and sheep, the parrots and geese, the zebras and monkeys and bears. The giraffes and the lions, the leopards and fox, the tigers, alligators, and ducks. The spectacle goes on and on as the animals come and the sky grows dark, and Noah shoves the last two elephants into the ark, and the door slams shut as the rain comes down in sheets.

And here, here, is perhaps the greatest miracle in the story. For as the ark rises up on the waters of the flood, the world in miniature is being saved. For it is not just Noah, and not just his family, but all the creatures of the world who are represented there. And for once, just once its seems, the monkeys and the alligators seem to get along, and the lions and the wildebeests share the same berth. For once, all the creatures of the world may roar and trumpet and squawk and bleat, but they seem to get along well enough to float into the future, until the waters subside, and the rainbow comes out, and the sky is splashed with color. So that in the end, not just Noah, but all the creatures of the world can process out of the ark, and into the world washed clean and adorned with the blues and reds and yellows of the rainbow.

But in the end, I suppose that the problem with this story of the redemption of Noah and the creatures of the world is that it seems like a story for children. It is easy to put the Bible storybook back on the shelf, along with the fairy tales and the land of “once upon a time.” But the Bible is really a book for grown-ups, and this story of Noah and the creatures is no exception. You see, the story starts off with grief, with God’s grief at the mess that human beings have made of their lives and their world. And making a mess of things is something we grownups can understand. Here are the first lines in the story. Let me read them to you again:



It grieved him to his heart. The Lord had created people for a place in the garden of Eden. He created the garden, with its plants and trees and animals and birds. And he created human beings, and he put them in the garden to till it and keep it. That’s the work God gave human beings to do, to care for his creation. That is the work God gave human beings to do, to help life thrive in the earth that he made. It was a wonderful and awesome responsibility, to have such a place in God’s world. And human beings made a royal mess of it. And it grieved God to his heart.

This takes us out of the world of the fairy tales and into a world where people are not what God created them to be. A world in which God has given us lives to live, and we have royally screwed things up. A world that was created good, and which human beings have learned to trash. A world in which we have become adept at damaging our relationships with other people and with the earth itself. This human propensity for damaging things – big time – this is what lies behind the story of the flood. And it grieved God to his heart.

When I read this part of the story as a grownup, I can understand God’s reaction up to a point. Every grownup knows that we are not the people we should be. Good heavens, you peer into the heart of any one of us and you’ll find thoughts that are not very pretty. There is anger and resentment, and jealousy and rage, and pettiness and self-absorption. And if we had the courage to make a list of it all, we could name enough regrets to fill verse after verse in a country music song.

But then I wonder: Ok, so what else is new? You’re not perfect, I’m not perfect. Does this really have to be such a big deal? We’re not in Eden anymore. Why can’t God just get over it? We’re all flawed human beings. And the world is a deeply flawed place. We human beings are wired to look out for number one. And yes, we’re wired to get what we can while we can. But that is just the way the world goes. We take more than we give, we gobble up the earth faster than we can replenish it. It is the survival of the fittest, and as for those who come after us, they will simply have to deal with it. This is reality. We’ve gotten used to it, so why can’t God do the same.

I mean take a look at Noah. He seems to have gotten used to it. Do you see Noah standing around complaining about the sad state of the world? Uh uh. Not a word about it in the story. Noah was a pretty good guy. But there is not a word about Noah going up to the mountaintop and crying out in anguish, “O Lord, save me from this horrible and wicked planet, where I am surrounded by all these sinners and evildoers.” There is not a word about it. Noah seems like a practical guy. If he could learn to live with the sorry state of the world, why can’t God just do the same? Why does all this have to grieve God to his heart?

And yet it does. Our human ways make God restless. And God finds the way people treated his world outrageous. So he determines to do a new thing. God intrudes into Noah’s life. God alters the context in which Noah lives. And it begins with these two words, “God said.” God calls Noah from the world of death to the way of life. God jolts Noah into seeing something new. God lays claim to Noah and gives to Noah a future, when he tells him, “Build an ark.” What God says is a gift of life. “Build an ark.” And from our human point of view, God’s ways of working seem as outrageous to us as our ways seem to God. “Build an ark.” Any thinking person would have to ask why? A flood is coming? How do you know? Disaster is on the way? I’m not so sure.

One would think that Noah would ask for more. He is supposed to hop in his pickup truck and go down to the lumber yard, and haul these countless planks into his backyard, when there is not a cloud in the sky? It seems outrageous that Noah could be expected to believe such a thing. And he is supposed to saw and hammer and cut and fit, and do all of this even when weather.com says that the ten day forecast calls for sunny and dry conditions? One would think that the logical course of action would be for Noah to put together a task force to study the likelihood of an imminent and devastating change in weather patterns in the coming months. After all, why build an ark if it isn’t raining yet?

And yet the word God speaks gets a hold of Noah. It calls Noah to a way of life. And God saves Noah precisely to put Noah back in the place where God wants him to be—fostering life for God’s creation. You see, the children are right. They know that the story of Noah is not just about Noah. It is about redeeming Noah and the world God made. God saves Noah, but not for business as usual. God saves Noah and God calls Noah to bring life to the creatures all around him. That is what Noah is being saved for.

So is this story only for children? Is it only in fairy tales that God calls people to life? Is it only in fairy tales that God gives people the vocation of tending to all the creatures of the world? All of you are latter day children of Noah. If Noah had a future, it was by the grace of God. Isn’t that the same with you? And Noah was called to believe that God gives life in the face of death, that God gives hope in the face of disaster. And isn’t that the same with you? Noah was given a vocation of tending to the world around him. Of tending to the hippos and lions, the geese and the bears. Of bringing life to the creation that human beings would destroy. Noah couldn’t do it all, of course. He simply began, two by two. And isn’t this the same with you? Out of God’s restless judgment on the world as it is, is God’s even more restless desire for life and renewal. This promise of life is what God gives you, and this promise of life is what God calls you to extend to your fellow human beings and the other strange creatures, who that inhabit this world that God made.