Noah and the ark. Ah, the beloved children’s story and song. Somehow, some of the most disturbing Bible texts find a way of becoming stories we tell to our children. After having made creation, God threatens to un-do creation, returning earth to the watery chaos of nonexistence. The dry land that appeared on the third day of creation gives way to the watery chaos of destruction. Almost as quickly as humans came into being, they washed away in the flood of God’s wrath. For 40 days and 40 nights, the sky above and sea below merge into one as the rain falls and the water rises, and the ark is tossed about the waves of the ocean, being swept helplessly from one end of God’s fury to the other. We do not hear a word from the humans who perished in this flood and we do not hear the familiar voice of God calling us to repentance. This is God, unleashed.
Before we read of the flood, we read: “The LORD saw that the wickedness of humankind was great in the earth, and that every inclination of the thoughts of their hearts was only evil continually. And the LORD was sorry that he had made humankind on the earth, and it grieved him to his heart. So the LORD said, "I will blot out from the earth the human beings I have created--people together with animals and creeping things and birds of the air, for I am sorry that I have made them." At this point, six chapters into the Bible, I almost want to fling it across the room. This is the word of hope? This is the text we have to describe how God interacts with humanity? Is this the same God who saves us? How do we reconcile this horrifying passage with our understanding of God as being our Abba, our Father, kind and loving, merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love? Now, we could cherry-pick verses to suit us and construct a picture of a God who never becomes angry, who is never threatening, who is always patient and kind, but we would miss some of the most beloved stories of our faith.
Of all the people on earth, Noah is found to be righteous. “Hey Noah…” “Yeah?” “I want you to build a really big boat.” “Huh? What’s a boat?” “I’m going to destroy everything except you, your family, and the animals you bring on the boat.” “What’s a boat?” So Noah builds the boat, with details to a T, nevermind the fact that there were no instructions for a rudder or a mast, no way to steer it, no way to control it, no way to drive it, like placing a little paper-hat-boat on the Mississippi and sending her down to the Gulf of Mexico. All of Noah’s friends, all of the land that he knew, the way the whole world was, was going to change.
As though the first day of creation, the waters recede and the world is uncovered. As though the first command to Adam, God commands Noah to “be fruitful and multiply,” receiving not only a command, but the covenant, a promise of God’s faithfulness to creation.
Here, God makes God’s covenant with Noah and with all flesh. “I establish my covenant with you, that never again shall all flesh be cut off by the waters of a flood, and never again shall there be a flood to destroy the earth.’ God said, ‘This is the sign of the covenant that I make between me and you and every living creature that is with you, for all future generations: I have set my bow in the clouds, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and the earth. When I bring clouds over the earth and the bow is seen in the clouds, I will remember my covenant that is between me and you and every living creature of all flesh; and the waters shall never again become a flood to destroy all flesh.” This is not simply a promise to humans; this is a promise to all those dwelling upon earth. Noah is asked to perform no action, he is asked to do nothing in response. He simply receives the sign of the promise: the bow in the clouds. In the core of the text for today, we see the same words repeated several times over and over again, and the way the world works has changed.
We have the sense that something has changed to make the world work this way. Our sense of right and wrong and our sense of morality lead us to expect this covenant is made in response to a change that has happened to humanity. But in Genesis 8 we read, “the LORD said in his heart, "I will never again curse the ground because of humankind, for the inclination of the human heart is evil from youth; nor will I ever again destroy every living creature as I have done,” meaning there was no change within humanity. We were just as big of sinners after the flood as we were before. If, then, it is not humanity or the earth that has changed, then it would seem that it is God who has changed. God has bound Godself to an imperfect humanity, to an imperfect world and has made a covenant never to curse the ground or destroy it. Repeating the words over and over throughout this passage, we feel the rhythm of God drawing near to creation, drawing near enough to fall in love once again with it despite its brokenness. God doesn’t make a promise to a better version of creation, God doesn’t start over with a better version of humans, God doesn’t make a new Garden of Eden. God makes room for humanity within Godself, the perfect making room for the imperfect, the infinite making room for the finite, the divine making room for the profane. Allowing God’s own heart to break, the unlovable are declared “Loved”.
The water, a force of death and destruction, becomes a force of new life. As 1 Peter states: “For Christ also suffered for sins once for all, the righteous for the unrighteous, in order to bring you to God. He was put to death in the flesh, but made alive in the spirit, in which also he went and made a proclamation to the spirits in prison, who in former times did not obey, when God waited patiently in the days of Noah, during the building of the ark, in which a few, that is, eight people, were saved through water. And baptism, which this prefigured, now saves you.”
In Christ, the way the whole world works changes: once for all, the righteous for the unrighteous, in order to bring us to God. Once for all, case closed. God, who once threatened to undo creation, undoes Godself in Christ. The promise that God would never again seek to destroy the earth gives way to the promise that God will draw all things to Godself. Once and for all, God determined the way God would be with humanity would not be a relationship of wrath and destruction, but a relationship of new life and of hope. Fully acknowledging humans were sinful before and after the flood, God made room to love this broken world. The promise is not given as a result of our action, as a result of us having earned it, as a result of us deserving it.
I think this is part of the reason I find infant baptism so powerful. I think it points to a deeper truth of how God interacts with us. Before we can commit to God, God commits to us. Before we can choose God, God chooses us. Before we have knowledge of our sin, God forgives us. Perhaps this is why we tell the stories of the Bible to our children. They may not always be pretty, and they may not always paint a picture of God that is comfortable, but they tell the truth of who we are and the truth of who God is in a way that comes to life before our eyes. It is bigger than trying to only tell happy stories or stories that won’t leave any questions in our minds. It is about telling a story that tells the truth, however complicated the truth might be.
This is not just a story for children. It is a story for all of us. It is a song that runs much deeper than “The Lord said to Noah, there’s gonna be a floody floody;” it is the song of all creation, of the promises that God has made throughout creation. The first promise of God is to never again destroy the earth by means of a flood; the last promise of God is that death itself has been destroyed. Indeed, God has proven Godself to be merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, to the point that God would undo Godself on the cross in order that we might be drawn to him.
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