Get In The Boat!

Genesis 7:1-5

September 10, 2017 • Mount Pleasant UMC

I remember the flood. It was late summer, early fall of 2008, and the rain began and did not quit. I love to listen to the rain as I fall asleep, but I fully expected it to quit overnight. Boy, was I surprised when I woke up the next morning to hear it still beating against the house. It seemed the storm had not dissipated any. That weekend, we watched it rain and rain and rain; I don’t think I had never seen weather quite like that. The parsonage we lived in at the time was at the top of a small rise, with the lowest spot being the fence we shared with the neighbor behind us. Our garden was down there, and we watched as the garden went under and the water crept up toward our house, covering half the back yard. Thankfully, our sump pump kept up and the rain quit eventually. We didn’t have any damage, but people in our city and in neighboring cities were not so lucky. I know you all experienced a flood here that same year, and the house we live in now had a flooded garage during that time. Many of you experienced more than that. And even with those memories in our minds, I realize that our floods here are only a small glimpse of what the folks in New Orleans went through in 2005 with Hurricane Katrina and what folks in Texas are going through now in the aftermath of Hurricane Harvey.

All of that makes me wonder sometimes (when I think about such things) how curious it is that we decorate nurseries at home and at church with Noah’s Ark. When you read the story and really think through what happened, it’s actually a pretty horrific story! The writer of Genesis claims that the whole world was flooded, and that every creature except those in the ark (Noah’s family and a relatively few animals) died in the flooding. They drowned or otherwise were killed. It’s a story of death and destruction, of de-creation, all done by God because the world had turned exceptionally bad. And it’s part of the epic of Eden.

This morning, we’re continuing to look at these ancient stories that make up the foundation of our faith. We’re called this series “The Epic of Eden” because all of these stories are, in some way or another, rooted in God’s design and desire for the creation he made. In other words, these early stories flow out of God’s desire to have a relationship with his people—that was the original intent of the Garden of Eden, as we talked about last week. And there may be no more famous story out of Genesis, made even more famous or at least more “in the news” with the opening of The Ark Encounter last year near Cincinnati, than the story of Noah and the Ark.

So we’re just four chapters over from where we were last week in Genesis. How many years have passed? Actually, it’s impossible to tell. It could be thousands of years; we don’t know because you can’t just add up the genealogies like some people have tried to do. Biblical storytelling doesn’t work that way (Richter, The Epic of Eden, pgs. 138-140). It has to have been a few generations at least, because humanity has had time to multiply, civilize, deteriorate and decay. Don’t assume that because there are just a few chapters between Adam and Noah that it’s been a short time; Genesis is telling us history in broad, sweeping strokes.

The setting for the flood is Mesopotamia, or modern-day Iraq. It’s an area that in ancient times had many cities and is sometimes called “the birthplace of civilization.” But it’s also true that it is an area prone to flooding; there are ancient accounts of what are called “ruinous floods” all throughout this area. In fact, there are several ancient stories coming from this part of the world that tell about a great flood, one that wiped out the human race and became a “new start” for humanity and civilization. One of the most famous of these stories is called the Gilgamesh Epic, and it, like many others, tells about how the “noisy and bothersome” humans were becoming an annoyance to the gods, so the gods decided to do away with them. A hero, then, learns of the gods’ plans and builds a boat to escape the disaster. After the flood, the gods repent of what they did and promise not to overdo it again (cf. Richter 140-141). This is similar to what I shared last week about many cultures having a creation story. Some skeptics believe that the Bible just copied ancient accounts and rewrote it for their purposes. But, as I suggested last week, I think it’s more likely that the existence of many similar stories tells us that they are rooted in an actual, historical event that every culture remembered slightly differently.

Most of us know or are at least familiar with the story. It begins in Genesis 6, where, we’re told, “every inclination of the thoughts of the human heart was only evil all the time” (6:5). It’s a bad world, so God decides that maybe he made a mistake in making humanity and, I would guess, in particular in giving us free will. Because of this situation, then, God decides he’s going to un-create the world and start over. And it’s not just humanity that’s being punished, because the whole animal kingdom is going to be done away with, as well. “I regret that I have made them,” God says (6:7). There’s one exception to all of this, however: Noah. “But Noah found favor in the eyes of the Lord” (6:8).

Now, other translations say that Noah found “grace,” or that God was pleased with Noah. I like the translation of “Noah found grace” the best, because we have taken that idea of “Noah found favor” way out of context today. It smacks of our being able to do things a certain way and then we can “find favor” with God, as if God was capricious and random and sometimes is pleased and sometimes isn’t. That isn’t the Biblical God, though that certainly is an American god, but in Genesis it isn’t about Noah doing anything in particular to “find favor” or to get some special treatment (the way we usually understand that). Rather, what Noah found was grace: the unmerited, unending love of God given just because he is. Noah wasn’t doing anything special when God called to him. He was just living life the best he could. The difference, apparently, between him and the rest of humanity is that he was not living in wicked ways. He wanted to do what God wanted him to do because he was a recipient of grace. It’s not about us somehow earning “favor” with God; it’s about living in grace with God no matter what comes our way. So let’s stop talking about “finding favor” and starting living in grace, like Noah did.

So God gives Noah directions on how to escape the coming flood. First of all, he’s to build a boat that is about the length of a football field and a half (cf. Briscoe, The Communicator’s Commentary: Genesis, pg. 96). Then he’s told to build it out of gopher wood (at least that’s the original reading; modern translations say “cypress wood” because we have no idea what gopher wood is!). And then, as if that isn’t a ridiculous enough thing to do, he’s told to fill it with animals: seven pairs of the kind they can eat, and one pair of every other kind (7:2). He has a week (7:4) to gather all the animals—and a week to figure out how to deal with all that…manure…and the smell. Can you imagine the smell in the hold of that ark? And how was he going to feed all the animals? One ancient writer speculated that the animals all hibernated for the length of the voyage, so there was no need to worry about that, but there is no Biblical evidence for that (Briscoe 96). All we really know is that God gave Noah some ridiculous instructions, and that Noah the righteous man “did all that the Lord commanded him” (7:5), even though Genesis says he was six hundred years old at the time (7:6). Whether that’s a literal number or a symbolic one, the point is clear: Noah is no spring chicken. He is an old man, taking on a lot of work, trying to be faithful to God.

Then the flood came. Genesis reports it this way: “All the springs of the great deep burst forth, and the floodgates of the heavens were opened. And rain fell on the earth forty days and forty nights” (7:11-12). Now there is a lot of debate as to whether this was really a worldwide flood or a devastating local flood over the area of Mesopotamia. To be a truly worldwide flood means it would have had to be fifteen “cubits” (or twenty-two and a half feet) over the top of the peak of Mount Everest, and that deep all around the world. Never mind the issue of Noah and his family living in the temperature and climate of being that high in the atmosphere, scientists estimate that the amount of water needed to achieve that end would be eight times the normal water content of the world. “Where all this water came from and where it disappeared to is a mystery to many people for which no satisfactory answer has been found” (Briscoe 95). Granted, God could make and destroy water out of nothing, but would he need to? In addition to this, there is no universal fossil record for a worldwide flood, while there is more than adequate archaeological evidence for flooding in Mesopotamia and surrounding areas around this time. There are, of course, arguments for and against a truly worldwide flood, and my point here is not to argue all of that out. Let’s remember what Genesis is trying to do. As I said last week, Genesis does not claim or pretend to be a science book. Genesis is teaching us theology by telling us stories. The point here is that God is in control, and just like in the story of Adam and Eve that we looked at last week, that God alone can determine what is good and evil. Besides, when any sort of flood comes, even to a local area, it feels as if the whole world is crumbling and falling apart. We don’t have to have flooding here to feel the devastation that Harvey caused. Again, I’m not trying to argue one way or the other; I want us, though, to see the main point of what Genesis is about. Genesis wants to tell us not really about a flood but about God and how God’s judgment and grace are both demonstrated in the life of Noah (cf. Briscoe 95).

So the ark is filled, and God himself shuts the door (Goldingay, Genesis for Everyone, Part One, pg. 105). (As an interesting aside, in the other Middle Eastern flood stories, the hero is the one who shuts the door, sort of like an ancient flight attendant. But in the Noah story, God shuts the door, reminding Noah—and us—that God is in charge and is the one who is protecting Noah and his family.) Only those inside the boat will survive. Everyone else, those outside the ark, will drown. Do you see what I mean by this being a horrific story? It’s a scary thing to be outside the boat. I’ve been whitewater rafting a few times, back in the days when I was younger and serving as a youth pastor. It was a crazy thing to plan, since I can’t swim. Before you go, they have you sign this waiver thing that tells you this is an adventure sport and could result in “death or other serious injury.” I’ve never forgotten that wording, because I tried to imagine what injury could be more serious than death! After signing that, the guide would give us a safety lecture—mainly how to stay in the boat and what to do if you were popped out of the boat. So we listened, some better than others, and then they took us to the rafts. When we got to the first rapids, smallish rapids, our boat turned the wrong way and my friend Wayne got popped out of the boat when we bumped into a rock. Into the water he went, and the guide is calling directions to him, which he promptly ignored. When the guide said to lay back in the water and let the current take him to quieter water, Wayne stood up. When the guide told him to head in one particular direction, he began to swim toward the boat. He was okay, but being in the whitewater could have brought him serious injury because, as he even admits now, he didn’t listen to the guide. The best part of that afternoon, though, was the fact that even though he’s probably twice Cathy’s size, she was the one to pull him back in the boat. She tough; don’t mess with her!

Being in the water is scary business, and it’s especially so for these Hebrew people who are reading this story generations later. I’ve mentioned before that the Hebrews were not a sea-faring people. They never really built boats, other than fishing boats that went out on the Sea of Galilee. For the Hebrews, the sea, the open ocean, came to represent chaos, even sin. You can’t help but notice in the poetic form of the creation story, one of the early things God does is to bring order to the water. He separates the water above from the water below. Clear to the end of the book, in the letter we call Revelation, the “sea” is representative of chaos and rebellion against God. That’s why, when the New Jerusalem comes, the full expression of the kingdom of God, we are told by John that there will no longer be any sea (Revelation 21:1). The sea represents sin, and that’s never more evident than in Noah’s story. To be outside the boat is frightening—are you getting a sense of the real horror that the original readers would have had in reading this story? While Noah is a hero of the faith (cf. Hebrews 11:7), I doubt that any Jewish nurseries were decorated with cute, cuddly animals floating on a boat on the open sea. This story is “de-creational” (Richter 144). It’s a reversion to chaos. In Genesis 7, God is undoing all the creating he did in Genesis 1 and 2. The God who gives is the God who can also take away.

And he is the God who is sometimes silent. As I mentioned a moment ago, God makes provision for Noah, and God seals Noah and his family into the ark to make sure they are safe (7:16). Then God doesn’t speak to Noah for a year—or if he does, there is no record of it in the Bible. I’m trying to imagine Noah, out on deck, looking out over the endless water after about six months of this, wondering what he has gotten himself into. Sure, he and his family are safe, but there is nothing and no one else on the earth. You’ve got to think he’s wondering if it was worth it. What is there left to live for? Genesis glosses over Noah’s time on the ark pretty quickly, but that time in between 7:24 and 8:1 (where we’re told “God remembered Noah”) reminds us that, for all of us, there are times when we have to move ahead in faith even when it seems as if God is silent. If you’ve been on the Christian journey for very long, you know what I’m talking about. Those times come to all of us where it seems as if God is silent, or that God has gone away. And there may not be sin or wrongdoing or anything else other than just this piercing silence. C. S. Lewis experienced that in the days and months after the death of his wife, and he wrote about it this way: “Go to [God] when your need is desperate, when all other help is vain, and what do you find? A door slammed in your face, and a sound of bolting and double bolting on the inside. After that, silence.” That’s what Noah experienced, and that’s what a songwriter named Andrew Peterson wrote about in his song called “The Silence of God.” Take a listen.

Shortly after hearing that song for the first time, I went on a personal retreat day to a Catholic college and retreat center up north. Thinking I just needed some quiet time away to “get stuff done,” I took a bunch of books and some other work to do, but when I got to the room I was assigned for the day, I crashed. I slept most of the morning away, and I came to realize I was tired—not so much physically as spiritually. It had been a difficult season of ministry and my soul was weary, needing to hear from God, who it seemed had been silent. After lunch, I decided to walk the stations of the cross, and one thing I noticed right away: apparently, the students there did not do that very often. The stations were untended and a bit overgrown. But then I came to the statue of Jesus on the cross, the centerpiece of our faith. That station was well tended, and as I stood there in the silence I was reminded of all that Jesus had and has done for me. In that moment, I felt a peace come over my soul. I hadn’t forgotten, but I realized I needed a new sense of gratitude in my spirit. No, I didn’t hear a booming voice from heaven, but I did have a sense of peace in my life that even when God is silent, he is still working and he is still present. I was reminded that, at the moment salvation was being accomplished, Jesus on the cross felt God the Father’s silence, his abandonment. How that could be, that the Son could be separated from the Father, is a debate for the theologians. All I know is that even when it seems God is silent, it does not mean he has gone away. I went home after that day ready to dive back into the situations at the church. Nothing had changed, except that I had been reminded of God’s presence in those moments. Noah must have had moments like that for him when he had to just keep going and trust that even when God was silent, he was still present.

After the flood, when the water has receded, God makes a promise and a covenant. The promise is this: he will never again punish humanity by cursing the ground or destroying everything that lives (8:21). And the covenant is a promise that, if Noah’s descendants follow him, if they are fruitful and multiply (9:1, the same command given earlier to Adam in 1:28), if they follow God’s laws, then he will never again send a flood to destroy all life or the earth itself. We usually say God promised never to send a flood again, but that’s not what the text says. It says (9:11, 15) that any flood that comes will not destroy all life. The sign of this promise, this covenant, is the rainbow, which is why in those nursery decorations, there is usually a rainbow over the ark. It’s a good choice for a sign, because the rainbow appears after the storm, once the sun is shining again. And so every time there is a storm, no matter how destructive it might be, we are reminded that God is in the creating business, not the destroying business. We are reminded that the story of God, from the very beginning of time, is about bringing people to salvation, not to destruction.

In the New Testament, Noah’s story gets picked up at least three times. In the book of Hebrews, he is included in the list of those who are examples of faith for us to follow. Jesus uses his story to compare Noah’s days to the way things will be near the end. In one of his last sermons in the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus says, “As it was in the days of Noah, so it will be at the coming of the Son of Man” (24:37). Now, contrary to the way we usually hear that, he isn’t comparing the sinfulness of one age to another. He’s using Noah as an example of people going on about their lives and not paying any attention to their spiritual state. Jesus goes on to say this: “For in the days before the flood, people were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, up to the day Noah entered the ark; and they knew nothing about what would happen until the flood came and took them all away. That is how it will be at the coming of the Son of Man” (24:38-40). Life will go on, and then suddenly, Jesus will come.

But there’s another place in the New Testament that’s less familiar where imagery from Noah’s story is invoked. In 1 Peter 3, in the midst of a discussion about the church, Peter compares baptism to the water that surrounded the ark. Only those safely inside were saved, Peter says, but it wasn’t the water that saved them (any more than baptism waters save us). It was God who saved them by placing them in the ark, sealing them in. And it’s still only God who can save us. Peter reminds us that God does that through the resurrection of Jesus Christ, through trusting in a living savior, not a dead teacher. The Christian church has proclaimed that through 2,000 years of history: salvation comes not by doing anything but by accepting the work that Jesus did on our behalf. Salvation is not found in anything we do—not in baptism, not in preaching, not in good works or spiritual devotion. Salvation is found only through the grace of Jesus Christ. It’s only found when we are honest that we have messed up, that the ways we live and think tend to be against God rather than toward him. When we receive that gift, we can say, like Noah, that we too have found grace in the eyes of the Lord. It’s a gift; it’s a free gift. All you have to do is get in the boat and allow him to save you.

Here’s the bottom line: God wants to recreate you, just like did the whole world in Noah’s time. He wants to make you new, and he wants to have a relationship with you and with all of us again. If you don’t know him yet, there are a lot of people sitting all around you who have found that Jesus’ promises are true. He will recreate you. He will make you new. He just asks that you get in the ark—get in the boat. The fact that you’re here this morning means you’ve already started moving toward the boat; you’ve taken the first steps. I don’t know if you know it or not, but in church architecture lingo, the place where you all are sitting is called the “nave.” You can hear a connection to our word “navy” or “naval” in that name, and that’s the imagery you’re supposed to get. We’re called to get in the boat with Jesus, and some early churches were even built to look like ships. The church is the ark, the place of safety, the place where salvation happens. Now, I’m not saying salvation only can happen here. Obviously, Jesus can meet you anywhere. But it’s only within the fellowship of the church that we find the strength, the encouragement and the accountability to do what Noah did. Genesis 7:5 reports, “Noah did all that the Lord commanded him.” And Noah continued to find grace in the eyes of the Lord. So can we.

This morning, if there is anyone who isn’t certain whether or not you’re  in the boat, Pastor Rick is going to be down here at the kneeling pads during the prayer time, and I invite you to come talk to him. It’s our prayer that no one leaves this morning wondering if you’re in the boat or not. Jesus calls you to come, trust him, follow him, and live the live he has dreamed for you. Let’s pray.