Noah And The God Of Impossible Possibilities
Sermon
FORMED BY A DREAM
First Lesson Sermons For Sundays After Pentecost
Floods are terrible things. The destruction is unstoppable. The water just keeps coming and all barriers are like doll toys in the path of a lumbering giant. The people who lived through the devastating floods along the Red River in North Dakota and Minnesota tell horrendous stories. They speak of midnight evacuations with little time to prepare. They tell about standing on a bit of high ground watching dolls and chairs and even railroad ties rushing past them. They report seeing gallon milk jugs float by with milk still in them, and dead birds, drowned pigs, and picket fences, all pulled along by a river that no one could stop. If a person got caught in it, even the strongest swimmer could not survive. The force of the water is so strong, it can pull a person to the bottom like a spider caught in the whirlpool of a bathtub drain. And, as though that weren't nightmare enough, there were fires and blackouts and people hungry and thirsty surrounded by acres and acres of polluted, angry water.
When we think of Noah and the flood, we focus on Noah and his family and all the animals safe in the ark. They all survived. But nothing else did. I'm glad the author of Genesis didn't describe the horrors Noah and his family witnessed. It must have been truly awful. In that flood nothing survived ... no people, no plants, no animals. The only life was the life on the ark, that great big box of a ship, taller than a three--story building, more than a football field in length, built without a rudder, and filled with every manner of bird and animal. Noah was probably thinking this was a zoo keeper's stinky, floating nightmare. But the real nightmare was the total destruction outside its walls.
God looked at the devastation and said, "Never again." It was too much. Even for God. So God repented. God made a covenant with Noah that such a terrible thing would never happen again. As a sign of the covenant God put a bow in the sky, a bow, which had always been a weapon until then. This bow was glorious, containing every color found in creation. And God put it there, not as a reminder to us, but as a jog for God's memory that such destruction would never again come from God's hand.
It's hard to believe. God changing. What kind of a God changes? But here God both grieves and changes direction. This God doesn't like passing judgment, and decides instead to commit to an imperfect people. In the next part of the story, Noah gets drunk and passes out, proving our imperfections beyond a doubt. We've got plenty of evidence of our capacity for evil. All we have to do is read the morning paper, turn on the television, or go to the movies. If you have any doubts, next time you go to an action movie, just turn around and look at the faces behind you. You'll see many expressions, some trance--like, some flinching, some with a devilish smile. Most of us enjoy seeing Bruce Willis or Arnold Schwarzenegger shoot and punch and kill vicariously for us, wiping away everyone and everything that has ever made us angry or afraid or violent.
In the story of Noah, God sees that human beings will never change. So God changes. God goes beyond justice to save a broken creation and makes no demands in return. God made a covenant with Noah that has no conditions at all. There is not one requirement of Noah or his family in the whole covenant, only requirements for God. In the midst of total destruction, God makes a promise never to cause such destruction again. God's promise becomes a covenant that includes all of creation: Noah and his descendents, and you and me and all the people and creatures and flowers and trees still to come. God sees our capacity for evil, but instead of giving punishment, God gives a promise.
This is a God of impossible possibilities. A God unlike any other. A God who commits to working with imperfection and taking the responsibility on God's own self. That is one definition of judgment and grace. Judgment places the burden on us. Grace places the burden on God. In the story of Noah, God accepts the burden for our imperfections.
The Gilgamesh Epic is another flood story. It is the most widely known of the ancient flood stories and was written hundreds of years before the book of Genesis. It, too, is the story of a universal flood in which everything dies. There are many similarities, but it is the differences that are really fascinating. When the Ark of Gilgamesh lands, three birds are sent out to see if the earth is inhabitable. First a dove is sent, then a swallow, and finally a raven. In the Genesis story, the writer reverses the order. First a raven is sent, then a dove is sent out three times. The swallow cannot fly far. The same is true for the awkward raven. The black raven has long been a metaphor for despair. Ravens are scavengers and harbingers of sadness. In a group, they are called "a murder of ravens."
The dove, on the other hand, is migratory and can fly long distances. It is teachable, functioning well as a carrier pigeon. The raven didn't need to return to the ark. It could have fed on the floating carcasses. But it did return and then Noah sent out the dove, the same bird three times. The dove, a symbol of peace, is strong on the wing. But it must return for food, and when it does, it brings back an olive branch, another symbol of hope and peace. Noah catches the dove and gentles it back into the safety of the ark. On the next flight the dove doesn't return. It has found food and the others can now leave the ark in safety.
So, what is the point? The god of the Epic of Gilgamesh is not just and, like the raven, is dark, evil, and capricious, moving humans like pawns on a chess board and causing all kinds of misery. The God of Genesis, on the other hand, repents, granting peace and hope. This is a God of impossible possibilities, choosing to gentle a broken humanity to God's breast, offering a different version of justice in the face of human evil.
The name of Noah comes up again later in connection with an act of justice, this time in the book of Numbers (chapter 27). But here Noah is a woman! Noah and her four sisters are the daughters of Zelophehad, who had followed Moses out of Egypt and into the Promised Land. Zelophehad died in the wilderness. His daughters, being women, could not inherit the parcel of land intended for their father. So, the five sisters appear before Moses asking for justice. It is not right, they say, that their father's property and name should be lost for lack of a son. So, Noah and her four sisters (great--great--great--great--great granddaughters of Joseph) ask Moses that their father's property be given to them. Moses brings their case to God. God says, "The daughters of Zelophehad are right in what they are saying; you shall indeed let them possess an inheritance among their father's brothers and pass the inheritance of their father on to them. You shall also say to the Israelites, 'If a man dies, and has no son, then you shall pass the inheritance on to his daughter ... It shall be for the Israelites a statute and ordinance, as the Lord commanded Moses' " (Numbers 27:1--11).
Again, a God of impossible possibilities, permitting daughters to inherit. Against all the customs of the times, God provides justice for the powerless, constancy amid brokenness, and a divine image stamped on imperfect people.
There is another, more recent, story of justice. One day a woodcutter was out in the woods getting ready to cut down a tree when he heard a cooing from nearby. He followed the sound and discovered two beautiful white doves caught in a wooden trap. He opened the trap and let them fly away, free. In the years following, the woodcutter married a wife and began to raise a family. The time passed quickly. One day the woodcutter went into the forest to cut wood when suddenly he heard a loud thumping sound. There before him stood a huge giant. The giant said to the woodcutter, "Finally you have come. I have waited 25 years to get even with you. Those two doves you set free were to be my supper. When I saw what you had done I vowed to kill you." The giant took the woodcutter to his cave and tied him up. "Tonight at midnight I will kill you," said the giant. In a panic the woodcutter said, "Is there nothing that can save me?"
"One thing only," said the giant. "If the bell in the church tower rings twelve times before midnight, you will be free."
The woodcutter knew that he was doomed. The church was a long way off and he was tied with ropes. He wept tears for the loss of his wife and children, and never seeing the great green woods again. Then he dried his tears and glanced at the clock. It was five minutes before midnight. With just two minutes to go, he heard a faint sound, the sound of a bell. It rang and rang. The woodcutter started counting. Twelve times it rang. With the last ring of the bell, the cave and the giant vanished and the woodcutter was alone in the forest, free. In the distance he saw the old church and began running toward it. He ran up to the top of the bell tower. On the bell he saw spots of blood. Down below on the floor of the bell tower he saw white feathers and more blood. There lay the two white doves who had thrown their bodies at the bell twelve times in order to repay the man who had saved their lives. The woodcutter carefully picked up the birds, brought them home, and nursed them back to health. Then, one morning, he opened his window and set them free again.
Our God is a God of impossible possibilities. God suffers with us. God ransoms us. God remains steadfastly our God in the midst of the chaos we create, saying to us through the voice of the prophet: "On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food ... and he will destroy on this mountain the shroud that is cast over all the peoples, the sheet that is spread over all nations; he will swallow up death forever. Then the Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces, and the disgrace of his people he will take away from all the earth ..." (Isaiah 25:6--8).
From the mountain of Ararat to Mount Sinai to Mount Zion to Calvary, it is the same God, a God of impossible possibilities, who takes our disgrace on himself, gentles us in his hands like a dove, and then sets us free. Amen.
When we think of Noah and the flood, we focus on Noah and his family and all the animals safe in the ark. They all survived. But nothing else did. I'm glad the author of Genesis didn't describe the horrors Noah and his family witnessed. It must have been truly awful. In that flood nothing survived ... no people, no plants, no animals. The only life was the life on the ark, that great big box of a ship, taller than a three--story building, more than a football field in length, built without a rudder, and filled with every manner of bird and animal. Noah was probably thinking this was a zoo keeper's stinky, floating nightmare. But the real nightmare was the total destruction outside its walls.
God looked at the devastation and said, "Never again." It was too much. Even for God. So God repented. God made a covenant with Noah that such a terrible thing would never happen again. As a sign of the covenant God put a bow in the sky, a bow, which had always been a weapon until then. This bow was glorious, containing every color found in creation. And God put it there, not as a reminder to us, but as a jog for God's memory that such destruction would never again come from God's hand.
It's hard to believe. God changing. What kind of a God changes? But here God both grieves and changes direction. This God doesn't like passing judgment, and decides instead to commit to an imperfect people. In the next part of the story, Noah gets drunk and passes out, proving our imperfections beyond a doubt. We've got plenty of evidence of our capacity for evil. All we have to do is read the morning paper, turn on the television, or go to the movies. If you have any doubts, next time you go to an action movie, just turn around and look at the faces behind you. You'll see many expressions, some trance--like, some flinching, some with a devilish smile. Most of us enjoy seeing Bruce Willis or Arnold Schwarzenegger shoot and punch and kill vicariously for us, wiping away everyone and everything that has ever made us angry or afraid or violent.
In the story of Noah, God sees that human beings will never change. So God changes. God goes beyond justice to save a broken creation and makes no demands in return. God made a covenant with Noah that has no conditions at all. There is not one requirement of Noah or his family in the whole covenant, only requirements for God. In the midst of total destruction, God makes a promise never to cause such destruction again. God's promise becomes a covenant that includes all of creation: Noah and his descendents, and you and me and all the people and creatures and flowers and trees still to come. God sees our capacity for evil, but instead of giving punishment, God gives a promise.
This is a God of impossible possibilities. A God unlike any other. A God who commits to working with imperfection and taking the responsibility on God's own self. That is one definition of judgment and grace. Judgment places the burden on us. Grace places the burden on God. In the story of Noah, God accepts the burden for our imperfections.
The Gilgamesh Epic is another flood story. It is the most widely known of the ancient flood stories and was written hundreds of years before the book of Genesis. It, too, is the story of a universal flood in which everything dies. There are many similarities, but it is the differences that are really fascinating. When the Ark of Gilgamesh lands, three birds are sent out to see if the earth is inhabitable. First a dove is sent, then a swallow, and finally a raven. In the Genesis story, the writer reverses the order. First a raven is sent, then a dove is sent out three times. The swallow cannot fly far. The same is true for the awkward raven. The black raven has long been a metaphor for despair. Ravens are scavengers and harbingers of sadness. In a group, they are called "a murder of ravens."
The dove, on the other hand, is migratory and can fly long distances. It is teachable, functioning well as a carrier pigeon. The raven didn't need to return to the ark. It could have fed on the floating carcasses. But it did return and then Noah sent out the dove, the same bird three times. The dove, a symbol of peace, is strong on the wing. But it must return for food, and when it does, it brings back an olive branch, another symbol of hope and peace. Noah catches the dove and gentles it back into the safety of the ark. On the next flight the dove doesn't return. It has found food and the others can now leave the ark in safety.
So, what is the point? The god of the Epic of Gilgamesh is not just and, like the raven, is dark, evil, and capricious, moving humans like pawns on a chess board and causing all kinds of misery. The God of Genesis, on the other hand, repents, granting peace and hope. This is a God of impossible possibilities, choosing to gentle a broken humanity to God's breast, offering a different version of justice in the face of human evil.
The name of Noah comes up again later in connection with an act of justice, this time in the book of Numbers (chapter 27). But here Noah is a woman! Noah and her four sisters are the daughters of Zelophehad, who had followed Moses out of Egypt and into the Promised Land. Zelophehad died in the wilderness. His daughters, being women, could not inherit the parcel of land intended for their father. So, the five sisters appear before Moses asking for justice. It is not right, they say, that their father's property and name should be lost for lack of a son. So, Noah and her four sisters (great--great--great--great--great granddaughters of Joseph) ask Moses that their father's property be given to them. Moses brings their case to God. God says, "The daughters of Zelophehad are right in what they are saying; you shall indeed let them possess an inheritance among their father's brothers and pass the inheritance of their father on to them. You shall also say to the Israelites, 'If a man dies, and has no son, then you shall pass the inheritance on to his daughter ... It shall be for the Israelites a statute and ordinance, as the Lord commanded Moses' " (Numbers 27:1--11).
Again, a God of impossible possibilities, permitting daughters to inherit. Against all the customs of the times, God provides justice for the powerless, constancy amid brokenness, and a divine image stamped on imperfect people.
There is another, more recent, story of justice. One day a woodcutter was out in the woods getting ready to cut down a tree when he heard a cooing from nearby. He followed the sound and discovered two beautiful white doves caught in a wooden trap. He opened the trap and let them fly away, free. In the years following, the woodcutter married a wife and began to raise a family. The time passed quickly. One day the woodcutter went into the forest to cut wood when suddenly he heard a loud thumping sound. There before him stood a huge giant. The giant said to the woodcutter, "Finally you have come. I have waited 25 years to get even with you. Those two doves you set free were to be my supper. When I saw what you had done I vowed to kill you." The giant took the woodcutter to his cave and tied him up. "Tonight at midnight I will kill you," said the giant. In a panic the woodcutter said, "Is there nothing that can save me?"
"One thing only," said the giant. "If the bell in the church tower rings twelve times before midnight, you will be free."
The woodcutter knew that he was doomed. The church was a long way off and he was tied with ropes. He wept tears for the loss of his wife and children, and never seeing the great green woods again. Then he dried his tears and glanced at the clock. It was five minutes before midnight. With just two minutes to go, he heard a faint sound, the sound of a bell. It rang and rang. The woodcutter started counting. Twelve times it rang. With the last ring of the bell, the cave and the giant vanished and the woodcutter was alone in the forest, free. In the distance he saw the old church and began running toward it. He ran up to the top of the bell tower. On the bell he saw spots of blood. Down below on the floor of the bell tower he saw white feathers and more blood. There lay the two white doves who had thrown their bodies at the bell twelve times in order to repay the man who had saved their lives. The woodcutter carefully picked up the birds, brought them home, and nursed them back to health. Then, one morning, he opened his window and set them free again.
Our God is a God of impossible possibilities. God suffers with us. God ransoms us. God remains steadfastly our God in the midst of the chaos we create, saying to us through the voice of the prophet: "On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food ... and he will destroy on this mountain the shroud that is cast over all the peoples, the sheet that is spread over all nations; he will swallow up death forever. Then the Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces, and the disgrace of his people he will take away from all the earth ..." (Isaiah 25:6--8).
From the mountain of Ararat to Mount Sinai to Mount Zion to Calvary, it is the same God, a God of impossible possibilities, who takes our disgrace on himself, gentles us in his hands like a dove, and then sets us free. Amen.
