October 29, 2006
Reformation SundayChurch of the Covenant
Robert J. Campbell, D. Min., D. D.
Printer-Friendly VersionEvery One in the Ark?
Genesis 6:1-9:21 Selected
Matthew 24:36-44Take a moment and use your imagination. Look to the ceiling of this great sanctuary, beyond the beams, into the almost mysterious nothingness, which I am told is what the architect wanted you to see, mystery. Notice the beams as your eyes adjust; see if what you're looking at suggests anything to you.
A few years ago, I was asked to preach at the mother of all Presbyterian churches, First Church Philadelphia. Like our sanctuary there are grand beams, but the stones that form the walls in that church are from the ballast of ships that were harbored when it was being constructed.
On another occasion, I spoke at a church's 100th anniversary where the cover of the bulletin depicted its sanctuary inverted so that the ceiling beams looked like the great hull of a ship, poised to protect all within from the raging seas without, as it had done for a hundred years.
I often think of those images when I ponder the church on a Reformation Sunday and having looked up and imagined, I'd like for you to do the same for a few minutes. See this sanctuary as a great ark holding us within.
Now to the story of the flood, it can be found in almost every culture, it is pre-history, it's a myth, and yet more. In the story, the teller shatters credibility by telling us Noah was 600 years old; yet in almost the next breath he takes painstaking effort to tell us the month and day the events occurred, "In the 600th year, the 2nd month, the 17th day of Noah's life." Why the contrast between absurdity and minute detail?
But then isn't that life? A struggle between detailed reality and seeming absurdity? TV ads for candidates blaming one another for everything imaginable, trivializing this nation's most sacred trust, from children shot in school houses, a doctor's diagnosis leaving a patient numb, to all that is going on around us, and then you have to go back to work. Twice last week I was fuming over details; bulletin mistakes or newsletter errors right in the middle of which a member said, "My granddaughter was just told she has a tumor." I was struggling with budget numbers when another member reported a positive result on a cancer test. Life is so often the tension between the tragic, the absurd, the frustrating, the unbelievable, and the details of everyday reality.
The account of Noah is actually two stories overlapping. Of significance to one is the fact that Noah isn't an Israelite, which means the message is directed towards a universal audience. Every individual, regardless of ethnic background or religion, race or sex, is made by God, made like God, and therefore intrinsically precious.
I read a book recently that I didn't like very much. It bothered me because it made me struggle with my perspectives. In one paragraph, it contained quotes from two of my favorite writers and two from a religious camp I give little credence to. It called me to remember that every person is formed in God's image, even those I don't like. And if I remind myself of that when I'm thinking nasty things about them, I have to remind myself that I'm really thinking nasty things about God. That is unsettling. Especially when the guy driving in front of me cuts me off at the light.
The story of Noah's ark, or was it God's ark? The account is really about humankind's self-destructiveness. The flood is about our capacity to destroy all of life. Wrote T.S. Eliot, "A wrong attitude toward nature is a wrong attitude towards God." The story reminds all human beings down through the long corridors of history of our responsibility towards all of creation. You might say it was the first "Species Preservation Act."
Then of course there is the ark itself. In Bill Cosby fashion God says, "I want you to build it 50 cubits by 300 cubits," and Noah says, "Ya, but what's a cubit?" It's a tale that lends itself to laughter especially in the 9th chapter when Noah gets drunk. But who could blame him after living with the zoo he had collected, three sons, and their wives for over 150 days? One of those vacations you need a vacation from when you get home. We laugh just as the people of Noah's time laughed.
There was a Christian Century article some time ago that explored new interest in ancient myths. It suggested that one of the most important notions in this story is that the ark was built in public. When driving east across I-68 in West Virginia you come across some poor soul's ark standing three stories high. It's been under construction for as long as I can remember. There it stands, steel girders, nothing else, with the sign "Noah's ark." Trouble is it's cemented into the ground, which doesn't give you a lot of confidence in the builder. Noah's ark was built in public, he didn't hide it in his garage or build it in an out-of-the-way place; it served first as a public warning. A sign of what might come.
Which, silly as it sounds, raises a question. Isn't it always the task of those summoned by God to point to their times in light of their understanding of God's agenda? We might shy away from that idea, it might be uncomfortable, we might get laughed at, but is it not the purpose of those who have said "yes" to God to celebrate in public, calling the world around us to adjust its compass?
An old story with powerful images, it's a flood washing across all human boundaries, putting life in jeopardy regardless of homeland security. The flood that touches every life and every household leaving behind the remnants of a Katrina. But then the rainbow, how does Benjamin Britten put it? "The string is drawn toward you (God) and me." A bridge between creator and creation, the product of storm and sun, of tragedy and hope. The potential for unity of the world. We draw the bow toward us, it requires our effort too.
One description of the an old British hymn, Eternal Fathers, says it is sung with much more gusto in that island nation. While we live on the lakes, which takes significant effort to enjoy, still most of America lives out of touch with the "mighty deep." Yet, change the words to tornado or earthquake, mugging, or cancer and its message is clear. It is what moved me years ago to write an altered version for a service the Sunday after I had to tell a father, a single parent, that his 6-year-old son had leukemia. "Eternal God (the only) one strong (enough) to save....” In times of smooth sailing with a brisk wind at our backs, we think little of pending peril. But when out of nowhere the storm clouds gather and the waves overwhelm us, "then hear us when we cry to thee."
The sin of the people then as now was not licentious living, not in the sanctity they gave to the secular. It was their unwillingness to discern the signs of their times. That's not only the message in the myth, but from the mouth of Jesus "as in the days of Noah when people were enjoying themselves until Noah entered the ark." Not unlike the words of Haynes Johnson in his book, The Best of Times, "America at its zenith, a society so favored as it entered a new millennium that its people could be excused for believing they were experiencing the very best of times, no matter how the glow of new riches blinded them. Prospects seemed unlimited." The book hit the shelves only days before 9/11. "The people were enjoying themselves until ...."
That is our message to the world, but it's not a message of guilt, it's not a call to be "Chicken Little" for there is the bow. Out of fear, grief, and avoidance comes opportunity.
In Youngstown, Ohio in 1979 after failed efforts to re-open steel mills by the 33,000 workers who had lost their jobs, we called a meeting of management and labor. It was an unheard of gathering in that town and met with resistance on all sides. After endless work, the gathering took place and to everyone's amazement, much common ground was found. As my exhausted partner and I left the church that April day wondering if we had really accomplished anything for the future, there, spanning the sky above the parking lot was a great rainbow. What more could we say? "If it's made of man, it will be gone tomorrow; if it's made of God ..." (Acts 15)
The church's message to the world should always be one of hope. As Gracie Allen used to say, "Never put a period where God puts a comma." Faith gives us the courage to set sail on the seas of life and hope sustains us for the journey. It's hope that helps us keep our faith, despite evidence, because only with hope do we know that the evidence can change.
I have a picture hanging in the window of my office. Its title is "The Reforming Church." It depicts a church on a hill in the heart of a community, surrounded by houses closely hemmed. The clouds are foreboding, the floodwaters seem ready to breach the levy, but above it all, including the courthouse, government, is the church's steeple, which is topped by of all things a rooster; Calvin's reformation symbol of the dawning of a new day. The church pointing toward the only "shelter from the stormy blast(s)."
Of course, all is not well in the church. As one cynic has said, "If the church is like the ark, the only reason the inhabitants can stand the stink within is because of the storm without.” A sorry commentary, yet true or not, life is about stormy seas; calm water never makes for good sailors. And churches like this one are ships that have proven themselves sea worthy and able to ride the biggest of waves.
Which brings us back to our story. God calling us, even with our frailties, to speak hope to the world.
In a wonderful play, Green Pastures, Mark Conley pictures a frustrated God trying to salvage the world. We humans have made a mess of things and with Noah God starts over. "I only hope it's gonna work out all right," says God. Gabriel shows no enthusiasm.
The second half of the play is centered in the rural South and it would appear Gabriel's lack of confidence is on target. "You people aren't worthy of the breath I gave ya," says God. But then the focus shifts from who we are as people to who we can become. We are creatures of weakness, but we try. We show courage amidst despair, compassion amidst suffering, and we gather the shells of wisdom along the way. And God seems to learn a lesson too.
The play ends with Gabriel asking; "Lord, is de time come for me to blow the trumpet? To end it all?" But then another voice is heard, "Oh! Look. Look at him. Dey gonna make him carry it up de hill. Dey gonna nail him to it. Oh, dat's a terrible burden for any man to carry;" and God mummers, "Yes."
"Yes," not to Gabriel but to yet another new beginning. The final word is that God carried it for us. All that is asked of we who are already in the ark, we who know that love, all we're asked to do is tell others that there is still room for them. It has been God's story from the beginning. It's God's ark and it's our job to live the never-ending story, to live out not God's judgment, but God's hope in this world.
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