Shelter in a Storm
Shelter in a Storm, FPCE, 14 June 2018, photo by jch
Sermon Series “Through the Bible,” № 4, Genesis 6:11-22
“But I will establish my covenant with you; and you shall come into the ark, you, your sons, your wife, and your sons’ wives with you.”–Genesis 6:18
It’s a strange irony that I’ve preached so little on today’s text. Like most of you, I learned Noah’s story in Sunday school at an early age. The ark is represented in one of our most prominent art-glass windows, and I’ve seen it almost weekly for nearly twenty years. Yet, in 1,200+ sermons, only once before have I focused on the sixth chapter of Genesis.
When I ask myself why I have neglected Noah, the frank answer is that I don’t like him very much. When God announces the plan to destroy the world, Noah doesn’t object or even express grief. By contrast, when God says Sodom and Gomorrah will be destroyed, Abraham begs and bargains with God not to destroy the city, if only ten righteous people are found there.[1] Faced with a similar situation, there’s only passive acceptance from Noah, no apparent grief about the mass casualties about to be inflicted upon all but a remnant of the earth’s people and animals. Later, there’s an episode that ends in Noah cursing one of his sons. The cataclysmic flood was supposed to put an end to sin and dysfunction, but post-flood Noah and his family turn out to be sinful people with dysfunctional relationships. It’s true that he trusted God, carefully crafted the ark, herded animals into it, and provided for their needs until the flood waters receded. Otherwise, this text and the New Testament mentions of Noah do little to portray him as a heartwarming, heroic figure.
There is another ancient story that is similar to the story of Noah: The Epic of Gilgamesh. It comes from a Mesopotamian culture that was entirely lost until the 19th century. It recalls the heroic journey of the King of Uruk, a city on the Euphrates River. The story itself is estimated to be at least 4,600 years old, and is preserved on tablets of various ages.
Neil MacGregor, who was Director of the British Museum until 2015, has a brief and wonderful essay and podcast about the so-called Flood Tablet, dating from 700-600 BC, and discovered in Nineveh (in modern Iraq).[2] During the 1870s, the Flood Tablet created a stir in biblical studies, because it pre-dated any known biblical record of the flood. Of course, what must also be acknowledged is that the clay used in Mesopotamia holds up pretty well when buried in the ground for centuries, while the papyrus used by other cultures disintegrates when exposed too long to the elements. Just because the Flood Tablet is the oldest record of a flood story doesn’t mean that it is necessarily the earliest. It doesn’t test our faith too much to believe that there may have been one particular flood event preserved in the stories of two or more ancient cultures.[3]
The similarities between the ancient flood stories are interesting, but one difference is particularly striking. That difference may be summed up in the word “covenant.” Whereas the Mesopotamian Noah figure – Utnapishtim—is a puppet subject to whims of warring gods, Noah is in a personal protective relationship with God. In the Sumerian version, the gods enjoy earth’s destruction “like flies over a sacrifice.”[4] But in the Noah story, God fulfills a promise to Noah, and, symbolized in the rainbow, God pledges never to destroy the earth again through water. The act of judgment is followed by the promise of shelter.
As I mentioned earlier, our text does little to portray Noah as a heartwarming, heroic figure. And, upon further reflection, that probably shouldn’t surprise me. Ultimately, the hero is not human, but rather divine. It’s the gracious protection and merciful deliverance of God that the text most celebrates.
Centuries ago, during the construction of the great cathedrals of Europe, an association was made between the ark that God commanded Noah to build and great vaulted ceilings that the architects felt called to create. The word “nave” that describes the main body of the church is related to the word “navy,” and comes from the Latin word meaning “ship.” It was said that the roof of the church was like an upside-down ark, and that those inside it would find protection.
In this way of thinking, toward the Church is like turning toward the ark. Outside there are raging storms and dangerous floodwaters that threaten to overwhelm us. Inside, God offers to us safety from the storms of life.
Yesterday was the anniversary of September 11, 2001, and all week our nation has been remembering the events and impact of that day. One of the great examples of God’s people in action during this time surrounds Trinity Church. Its historic St. Paul’s Chapel, close to Ground Zero, was the site where George Washington worshiped with the Congress after he was inaugurated in 1789. Trinity Church was and is a diverse community of faith, old New York families sitting in the same pews as newcomers raised in Barbados, Jamaica, Hong Kong, and even China.
On the morning of September 11, the pastors led an impromptu service for terrified bystanders who had begun streaming in seeking shelter and solace. They were singing “Our God, Our Help in Ages Past” when the first tower collapsed only a short distance away. Father Stuart Hoke recalled, “All the lights went dark, and the vaulted Gothic sanctuary quickly filled with ash and debris … We really didn’t think we’d get out.”[5]
They did get out, and, surprisingly, St. Paul’s Chapel survived without so much as a broken window. Unscathed by destruction all around, the church became a place of rest and refuge for the workers at Ground Zero. On Friday, September 14, church officials were allowed to inspect the building. They happened to be there at noon, the time set by the President for the ringing of church bells across America. The bell’s electric clapper was not operational, so someone brought in a piece of iron that had fallen on the church grounds, and used it to sound the bell. On hearing the peal, rescue workers held their hard hats over their hearts.
As Trinity Church’s website takes up the story, “Slowly at first, rescue workers, police, and firefighters stopped by the chapel to rest and wash up. Because long, exhausting shifts prevented many workers from going home, the chapel opened its doors so that they could rest . Shortly after, an outdoor grill was fired up, and volunteers began to serve food to hungry rescue and recovery workers …. During all hours of the day and night … workers staggered through the gates of the chapel. Hungry and weary, weighed down with gear, wearing boots half-melted from the fiery ash, they fell into St. Paul’s open embrace. After working grueling 12–18 hour shifts at Ground Zero, rescue and recovery workers knew that St. Paul’s was a place they could rest for a few hours before returning to the pit.”[6]
Father Hoke, who led the service abruptly cut short when the first tower collapsed, co-led an ecumenical service held nearby five days later. Among the hymns chosen was the one they had been singing that day. Father Hoke was too choked up to join in, so simply listened as the shaken but resolute congregation sang, “Our God, our help in ages past, our hope for years to come, our shelter from the stormy blast, and our eternal home.”
It's nearly impossible to be a church leader today without worrying about the Church’s future. But sometimes we still get a glimpse of the truth the Church has long celebrated. It’s the promise of the rainbow. Outside there are raging storms that threaten to destroy us. Turning toward the Church is like turning toward the ark. Inside, God offers protection. As we worship, serve, and break bread together, God nourishes us with words of compassion, and the promise of shelter in times of storm.
NOTES
[1] Genesis 18:16-33.
[2] Neil MacGregor, A History of the World in 100 Objects, New York: Penguin Books, 2010, pp. 97 ff.
[3] Walter Brueggemann, Genesis, Atlanta: John Knox Press, 1982, p. 74.
[4] N. K. Sandars, ed., “Introduction” in The Epic of Gilgamesh, London: Penguin Books, 1972, p. 42.
[5] David W. Dunlap, “Near Ground Zero, Trinity Parish’s Historic Spires Are Unbowed,” The New York Times, B10, 10 September 2001.
[6] https://trinitywallstreet.org/visit/st-pauls-chapel/911 accessed 9 September 2021.
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