I know it’s been several weeks of silence since I’ve written here, in this space, and I hope you’ll forgive me. If I’m honest, I’ve been putting off this post. That doesn’t mean I haven’t been writing, but I didn’t have the bandwidth to work on this piece. If you’ve been following along with me this year, I was writing through some of the early Genesis narratives, and while I’m hoping to shift my focus soon, I wanted to be faithful to finish what I started. I hope it’s been helpful.
Where I live, in the foothills of North Carolina, it’s been a magnificent spring. Cool mornings settle into a nice warm afternoon. My perennials have reawakened: first the crocus, then the daffodil, the iris, the azalea, and now the daisies and the lilies. The skies are blue and alive with the songs of robins and cardinals, bluebirds and chickadees. Five baby bluebirds are nestled in a small wooden box along the fence at the top of our hill, growing into their feathers already. Our mulberry tree is feeding both my sons and the birds, and the raspberry bush we planted last year looks like it just might bear fruit this season. The kids are in the backyard every afternoon, enjoying drippy popsicles and learning to climb trees.
My life feels idyllic right now, with my worst troubles being bedtime shenanigans and a tight budget. I am grateful, knowing that this is no small mercy. But still I live in fear of all the possibilities that threaten to steal, kill, and destroy my precious bubble. In my hometown, a few hours away, two families lost their little girls within a day of each other. They had both been fighting for a long time—one battling cancer and the other congenital heart disease. In Charlotte, the city closest to me, four police officers and US marshalls were recently shot in the line of duty. The largest American flag I’ve ever seen, easily as tall as my house, was lifted over the I-77 overpass by two firetrucks in a parade of honor that wended through my town. At the same time, college students across the nation drape the Palestinian flag over their shoulders as they graduate; others set up tents in the grassy yards of their alma mater, protesting the injustices we are all watching unfold on our glass screens. Half a world away, human bodies are being crushed by concrete, blown apart by rockets and bombs, sheltered under nothing but thin canvas sheets.
It’s remarkable that these two realities can exist side-by-side: my quiet spring, full of beauty and life, alongside closing caskets and body bags.
As I wrote in my disclaimer up above, I’ve been putting off this post because I didn’t know exactly what I wanted to say about the next narrative arc in Genesis, which is the story of the flood. It’s a tale that has left me bewildered for as long as I can remember. Noah’s Ark, the beloved children’s story, was a favorite in my childhood, too, until I realized that a massive flood meant death for many souls—souls belonging to both man and creature. Once seen, I couldn’t unsee this reality, and I didn’t understand how a loving God could wipe out everything He had made.
That said, if the genocide we are currently witnessing is any indication of the collective evil and indifference humans are capable of, then I suppose I can understand God’s decision, at least a little. Still, in my opinion, this story doesn’t align with the Easter narrative—the story of a God who walked among us, who gave His life for ours.
Once again, the BEMA podcast has given me a new way to think about an old tale. In the flood episode1, Marty Solomon argues that humanity’s sin and near extinction is not actually the main message of the flood narrative.
It’s important to remember that the first eleven chapters of Genesis serve as an introduction to the overall Biblical text. In this preface to the main narrative, we get a handful of stories over a large time span with very little detail, and then we dive into the minutiae of Abraham’s family. Why? One theory is that these big stories—creation, fall, flood, scattering (which comes next)—were actually common origin stories in Ancient Near Eastern culture. What’s most important about these stories is not necessarily literal, scientific fact, but the overarching message of each as well as the specific ways the Biblical narrative highlights deviations from contemporaneous origin stories.
All of the Mesopotamian cultures had flood stories where the gods tried to eradicate humanity in a flood. Clearly, some sort of flood had to have happened because the story exists in the collective memory of so many Ancient Near Eastern cultures. The author of Genesis begins the flood story as expected. The first hearers of the Torah are Abraham’s distant offspring, and they would have been familiar with well-known stories like The Epic of Gilgamesh (which came from Sumeria, as did Abram). These original listeners would have expected the flood to begin with an angry God, a God ready to wipe out humankind. So this is how the story of Noah’s Ark begins, but then something unexpected happens. The narrative changes, the plot twists, and suddenly the story of the flood is no longer familiar.
Unlike the story the crowd knows, this God doesn’t need to be outwitted to allow creation to continue. Instead, He chooses to partner with Noah to redeem humanity. And when the flood is over, God makes a covenant with His human partner. We all know the rainbow as the sign of the promise, but what I find interesting about it is that the word “rainbow” doesn’t appear in the Hebrew. Instead God’s sign of the covenant is a bow, like a bow and arrow. The rainbow is the bow, and the bow does not point down toward humanity. It points to the heavens. It’s a symbol reminding us that despite our evil inclinations, this God refuses to bring about our destruction. He has pointed the bow, this covenant reminder of his promise, to himself.
In the flood narrative, we get a foreshadow of God’s ultimate sacrifice for us in Jesus. And in the passing through the floodwaters, we get a foreshadow of resurrection. Like any good Bible story, the story of Noah’s Ark is full of symbolism and layered meaning.
If you look into the history of covenant keeping in the ancient world, you’ll also find that God’s covenant with Noah is thought to be a suzerain-vassal covenant. The suzerain is the powerful party, and the vassal becomes subject to the suzerain in exchange for some kind of protection. The vassal is usually given a sign, a receipt that he must produce as proof of his protection. What God does in the flood narrative turns this practice inside out. He is the suzerain offering protection to His subject (Noah/humanity), but unlike a human suzerain, God promises to be both the rememberer and the keeper of His covenant.
The point of the flood story is that God is different from his ancient contemporaries. He is not set on destruction. Over and over again, He chooses to partner with humanity because He wants His people to flourish.
To me, this narrative speaks of rebirth. I am hopeful that God’s desire is for all humanity to live in the glory of spring. Even when humans fail to image God, creation sings his praise and manifests his goodness with unfurled leaves and resurrected dandelions, with the hopeful chirp of baby birds and the song of the cicada. We are the ones who have inflicted chaos on creation, which we are supposed to care for, and the result is disease and suffering and war and death. Yet, we are still given the choice to partner with God in the renewal of all creation. As followers of Jesus, it is our job to work toward this goal of peace and justice and harmony with both people and planet, and I look forward to the day when evil is thoroughly snuffed out, and the spark of creation is allowed to begin anew.
The world may be dark, and the headlines heavy, but God isn’t done with it yet.
Jenica
Ordinary Joy
Words of Jubilee
Let’s make something better.
A Few Good Things
Lately, we’ve been watching a lot of Danny Go, which my youngest son loves. It’s a fun way to get his energy out.
We’ve been enjoying playing Go Find It at playgrounds and parks now that it’s warmed up.
We also finally got a mini Yoto player, and while we await its shipping, we’ve been enjoying the kids podcasts on their free app.
I’m reading Emily P. Freeman’s newest book, How to Walk into a Room, as well as Sarah Bessey’s Out of Sorts.
Welcome to Joy & Jubilee! If you are new here, I am celebrating my first year of consistently writing in this space. Thank you so much to the many people reading and sharing my work. It does take considerable time and effort to write and write well—if you would like to contribute to the continuation of this project, you can do so by becoming a paid subscriber, by clicking the “Buy Me a Coffee” button below, or simply by sharing this publication with others. A paid subscription is a few dollars a month, and each subscription makes an impact.
BEMA Podcast, Season 1, Episode 4, “His Bow in the Clouds. https://www.bemadiscipleship.com/4