It Could Be Different--September 3, 2021

It Could Be Different--September 3, 2021

"By faith Noah, warned by God about events as yet unseen, respecting the warning and build an ark to save his household; by this he condemned the world and became an heir to the righteousness that is in accordance with faith." [Hebrews 11:7]

It takes faith to imagine that things could be different.  And it takes even more faith to act in anticipation of that alternative future before anyone can see it.

In that sense, Noah's story speaks volumes to each one of us, because we are called as well to grab hold of the vision of God's new creation--what we sometimes call the "Reign of God" or "the kingdom of God"--and to live now in light of that promised future.

Our specific work in light of that future will be different from Noah's: he was famously called to build a boat in which to keep animal life safe and to preserve his family, so that creation could begin anew after the flood.  You and are likely not called to build a gargantuan floating zoo.  But we are called, as Noah was, to do the difficult work of simultaneously holding onto the world as it is, which God still loves, and to strive forward toward a new creation, a new order of things, a new way of life, where justice and mercy are at last at home.  Noah does both, and of course, both are part of God's commission to him:  building the boat anticipates the future flood and the new creation that will begin again when the flood is past, and at the same time, the menagerie of animals to be kept on board is a clear rooting in the world that God had made and which God still sought to preserve.  At one and the same time, he is called to look forward and act in light of the future, and to protectively guard the creatures of the old world--to look forward with hope and backward with love at once.

It's hard to do either of those well; it's even harder to do both at the same time. And I think that's something about Noah's story we could take a page from.  For all the other ways that Bible story is difficult and heartbreaking as well as hopeful, there is something really powerful about the way God's call to Noah holds together both the belovedness of this pitiable world and the desperate need of this world to be set right in all the places it is broken and crooked.  It's hard for us to take a look at the hurt of this world in which we live, or the circumstances and systems that we take for granted as "just the way things are," and to dare to imagine it could be made better, more just, more compassionate, more alive.  And it is also hard to look at the brokenness of the world and still to love it and to want to preserve the lives of creatures God love within it.  But we are called to do both.

I had never thought about it this way until rereading these verses for today, but that makes Noah something rather like German-Lutheran-pastor-turned-resistance-member Dietrich Bonhoeffer, or like formerly-enslaved-Underground-Railroad-conductor Harriet Tubman in our own nation's history.  Bonhoeffer chose to go back to his native Germany when he had a comfortable (and safe!) teach position here in the United States, because he knew he had to be a part of his country's struggle if he wanted to create the possibility of something better than the Nazi war machine.  He loved his people enough to suffer with them and to seek their well-being, but he also resisted the evil of the Reich and worked to overthrow it from within, even to the point of participating in a plot against Hitler.  Bonhoeffer both loved his people and wanted them to be preserved, and also knew he had to help tear down the evil to which they had succumbed--indeed, in which they were complicit.  And in a similar vein, I see a connection to Harriet Tubman, who didn't merely escape to freedom from enslavement herself, but went back on numerous rescue missions to liberate other enslaved people in the South, and also worked for the Union as a spy to help bring down the wickedness of the Confederacy.  It's that love for people in the present tied up with a passionate hope for the possibilities of the future that spurred her on, rather than only looking out for herself and her own freedom.

So, sure, it may not be our calling to build a giant boat or tend a zoo full of animals.  But like Noah, like Harriet, and like Dietrich--as well as countless other saints whose stories are waiting to be told--we are called to dare to imagine that things could be different in this hurting and crooked world... and also to love that world despite its brokenness and to seek to preserve its goodness, too, as something to become a part of the new creation, too. That's how Noah lived by faith--and that's what we're called to do with our lives as well.

What could that kind of faith look like? Maybe it starts by looking, honestly, at the things that are broken around us and daring to imagine that they didn't have to be that way.  Could we imagine a society where nobody is homeless? Could we imagine a way of life that isn't built on taking from someone else, leaving someone out, or pitting the world into "us" and "them" categories? Could we imagine a community where everybody is able to feed their kids?  Could we imagine a culture where kids don't have to have active-shooter drills in school, or where everybody went the extra mile to protect the most vulnerable around them?  Could we imagine raising children who don't view "success" solely in terms of making money or owning the next piece of technology?  Could we dare to envision living in balance with creation, so that all the creatures Noah worked so hard to preserve could have a way to thrive, and so that wildfires and hurricanes would not be aggravated or intensified by our choices?  Could we picture ourselves being people who reflected Jesus all the time?

And if we can start to imagine that, then we'll have to ask the follow-ups:  What might we need to let go of, revamp, or tear down and rebuild, in order to let those visions become real?  What might need to change in us--in me--for those things to happen?  How do we care about the people and creatures God loves even while rooting out the systems and structures and routines that become so soaked in sin and self-centeredness?  Who and what will we want to make sure to guard and protect like Noah bringing his menagerie on the ark?  Those are at least some of the right questions to ask to shape our actions today--so that we can live by faith like Noah did.

It all starts by daring to look at the world's heartache, greed, and hatred, and saying, "It doesn't have to be this way," and then acting today, right here and now, in light of the promised future of God's new way.  

Look around.  It doesn't have to be this way.  What will you do, today, to anticipate the birthing of God's new creation?

Lord God, give us the faith like Noah's, to step into your vision of a renewed creation for your beloved world.