There are some interesting narratives going on within chapter six.
We begin with the Nephilim who are similar to demigods of mythology. They explain legendary heroes of the day and appear to survive the impending flood as the "afterward" of verse four implies. They are mentioned again in Numbers 13:33 when Moses sends out spies to scout out the land which occurred well after the flood.
Jesus is silent about them but does mention the flood of Noah in Matthew and Luke. Jesus is likening the coming of the Son of Man to the flood of Noah in that it is unexpected and will be difficult for many.
As we look at Genesis, this is one of the passages where we see the judgment of God come to light. Many people like to imagine that God is more judgmental (with extra wrath) in the Old Testament and that this is not on display in the New Testament. These verses from Matthew and Luke belie this point.
 |
Oklahoma City National Memorial, Murrah Building, bombing
taken July 12, 2010
|
Was the flood sent out to destroy a violent world? Was this kind of a cultural reset for humanity? If sin is inherited as a kind of orientation to the self, then Noah and his family surely are carriers. Sometimes values are passed on through teaching rather than genetically. Since systems resist change, it may be that something drastic was needed.
And yet, the violence of today such as the school shooting in Parkland makes us wonder if we are any better? Jesus invites us to be watchful. Maybe I need to watch how I take part in a system of violence where children are killed. We weary when the innocent are murdered and it seems that the names of these schools are soon lost to memory.
As we journey with Jesus to the cross, what can be done to alleviate the suffering of the innocent? This is a Lenten question if ever there was one. My hope is that God won't choose to do anything too drastic. As a parent, it is hard to imagine my response if it were my child that died in the shooting. But maybe God calls us to identify with them - that in our solidarity, we are stronger than when we choose to forget.
I am the building that was blown apart by a bomb in the "heartland" of
America. My heart is blown open. The front of me falls away: I am the gaping
floors, the broken glass, the dangling wires, the film of concrete dust that
rises into the air.
This is my body.
I am the children who were killed: the little ones, the innocent, tender
little people full of play and laughter. The babies.
This is my body.
I am the women and men who were killed, the mother, father, husband, wife,
grandparent, neighbor, relative, friend, startled by death on an ordinary day.
This is my body.
I am those who mourn: the suddenly bereaved, the shocked, the bereft. I am
the mother clutching a picture of her two children, the husband grieving his
newly-wed wife.
This is my body.
I am the rescue workers, the medical personnel, those who hope against hope,
and those who are faithful even when there is no hope, those who press on into
the rubble, searching for the living, the wounded, the dead, searching for what
is human, for what is loved.
This is my body.
I am the ones who planned and planted the bomb: the hardhearted, the fearful,
the numb and angry ones who no longer care.
This is my body.
I am the ones who fill the airwaves with venom and hate. "Take them out in
the desert and blow them up." "Shoot 'em." "I hope they fry."
This is my body.
I am the Holy Spirit, brooding over our bent world with bright wings. I am
the wings of Jesus, tenderly outstretched above the city, sheltering everything
and everyone beneath.
This is my body.
I cannot hold it all. I hand it to you, Jesus. Hold it with me. And suddenly
I see that I am handing you the cross: here, you carry it.
I cannot.
And he has taken it up. He is carrying all of this, all of this. The dead,
the wounded, and those who mourn; the killers and those who were killed; the
frightened, the angry, the sorrowful--he is carrying all of this, all of us,
every part of us, into the loving heart of God.
A Prayer after the Oklahoma City Bombing
Margaret Bullitt-Jonas, April, 1995
Photo by natalie419 via Flickr.com. Used under the Creative Commons license.
No comments:
Post a Comment