Troubled Waters
Sermon
Sermons on the First Readings
Series III, Cycle B
Object:
A man from Johnstown, Pennsylvania, died and went to heaven. Saint Peter was directing the activities and explained to him, "Each Friday we have a get-together for the new members. To break the ice, every new member must make a speech to all the others here, on any subject desired." The man from Johnstown said, "I think I'll talk on the Johnstown flood." Saint Peter replied, "I think it's all right but I'd better warn you; Noah will be in the audience."
The story of Noah's ark has its origins in ancient history, but the story itself did not take on its present form in the literature of the Hebrews until the time of a literary renaissance during the reigns of David and Solomon about 1000 BC. The writers of the story seem to have recast an ancient story told by the Sumerians and Mesopotamians. In fact, there is a tablet dating from about that time found in the Tigris-Euphrates river valley that tells the story of a man named Utnapishtim who, having been warned by one of his gods (Ea), builds an ark and experiences the same adventure as Noah in the Old Testament version.
There are striking differences between the Genesis account and the other ancient-world traditions. The Hebrew account uniquely confesses that there is only one God and that this one God is not capricious but judiciously measured in his interaction with humans. The Hebrew God causes the flood in order to accomplish his righteous purpose. Unlike the ancient gods of Israel's neighbors, he displays solicitous concern for his human creatures. His justice demands that he punish the wicked people of the earth, but his attribute of mercy is manifested in his act of salvation for Noah and his family in order that the human race might be continued. Israel's God, in the story, wants to spare the innocent and extend his mercy not only to a few righteous humans but to the entire creation.
The story of Noah and the ark is not only the story of a just God but also of a gracious God. The story is used over and over again in nursery schools across the land. Many children are familiar with the famous ark and all the beautiful animals that were saved from the waters of the flood.
According to the story, all of humankind was confronted by the horror of a universal deluge, and all humans were destroyed by waters that were more than troubled (they were catastrophic) except Noah. His confrontation with watery death led to the victory of a fresh start on planet earth and the experience of reconciliation with a God who did not give up on his project humanity.
Noah did not save himself. He had no greater ability to tread water than anyone else. In fact, he had no idea about how to build a ship. God was the engineer in the project. Without the intervention of God, Noah would have drowned along with all the other rats. Noah's righteousness would have been of no avail in the swarming and swirling waters. A lot of good people went down with the Titanic. All of us, the good and the bad, are threatened with extinction in the troubled waters of our lives.
In a totally unpredictable way, for Noah and the animals, the waters of destruction turned out to be the waters of salvation. The gray clouds parted to reveal a silver lining, which issued forth into a glorious rainbow! And the animals were included!
One account (not in the Bible) reports a conversation that Noah had with a gorilla boarding the ark. Noah asked, "Where is your mate?" The gorilla answered, "I was hoping to meet her on the ark. I have heard that a cruise is a good place to find a wife!" That silly story makes a point. The flood story is about the salvation of all life on earth. Somehow it all worked out; the gorilla species is with us today. The gorilla did more than meet his mate. He met his future; he met his salvation. The whole creation was back on track heading for its destiny. The gorilla would see the lamb lay beside the lion.
In classic theological constructions, the ark story is the second of four covenants with God. The first is the covenant with Adam and Eve: They would have dominion over the works of God's creation. The second is with Noah: God would not destroy the earth with water again. The third is with Abraham: God would guarantee that Abraham's descendents would survive and prevail. The fourth is with Moses: God gave to Israel a sacred charter to guide them.
Is that it? No. There is a fifth covenant: the new covenant, the New Testament, the new salvation wrought in the person and ministry of Jesus Christ. Whosoever believes in him will not perish but have everlasting life.
God has placed a rainbow in our sky as a sign that floods would never again cover the whole earth. The rainbow is a bridge over troubled waters. The rainbow of the Old Testament has become the bridge of the New Testament. Jesus is indeed the bridge over the troubled waters of our lives.
A true story about the Nazi occupation of Denmark records the plight of Danish Jews. Just as they did in all their "conquered" lands, the Nazis tightened their grip slowly on the Jews of Denmark. Finally, the Jews learned that they were to be rounded up on Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. They had only two days to flee and disappear. Seven thousand were arrested and placed in internment camps. Five thousand who were able to hide or flee miraculously survived the war. One group went by boat in the middle of the night across the Oresund Straits to ports in free Sweden. It is hard to imagine the immensity of their fear as they boarded those boats, as they crossed the choppy water in the dead of night, as they anticipated detection at any moment by Nazi scouting boats. They reached the other side -- they reached safety, new life, and salvation.
We all know what it's like to venture into troubled waters. Sometimes we willingly place our boats into the water. We begin courses at college; we give up the security of an old job for the uncertainty of a new career; we take marriage vows; we charter a course for parenthood. Sometimes we begin a journey that we do not wish. A relationship begins to spiral downward; we lose our job; the physician spots cancer in our body; a loved one suddenly is lost to death.
In the beginning, the embryo church sailed in choppy seas. She was persecuted, mocked, accused of being disloyal to the state, and charged with barbarianism. But she survived and prospered.
The liturgical name of the portion of the church where worshipers sit is the "nave," derived from the Latin word for ship whence we get our word, "navy." The meeting place for worship reminds us that we travel as a community of travelers, a great company of sailors, past, present, and future, of every race, age, and class.
Many churches in northern Europe display ship models in their entries or in their naves. There are about 1,300 church ships hung in Denmark alone. They were donated by sailors' groups for decoration, perhaps given in memory of departed loved ones, or perhaps given as a thank offering for survival at sea. They also serve as a metaphor for the universal church. Those on board the ship of the church must weather storms, waves, and tumult. But the ship of the church will reach the shore beyond; the church will weather the storm; the church will come to safe harbor.
The mast of the ship is the cross. Our Lord is at the helm. As he stilled the storm on the Sea of Galilee (Mark 4:35-41), so will he guide us through the tempests of our lives.
A newly ordained young pastor at his first parish in rural northwest Ohio was encouraged by the enthusiastic support of the youth group. He enrolled himself and some of the high school students in a seven-day sailing trip in a 55-foot ketch in the Bahamas. The trip sounded like a horizon-expanding experience for himself and the students, among whom none had ever seen an ocean.
All went well until Betty, one of the adult counselors, on the way to Miami, bravely rose in the darkness of the morning in the host home in Atlanta to brush her teeth; not wishing to disturb the sleepers in the house, she brushed with shampoo from a tube that felt like a toothpaste tube in the dark bathroom. In mid-afternoon, Betty and the others arrived at the Port of Miami to board the boat. Betty was not feeling well.
The group gathered in the cockpit of the vessel, aptly named Shark VII, to hear the captain's briefing. Betty was putting up a brave front. The high school students sat in the hot sun and learned about port and starboard, aft and forward, galley and head. The boat at dock bobbed gently up and down. The sun, reflecting off the water of the marina, increased its intensity. The young pastor began to feel queasy in his stomach. The captain began to speak about seasickness. He explained dramatically that seasickness is only a figment of the imagination. The pastor was glad to hear the good news but began to wonder about his increased light-headedness and creeping feelings of nausea.
The freshly indoctrinated crew left the Port of Miami and thus began the pastor's personal odyssey of nausea, disorientation, and life below deck flat on his back. Regular doses of seasickness meds left him sweetly semi-comatose. He survived on hope. He hoped that Betty would not die. Early the first morning, the boat weighed anchor off an island with a lighthouse. The lighthouse crew sent a longboat for those who wanted to step on dry land. The pastor, Betty, and some others jumped in. The waves leaped from the pages of Moby Dick. The pastor considered a long life at the lighthouse. Betty was getting worse. She and the pastor returned to the ketch and convinced the captain to set sail for a clinic.
Betty was encouraged to eat; she needed strength for the journey to the physician. The crew from the soybean fields of northern Ohio offered her a tuna fish sandwich made from a miraculous dehydrated substance in a can. Betty's condition seemed to worsen. The captain allowed only a short stop at the clinic.
Five days later the seafarers finally anchored again offshore in a beautiful cove. All on board were still alive. They were sticky from saltwater, smelly from lack of showers, traumatized by the oil-scented un-air-conditioned cabin, weary of food taken from tin cans, wounded by an attack of sand fleas, wrapped in dark or red burnt skin, overcome by the summer Caribbean heat, but alive!
They searched for a place to conduct devotions. Someone suggested that they sing "Amazing Grace."
Through many dangers, toils and snares ...
we have already come.
'Twas grace that brought us safe thus far ...
and grace will lead us home.
The novice seamen seasoned by six days upon the deep sang words of gratitude. There are few people from Christian cultures who cannot identify with those words and who cannot sing some of that hymn when lamenting bagpipes squeal and kilts swirl.
Noah made it safely over the sea. He celebrated with a little strong drink. He had a right to celebrate. He and a zoo-full of people and animals beheld God's mercy under a clear, sunny sky. God had not withheld his promise.
We are those who have been drowned in the waters of baptism. We have been taken by the chaotic waters. But we have also been raised up because on that day God called us by name and adopted us as his own. He made a promise. He will not withhold that promise. Amen.
The story of Noah's ark has its origins in ancient history, but the story itself did not take on its present form in the literature of the Hebrews until the time of a literary renaissance during the reigns of David and Solomon about 1000 BC. The writers of the story seem to have recast an ancient story told by the Sumerians and Mesopotamians. In fact, there is a tablet dating from about that time found in the Tigris-Euphrates river valley that tells the story of a man named Utnapishtim who, having been warned by one of his gods (Ea), builds an ark and experiences the same adventure as Noah in the Old Testament version.
There are striking differences between the Genesis account and the other ancient-world traditions. The Hebrew account uniquely confesses that there is only one God and that this one God is not capricious but judiciously measured in his interaction with humans. The Hebrew God causes the flood in order to accomplish his righteous purpose. Unlike the ancient gods of Israel's neighbors, he displays solicitous concern for his human creatures. His justice demands that he punish the wicked people of the earth, but his attribute of mercy is manifested in his act of salvation for Noah and his family in order that the human race might be continued. Israel's God, in the story, wants to spare the innocent and extend his mercy not only to a few righteous humans but to the entire creation.
The story of Noah and the ark is not only the story of a just God but also of a gracious God. The story is used over and over again in nursery schools across the land. Many children are familiar with the famous ark and all the beautiful animals that were saved from the waters of the flood.
According to the story, all of humankind was confronted by the horror of a universal deluge, and all humans were destroyed by waters that were more than troubled (they were catastrophic) except Noah. His confrontation with watery death led to the victory of a fresh start on planet earth and the experience of reconciliation with a God who did not give up on his project humanity.
Noah did not save himself. He had no greater ability to tread water than anyone else. In fact, he had no idea about how to build a ship. God was the engineer in the project. Without the intervention of God, Noah would have drowned along with all the other rats. Noah's righteousness would have been of no avail in the swarming and swirling waters. A lot of good people went down with the Titanic. All of us, the good and the bad, are threatened with extinction in the troubled waters of our lives.
In a totally unpredictable way, for Noah and the animals, the waters of destruction turned out to be the waters of salvation. The gray clouds parted to reveal a silver lining, which issued forth into a glorious rainbow! And the animals were included!
One account (not in the Bible) reports a conversation that Noah had with a gorilla boarding the ark. Noah asked, "Where is your mate?" The gorilla answered, "I was hoping to meet her on the ark. I have heard that a cruise is a good place to find a wife!" That silly story makes a point. The flood story is about the salvation of all life on earth. Somehow it all worked out; the gorilla species is with us today. The gorilla did more than meet his mate. He met his future; he met his salvation. The whole creation was back on track heading for its destiny. The gorilla would see the lamb lay beside the lion.
In classic theological constructions, the ark story is the second of four covenants with God. The first is the covenant with Adam and Eve: They would have dominion over the works of God's creation. The second is with Noah: God would not destroy the earth with water again. The third is with Abraham: God would guarantee that Abraham's descendents would survive and prevail. The fourth is with Moses: God gave to Israel a sacred charter to guide them.
Is that it? No. There is a fifth covenant: the new covenant, the New Testament, the new salvation wrought in the person and ministry of Jesus Christ. Whosoever believes in him will not perish but have everlasting life.
God has placed a rainbow in our sky as a sign that floods would never again cover the whole earth. The rainbow is a bridge over troubled waters. The rainbow of the Old Testament has become the bridge of the New Testament. Jesus is indeed the bridge over the troubled waters of our lives.
A true story about the Nazi occupation of Denmark records the plight of Danish Jews. Just as they did in all their "conquered" lands, the Nazis tightened their grip slowly on the Jews of Denmark. Finally, the Jews learned that they were to be rounded up on Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. They had only two days to flee and disappear. Seven thousand were arrested and placed in internment camps. Five thousand who were able to hide or flee miraculously survived the war. One group went by boat in the middle of the night across the Oresund Straits to ports in free Sweden. It is hard to imagine the immensity of their fear as they boarded those boats, as they crossed the choppy water in the dead of night, as they anticipated detection at any moment by Nazi scouting boats. They reached the other side -- they reached safety, new life, and salvation.
We all know what it's like to venture into troubled waters. Sometimes we willingly place our boats into the water. We begin courses at college; we give up the security of an old job for the uncertainty of a new career; we take marriage vows; we charter a course for parenthood. Sometimes we begin a journey that we do not wish. A relationship begins to spiral downward; we lose our job; the physician spots cancer in our body; a loved one suddenly is lost to death.
In the beginning, the embryo church sailed in choppy seas. She was persecuted, mocked, accused of being disloyal to the state, and charged with barbarianism. But she survived and prospered.
The liturgical name of the portion of the church where worshipers sit is the "nave," derived from the Latin word for ship whence we get our word, "navy." The meeting place for worship reminds us that we travel as a community of travelers, a great company of sailors, past, present, and future, of every race, age, and class.
Many churches in northern Europe display ship models in their entries or in their naves. There are about 1,300 church ships hung in Denmark alone. They were donated by sailors' groups for decoration, perhaps given in memory of departed loved ones, or perhaps given as a thank offering for survival at sea. They also serve as a metaphor for the universal church. Those on board the ship of the church must weather storms, waves, and tumult. But the ship of the church will reach the shore beyond; the church will weather the storm; the church will come to safe harbor.
The mast of the ship is the cross. Our Lord is at the helm. As he stilled the storm on the Sea of Galilee (Mark 4:35-41), so will he guide us through the tempests of our lives.
A newly ordained young pastor at his first parish in rural northwest Ohio was encouraged by the enthusiastic support of the youth group. He enrolled himself and some of the high school students in a seven-day sailing trip in a 55-foot ketch in the Bahamas. The trip sounded like a horizon-expanding experience for himself and the students, among whom none had ever seen an ocean.
All went well until Betty, one of the adult counselors, on the way to Miami, bravely rose in the darkness of the morning in the host home in Atlanta to brush her teeth; not wishing to disturb the sleepers in the house, she brushed with shampoo from a tube that felt like a toothpaste tube in the dark bathroom. In mid-afternoon, Betty and the others arrived at the Port of Miami to board the boat. Betty was not feeling well.
The group gathered in the cockpit of the vessel, aptly named Shark VII, to hear the captain's briefing. Betty was putting up a brave front. The high school students sat in the hot sun and learned about port and starboard, aft and forward, galley and head. The boat at dock bobbed gently up and down. The sun, reflecting off the water of the marina, increased its intensity. The young pastor began to feel queasy in his stomach. The captain began to speak about seasickness. He explained dramatically that seasickness is only a figment of the imagination. The pastor was glad to hear the good news but began to wonder about his increased light-headedness and creeping feelings of nausea.
The freshly indoctrinated crew left the Port of Miami and thus began the pastor's personal odyssey of nausea, disorientation, and life below deck flat on his back. Regular doses of seasickness meds left him sweetly semi-comatose. He survived on hope. He hoped that Betty would not die. Early the first morning, the boat weighed anchor off an island with a lighthouse. The lighthouse crew sent a longboat for those who wanted to step on dry land. The pastor, Betty, and some others jumped in. The waves leaped from the pages of Moby Dick. The pastor considered a long life at the lighthouse. Betty was getting worse. She and the pastor returned to the ketch and convinced the captain to set sail for a clinic.
Betty was encouraged to eat; she needed strength for the journey to the physician. The crew from the soybean fields of northern Ohio offered her a tuna fish sandwich made from a miraculous dehydrated substance in a can. Betty's condition seemed to worsen. The captain allowed only a short stop at the clinic.
Five days later the seafarers finally anchored again offshore in a beautiful cove. All on board were still alive. They were sticky from saltwater, smelly from lack of showers, traumatized by the oil-scented un-air-conditioned cabin, weary of food taken from tin cans, wounded by an attack of sand fleas, wrapped in dark or red burnt skin, overcome by the summer Caribbean heat, but alive!
They searched for a place to conduct devotions. Someone suggested that they sing "Amazing Grace."
Through many dangers, toils and snares ...
we have already come.
'Twas grace that brought us safe thus far ...
and grace will lead us home.
The novice seamen seasoned by six days upon the deep sang words of gratitude. There are few people from Christian cultures who cannot identify with those words and who cannot sing some of that hymn when lamenting bagpipes squeal and kilts swirl.
Noah made it safely over the sea. He celebrated with a little strong drink. He had a right to celebrate. He and a zoo-full of people and animals beheld God's mercy under a clear, sunny sky. God had not withheld his promise.
We are those who have been drowned in the waters of baptism. We have been taken by the chaotic waters. But we have also been raised up because on that day God called us by name and adopted us as his own. He made a promise. He will not withhold that promise. Amen.
