Genesis 7

As the great flood finally unleashes its torrents, Noah, with the help of Donald Duck and to the tune of music more fit for a graduation ceremony, boards the ark, settling in for forty days and forty nights of rain. (Just in case you forget that each day is followed by a night.)

One of the striking literary features of this chapter is its repetition. A prominent trait of the couplets in Hebrew poetry, its presence here creates a loose "prose poem." This repetition also makes sense if this account was oral in origin; I know I often forget what's just been said to me even when I'm focusing intently. (I process information quicker by reading than by listening; a few people have said to me, "You're a good listener." Well, it appears that way because 1.) I don't talk much, and 2.) I have to concentrate lest I miss what's being said.)

Notably, God tells Moses to bring one pair of every unclean animal, but seven pears of every clean animal and bird. The NIV explains that some of the clean animals were going to be used for food and as sacrificial offerings, but what's with the extra birds? Maybe they were fragile, so God told Noah to bring extra as an insurance policy?

Noah was cooped up the ark for a heck of along time. The forty days was just when it was raining. There were an extra 150 days when the earth was still flooded, plus, as we'll learn in the next chapter, even more days as the floodwaters receded. Noah was a sprightly 600 when the flood started, but an ancient 601 by the time he could leave his wooden box, which was by this time probably rank with the noisome odor of refuse and detritus. I can't imagine leaving for nearly a year on a primitive boat lacking modern facilities, probably getting to know your seven other companions all too well. And if you had some sort of domestic squabble, guess what--there was nowhere to flee if you wanted to get away from them!

Such a trial required not only remarkable faith on Noah's part, but also extraordinary forbearance. I know I let petty little peeves exasperate me, even if I rarely evince my irritation externally. I find it very easy to banter with some people--they just light up my day, lifting my spirits. But some people I find difficult to deal with (and no, none of these difficult people are immediate family members, co-workers, or folks who go to my church/small group). Yet they have their own concerns, interests, joys, and trials as well, so what good does it do to have a bad attitude toward them? I can write this, of course, but it's something else entirely to put it into practice. And, unlike Noah, I don't have to deal with these people 24/7 in an enclosed space for nearly a year. I pray that God will give me the patience and empathy to follow the golden rule. (No, not, as Jafar put it, "He who has the gold makes the rules," but treating others as I would want to be treated.)