Genesis 12

As Abram enters the scene, Genesis settles down for a more intimate (though no less enthralling) account of a single family line for its remaining 39 steps chapters. Like Noah, Abram obeys God's directive; he has to up sticks and move to Canaan. If he does so, not only will he be blessed, but so too will all of humankind. In verse 5, I like the use of the phrase "all the possessions they had accumulated." It evokes an image of Abram as a pack rat, perhaps needing several U-Haul trucks to drag his stuff along with him. I know I'm probably reading too much into that, but I know I still have lots of school papers and other various sundries that I will likely never look at again--until I have to clean the garage, and I think, "I can't get rid of this. I'll miss it!"

On the way, Abram takes a sojourn to Egypt because of a famine that apparently doesn't affect the Nile's flood cycle. There, he makes a mistake that he will repeat almost verbatim in chapter 20: To prevent his foxy wife, Sarai, from getting roped into Pharaoh's harem (which would lead to Abram's death), Abram fibs and says that she's his sister. Which is really a half-truth, as she's his half-sister.

Such a tactic elicits a wry shake of the head, but I know I sometimes prevaricate in order to avoid having to deal with anything bothersome. Equivocations, half-truths, white lies--it doesn't matter which kind I use; they're all schemes to selfishly make my life easier. Not that I commit outright fraud, but to God, I may as well have done so. And even when it doesn't come back to bite me in the butt, I'm still disparaging God by not putting complete faith in Him.

Abram lives the high life off his half-truth (which essentially means it's a lie), receiving Pharaoh's acclaim, some livestock, and even flunkies to do his bidding. Of course, it can't last, as God strikes Pharoah's household with a malady that also has the astounding effect of informing Pharaoh that Sarai is actually Abram's wife. In all seriousness, who did rat Abram out? God, I assume? It's not as though some sudden ailment will, by itself, allow Pharaoh to suddenly make the leap and realize that that toothsome sexagenarian is actually that Hebrew dude's wife, not his sister. In his sickness, Pharaoh is probably feeling too wretched to give Abram even a slap on the wrist, letting him go virtually scot-free. But having his lie exposed was probably enough to gnaw at Abram's soul.

When I try to deceive someone or hide a possibly unseemly truth, I admit that it also gnaws at my soul. I suppose that's good because it means that I'm still receptive to God's prodding, which is probably one of his ways of saying that I'm doing something wrong. Without opening the can of worms of whether one should be 100% honest 100% of the time, I do know I have to stop equivocating when it's merely for my own benefit. Once again, I will need to have faith that God will bring me through, even if it makes my earthly life more difficult in the process.

Genesis 11

When I first heard the story of Babel as a youngling, I thought that the people wanted to build the tower so high that it literally went all the way to Heaven. Well, first, Heaven isn't physically located above us, at the top of the universe, as it were. They'd end up either building to infinity or, if the universe is bounded…well, ask Stephen Hawking because I have no clue. Second, and most obvious, they'd die from lack of oxygen once they exited the atmosphere.

These Babel folks are attempting something physically impossible, so why does God stop them? They'd probably have given up on their own, as did the builders of every other pyramid and ziggurat on Earth; the highest of those doesn't come close to the boundary between the troposphere and the stratosphere. Was this an act of mercy, God nipping this little construction project in the bud before the people of Babel wasted too much time?

In verse 6, God says that nothing will be impossible for people if they spoke the same language. That's not literally true--most Americans speak English, yet our country can't figure out how to disentangle itself from so many of its domestic predicaments. The NIV Study Bible clarifies this point: if the people had remained united in their attempt to build this tower and rely on their own ambition, nothing would have stopped them from living lives in complete defiance to God.

God is in fact nipping something in the bud--our reliance on ourselves. The story of Babel crystallizes the notion that human effort without God will lead to spiritual failure. Sure, many momentous achievements in human history have been secular in origin and intent, adding to our understanding of the universe and increasing our earthly quality of life. But spiritually, we cannot attain perfection through our own efforts.

Let me change gears just a bit. (But this is still relevant. I promise!) I've always loved to write; in second grade, my teacher had us work on creative writing every Friday. (I remember it with such fondness that I can even recall the day of the week.) I started my first "serial,"writing about a chapter a week. I called my masterpiece "The King Chapter Book," about--you guessed it--a king. It was about as puerile as the name suggested, but I still remember the sense of elation and accomplishment I had when I finished it. Now, I know I'm no Mark Twain or Samuel Johnson, but my writing skill exceeds  just about every other "skill" I possess. (So if you hate my writing, I'm afraid I have nothing else to offer in terms of talent.)

The point (finally) is that I'm trying to use my writing "skill" to somehow glorify God, but I have to be careful not to make if my tower of Babel. I don't want to crow over what I've written, marveling at my own pithy prose and delicious turn of phrase. (I more often cringe at what I've written--perhaps that's God keeping me humble.) I'm a bit of a worrier (a whole other topic), but I have to learn to trust in God, having faith that He will mold me--sometimes harshly--into the person He wants me to be. Writing, for me, is invigorating (though time-consuming and often arduous), but I can't rely on it to bring me close to God.

Genesis 10

This chapter provides plenty of meat for folks fascinated with the dispersal of humankind to the various parts of the world. Unfortunately, I'm not one of those folks.

I'm not going to copy Louis Sachar's brilliant Sideways Stories from Wayside School and write an essentially empty chapter. (Basically, he wrote that there was no 19th chapter because the school had no 19th story. And of course, in the sequel, he wrote three chapter 19s.) So I guess I'll wring what I can from this chapter without regurgitating the extensive archaeological footnotes from the NIV Study Bible.

Many of the people mentioned (Egypt, Cush, Canaan) apparently established or played a part in the regions or countries for which their names are generally more well known. Gomer, mentioned in verse 2, is interesting because there's another Gomer in the book of Hosea--but in the latter book, the name refers to a woman, not a man. I suppose it's analogous to Chris or Taylor as a unisex name. Verse 5 also mentions people starting to sail the seas in search of new territories to lord over.

The author devotes a whopping five verses (8-12) to a fellow named Nimrod, a great non-white hunter who ended up founding Ninevah. Nowadays, though, when we call someone a "nimrod," we're basically questioning their mental capacity. We don't get quite enough of Nimrod to determine whether he was an idiot; from the way the Bible mentions him, he seems like a pretty ambitious, competent guy. Imagine learning that, in several thousand years, your name will eventually degrade into an insult.

I'm struggling to think of some half-decent way to end this, and I'm too tired to conflate this post with chapter 11's. So I guess I'll just say that Noah obviously had to be the ancestor of the remaining peoples on Earth, but it's still cool to be reminded that so many variegated cultures--all of them, in fact--stemmed from a man who had faith in God.

Genesis 9

God promises to Noah--and all of humankind--that He will never destroy all living creatures on Earth ever again--via water, at least. Interestingly, God also sanctions the use of meat as food and thus anticipates the formation of PETA (People Eating Tasty Animals). In (almost) the same breath, he creates a sanction (isn't that such a wonderfully versatile word?) against the drinking of blood, much to the consternation of Kristen Stewart and whatever her Twilight boyfriend's name is. Oh, and vampires probably aren't too happy about that decree either.

In verse 6, God also writes a nifty little poem expressing His disapproval of murder. He reminds us that humans are created in His image; we are all precious to Him. This, to murder someone is to abase God. (And notice that the word is "murder," not "kill.") I freely admit that I've never murdered or even killed anybody, nor have I ever thought of doing so. Yet I've had my own nasty little thoughts. When some rat fink cuts me off on the freeway, I momentarily wish that a big rig could decimate his car while leaving him free from bodily injury. Or I wish that an annoying person would just leave me alone and go annoy someone else. Yet if I treat one of God's creations like crap, I'm also showing disrespect to God as well. (I think I wrote something very similar to this in a previous post. As a writer, if I see a chance to recycle material, I'll take it.)

But even Noah, the one righteous man on Earth who faithfully follows God's directions and spends a year in a floating crate, eventually screws up. After drinking like a fish, he ends up on the floor of his tent in the altogether. Ham, like a typical adolescent, shouts to the rafters that dear old Dad found his birthday suit and is trying it out for size.

That Noah should make a mistake is disheartening on one hand, but it's a reminder that, no matter how good I try to act, I'll end up making mistakes if I rely on my own power. But I also have to remember not to act like Ham. Now, I'm not one to naturally publicize someone's blunders, but I also don't really help build people up. Oh, it's easy for me to encourage people I like. But to paraphrase genius fantasy author Brandon Sanderson, you're not a hero if you only help people you like, because even villains do that. Another easy maxim to write, but again, I need much prayer so I can actually apply it in my life.

Genesis 8

It's been more than a year, but Noah and his family are finally allowed to get out of their gigantic, floating menagerie. Notably, before Noah sends out his famous dove slave to find out if things have dried out yet, he sends a raven. When the raven fails to find anything, Noah decides to send the dove instead. Why did Noah give up on the raven? Did it do something to miff him, like release some treasure from the sky onto an unfortunate, Noah-shaped target? After all, the dove also failed to find evidence of land the first time it went out; Noah didn't subsequently decide to use a turkey for the next expedition.

The animals come out of the ark, "one kind after another" (verse 19). They probably all had cabin fever, raring to get out, so I wonder how Noah and Company decided what the order was. 

The first thing Noah does when he gets out--no, he doesn't kiss the ground, or unceremoniously fall onto it because he hasn't gotten his land legs yet--is to sacrifice an offering to God. On one hand, he's been through the wringer for more than a year in close proximity with a variety of beasts. Oh, and then there were all the animals too. But on the other hand, he knows that his family is the only one that has been kept alive, so yes, he has much to be thankful for. 

God rather fancies the fetching smell wafting from the burnt sacrifice (and yes, I know it's symbolic, but  it's still a cool image), so he makes a covenant with Noah. He expands on it in the next chapter, so I'll go more into it in the next post. For now, I'll note that God will extend His grace to humanity "even though every inclination of the human heart is evil from childhood" (verse 21). We are born with sin, even if it doesn't literally manifest itself until we grow past infancy. Only through God's grace can I overcome my sinful nature. Not to say that I become utterly depraved when I ignore Him, but I definitely tend to make more unwise decisions when I do.

Throughout the whole flood, we don't get an indication that God spoke with Noah. Did Noah wonder during that long year whether God was jerking his chain? Christians go through times in their lives when they feel that God isn't there or has outright abandoned them. I've just gone through a long stretch of my life in which I haven't felt God's presence--even now, I'm still struggling with that feeling. Then again, I haven't really been doing my part, slacking in my spiritual life. What about those who pray earnestly and selflessly, going through hardships or privations I can't imagine, but who still feel that God has stopped caring for them? I can't offer words of false hope as that would be hypocritical. The only real hope, other than God Himself, comes from Scripture. Even Jesus cried out during His final moments that His Father has forsaken Him. But His undeserved death led to our salvation.

One could argue that God hasn't really been explicit on a large scale since He gave John the revelation of the end times. I can't fathom why God has decided to do this, but it is undoubtedly for a purpose far more glorious than we could ever imagine.

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.)

Genesis 6

The well-known story of Noah and the ark begins in this chapter, but before we get there, we're treated to one of those classic Biblical oddities that causes dissent even among scholars. The "sons of God," apparently unable to control their raging hormones, become smitten with the "daughters of humans," which pisses God off, to put it lightly. The NIV Study Bible briefly mentions several possible interpretations: The sons of God could be angels, kings, or men from the righteous line of Seth marrying the women from the fallen line of Cain. The main point is that mankind has become incorrigibly corrupted, sin becoming so pervasive that every thought of man is evil.

Sounds like a terrific time to have been living.

But think about how heartbroken God must have felt. His beloved creation, created in His own image to have fellowship with Him, has turned away from Him. And not only that, but they are making each others' lives wretched and miserable, liberally sowing wickedness left and right. I can think to myself, "OK, I mess up, but at least my every thought is not disposed toward evil." But the nasty little thoughts and actions I do have and take are downright malodorous to God. And yet, in His infinite grace, he sent His son to die for all my imbecilic offenses.

Then there are the mysterious Nephilim, gargantuan offspring of the "sons of God" and "daughters of humans." I remember them being in the Madeline L'Engle book Many Waters; although that's a work of fiction, I recall the Nephilim didn't come across so hot. (As an aside, didn't that Wrinkle in Time series just get weirder and weirder with each entry?)

Mankind has become so depraved that God decides to wipe out the earth, save for Noah's family. (Although the NIV Study Bible notes that flood could have possibly been just regional as opposed to a true worldwide deluge.) Seems like a rather drastic action to take, but if humankind's every thought had indeed become dissolute, it would make sense to wipe the slate clean.

The Sunday school point to take away from this first part of the flood account is that Noah had the unquestioning faith that God would see Him through the soggy cataclysm to come. In this story, as with most of these Biblical stories, God seems to speak directly to people. Not a whole lot of that going on nowadays, but should that be an excuse? I've always struggled with spiritual discernment--still do, in fact. Is that inner voice God speaking to me, or is it just my own synapses firing off in scattershot directions? I hope and pray to develop that sense of discernment, but when I do, will I be like Noah and follow God's instructions without waffling about?

I can be indecisive, much to the chagrin of those around me. Which ice cream should I buy--Vanilla, Extra Creamy Vanilla, or French Vanilla? Where do you want to eat dinner? Which Blu-ray should we see tonight? For the love of Pete--these are first world problems if I ever saw them. It's like an endless loop of those barbershop-Beatles vultures in The Jungle Book.

Stepping out in faith can be terrifying; I expect as much when I reach such junctures in my life. I pray that as I continue to grow more intimate with God, I will feel secure enough in his providence to take those risks, fulfilling His perfect plan for me.