Genesis 9.18-28
The Rape of Noah
This is one of the most difficult passages we have, or will, meet. We have come a long way since we read that God said that Noah was the only righteous man on earth, which he certainly was. Noah puts his life to one side and spends a century building a ship so big that it was not until the age of steel ships that it was surpassed in size. I find the scale of the project impressive, but it is the kind of thing that men regularly seem to be able and keen to tackle.
In the 1960’s a man was living on the remotest corner of the remote Scottish island of Canna. One day he picked up his toolbox and set out to build a road along the entire width of the island. He carved through, over and around solid rock and eventually completed the seven mile distance. The road is a working marvel, made almost entirely by this one man. Other examples of obsessively project-focussed men include the railway maker Brunel, the lighthouse builder Stephenson, and so many others in modern history.
Each faced an impossibly difficult task, and battered on despite nay-sayers and detractors until they succeeded. They risked everything and held back nothing. I am old enough to have known many obsessives who changed the world in my professional field, Computer Science. But, they all had limits; some failed, others burnt out, and few are remembered beyond a small memory of idolisers.
It seems to be that most men ultimately fail, consumed by their obsession. There is a British political saying dating back to the mid 20th century, ‘all political careers end in failure’. As I write today the UK’s eighth Prime Minister in slightly more years has exited out the back door of 10 Downing Street. The new incumbent better have more tools in his chest than mere rhetoric or we’ll be looking soon for #10.
But, to return to Noah, yes, he goes wrong too. The tale that meets us is not very redeemable. It is not a million miles away from King David walking his palace roof, ogling a naked woman, ravishing her, arranging for the death of her husband, then marrying the now widow. Jewish scholars had tough words for what happened that day in Noah’s tent. Moses writes,
“If a man lies with his father’s wife, it is the nakedness of his father he has uncovered. Both must die for they share the blood-guilt” [Lev20.11]
And Paul writes to the Corinthian church,
“You have become news with a case of immorality. Such a thing is not even found among pagans! One of you has taken as wife his own stepmother. And you feel proud? No, you rather should be mourning - expel the man who has done this … deliver him over to Satan” [1Co5.1-5]
Could it be worse? Yes. The phrase ‘see their nakedness’ can mean ‘have sex with’ [Lev20.17]. And worse? Yes. The Midrash says that Ham castrated his father, for Noah then had no more sons. We can know that Ham spent some time looking at his father’s nakedness before telling his brothers, for they would have acted rightly if they had merely glimpsed accidentally their father’s naked body. All in all, it is a frightful business. So, what are we to make of this sordid event in the life of the once-righteous man, Noah?
He is not alone. There was David’s consuming passion for Bathsheba, Elijah’s despair and retreat from the enemies of God, Jonah’s disobedience and flight from Nineveh, Simon’s cursing and swearing that he did know Jesus, and so many more. Yet, there is hope, even in the darkest despair. During one of the terrible persecutions of Christians in the Roman Empire some broke down and offered incense to the pagan gods, thereby denying Christ publicly.
Bishop Ignatius of Antioch was martyred in Rome around AD100 at the newly constructed Colosseum. He wrote,
“... may I have the pleasure of the wild beasts that have been prepared for me. I will even coax them to devour me promptly … mutilation, mangling, wrenching of bones, hacking of limbs, crushing my whole body, cruel tortures …” [To Romans 5.2-3]
In time some of these who ran away from this turned penitent and begged to be allowed to reenter the fellowship of the Church. Some said ‘no’ and others said ‘yes’. One man who was accepted back was later nominated as Pope. But, it was asked, wasn’t he a Christ denier? He did not deny it, but instead said that this thorn in his flesh would mellow and humble his rule, making him more understanding of the weakness of others.
It remains true that those who know that they are greatly forgiven are also capable of giving great forgiveness. Somehow, God does make our worst errors still produce his perfect plan. But, the problem remains of how we, yet sinners, make such huge errors. This leads to the 500 year old problem of how what we do and what we are relates to our status with God. Yes, we can accept that Noah, Jonah and Simon Peter are redeemable, but what of Judas, Pilate’s wife, and the centurion at the Cross?
Indeed we all know those who once walked with Christ, but drifted away. For it is not physical tortures that our western society threatens believers, but derision, exclusion, dishonour and their ilk. I know a man who once ministered high in the spirit, but now walks no more with Christ; another who had what was precious taken away and now walks no more with Christ; another who put down his spiritual weaponry and simply surrendered to the world’s ways.
Mere human logic does not easily resolve James’ “faith without work is dead” and Paul’s “by faith we have received true righteousness”. We are caught in a dichotomy: are we to work out our salvation in fear and trembling, or are we to accept God’s grace through our faith. This Catholic versus Reformed battle of words has no resolution. So, as John Lennox has said, very wisely, “if I cannot answer a question, then I should change the question.”
I have recently returned from an extensive railway holiday in the Swiss alps. Every day began from the same station a short walk - very uphill - from the hotel. Although each day we went to different destinations we often passed through some of the same stations. This is typical of railway networks everywhere. We pass through and over junctions which can direct our train to other lines and destinations. How is the train’s route determined? By the network’s guidance through junctions, and by the will of the train driver. I see this as a parable of our Christian lives. We generally trundle along the tracks, passing over junctions without needing to decide to proceed down another route, but on rare occasions we have major decisions to make.
In most of life the decision to keep on keeping going is a passive one. We have to decide to get up, wash, eat, travel to work, work, come home, eat, sleep. We hardly think about it. Then there are moments of decision - in Greek the word is ‘crisis’ and means ‘a junction’, ‘a judgement’ or ‘a decision point’. Most of these are merely human reasoning, such as if your usual café is closed for some reason, you must decide where else to go for your pick-me-up.
But, there come big decisions in life which your reason alone cannot be used to decide safely. Many will make a stab at it, others will refuse to decide, but for the blessed few who walk habitually with Christ the Holy Spirit guides. When Nehemiah was struggling with problems as he carried King Artaxerxes’ cup, suddenly the king asked,
“Why do you look sad? You don’t look sick. Is there something that bothers you?”
He hesitated, then replied completely openly,
“May the king live forever. How could I not be sad when the city where my fathers is buried lies in ruins and its gates are burnt?”
Nehemiah recognised, spiritually, that he had reached a decision point - a crisis. And, in faith, he stepped onto the next direction of his life journey, now as a royal architect for the rebuilding of Jerusalem. This is a regular biblical model: Noah is asked to build an ark, David decided to fight Goliath, Abraham leaves the land of his fathers to travel to a land unknown, Rahab decided to back the Hebrew spies, Mary consents to bearing the Son of God, Joseph agrees to marrying Mary, Saul of Tarsus agrees to obey the voice of Christ.
In each case the crisis is God ordained, but the decision to accept the request from the Lord is within and only within the will of the man or woman. By faith we decide to obey, or by lack of faith we stay put. We pass over the junction and head off in an entirely new direction, or we may find ourselves in the sidings and that for quite some time. Saying ‘no’ to God has consequences.
But, these big faith decisions are, in general experience, quite rare. Some years back my eldest daughter asked me, “Dad, would you buy my house?” Like Nehemiah, I stopped for about two seconds and said, ‘yes’. I knew it was the right decision. For God’s crises points in life are often not only rare, but also simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’. I have never heard of one where the decision was, say, the best one from ten options. A faith decision is binary; a reasoned decision is factual.
In my life I have had very few such crises:
to marry Hazel - easy one: ‘yes’
to take my first research job at St Andrews Univ - reasoning said a clear ‘no’, but my heart overruled and said ‘yes’
to take my visiting professorship at Gifu Univ - I just said ‘yes’ without thinking, then realised how difficult this was going to be, and was; but the decision was right
Not every decision has gone smoothly. I have made a few other heart-led decisions by faith, and I crashed and burned. Yet, the decision was right. Learning how faith works is hard work. Many are called to ministry but fail to reach the retirement gate as life’s burdens bear down on them. But, as we read the ministries of Moses, Jonah, Jeremiah, Stephen, and so many others, we have to admit that the task we are often called to, and which we agree to do, required far more grace, power and wisdom than anyone could ever have expected.
So, back to the question: is it faith or works? The question is invalid. The question is more likely, as the Orthodox say, one of ‘am I willing to work in synergy with God in order to obey his will?’ God provides the plan, the tools, the power and the wisdom. He even supplies our life, faith and knowledge. But we must assent to the call of his Spirit that we come, now, and obey his task.
My final word is more philosophical than theological. What if (yes, little, but very dangerous words) I, you or they say ‘no’? This cannot derail God’s plan for the redemption of mankind and all creation. But, our ‘no’ has real consequences for us and those around us. Ultimately, a persistent ‘no’ can terminate a relationship; such we can learn from the humanity of Jesus, and the godlikeness of our being. But, the relationship between God and a person is unique and unknown to anyone else; we are, thankfully, not given to judge any other person - even ourself.
But, I don’t think the Swiss railway system is really like God’s universal plan, wonderful though it is! I see God who sees all. Somehow, He knows what we can only vaguely perceive. I think that when God called the young Virgin Mary of Nazareth to bear His Son, He had no other option or person in mind; it was her or nobody. When he called Abraham, he wasn’t second betting on anyone else. When he called David, that was the only choice for the founder of the divine and royal line of King Jesus.
And, when he calls you or me. He is only ever thinking of you or me. Perhaps this is the message of the life of Jonah. God is remarkably persistent and gracious with us and our spiky free will.