 | The New England Church PulpitNew England Congregational Church UCC |
"JOGGING OUR MEMORY" | Genesis 9.8-17 | March 9, 2003 |
In the midst of the daily routine, and the birthing of each new day, the rainbow has always been a sign of good things: a pot of gold at the end, for the Irish; somewhere to go over, for bluebirds and Judy Garland; the end of the storm, for those delightful times when the sun and the rain join forces to paint a bow in the sky; in beveled glass in our sanctuary downstairs, where fractured light casts rainbows on people’s faces and on the wall.
The rainbow had been around long before the writer of Genesis interpreted it as a sign of God, it’s gentle beauty capturing our imagination and hope since time began. In this story, the rainbow is a sign of covenant, not so much to jog Noah’s memory, but to jog God’s own memory. The promise is about what God will do, and comes without strings attached; it doesn’t depend on what Noah will or won’t do, or what anyone after Noah will do or not do. It is about what God will do. It is a sign of hope that the Divine will absorb the suffering of human unkindness.
There is a lot of suffering on this earth, a lot of labor pains in life’s pregnant possibilities. Some of this suffering is of our own making. Our expectations are high, our demands are many, our dreams are lofty, leading to disappointment and suffering. And there is a lot of suffering at the hand of some unknown force beyond our own making, and for as long as people have observed the rainbow they have also asked “Why is there suffering in this world?”
Perhaps it’s the wrong question. Instead of ‘why is there suffering in this world?’ we might rather ask ‘what is there about life that keeps suffering from killing us?’ That question gives us pause to recognize that our suffering is less because God absorbs it, that our suffering would be destructive if it were not for a Holy force that makes us stronger because of it. Suffering and death might be the end of humankind were it not for an unnamed Force that keeps it from doing us in.
The world has, from the beginning of time, been dealt cataclysmic blows that seem at the time to be the end of life as we know it. From universal floods to local floods, from asteroids bombarding our planet to viruses bombarding our bodies. From wars that devastate civilizations to plagues and famines that wipe millions off the face of the earth. But the world goes on, doesn’t it? It may go on without us, it may go on without millions of others, it may go on in a different way, but it goes on. Such atrocities as the Jewish holocaust that killed 12 million people or the Christian Crusades that slaughtered indiscriminately in Christ’s name for 125 years, cause enormous suffering; and we wonder why. The more puzzling question, however, is ‘How does life survive these things?’ We have survived these cataclysms, and we are wounded because of them, but our wounds heal, and societies learn something that allows them to live together more peaceably in the midst of the tragedy. And ultimately an upside-down-world rights itself, and life evolves in new ways. The rainbow is God’s own reminder to take the hit and absorb the suffering so it doesn’t destroy our earth or the people in it. But the rainbow also jogs our memories.
Although there is nothing immediately utopian about a rainbow, it’s most salient feature may be its ability to jog our memory for the continuity of life and hope in time of suffering. It is a vision of a vast dynamic shalom, the peace that extends beyond the individual to embrace the whole of the universe, not just of tribe or nation, but of all the children of Noah and the whole tapestry of life beyond. (Raymond Kemp Anderson, Lectionary Homiletics, March 2003)
Those of the Hebrew tradition who borrowed the floor story from traditions older than ours, and edited it as we have it in our bible were influenced by their exile, enlarging their grasp of God as the Creator of the entire universe. The story as told here is in intentional contrast to the story’s earlier forms, where people were hapless slaves to the gods. For the editors of Genesis, the sabbatic intent of the liberating God permeates the world’s very purpose. Here God includes the whole of humankind in his covenant and even extends it further to include the organic wholeness of nature...the snakes and spiders, viruses and germs, trees and olive branches.
Among the many photographs by artist Ansel Adams in the National Museum of Art is one taken at Maui, Hawaii. You only need to know the title to picture it. It is called ‘Buddhist Grave Markers and Rainbow.’ When the bow is in the clouds, may we look upon it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is upon the earth.
If we suffer, we suffer less because of God, and we suffer more because of our own amnesia (Barbara Brown Taylor, Lectionary Homiletics, March 2003). We have forgotten who we are and what we’re about; we have forgotten that we are part of a vast ecosystem that is larger than us, and even larger than life. We have forgotten that we are part of a vast universal society that is larger than us and requires our participation as one among many. So while the rainbow might have been a self-reminder to God, it can jog our memory as well, a reminder of our relationship with the Creator and with every creature who shares the breath of life with us, and even those things of creation that don’t breathe. The rainbow reminds us that we all have a place in the ark. We are all children of Noah in the Hebrew idiom.
We are continuing allies in creation, birthing new life in frontier cabins, pacing and looking at rainbows. We are both wounded by the brokenness we see around us, and we participate in the brokenness. We are wounders and healers, set in covenant with God to shift the balance from death to life whenever and wherever we can. For, you see, it’s still raining. The story is not over yet, and because we know something about how it turns out, we have a responsibility. The rainbow jogs our memory. Our ark doesn’t look like Noah’s barn floating on a choppy sea as it is pictured in story books, but looks more like a blue-green ball bobbing on the dark ocean of space. Inside there are black rhinos prowling the thorn bushes of the Serengetti and swallows returning to Capistrano. There are children in the Sudan eating hibiscus blossoms because there is nothing else left for them to eat, and there are war-wrecked women and men who never leave their post at the window of hope, wondering when the dove of peace will return with the olive branch in her beak. And the rainbow is always there, always inspiring, always jogging our memory. Amen.
–Gary L. McCann
PASTORAL PRAYER
God of yesterday, today, and tomorrow, ceaseless Creator, revealed in every evolution of life and in every constructive act, we come to the beginning of this new day, giving thanks for it. We give thanks for the beauty of life, found in the faces of people around us, in the beauty of the crisp, snow-covered morning, the stark barreness of trees, flowers on our altar that color our hope-filled spirits with fresh joy.
We come here today because the world does not give us all we need. We come because we need our spirits raised and our sights lifted by understanding priorities that transcend our pedantic lists. We come because the world is forever at odds with itself, and war looms large on the horizon of human existence, and we fear such senseless loss of life. Imbibe your spirit of peace in the hearts and minds of those in this country and those in Iraq who can avert this war. And give us wisdom to move beyond drawing lines in the sand that prompt conflict.
Instill within us a keen sense of camaraderie around the globe, realizing that our deepest human aspirations are the same, that our deepest human needs are the same. Save us from living on a small scale in a great age. Remind us as we sang last week that the ‘colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky, are also on the faces of people walking by.’ Created to share this planet, we posture ourselves for winning and losing when we should be sharing and caring. We are enemies when we should be friends. In the larger picture, we realize of how little consequence our divisions of race, class, religion, nation, and creed really are. Ultimately life’s priorities are made known to us in the cooing and soft gentleness of babies and the cleansing power of love in the font of Divine hope.
Empower us toward peace today, open our eyes to the causes that are worth giving our lives to. And may rainbows of hope be the banner under which we live our lives this day and every day. In the name of Christ, Amen.
The Koran 2.115-118
(Translated by N. J. Dawood)
To God belongs the east and the west. Whichever way you turn, there is the face of God. He is omnipresent and all-knowing. God is creator of the heavens and the earth. When He decrees a thing, He need only say ‘be,’ and it is.
The ignorant ask: ‘Why does God not speak to us or give us a sign?’ The same demand was made by those before them; their hearts are all alike. But to those whose faith is firm, We have already revealed Our signs. We have sent you forth to proclaim the truth.
| Copyright © 2003 by Gary L. McCann. All rights reserved. |