The Flood, The Bow and the Cross
Sermon preached at St. Christopher’s, Gladwyne, PA
by The Rev. Dr. Hillary D. Raining,
February 22, 2015
The First Sunday in Lent
Ps. 25:1-9 | Genesis 9:8-17 | 1 Peter 4:18-22 | Mark 1:9-15
Today is the first Sunday in Lent—the Church’s session devoted to fasting, prayer,
self-denial—all things which are to bring s closer in our relationship with God. It is
normally a busy time in the church business—a time for Bible studies, Lenten
Discipleship Series, Services that surround days of Holy Obligation, confessions heard
and pastoral visits made. In other words, it is decidedly NOT a good time for the rector of
a church to go to Texas a week before its starting—but that’s just what I did last week—
and even though I could feel Lent breathing down my neck the whole time, I am really
grateful that I did—why? Because the conference I was attending changed the way I
think of Lent forever.
Let me explain; I gathered with about 200 clergy to take part in The Daring way
conference biased on the work of Dr. Brene Brown—probably the world’s leading expert
on shame, creativity, vulnerability and wholehearted living. I learned so many wonderful
things—both about myself and her research. But I think the most amazing part of her
work is in the vulnerability realm. Brene talks about vulnerability as being willing to step
out into an arena and be open even if we don’t know the outcome. From there comes the
greatest courage we can find. To my mind, the greatest image we have of taking this
kind of leap is in Jesus and in the way He empties himself. And in Lent, we are asked to
be just like him—to be God like and empty ourselves of all the things that keep us from
being vulnerable and brave—all the hypocrisy, all the pride, all the sin that we use to
guard our selves are the things that we are asked to put down in Lent so that we can be
truly venerable. Luckily, we have been given examples of this kind of vulnerability in our
readings today. For example, we have the end of the story of Noah and that vulnerable
arch.
From its earliest days, the church has identified with Noah’s Ark. In fact, the ark used to
be used as a very symbol of the church itself. The early church saw itself as being afloat
on the waters of a chaotic world—the one vessel left that was sea worth and able to
navigate the torturous tempests of this life only because Christ was at the helm. If you
were to be saved from the flood of evil that was covering the world—you best be on the
boat.
This morning, we are invited to be vulnerable and climb aboard this ark as the church
once again. We have be granted voyage on this ark to journey through these sacred
stories to see how the waters of salvation allow all these stories to co-mingle—to dissolve
into one another—until we relies that we are being carried across the surface of one vast
1|Page
ocean—one vast story of God’s love for us a love so great, that he would risk be
vulnerable—risk sharing himself with us.
So let’s see what’s in the water from the deck of the ark.
Noah’s story has its roots in Adam and Eve’s. In the beginning, God’s people lived in
paradise—the whole earth, including humanity, had been called out of the chaos into
existence—and then proceeded to seemly do everything it could to retreat back into that
chaos. In that peaceable kingdom, Adam and Eve dwelt in harmony with all of the wild
beasts and the earth. Following the fall and Adam’s and Eve’s expulsion from the
garden, Genesis tells a story of “humanity that had trespassed across the boundaries
established by God in the beginning” as theologian WM. Loyd Allen reminds us.
“Ensuing violence increasingly corrupted God’s ‘very good’ creation, sending it spiraling
down toward the disordered void from which is was formed.” (Allen) Even the normally
very calm animals rebelled and starting attacking their human stewards. Again, Allen
reminds us that “Violence polluted the earth itself. Grieving over the ruined original,
God resolved to destroy the destroyers. God determined to drown in watery chaos the
earth and all that breathed upon it, except a remnant.” While God’s solution may seem a
shocking response to our modern ears, remember that during the time that this story was
written, god’s were always seen as might warriors—creating, destroying, and changing
human existence as they saw fit. Our almighty creator God was so grieved by creations
violence that he sought out a solution—and he was within his rights to do so.
And yet, our view from the deck of the ark does not show us a heartless warrior. Rather,
we see a God hanging up his bow—his weapon. He will no longer be a God that uses his
power to un-create. God chooses another way. He chooses vulnerability. In fact, the
covenant that he makes with Noah on that mountaintop where Noah’s ark finally comes
to land, reads like a restraining order that God imposes not on the remnant of the sinful
world—but rather one that restrains himself! “As for me, God vows, never… never…
never again shall there be a flood to destroy the earth.” He hangs his weapon up in the
sky and says, “I will see it and I will remember.” God will remember the promises that
he makes to us and the whole of creation. He resolves to be vulnerability—even if we
hurt his good creation again.
But will we?
We must sail on further into these holy waters to see. As we flow through the currents of
time, it does not look good. Again, we returned to our ways of war, of injustice, of
ignoring God. So, he sends other life lines to us who are drowning in the waters of evil.
He leads through the waters of the Red Sea and gives us the law so that we might know
the right way to live. And still we drowned. We sail on and see the prophets who point us
back to the God we had drifted away from.
And still we drowned.
2|Page
Finally, the current of our sacred stories turn our ark in the direction of the Jordan—to
Jesus as he is baptized in the waters of new life. “And just as he was coming up out of the
water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a
voice came from heaven, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.’”
Just like that, he is sent into the wilderness for forty days and forty nights.
This heavenly revelation rocks our ark as waves from the past seem to change our course
that was headed toward death. These 40 days and 40 nights wash over us and hearken ack
to the 40 days and nights spent with Noah on his ark. And the waves of the past keep
rocking us as we are reminded that Jesus enters the desert in an act of total vulnerability
for us who have lost the garden. Another wave reviles to us that Jesus is with the wild
beasts he is alone he is tempted he is vulnerable. But we still have further to go. This
river that we travel on points us to another mountain top—not the one where Noah’s Ark
landed, but the one on which Jesus was crucified—Calvary—the site of the most ultimate
act of vulnerability. In Lent, we are ever pointed ahead, ever looking at that moment,
when God chose not power and might, but love and death, so that we might know life.
Suddenly, our Ark comes to a halt. This is the point, this is the pivotal moment on our
voyage into the heart of God’s movement in salvation history. It is here at the cross that
there is an calmness over the waters that has not been since the beginning. It is here that
we have a new creation, a life offered to us. God has taken our violence, our sinfulness,
our pride and injustice—and he has born them on himself. We have just journeyed
through all of this story—we now know just how high our evil has risen. And instead of
wiping it all out, God stands in our place. And the tidal wave of all our sin overtakes his
son and kills him. God hangs his bow/his weapon in the sky. And we in turn hang his
son on the cross to die.
And yet, this is not the end of our voyage. After three days, our sails will fill again-this
time with a new wind. One that will blow us onto the waters of new life. This wind will
lead us to the empty tomb, to the risen Christ, to everlasting life.
But we are not there yet. For the rest of these 40 days and 40 nights, remember that you
are called to lay down your guards and climb aboard the arc of truth, courage and
vulnerability—the ark of the new covenant. Keep the cross in your sights as we are
pulled by the current of this season ever close to is realities. Remember that God has
chosen to guide our ark into the waters of new life and loves us so much that he has given
everything to ensure our safe voyage to the shores of salvation. He has chose to be with
us in our vulnerability—on the risky waters of life—what that we might have courage to
follow him.
3|Page