14. Adrift on the Deluge of
Living
After reading the previous chapters you may have the impression that the
Old Testament functions as a storeroom full of useful decorations. Dusted and
polished these serve well to illustrate truths of faith, you may think. They
add an interesting dimension. They even throw unexpected light on familiar
topics. They do well for festive sermons and learned conferences. But could
they change our whole attitude to life? Can they give us profound new insights?
Can they change us into more committed believers?
Yes, they can. It is unfortunate that many people have lost the ability
to read the Old Testament the way it was meant to be: a book affecting the very
texture of our existence. This is what I want to talk about in this chapter.
The Bible is a book which can help us discover some of the deepest mysteries of
our human life.
From the earliest times men and women have been speculating about the
questions of existence. What drives this world in which we live? How did we
come to be? Who made us? What is the purpose of birth, growth and death? Who or
what determines whether we will be happy or not? What is the meaning of
sickness and suffering? These questions are as valid today as they were a
million years ago. They are still at the heart of religion. They are the real
questions which every person, implicitly or explicitly, is seeking to answer.
In a way, every person’s life can be seen as an attempt to make sense of
these questions.
As Christians we believe that we have some specific answers. We derive
them from revelation. But these answers have no lifegiving power if those to
whom they are offered have not become consciously aware of the existential
questions. Only the true seeker can fully appreciate and embrace the light of
the gospel Moreover, the answers indicated in the good news message do not
destroy the mysteriousness of the original questions. They do not clear away
fogs and mists; they give a beacon guiding us through fogs and mists.
Christians are still intrigued by the mystery of life’s deepest questions,
but we walk forward confidently because we have been shown the right direction.
Revelation does not blunt our human sensitivity to mystery; it refines our
sense of wonder
Despotic Waters
I was in India in 1977 just when the infamous cyclone hit the coastal
region of Krishna district. A succession of waves rolled in from the ocean,
some of them 60 feet high and moving 30 miles inland. It was just as if the sea
had lifted itself to blot out the coastal strip. Sugar cane plantations, rice
fields and roads were swamped; clumps of palm trees, farm houses, even whole
villages, were hurled down and swept away. Fourteen-thousand people were
killed. Two days later most of the water had receded. I remember the images
vividly: desolation and swamps of mud as far as the eye could see, corpses of
animals and of human beings in the most unlikely places. It raised all the
fundamental questions: Why here? Why were these people hit while others
escaped? What is the reason for this destructive power that can crush human
life so unexpectedly?
In an attempt to answer these questions, primitive societies formulate
stories which we call myths. A myth usually narrates the deeds of gods and
goddesses. Though speaking of past events, it expresses a view on the present
condition of the world. A myth gives a commentary on the nature of the universe
in the form of a story. Sacred Scripture too contains myths. Their purpose is
undoubtedly to make us think about the why and the wherefore of our
existence.
Mankind sinned, we are told, and God was sorry he had created humanity.
To give people a new chance, God decided to blot out the whole human race
through an enormous flood. Only Noah and his family were saved. God warned him
to build an ark. God told him to take a pair of each species of animal. Then
God locked the ark and opened the sluices of heaven. The flood came down and
covered the whole earth. After five months the water receded slowly. A full
year after the flood had begun, Noah and his family left the ark to start a new
life. They offered sacrifice and God concluded a covenant with them. The story
covers three chapters in the book of Genesis (Gn 6-9).
The story of the deluge was a well-known myth in the ancient Middle
East. We find a perfect parallel in the much older Gilgamesh epic. It is
basically the same story; only the names are different. Instead of Yahweh, it
is the assembly of the gods which decides to destroy mankind by a deluge. The
man to be saved is not called Noah, but Utnapishtim. The ark grounded on Mount
Nisar rather than Mount Ararat. Utnapishtim sends out three birds, as Noah did.
He offers sacrifice when he leaves the ark and obtains the promise that the
deluge will never happen again. There are some small variations, but by and
large it is the same narration.
The myth also existed among the Hurrians and the Hittites. A fragmentary
version of it has been found in Sumerian literature as well. The hero saved
from the deluge in this case carries the name of Ziusudra. Then there is a
Greek version of the myth. Deucalion, king of Phthia, was warned by his father
Prometheus that Zeus intended to destroy the human race through a flood. He
built an ark which saved his life and that of his wife Pyrrha. After some time
Deucalion was reassured by a dove that dry land had reappeared. His ark landed
on Mount Parnassus.
These examples illustrate that we are dealing here with a real myth, a
myth that was known to practically all nations of the ancient Near East. Sacred
Scripture has integrated the same myth. How closely it followed the original
account can be seen from a comparison of the following section from the
Gilgamesh story with Genesis 8:6-12:
Mount Nisir held the ship fast,
allowing no motion.
When the
seventh day arrived,
I sent forth and set free a dove;
since no
resting-place for it was visible,
she turned round.
Then I sent forth
and set free a swallow.
The swallow went forth, but came back;
since no
resting place for it was visible, she turned round.
Then I sent
forth and set free a raven.
The raven went forth
and, seeing that the
waters had diminished,
he eats, circles, caws, and turns not round
(Gilgamesh, XI, 145-154).
Noah, too, sends out three birds: a raven, a dove and again a dove.
Obviously, the inspired authors of this passage in Genesis (both the Jahwist
and Priestly Code made use of the story), did some editing to fit the myth into
their own Israelite belief. This too can be seen from comparing the Genesis
version with the non-Hebrew versions of the myth.
Then I let out to the four winds and offered a sacrifice.
I poured a libation on the top of the mountain. Seven and seven
cult-vessels I set up; upon their pot-stands I heaped cane, cedarwood and
myrtle. |
So Noah went out of the boat with his wife, his sons and their
wives.
Noah built an altar to the LORD; he took one of each kind of
ritually clean animal and bird, and burned them whole as a sacrifice on
the altar. |
The gods smelled the savor.
The gods smelled the
sweet savor.
The gods crowded like flies about the
sacrificer.. |
The odor of the sacrifice pleased the LORD, and he said to
himself:
“Never again will I destroy all living beings.... ” |
| -Gilgamesh, XL, 155-161 |
-Genesis 8:18. 20-21 |
The biblical storytellers have used their own words. They describe the
sacrifice in Jewish terms. It is Yahweh who smells the sweet odor, and so on,
but essentially it is the same myth they retell.
Plumbing the Depths
It is important to notice all this because it gives us a clue as to how
the narration should be understood. It is so easy to get stuck on the level of
detail. The biblical authors do make small theological points here and there.
The priestly author, for example, cannot resist the temptation to give a
preferential treatment to "clean" animals: seven pairs of each kind are saved,
he says, while the unclean animals escape with just one pair each (Gn 7:2). The
Jahwist sticks to one pair of each kind, whether clean or unclean (Gn 6:20;
7:8-9). We are not surprised about this idiosyncracy of the priestly code
version; it never loses an opportunity to inculcate fidelity to the Law. It
recommends, in passing, adherence to the laws on clean and unclean animals. But
this digression on the privileged status of clean animals is only an aside, an
extra, which should not distract us from the main purpose of the myth.
We should also refuse to be sidetracked by questions of historicity.
Some commentators maintain that the myth must have arisen on account of a real
event. The tradition of a huge flood is also found among African tribes and in
Asian folklore, they say. Perhaps, there is a trace here of what happened at
the close of the last Ice Age approximately 10,000 years ago. An enormous
amount of ice and snow on all the continents melted and was released into the
seas and oceans. The water level around the globe rose at least 450 feet,
submerging many of the coastal areas. That memories of such catastrophic floods
were retained in primitive traditions is, indeed, an exciting possibility.
Still, this line of study, however interesting from a palaeontological point of
view, does not help us to enter into the myth itself. It is like asking whether
the parable of the Good Samaritan was based on a historical incident. Even if
it were, the parable remains a parable and should be read as such.
So, how should we read a myth? As stated above, a myth reflects our
human condition in the form of a narrative. A myth speaks about life. It makes
us look at the world in which we live and says to us: "See, have you noticed
this or that? How does it affect you? Have you ever considered that such or
such a circumstance could explain your condition? What are you going to do
about it? Will you willingly align yourself to this state of affairs, or are
you going to resist? Do you believe you can alter the facts of your existence?"
To allow the myth to address us in this way, we have to let it tell its story
without interruption. We have to let it vent its emotions on us, so to speak,
get at us with the deep feelings it evokes. We have to make ourselves
vulnerable to the unsettling questions it raises, to the razor-sharp edge of
its challenge. In short, we have to let the myth take over for just a short
while.
Many of us are so superficial and trite because we have lost this
capacity of immersion into the elemental forces of our existence. Formerly,
people followed the cycle of nature in reliving the basic myths of death and
life, of winter and a new spring. of failure and fertility, of loneliness and
of participation with all the powers of nature. Could it be that this is the
reason why in Western countries esoteric groups and magic cults have begun to
flourish again, simply because the need to experience the limits of existence
is so strong? The pagan rites with their stark ritual and mysterious myths gave
people a chance to meet the original life-forces face to face. They were then
inebriated with them. They were numb with fear, or they danced the ecstatic
dance of spring and joy. As the myths spoke to them on the revolving occasions
of the year, people relived their terror, their exuberance and the hope they
offered. The church, too, presents us with a cycle of expectation, birth,
penance, death and resurrection in its liturgical year. The myths are all
there, as dramatic as they have ever been, but our failure to enter
wholeheartedly into them has reduced their powers of release and revival.
The way to approach a myth, such as the deluge story, is to sit back in
silence and go through the successive scenes in our imagination. We do not only
observe what happens-as if we are looking in from the outside-but we know
ourselves to be in the midst of the events. We do not just digest each new
situation with our minds, but we also feel the deep emotions it provokes in the
marrow of our bones. In the myth of the flood we pass through these scenes:
People all around us go on enjoying life, doing what they like,
suppressing others for their own gain. But God has made up his mind to destroy
them all. Noah begins to build the ark. With alarm we feel the presentiment of
the disaster, the threat of punishment while people fritter away their lives,
laughing and joking.
We see the tornadoes and cyclones that begin the flood. Dykes burst,
rivers overflow, the water rises everywhere forming violent torrents in some
places, a relentlessly choking mass of water in others.
There is no escape. People climb on top of their houses, try to reach
highland and mountains; the water pursues and drowns them wherever they go. We
are terrified of this all-consuming, faceless, irresistible monster engulfing
us on all sides.
With Noah in the ark we are seasick and fearful, yet strangely secure
and resigned. The rolling and heaving of the ship, the battering of heavy rain
on the top deck reminds us constantly of the dangers without. So we endure the
confinement which the vessel imposes upon us; we feel somehow attached to the
ark even though it is a prison at the same time. Though narrow and
constricting, it has become our secure home.
We leave the ark a new people. How glorious the whole world looks in
spite of the recent disaster! We sing; we breathe in the fresh air; we promise
to build a new earth; we embrace each other in unspeakable joy when God says he
will never bring on a deluge again.
No thinking mind, no human heart can remain untouched as we move through
these events. Our inner self reverberates, because it recognizes elements of
its own existence, shreds of deep, personal experience. It is here that we must
let our response take its own course. To be real it will have to link up with
the associations that stir us most. The deluge myth has an overall scheme, of
course, but its real power lies in being able to give depth to our
self-concept, to our attempt to make sense of our own life experiences. So,
naturally, one aspect will speak most to this person, while another feels
overcome by a second. A certain feature of the myth may fascinate us early in
life; another one may have a hold on us as we grow older. The myth achieves its
meaning not by imposing a uniform lesson, but by making individual people
respond to fundamental experiences of life.
Oceans Of Threat
Jesus had obviously been impressed by the scene of impending disaster.
His preaching of the kingdom fell on deaf ears. People turned away from his
message of repentance with unbelief and indifference. Jesus felt sad and
frustrated as he saw how people frittered away their lives in frivolous
monotony and how they would do so till the day of judgment. The parallelism
with the deluge myth, the menace of inescapable disaster, gripped him.
"The coming of the Son of Man will be like what happened in the time
of Noah. In the days before the flood people ate and drank, men and women
married, up to the very day Noah went into the boat; yet they did not realize
what was happening until the flood came and swept them all away. That is how it
will be when the Son of Man comes" (Mt 24:37-39).
Jesus’ words were spoken with sorrow, with regret that people
could be so unconcerned about their own ultimate good. The deluge myth became
the vehicle to perceive and express his own exasperation.
For Jews the sea was a very strong image of death and the powers of
evil. The Jews were no seafaring nation; they feared the sea. In Semitic
creation myths the sea was the original force of evil that needed to be
defeated by the creator god in a bloody combat. Only God could keep the sea in
check by laying down strict boundaries:
Who closed the gates to hold back the sea when it burst from the womb
of the earth?
I marked a boundary for the sea and kept it behind bolted
gates.
I told it, "So far and no farther! Here your powerful waves must
stop" (Jb 38:8,10-11).
Only God could provide security against the water’s threat of evil
and death:
The ocean depths raise their voice,O LORD; they raise their voice and
roar.
The LORD rules supreme in heaven, greater than the roar of the
ocean,
more powerful than the waves of the sea (Ps
93:3-4).
The awareness of this conflict between the sea and God adds perspective
to Jesus’ walking on the water, to his stilling the storm. It makes us
understand why the book of Revelation makes the Antichrist originate from the
sea:
Then I saw a beast coming up out of the sea (Rv
13:1).
It adds meaning to the beginning of chapter 21:
Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth. The first heaven and the
first earth disappeared, and the sea vanished (Rv 21:1).
With Peter we may dwell on the salvation of a few by the passage through
water (baptism: 1 Pt 3:18), or with the Fathers we might compare the church to
the ark that keeps us alive in a world full of death.
Whoever leaves the Church, cannot benefit from Christ. He makes himself
a stranger, a worldling, an enemy.Who does not want the Church as mother,
cannot have God as father. As little as anyone outside the ark of Noah could
escape death, can anyone escape now who stays outside the Church? -St. Cyprian,
A.D. 251
I know the Church was built on that rock (on Peter)....If anyone will
not have remained in Noah’s ark, he will perish during the flood. -St.
Jerome, A.D. 379
It is the mystery of a fragile structure of planks lined with tar (Gn
6:14) turning out to be our only instrument of salvation! It is a thought
fraught with theological and pastoral questions: How can a limited, human,
fragile institution as the church serve such an important role in the storms of
history?
’These examples from scripture and early Christian writers are not
meant to restrict our own elaboration of the myth. They only give an idea of
how the myth can take off in different directions. If we ponder the same myth,
if we allow the cords of our heart to resonate in their own way, the myth will
undoubtedly start its own train of thought and realize its own feelings. When
we allow all this to crystallize itself out in meditation and prayer, the myth
will have a lasting effect on our life. It will confirm us, or warn us, or fix
our attention on something we might have overlooked.
’There are quite a few myths in the Old Testament. Those concerning
the origins of humankind and earliest history stand out. Others are found as
traces in the psalms and in prophetic writings. Even the story of the Exodus
from Egypt and the conquest of the Promised Land, though based on historical
events, have acquired the quality of myth through their antiquity and
primordial importance. It is not unlike the mythical power of Jesus’
birth, death and his resurrection. Although these were historical events, the
stories of these events have assumed the additional dimension of illustrating
the fundamental values of our existence. They spell out the meaning of life.
"Your ancient scriptures lack the gospel values which I love, Lord:
your beatitudes, your kingdom parables, your cross and resurrection, the power
of your Spirit!"
"Give me eyes that see as you do. Give me insight and the
perceptiveness of your love."
"Look again. It’s all there. Like stem, branches, leaves and
flowers
folded in a seed!"
Standing With Two Feet on God’s Soil
’For many people religion is an unreal world. When we say that
Jesus is God, for example, it means little, for they have neither known Jesus
as a human person nor ever seen God. Religious truths seem vague, mystic,
abstract, far removed from the realities of life. Working to earn some money,
keeping the house clean, preparing food, maintaining good relationships with
the neighbors, these are true realities, tangible and immediate. The things we
can see and the people we meet are the world we live in. The spiritual
dimension of existence requires a special effort to believe-which is the reason
why some give up, particularly when worries and challenges of concrete living
demand their attention.
’Once, during the Christmas season, I heard a sermon on the child
Jesus which could be condensed in the following lines:
’
The infant Jesus, even when only a small boy, radiated piety and
virtue. He was always ready to help Mary and Joseph. He performed his duties
happily. Though he was almighty God all the time, he did not mind being treated
as a child. The power of the incarnation is seen clearly in the tiny limbs of
this young child, yes, in the Babe of Bethlehem. Devotion to the child Jesus
pleases God so much. The infant Jesus will not refuse us any favors we
confidently ask when kneeling at his manger!
Talking like this, however well-intentioned, relegates faith to a world
of fantasy. Who of us has actually seen the child Jesus at Nazareth? Can we
really kneel before his manger in Bethlehem? For that matter, with what right
can we speak of Jesus as a babe?
’We may join preachers in condemning people for being shortsighted
and lacking in faith. We may put the blame on secularism,
on the lure of material goods, on the godless society in which we live.
But is this a truthful response? Could it be that religion, or at least our way
of presenting it, is unreal? Do the spiritual and the theological slogans we
use carry a meaningful content - or are they only part of some elaborate
theoretical scheme? Could it be that we are just mouthing words, repeating what
others have said before us, without saying anything definite that people can
put their finger on? What is the "cash value" of our message?
’Religion in the Old Testament times was crude and primitive in
many respects. But at the same time there was a healthy realism about it.
Consider, for instance, the question of the covenant. The Jewish people knew
that they lived in a special relationship with God.
’
"You will be my chosen people, a people dedicated to me alone, and you
will serve me as priests" (Ex 19:5-6).
"You belong to the LORD your God. From all the peoples on earth he
chose you to be his own special people"(Dt 7:6).
’This special relationship, however, was not purely an imaginary
thing, something believed but not seen. They experienced its reality every
day-because the spiritual awareness of being a chosen people was linked to the
tangible reality of living in the Promised Land.
’The land was the external sign of the covenant. When the Israelite
farmer walked through his vineyard or his field of barley, he smelled and
touched the presence of the covenant. His feet stood firmly on its fertile
soil. His hands felt its living pulse in grapes and budding wheat. The
blessings of the land were the visible expression of God’s covenantal
love.
’
"The land that you are about to occupy is not like the land of Egypt,
where you lived before. There, when you planted grain, you had to work hard to
irrigate the fields; but the land that you are about to enter is a land of
mountains and valleys, a land watered by rain. The LORD your God takes care of
this land and watches over it throughout the year.
“So then, obey the commands that I have given you today; love the
LORD your God and serve him with all your heart. If you do, he will send rain
on your land when it is needed, in the autumn and in the spring, so that there
will be grain, wine and olive oil for you, and grass for your livestock. You
will have all the food vou want" (Dt 11: 10--15)
’When the covenant was broken, when God was angry because his
people had been unfaithful to him, the effects could immediately be seen in the
barrenness of the land. Without the covenant, the land refused to produce.
Rainfall ceased and the ground became as hard as iron. Plentiful seed brought
no more than a pitiful harvest. Locusts ate the corn and worms the vines.
Diseases in the crops, dust storms, plagues of insects befell the land. Then
the Israelites knew the covenant had been disturbed for God’s "curse" was
on the land (Dt 28:24,38-42). And if they failed to restore friendly relations
with God, God would not stop at partial punishments. Infidelity to the covenant
would eventually lead to God taking away the land altogether.
’
"I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you today that, if you
disobey me, you will soon disappear from the land. " "The LORD will scatter you
among other nations" (Dt 4:26,27).
Covenant and land were two sides of the same coin!
Visible Blessing
’Linking sin to disaster and virtues to prosperity was bound to
raise questions. Why do sinners prosper? Why do just people suffer? It was a
problem for the Old Testament, but whatever answer was given, the principle of
blessing and curse as tangible realities was not given up. Psalm 37 is highly
instructive in this regard. Wicked people often prosper for some time, the
psalmist concedes. Their evil plans succeed. They oppress the poor and needy.
They borrow and do not pay back. But their triumph is short-lived. They cannot
last because the land is hostile to them. The righteous man, on the other hand,
who patiently endures injustices and sticks to his principles, will be rewarded
because the land will be good to him. In the following quotations from Psalm
37, notice how possession of the land, living in the land, is the continual
refrain of blessing.
’
Trust in the LORD and do good; live in the land and be safe (v.3).
Those who trust in the LORD will possess the land, but the wicked will
be driven out (v.9). The humble will possess the land and enjoy prosperity and
peace (v.11).
’
The LORD takes care of those who obey him, and the land will be theirs
forever (v.18).
Those who are blessed by the LORD will possess the land, but those who
are cursed by him will be driven out (v.22).
The righteous will possess the land and live in it forever (v.29).
Put your hope in the LORD and obey his commands; he will honor you by
giving you the land (v.34).
The possession of the land in all these cases is not to be understood
as a future gift. The humble possess it now. They survive trouble and
persecution because the land is good to them.
They will not suffer when times are bad; they will have enough in time
of famine (v.19).
I am an old man now; I have lived a long time, but I have never seen a
good man abandoned by the LORD or his children begging for food (v.25).
I interpret it in this way: At all times and in all circumstances the
just experience that the land is good to them. And this goodness is the
tangible proof of God’s love and of his blessing. The just know God loves
them because they feel the supportive protection of the land.
Like his contemporaries, Jesus was steeped in Old Testament thinking.
He, too, must have felt the visible blessings of his Father when he walked on
his native soil. That Jesus loved the land can be seen from the many parables
he derived from it, parables about sowing and reaping and winnowing, about
pruning vines and manuring olive trees. He admired the birds in the air and the
wild flowers, a beautiful dress God gave to cover his land! But Jesus
understood at the same time that the Father was offering a new land, a
spiritual kingdom, instead of the initial Promised Land. This kingdom was the
reality of messianic blessing, the kingdom which the humble were to possess.
Jesus began to read Psalm 37 in a new light. It was from Psalm 37:11 that he
derived the model for the first beatitude:
"Happy are those who know they are spiritually poor; the Kingdom of
heaven belongs to them!" (Mt 5:3).
Manifest Happiness
With our lack of Old Testament awareness, we have greatly undervalued,
if not misunderstood, the meaning of Jesus’ word.
The spiritually poor, we tend to think, are worthy of the kingdom. They
will be rewarded with the kingdom-invisibly now (through God’s grace
working in them), visibly later in heaven. But then we forget the analogy with
the land. The land was the visible and tangible sign of the covenant. So the
kingdom of heaven, too, should be tangible and visible. What Jesus is promising
to the "spiritually poor" is that they will know, see and touch the kingdom of
God. They are happy, they are blessed, because they will actually experience
that new land: the kingdom of his Father!
’The kingdom was not an abstract notion for Jesus; it was something
that could be seen. The Father’s kingdom exists where there is true love
between people; where people are ready to forgive each other; where people are
merciful; where they live together in peace and friendship. The sign by which
disciples of the kingdom are recognized is the love they have for one another.
Other characteristics are the joy of generous giving, selfless service, being
good to one’s enemies, never taking revenge or reacting with violence. All
this is not vague or abstract. It is something we can observe and recognize. It
is the tangible presence of the new kingdom.
’When we apply this to our own situation, the implications are
startling. Suppose I meet a Christian community-a parish, inmates of an
institution, members of a convent. How do I know that the kingdom of God is
there? Not because it carries a Christian name. Nor because its leaders have a
function in a Christian organization. Nor on account of the buildings or the
customs Christians use. The reality of the kingdom lies not in such externals,
but in the spirit pervading the community. Do I feel the love, mutual
tolerance, open-mindedness, joyful service and fraternal peace required by
Jesus? If so, I know the kingdom of God exists in this community. If not, for
all its Christian pretence, the essence may be lacking.
’The same holds true on a personal level. If I find religion an
eerie and abstract dimension in my life, it may be that I have not discovered
the reality of the kingdom. It is by the love I experience, the joy, the peace,
the new relationships created by renouncing myself that I can know that God is
truly present. I can feel his hand in the new world he has put me into. There
is nothing abstract about this, nothing imaginary. It is only a matter of
opening my eyes to its reality; of becoming sensitive
to it; of noticing how much it can be part of my day-to-day existence
and of all my relationships.
’In the Old Testament the Israelites knew God’s covenant was
real because they felt the land under their feet. They tasted God’s love
and care when they ate their food. Christians, too, enjoy a similar directness
in their religious experience. They see the kingdom of God in the quality of
love that pervades the community to which they belong, the peace and joy that
flow from the love they live.
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