know what to believe. The story begins to be comprehensible, fathomable, and even acceptable (as opposed to being repugnant) only when we start questioning it. It’s not enough that the Jewish doctrine on this claims that it teaches people not to sacrifice their children. People continue to sacrifice their kids all the time—to wars, abuse, addiction, trafficking, and neglect. The story has no moral possibilities if we just believe in it. It only has ethical value or spiritual merit if we argue with it, and that is what you can believe.
And then there was Noah.
It’s worth noting that Noah of the Bible was neither a Jew nor a Christian nor affiliated with any organized creed. I mention this because of the frequent co-opting of his story and that of the global flood (or total genocide, if you look at it for what it was) by clergy people in the name of their faiths. Noah was an unassuming man who, according to the writ, was selected by God to build an ark and save his family along with “two of every kind” from the animal kingdom. This is perhaps the most renowned tale of all time and the destruction of humanity by a cataclysmic deluge appears as a parable in other ancient literatures, including from Babylonia, Egypt, and Africa. Most all of these traditions also showcase a boat and feature returning, redemptive birds—like the dove in the Genesis account that returns with a green leaf and some hope.
What were Noah’s credentials for this assignment according to Genesis? He was not a seer, an oracle, or even a nautical expert. He wasn’t exactly Billy Graham or Nelson Mandela. All Genesis tells us is that Noah was “a righteous man in his time.”
A righteous man in his time? What was “his time”? In terms of human behavior, this was a period of history so desperately bleak and despicable that the Bible summarizes it in one succinct sentence: “The earth was corrupt before God and the earth was filled with violence.” In fact, the scripture intimates that God was thoroughly disgusted with the human beings he had created and that the entire demographic of the planet amounted to a bunch of hedonists, rakes, thieves, rapists, and degenerates. Against that standard, Noah was the best. This is not a ringing endorsement of Noah’s character or standards. He was all God had to work with.
You don’t have to believe the whole story; it’s a shared myth of many civilizations, and it does have a powerful and meaningful ethical message. What you can take away from this very drenched business is that greatness is relative to the period being examined. Noah happened not to be a total debaucher. So in his time he stood out. We could use some of this perspective in our current era of celebrity worship, narcissism, and sycophants. Better than deifying Noah—or any of the highly flawed human heroes of the biblical literature—we should remember their “greatness” is always to be defined against the reality of their circumstances, as well as their own human frailties.
When we beatify well-known people or even private individuals in our lives, from parents to popes to ballplayers to media icons, we will inevitably wind up hurt, disillusioned, and confused.
Here’s something you can believe when it comes to people, theology, miracles, and psaltery: The answer is always somewhere in between. There is somewhere you can alight in between atheism and evangelism and even that point of landing will—and must—fluctuate as you pass through the triumphs, setbacks, illnesses, recoveries, crises, and renewals of this thing called life.
When it comes to the flood phenomenon, for example, don’t get drowned in the torrent. In general, don’t get stuck on miracles. You and I are not angels, saints, or demigods. We are people. We get scared, hungry, sick, angry, unhappy, divorced, and we are mystified and threatened by life’s incongruities. We battle with our weight. We dread cancer. We fall out of love. We make mistakes and we damage other folks, unwittingly or not. We have nightmares and we suffer the effects of family dysfunction. We struggle with demons. We are dismayed and shaken as we notice our parents weakening, stumbling, and forgetting in old age. We drive by a cemetery in the afternoon and try to subdue the dark grip of mortality on our hearts. We bury our parents there, our brothers, sisters, and sometimes our children. Their open graves leave gaping holes in our hearts. Don’t we scream at God, dispute with God, and even condemn God at such moments of incredulity? So shouldn’t religion offer a valve for such inevitable apoplexies of the spirit?
We are usually doing the best we can in a world whose madness is broadcast and cyber-blasted into our heads twenty-four/seven and the last thing we need is an authoritarian lecture or a devotional booklet telling us that unless we act or think in this or that way, we are doomed, going to hell, or will generally suffer the disapproval of God Almighty. We get enough of that without even going to church.
Again, the text is not our homeland; life is.
Better you should stick to the measured human insight that a man’s or a woman’s “greatness” (and the assumed gospel-wisdom of a spiritual dignitary) are all measured against what’s going on around that person. And it is suckled by the naïveté and/or insecurity of those of us who cling to these champions. Believe in yourself before you surrender your faith to the anointed. Remember the devotional manual offers us answers, but we have the questions and these don’t always match up perfectly.
Meanwhile, Noah was a faithful tool in this drama, but he was not so great at all. The genuinely great ones argue with fate—especially when fate threatens human life.
God hones in on Noah and tells him “the end of all flesh is before me” and God is going to wipe out every form of life on the planet. Not a particular nation, tribe, city, or subdivision. Everybody is going down. Noah, build an ark.
What is Noah’s response to this astonishing report? Nothing. No protest, no debate. Basically, it’s “What are the measurements of the craft, what kind of wood should I use?” Noah just listens to a divine blueprint involving gopher wood, pitch, and the precise number of cubits. Oh, and there’s to be a single window. And a large side door. Get going, man. The rain is coming. And God also declares he is making “a covenant” with Noah—only his family and the saved wildlife will survive and that’s the deal.
The Bible tells us bluntly: “Thus Noah did.” Good man follows instructions, but this is not a candidate for induction into the Hall of Greatness. It clearly took Noah and his offspring a significant amount of time to construct the big boat. This was done out in the open sunlight, and it can be presumed that passers-by noticed all the busy work ongoing, heard the mallets and saws being used, not to mention the long procession of paired giraffes, elephants, apes, goats, cows, cheetahs, boa constrictors, possums, turkeys, alligators, geese, squirrels, peacocks, and warthogs making their way onto the platform.
Even the rabbinic commentary on this episode lambasts Noah for not reaching out to a single person, warning them to change their ways, repent, or at least seek higher ground! Nor are the more progressive biblical sages particularly impressed with Noah’s absolute, wordless compliance with God’s horrific intentions. Maybe the man just focused on “the covenant” God offered him and chose to be utterly selfish and thoroughly ordinary.
Not so with Moses, a flawed man like anybody else except when it came to looking out for others before saving his own skin. Atop Mt. Sinai, alone and literally burning in the light of God’s countenance, about to receive the Ten Commandments, Moses gets a real twist in the conversation with the Almighty: “Get thee down, for thy people which thou brought out of Egypt, have corrupted themselves.”
Moses listens as God excoriates the Hebrews below for ditching all their jewelry and gold and building “a molten calf,” which amounts to an abominable idol-god. They are praying to this golden calf and offering it sacrifices. I’ve seen it, Moses, and these people are nothing but a bunch of ungrateful, stiff-necked hacks! The Bible makes it quite clear that God is in a livid meltdown and he’s out to kill again.
“Now, therefore let me alone, that my wrath may wax hot against them, and that I may consume them. And
