(Reading: Genesis 6:5-9:17)

Some Biblical stories are well-known even outside of Judeo-Christian circles. Think Jonah and the whale. Think Noah and the Ark.

But other than the story, what does this account have to teach us from a religious viewpoint? A lot. Let’s consider some of those theological lessons.

Why does God unleash the flood? And why are Noah and his family saved? “The Lord saw how great the wickedness of the human race had become on the earth and that every inclination of the thoughts of the human heart was only evil all the time. … But Noah found favor in the eyes of the Lord” (Genesis 6:5,8). “Noah was a righteous man … and he walked faithfully with God” (Genesis 6:9).

As we saw from Adam and Eve to Cain and Abel, sin snowballs. Once unleashed, it grows. 

Now, if we compare the Bible to other literature from its time that has survived in the Near East, we find many accounts of a flood in human history. But what is unique about Genesis is the motive: God unleashes the flood as punishment for sin.

Compare that to the “Epic of Gilgamesh,” a Mesopotamian text that purports to account for the beginnings of the human race. It also has a flood, but the cause of the flood is the perverse pleasure — not unlike the evil kid that enjoys harming little animals — of seeing people suffer. The problem in the Gilgamesh epic is that the gods themselves nearly lose control of the situation and are almost swept away in the flood, too.

Jewish religion introduced a completely new element into Divine-human relationship: morality. God relates to man morally and seeks the same in reciprocity. God is not just bigger, he is better … and wants to build a relationship with his creatures based on that good (the constant refrain of Genesis 1). Contrast that, for example, to Greek religion, where the Olympian gods were as equally morally defective as (arguably, sometimes even more so than) men. 

And God distinguishes between good and evil. Noah finds favor in God’s eyes because those eyes look into the heart (see 1 Samuel 7:16; John 7:24). God is just.

God’s fidelity is enduring. God’s judgment is against the evil men were doing, not against creation itself. God does not put an end to his creation — he even plans its continuation. The Ark is that rescue plank. God also affirms the goodness of life: Noah is commanded to take “two of all living creatures, male and female, to keep them alive with you” (6:19). Again, the Bible presents male/female differentiation and complementarity as part of God’s design for creation. And he already makes clear: “I will establish my covenant with you …” (6:18).

After God shuts them in, the flood begins, with rain for 40 days and 40 nights. This is the first time the Bible will introduce the significance of the number 40 — including the 40-day flood, 40 years of the Israelites wandering in Sinai en route to the Promised Land, and Jesus’ 40-day fast. 

After the flood, Noah dispatches a dove to search for land. On its first reconnaissance, it returns empty. On its second, it returns with an olive shoot, indicative of the receding of the waters. On its third, it does not return.

As the waters recede, God calls these survivors out, reiterating his original blessing: “Bring out every kind of living creature that is with you — the birds, the animals, and all the creatures that move along the ground — so they can multiply on the earth and be fruitful and increase in number on it” (8:17). Noah then offers sacrifice — a gesture of religion, of justice toward his savior — and God renews his covenant with Noah and his family, including the blessing and command of fertility and the charge of dominion over the creatures of the earth (9:1-4, 7). And it is then that God leaves his sign of the covenant — the rainbow — as a mark of protection from the destruction of life on the earth (9:16).

The Noah story has been depicted by numerous artists, but I chose two. The first is in the Palatine Chapel in Sicily (below), a Norman fortress erected during the Crusades when Eastern and Western Christian art came together. The Chapel contains a series of mosaics, dating from the 1100s, depicting the life of Noah (as part of a broader series depicting events in the Book of Genesis).

Illustrated is the first panel. On its left, we see Noah, his wife and his three sons. On the right, we see the building of the Ark. Noah conveys God’s instructions, while his sons do the physical labor. As the commentator notes, the Ark itself resembles a church, typical in the Middle Ages. As is also characteristic of medieval art, proportion is less important than theology: an ecclesiastical ark that one of Noah’s sons can cover with his body is either going to be very cramped or the “realistic” dimensions don’t really matter. 

The second work I chose is an 1846 painting (above) by Pennsylvania Quaker Edward Hicks, held by the Philadelphia Museum of Art. I did so to showcase that American Protestantism, despite its general dislike of church art and decoration, did have its representatives who sought to translate that “simplicity” into art, especially involving the Old Testament.

Just as the Palatine mosaic depicts a church that looked a lot like a Catholic church of the medieval period, so Hicks’ “church” is a Protestant meeting house. (Consider the resemblance, for example, to the community Zinzendorf established for Moravians in Ephrata, Pennsylvania.)

The Museum’s commentary on Hicks adds that the animals in his painting reflect the pacifism of Quakerism carried to its eschatological conclusion: “The wolf will lie down with the lamb … they will neither harm nor destroy on all my holy mountain’ (Isaiah 11:6-9), the era of Messianic peace.