Turning from the Flood

First Sunday of Lent
sermon by Torin Eikler
Genesis 9:8-17 Mark 1:9-15

Have you ever been in a flood? Or seen the aftermath of one? For myself, I have been lucky enough not to witness a disaster like that first hand, but I have seen the results. Walking through the streets that aren’t really streets anymore because they are covered with mud and branches and lawn furniture and worse. Trying not to breathe too deeply because of the smell – a unique bouquet of rotting vegetation and putrefying animal carcasses. Overwhelmed by the amazing amount of stuff piled up against anything and everything left standing. Surprised by the occasional chair hung up in a tree’s branches. Stunned by how drab a world is when everything is a covered in a healthy coat of light brown. It’s quite an experience, but it can’t hold a candle to what people see in the midst of it all.

This past Thursday was the anniversary of the Buffalo Creek flood and West Virginia Morning aired an interview with Roger Osborne who survived the disaster. On that morning thirty-seven years ago, one of the dams holding the coal sludge from the local mine failed and a 60-foot wave of black water came down the ravine and swept away the town of Lundale. At 8:00 in the morning, Osborne woke to his neighbor’s wife as she drove down the street honking and yelling for everyone to get out. He and his family drove to higher ground with the water already up to the windows of the car. As he stood with his wife, three daughters, and his mother on the hillside, they watched as cars, houses, and people were washed away by the wall of water. They stood and watched as neighbors, friends, and relatives were taken by the flood. When it was all over the valley was wiped clean. There was literally nothing left. The worst part, according to Osborne, was not losing everything they owned. It wasn’t the terror he felt as they made their get-away. It wasn’t even the horrific experience of looking over the 125 bodies in the morgue and discovering 26 of his closest relatives. It was standing on that hill side and watching helplessly friends he had known his whole life, mothers with babies in their arms, and whole families screamed for help from rooftops, from inside houses disintegrating around them, and from the midst of swirling black water. It was a horrible experience, and it has taken him years to come to terms with the visions and dreams he has had ever since.


I imagine that Noah and his family may have experienced some of the same trauma. Standing on the ark as the rains came harder and harder and water began to rise, I expect the people who had derided his work began to gather around, asking … pleading to be allowed on board. Refused, they may have looked for other places – higher ground or rooftops that were above the water level. Eventually, though, the eight people inside must have heard the screams as hundreds of people were swept away by the tide. Riding out the storm, I imagine they stopped looking out the windows for fear of seeing the remnants of civilization – lives and property floating on the surface as they slowly rotted away. Even when they landed, the ordeal wouldn’t have been over. We have the image of a pristine world washed clean by the flood, and maybe that’s the way it was. But, maybe they found chairs in the branches of trees or dishes piled up in the hollers where the water made its last stand before draining away. Maybe they were assailed by the smell of rot wafting through the fresh air to surprise them in unguarded moments. Certainly, they were left with the memory of the family and friends that could never have survived the months of landless drifting. It’s no wonder that Noah turned to drink a little more than he should have. Do you blame him?

And yet, Noah’s family received something that Osborne never got – a promise. And not just any promise – God’s promise. This flood was on a grand scale, destroying all the living things left behind on the land, and God’s response was in kind:

As for me, I am establishing my covenant with you and with your descendants after you, and with every living creature that is with you, the birds, the domestic animals, and every animal of the earth with you, as many as came out of the ark. I establish my covenant with you, that never again shall all flesh be cut off by the waters of a flood, and never again shall there be a flood to destroy the earth.

And, that grand promise was sealed with an equally grand sign – wrapped up with a bow (if you will) - a splash of color arcing through the sky. When the rains came and old fears reared up, the rainbow would shine forth serving as a beacon of hope and reassurance. The rain will stop this time. There will be no flood wiping everything away. It may not have had much power to wipe away the grief and the memories of the past, but it was enough to help that small group of people begin building a new future – a hopeful future blessed by God.


Jesus was born into a flood as well. All around him, people were suffering. The sick, the possessed, the poor, and those pushed to the edge of society by custom and misfortune – they were all around him …. a flood of humanity in need. And there was another flood as well, a less visible torrent overwhelming the people of Israel and sweeping them away from faithful life as the chosen people.

Carrie talked about this last week just a little when she mentioned the Pax Romana. Her quote from “The Life of Brian” illustrated it through Monty Python’s strange sense of humor. Roads, medicine, sewer systems, and “security” were just the beginning. Roman culture with its different customs, its looser, freer morality, its wealth, and its many gods were flowing all around, through, and over the Jews as they tried to hold on to the security of their own beliefs and traditions.

In one sense, they were lucky. In other provinces of the empire, people were forced to give up their native religions, laws, and traditions and take up those sanctioned by the Romans. For some reason, the empire respected the heritage of the people of God and allowed them to continue in their own ways. The Temple was left to function as it had for centuries, Jewish law and leadership were allowed to exist along side the Roman authorities and the laws they enforced. The ceremonial guard was even left in tact. All very strange since the region of Judea was considered to be a troublesome area prone to rebellion. Despite all that, the people of Israel were being inundated with Roman culture. And, it was changing them like a great river or tidal surge remake the shores they touch: eroding the structure of commandments and laws that had defined their lives, eating away at the customs and traditions that had shaped them as a people, threatening to wash away the covenant they had with their God.

He watched all of this as he grew up. He saw the people around him struggling against the flow. He saw many of them get swept up, turning and tumbling away. And he knew that the covenant still held – that God would not suffer the people to be washed away. I suppose that he may have wondered what to do. How does one turn the tide of a flood? Even more than that, how does one drain it all away?

When it was time for him to begin his ministry, he went to John. He went into the waters of repentance and spent forty days of his own, enduring the hardships of the wilderness. And when he returned, he began. He began to preach repentance. He called people back to God and God’s way. He pointed to the Realm of God – there with and among the people, and invited everyone to turn and step out of the current and onto the higher ground of the covenant promise. And, fulfilling the promises made in the past and offered people hope. He became the new sign of a renewed covenant with the people of his time – the image to remind them of God’s presence, God’s love, and God’s grace – the light shining into the dark to show the way to higher ground – safe ground – the ground of the Kingdom. Not all welcomed that light, but all received the sign and the promise.


The light still shines. The sign and the promise still stand for us today. And what a blessing, for do we not also live in the midst of the flood? Take a step back and look at the bigger picture. Is this time any different? We do not live under the thumb of Ceasar, but what rules our lives in this place and this time? Is it the covenant and law of grace that governs the Realm of God? Or is it something else?

Now take two steps inward and look at your own hearts, your own souls. Are you standing on the safe, solid ground? Are you struggling against the currents of our own time? Or are you adrift in the midst of an overwhelming stream of demands that pull you one way and another? Are the cry of John the Baptist and the call of Christ meant for your ears? Who and what are the lords of your life?

On Sunday mornings, we come to worship the God who is our salvation. We sing hymns of prayer and thanksgiving. We give tithes and offerings to support the work of the church as it seeks to become a truer representation of the Kingdom, as it seeks to reach out to offer the promise to others. We listen to the words of our good and gentle shepherd – words that reassure and words that challenge. And when we offer prayers for forgiveness we are assured that our petition is answered because that is the nature of God’s love and grace. It is available to all of us when we seek it. Yet, when we leave here, have we changed? Do we live differently? Are we building on the blessing we have received or is this hour each week just a moment spent with one foot on the dry ground – a moment to catch our breath before we turn again to plunge into the swirling waters?

The covenant with Noah still stands. God repented – turned away from the way of destruction to find another way. God will never again send a flood to cover the earth and blot out all life. But we, we make our own floods. They cover our lives and threaten to blot out our identity as beloved children of God. And into those treacherous waters, Jesus came to throw us a life line. He was, he is the new way – the way of love that promises to wash away the sludge and the debris that cover us. His light shines into the drab desolation that we see when we look around us, calling, commanding, inviting us to come out of the rain and into the Realm of God.

What stops us? What is there to lose? None of us lives the promise fully, and we each have our own reasons, our own delusions holding us back. I can not tell you what yours are. I hardly even begin to understand my own. Yet, I feel the pull of the promise fighting against the tug of habit and the tide of daily life.

As we sit here, rooted for a time in the covenant, take a moment to pause. Rest within yourselves and within the embrace of the Spirit. Search amidst all the thoughts and desires – the many demands that clamor for your attention, for your life’s energy. Search for the light of the promise inviting you into a different way. Listen for the call of the One who wandered the wilderness and rode the tide of humanity’s flood – “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.”

When you find that life line, turn and lay a hand on it (even a finger would be enough). Feel the pull of the promise and let it grow within you. Let it build until it draws you up out of the storm swell of morass that surrounds you. And hold on. Hold on as it frees you from the things that hold you back, gently guiding your feet as they stumble onto the dry, solid ground.

Look up and see the sign of hope stretching across the horizon of your spirit. Look … really look at your life and all that you are.

Turn and look at what your life could become … at all that you are meant to be.

Beloved ….

Repent. Turn from the flood and into the power of God’s promise, and believe in new life open to all. What’s holding you back?