as in the days of noah

Resting Ships, Paul Klee
Resting Ships by Paul Klee

But Noah found grace in the eyes of the Lord.

Genesis 6:8

There was once a man named Noah. When he was born, his dad looked at him and said, “Finally, some hope. My son, a comfort to my soul.” The lad was born into a world ripe for judgment and Lamech thought his boy might be its savior. Evidently Noah’s pop was given some sense of his son’s divine purpose, but, unfortunately, his world was beyond saving.

I’ve listened to some parents of young children — and grandparents — who are uneasy about the world in which their children and grands will grow up. I totally get it.

A writer-father of a newborn shared his own angst and worry over the world his child would face:

[A]mong the excitement and wonder I feel at his progression are other emotions: worry, guilt, fear. And, overwhelmingly, grief. Because I know that the closer this child comes to thinking and understanding and communicating complex ideas, the faster he approaches the Moment when he will discover something that I wish with all my heart he never had to know: that his mother and I brought him into existence on a world that is dying.”

Time magazine offered an article a few months ago, titled, “Raising Kids When The World Is Ending.”

Here’s a headline for you:

💠💠💠💠

“But understand this, that in the last days difficult times will come.”

2 Timothy 3:1

💠💠💠💠


“Difficult” is a tad benign. The word Paul uses is more like “fierce.” Two verses down he says the last days are “savage.” Read the whole list. It mirrors almost exactly the condition of the world in Genesis 6. Uh oh. Seems we’ve seen this movie before.

Just today I read that nearly every House Democrat in the U.S. voted against a bill requiring medical attention for any baby born alive after a botched abortion. You can’t get much more evil than that.

Is there any comfort for us? Who can rest in these dark days?

Early one morning I woke up thinking about Genesis 6:8. “Noah found grace in the eyes of the Lord.” Taken in context, it’s a beautiful word of comfort for any who are barely treading water.

Has your world become oppressive? Exhausting? Unbearable? That was Lamech’s world. Even as the surrounding culture was submerged in evil, he traced a sliver of hope in the tiny feet and wiggling fingers of a baby. Raging against the dying of the light he defiantly branded his son Noah.

Noah sounds in the native tongue like “comfort” and derives from a word meaning “rest.” Later when we read about his now-famous ark “resting” on Mount Ararat as the floodwaters receded, it literally says the boat “Noahed” there.

It’s in Genesis 6:8 where “grace” shows up for the first time. God’s eyes swept the whole of humanity and, everywhere he looked, saw violence, ruin, and debauchery. Then his eyes rested on his man of rest and hope sprang anew.

Putting aside the hot mess of modern global culture, let’s turn our sights toward our private worlds. What words would you use to describe your life in these days? Turbulent? Unpredictable? Challenging? Scary?

Perhaps enduring fits you better. Or overcoming. I’ve been telling all my friends of late how sanctifying this season of my life has been.

In one midrash (rabbinical teaching), Noah’s wife is Naamah, the root of which primarily means to be pleasant, but also has the connotation of melody and of singing. It may not be sacred teaching, but it is cool to think about.

How wonderful to imagine Noah enjoying the company of his sweet bride, a pleasant soul, singing and humming her melodies in their home. Perhaps Noah stressed over the calling put on him (build a boat in the desert!) and needed his wife’s songs to minister rest to his troubled heart.

I guess you know where I’m going with this. Sandy has been the melody to my lyrics, especially of late. I’m grateful to have her as my helpmate; she exhibits dignified grace daily. I am a better man with her in my corner.


If Genesis 6:8 teaches anything, it tells us there is a supernatural rest and empowering grace available to those who by faith trace their spiritual lineage through Noah, Abraham, Isaac, and all the way through to Christ.


As it was in the days of Noah, so shall it be ever until the end: God has a rest for his people. Lamech pinned his hopes on God’s rest. Noah carried God’s rest in his heart. I pray the same for us. I pray for your children that their faith would be embedded in Christ and they would know his rest in their futures. May we be carried by his rest and rise above the black waters of death through divine grace.

I pray for my friends, Lord, as well as Sandy and me, for your carrying rest on this day and in all the days ahead. May we rise above the chaos and advance towards your new creation by your empowering grace, O Christ. In Jesus’s name, amen.

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oh well, noël

The death of a beloved is an amputation.

C. S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

There’s a 10-foot tall Christmas tree in Tustin, California for families who grieve the loss of their children to addiction. It’s put there yearly by Solace of Hope, a family support group for grieving parents. The tree is filled with ornaments and photos of the many lives lost far too soon to the damnable plague of opioids.

Alan Berkowitz and his wife Kathy lost their 26-year old son to heroin six years ago.

The toughest part for my wife and me is Christmas morning. Now it’s just the two of us. We get up and have coffee. And, well, it’s kind of hollow.”

Sandy and I share that isolating grief with the Berkowitz’s. Our Graham also became an ‘ornament on a tree’ nine Christmases ago at twenty-four. He had just completed a few months in rehab and we were happily working on getting him a flight home from Minnesota. On December 16th, word reached us he would not be coming home.

Our Christmases can still feel hollow for us too. More’s the pity because Sandy loves Christmas like no other day of the year. She can decorate to beat the band and transform any house or apartment into a glowing hearthfire of peace on earth. Fittingly, she’s a Christmas Day baby, but each year her birthday is eclipsed by a lingering shadow of grief.

I was streaming the first episode of a murder mystery which was mostly meh until the chief detective said something I immediately put in my notes app. Offering comfort to the victim’s teenage daughter he said,

“grief is love with no place to go.”

For parents like us who have lost a child at Christmas, we totally get that.

While many associate Christmas with “Behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy,” (even better in Linus voice) others are further down in the Luke narrative. There’s the headline we all know and love, but then there’s the fine print:

And Simeon blessed them and said to Mary his mother, “Behold, this child is appointed for the fall and rising of many in Israel, and for a sign that is opposed (AND A SWORD WILL PIERCE THROUGH YOUR OWN SOUL ALSO), so that thoughts from many hearts may be revealed.

Luke 2:34-35 (emphasis mine)

Way to bury the lede, Luke!

Years ago many older hymns were passed down through oral/auditory tradition. The First Noel is one of them, which is why The Cornish Songbook (1929), printed the first stanza as:

O well, O well, the Angels did say
To shepherds there in the fields did lay;
Late in the night a-folding their sheep,
A winter’s night, both cold and bleak.
O well, O well, O well, O well,
Born is the King of Israel.

The season of noël is, for some, a painful ordeal. From the Latin ‘natale,’ meaning “birth,” Noël feels like anything but.

For a myriad of reasons, not only loss, it instills dread and invites depression. Scrooge’s dark night of the soul resonates more deeply than his Christmas morning grace awakening in some.



His grief he will not forget; but it will not darken his heart, it will teach him wisdom

—Aragorn, Lord of the Rings: Return of the King, J. R. R. Tolkien

Sandy and I fight the good fight yearly to not get cheated out of Christmas. She still decorates and I still play the music. She wraps gifts in upscale department store fashion and I don’t. We make sure to see the lights, watch White Christmas, and sit graveside with our boy on Christmas Eve.

The two of us have found our safest place to be is with each other. We don’t do big family gatherings on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. We prefer our holidays quieter. It’s worked for us nine straight years and we don’t plan to change.

If the manger means anything, it means the Savior swaddles our sorrows. Slowly, over channels of time, the comforted begin to realize their bandwidth for moving through the hard days has increased. The sword pierces a little less. You can surprise yourself by having the wherewithal to do stuff again.

Jesus, the Resurrection and the Life, our Wisdom from heaven, has gifted us with a deeper Noël. Even in the midst of our bleak midwinter, and as a hurting world moans in unrequited protest, our grief becomes love that suddenly finds a place to go.

Joyeux Noël, beloved.


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a gentle word

I want to open with a story, but it’s not mine to tell. It is an intensely personal story for Sandy and I needed to ask her permission before sharing it. She felt it was right and agreed. I’m grateful she did.

One word from your lips will be sweeter to us and more full of music than the harps of angels.

—Charles Spurgeon—

first, a story

During a particularly hard ministry season, Sandy got in her car and drove. She knew where she needed to go but didn’t want to. He’ll just tell me how wrong I am. He’ll quote scripture at me. He’ll tell me to have more faith, she fumed.

I don’t need a Bible verse, I need God to give me a break.

Her car seemed to know where to take her. Next thing my wife knew, she was in the driveway of the very address she didn’t want to see.

Sandy got out of her car and went to the front door and rang the bell. She couldn’t believe she was doing this, but when you’re at the bottom, you’ll risk anything.

The sweet couple who greeted her could see this wasn’t a social call. Sandy bravely fought back tears but it was no use. Tears welled and glistened in her eyes.

“I didn’t want to come,” she told them. “I didn’t know what else to do. I don’t feel I had anywhere else to go.”

Her heart ruptured. Every bottled up emotion was uncorked. No stone got unturned. Nothing in her life was working* and it shamed her to say it out loud to these people.

John and Patti listened quietly. Not once did they interrupt her, but let her disgorge her soul. When it was clear that she was finished, they both reached out and held her hand. There were noticeable tears in both pairs of eyes.

Then John said words that disarmed her. Most gently and tenderly he said,

There’s nothing for you to feel ashamed about, Sandy. Everything that is wrong in your life isn’t your doing. It’s all happening to you and there isn’t a single thing you can change. You have no options. You’re trapped.

John (and Patti) is a pastor, counselor, and friend. They are safe people. Never once did they offer tired rhetoric or warmed-over platitudes. Romans 8:28 didn’t make an appearance (though no less true). Their words said to Sandy’s broken heart, “We see you. We hear you. We feel your sorrow.”

That’s why God sent her there. He had something he wanted her to hear, and the faithful couple who knows us and loves us well were the perfect pair to tell Sandy what was on God’s heart.


a gentle reminder

There are times, as with Sandy, we feel God has abandoned us even if we’re not guilty of sin (see Job). We are “hard pressed on every side” from grievous pressures that don’t care one whit about our capacity to hold our own against them.

Other times, of course, we are the cause of our own pain and need to know God still loves us.

I recently finished both letters to the Corinthians and saw something near the end I’d not noticed before, and I’m very excited to tell you what I found. It’s a very gospel thing.

The Corinthians were a flawed bunch, yes? They were a puffed-up gaggle of rebels, idolaters, and rank adulterers. One could say the city of Corinth was a sewer plant and the church fanned the fumes.

The first letter got written because Paul got word of their antics and needed to address them. There was also a “painful visit” in there. And then he penned a “severe letter” that is lost. We’ll never know what he said in that one.

So I get over to the 7th chapter and am struck dumb by Paul’s heart in spite of all the tough talk. His heart is veritably bursting when he says this:

“We are comforted (and)…refreshed by you.”

2 Corinthians 7:13

And this:

“Our boasting (of you) has proved true.”

2 Corinthians 7:14

Behold, marvel at this curiously gentle stroking:

“I am acting with great boldness toward you; I have great pride in you; I am filled with comfort. In all our affliction, I am overflowing with joy.”

2 Corinthians 7:4

How extraordinary! To have these emotions and encouraging words for the people at Corinth in spite of how he addressed them in the previous chapter(s) is…well, astounding!

This speaks to my heart about the love of Jesus. Yes, he sees the filth and idolatry and unwholesomeness of our souls (and bodies), and yet his heart is “wide open” to us and speaks gentle words in the middle of his (sometimes) tough love.

He doesn’t over-emphasize the bad to the neglect of the good. You are loved, never forget that.

how does Jesus feel about me?

I would like for you to hear your Savior say this to you right now:

“ I rejoice because I have complete confidence in you.”

2 Corinthians 7:16

Okay, I know that’s what Paul said to the saints in that particular church. I don’t have trouble receiving that because I know Paul was “Christ” to them. He ministered from the same heart as Jesus.

Yes, they vacillated and backslid and married wrong and worshiped wrong and treated one another wrongly. And they would fail and fall again,

but the ones who still clung to Christ, even in their weakness and maddeningly misdirected affections, were gently and warmly loved by the Christ who saved them. He never let them go. His heart remained wide open to them.

Beloved, the same gospel goes for you, too!

The Corinthian believers (though not all) repented. For all their unruliness and out-of-jointedness, still, at the end of the day, they walked in repentance.

If you’re feeling the “severe letter” in your life is justified, don’t think you’re being written off by Jesus. Look to him, not your shame. For the unrepentant he’s writing other words not meant for you. Here’s what he’s gently saying to you:

And Jesus [says] to [you], As for myself, neither do I condemn you. Be proceeding and no longer go on sinning.

John 8:11, Wuest Translation, slightly altered by me

If you’re feeling the crushing weight of life “just because” (as in Sandy’s case), I’m praying for a merciful end to your sorrows.

The Holy Spirit’s eloquence gets muddled through my messengering at times, but I do hope you catch the gentleness of his voice. I pray the broken-hearted hear the Savior’s “I see you. I hear you. I feel your sorrow. Don’t be ashamed. I am for you.”

Selah, beloved.


*For Sandy to drop her hands and lose the fight is against everything that is in her. In this particular season, she was bearing the crushing weight of ‘losing’ her son, being responsible to her ministries at the church, fighting for my health, supporting me in my “daily pressure of anxiety” for our church, and holding down a hard-labor, high demanding job for health insurance.

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