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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joy incarnate


When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the baby leaped in her womb, and Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit.

Luke 1:41

This verse gets me. An unborn child leaping with the news of Jesus. Dancing before his Messiah! And there was cause to dance. The King of kings entered the world in real time.

A millennium earlier King David stripped down to his pajamas and danced before the Ark and here John does the same thing in his birthday suit. Another dance would prove his undoing, yes, but let’s be real. When just a baby, long before that wretched affair with dancing Salome, John cut a rug for Jesus in his mama’s womb.

The reactions of the people of the first Christmas varied then as they do today. John is but one example.

Joseph feared.

Mary wondered.

Elizabeth blessed.

The innkeeper dismissed.

The city slept.

Anna waited.

Simeon prophesied.

Shepherds worshipped.

Herod raged.

John danced.

Recently I was struck by a re-reading of the Christmas story about a choir of angels suddenly erupting in song over the fields of Palestine. What grabbed my attention was the nature and ministry of angels. They never act contrary to the will of God, but always in concert with the Almighty.

They were singing. They were celebrating. They were excited. It occurred to me that the angels were exhibiting on earth the same atmosphere present in heaven. I believe it’s safe to say God was deep in his cups of joy over the whole affair.

We should, first, think that God leads a very interesting life, and that he is full of joy. Undoubtedly he is the most joyous being in the universe. The abundance of his love and generosity is inseparable from his infinite joy. All of the good and beautiful things from which we occasionally drink tiny droplets of soul-exhilarating joy, God continuously experiences in all their breath and depth and richness.

— Dallas Willard, The Divine Conspiracy

When Jesus told of a single sinner being converted he said the reaction in heaven was a party. Here’s how our Savior phrased it: “I am saying to you, joy arises in the presence of the angels of God” (Wuest). Did you catch that? Read it again. “In the presence of the angels of God.” Jesus paints a vivid picture of the Father’s joy.

John Piper said, “It is good to have a happy King.” The leaders of today are anything but happy. They are conflicted, narcissistic, frightened, aloof, dishonest, boorish. But the God of the universe is a happy King. His cup runneth over with joy!

That same joy touched John. The very moment the tiny prophet-in-utero was made aware of the Messiah being inches away, heaven’s ecstasy crashed into his amniotic sac. He was struck as if by a bolt of lightning and jumped for joy. Such was the force of celebration that his own mother felt its aftershock.

“Christians ought to be celebrating constantly. We are to be preoccupied with parties, banquets, feasts, and merriment. We are to give ourselves over to veritable orgies of joy because we’ve been liberated from the fear of life and the fear of death. We are to attract people to the church quite literally by the fun there is in being a Christian.”

—Robert Hotchkins, theologian, University of Chicago

In the earliest part of the 20th century, a guest speaker was invited to address the graduates of a college in Massachusetts. Before the ceremony, the speaker, Henry van Dyke, spent some time celebrating God’s joy in creating the Berkshire mountains. He was inspired to jot down some lyrics to which perfectly fit with Beethoven’s famous tune, “Ode to Joy.”

I find the third verse most appropriate this morning:

Thou art giving and forgiving,
Ever blessing, ever blest,
Wellspring of the joy of living,
Ocean depth of happy rest!
Thou our Father, Christ our Brother,
All who live in love are Thine;
Teach us how to love each other,
Lift us to the joy divine.

This Christmas weekend, I just wanted to remind you that our Father is a Giver of Joy because he is full of joy. As you gather with family and friends, may you offer up laughter and share the happiness of heaven. And, by all means, if so disposed, dance for joy in your pajamas.

Selah, beloved, and the merriest of Christmases!

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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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