In the Ark, in the Storm

It was settled:  There would be an animal game.  The clan of scuffed, bent and partially chewed plastic animals was a motley assortment indeed; the sheep were four times as large as the hippopotamuses, and the brachiosaurus could easily hitch a ride on the back of the gorilla without even being noticed.  After surveying the recruits, it occurred to me that there were at least two of every kind of animal (the exception being snakes--but a couple of wire twisties from the bread bags served the role nicely), and so Libby and K.J. and I commenced to playing a rollicking, absurd and often disturbingly violent game of Noah's Ark.

A large, cardboard box was dragged into the center of the floor, and soon a line of animal pairs was forming behind the entrance to the sagging ark.  There were some odd couples to be sure, but K.J. insisted that it didn't matter that the male lion might with one swat of his tail accidentally vanquish his tiny wife (who, incidentally, also had a full mane), or that the alligator was married to the stegosaurus.  The real question was finding a suitable character to play Noah.  After thinking for a minute, K.J. dove into the toy box and dragged out a menacing Buzz Lightyear, exclaiming "See, he's already got a helmet!  He's ready for the flood!"  

Some playmobile figures were selected to play the roles of Noah's sons and their wives.  Ham's hair was missing, leaving a large, conspicuous hole on top of his head (I had told Libby and K.J. about how Ham dishonored his father after the flood, so they felt that he should be played by as ignoble a toy as possible).  A hip-looking doll with a long brown ponytail and a horseback riding outfit was chosen to be Noah's wife.

Libby suddenly started running in circles around the cardboard ark, waving her arms and shouting "The flood's coming!  Get everyone inside!"  The toys were scooped up and tossed on top of the box, and K.J. began pushing the ark around the room, snatching up stray elephants and penguins as they fell off.  I positioned my body as a shield around the ark, and Libby and K.J. squealed and giggled as they pelted me with blocks (which, they said, represented broken houses).

I said, "Now hold on a minute!  Why is it so important that I protect the ark?"

K.J. replied, "So that the animals don't get hurt!"

"Why is it important for me to protect the animals?"

"Because if you don't, we might lose a shpecies!  And we need all the shpecies, because they trim our grass...some of them!"

"Well, ok.  But let me explain what the ark represents.  The ark is a real thing, but it is also supposed to be a picture of Jesus.  Jesus is our ark.  He says, 'Come inside Me and be safe.'  God's wrath fell on Jesus like the storm fell on the ark.  Inside Jesus, we are protected.  We can rest."

My wonderful friend D.A. reminds me that, not only are we safe from God's wrath inside this New Ark, but in Christ our pain is redeemed and the storm of mortal trouble only serves His purposes.  In the Ark, in the storm, we are carried.  We are safe.  We can rest.

When I find myself scurrying about, anxious and upset over whether I am doing enough, doing too much, doing the wrong thing, not doing the right thing...it would be as if Noah, after the Lord had shut he and his family inside the completed ark, were to go about trying to build additional rooms and balconies and cutting in skylights.  How foolish!  It's done.  The Lord has shut me inside Christ.  The Ark is complete.

It's no mistake that the prophecy of Noah was "Out of the ground that the Lord has cursed, this one shall bring us relief from our work and from the painful toil of our hands."  The new, better Ark means relief from the work that couldn't earn me righteousness.  It means an easy, light yoke in exchange for my painful toil.  It's no mistake that the name "Noah" sounds like the Hebrew word for "REST."