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A faithful presence of love in the absences of our city.

Aftermath

Aftermath

In the past year, the United States has reeled under the impact of a series of natural disasters – three major hurricanes, wildfires out of control, and most recently deadly mudslides. In particular, the images of entire Houston neighborhoods underwater hit home for me with a sense of déjà vu. Back in 2011, heavy rainfall from a tropical storm caused extensive flooding throughout central Pennsylvania and New York. The town of Owego, about an hour south of where I was living at the time, lost about 75% of its structures when the local creek level rose by over 20 feet. I spent two weekends helping people gut their houses, sorting donations, and wading through 6 inches of mud to spray mold-killing chemicals on surviving wooden structures.

Experiencing the aftermath of a natural disaster evokes many conflicting emotions. Initially there may be a sense of shellshock or numbness, as the mind struggles to comprehend the scale of the destruction. There are feelings of gratitude and relief at having survived, and corresponding grief for people or homes that were lost. As friends, neighbors, and even strangers work together, there may be a sense of unity and hope.  And yet, looking around at piles of rubble as far as the eye can see, it’s hard not to feel hopeless and wonder if the community will ever recover. There’s nothing like a natural disaster to inspire people to ask deep questions about the meaning of life, justice, and the existence of evil and hardship.

As they stepped out of the ark for the first time in over a year, Noah’s family was faced with the ultimate devastation. They didn’t have friends and neighbors to help them recover, and there were no structures left to repair.  Entire cities and cultures – ALL the cities and cultures – were gone; they were quite literally starting over.  I can only imagine that Noah was looking to God to ask, “Now what?”

Is the destruction over? Have you given up on mankind? What do you want us to do with this “new” world? Are we just starting a new cycle that will end the same way in a few thousand years? After all the human and animal lives that were lost in the flood, do you still consider your creation “good”? Will you accept this offering, or is the relationship between God and man permanently ruined?

God’s response is one of love and comfort and restored purpose. Despite the unchanged evil in man’s heart, God commits himself to the remnant that he saved and promises not to bring another flood. Man’s mandate is still to bring flourishing on the earth.  In the face of near-universal death, God reaffirms the value he places on animal and human life: While eating meat is permitted, each animal’s lifeblood, the symbol of its essence, is reserved for God as a reminder that all life flows from and belongs to him. By “requiring a reckoning” for each human life that is taken, God asserts his ownership and the value he places on those made in his image.

How is all this possible, if man’s heart is still evil? What has changed from before the flood? For Noah, and for the Jewish people wandering in the wilderness, the answer was sacrifice: the blood of animals was offered as a substitution for the lives of guilty sinners. We also are the recipients of God’s love and comfort and mercy through sacrifice: The blood of the perfect sacrifice, Jesus, was accepted by God in place of the death we deserve. This is how we survive and flourish each day in a world destroyed by sin.

~ Joanna Hinks

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