Noah's Sufferings

     

     The wine that flowed into his cup was red as blood. His hand trembled slightly on the clay goblet. Why must it be this color?

     He sat in the door of his tent, and looked out over the world with a weight in his chest the size of a boulder. The earth was still recovering. Like a woman after giving birth, it still shuddered with after pains. The trees had been knocked down in the force of the crashing waves. The soil had been thrown into heaps like sand beneath the waves of the sea. For in truth, the water had risen like a sea, and covered even the mountaintops, so even those who scrambled to the heights to seek refuge had been lost.

     Noah took a long draft of the wine. This was his first batch from the vineyard he had planted. It had been over a year since he had left the ark. More than a year since he had thrown open the door to the ark and he and his family had emerged to a world they did not know. They had loosed the animals, and the wild ones had fled to search for burrows and fields and trees. They had kept livestock for themselves. Every other animal had been lost, swept away by the cataclysmic disaster that had struck the earth.

     He remembered the shuddering of the great ark when the water rose high enough to lift it from its berth. His family had huddled together, praying, weeping, clutching one another. The rain had hammered on the roof for a month. They had longed for the constant drone to stop, but when it had ceased at last, the silence had been eerie. They had looked at one another, and without speaking, they all knew. Everyone they had known, everyone who had not entered the ark, was now dead. Noah's wife, his sons, and their wives were all that remained.

     Noah took another mouthful of wine, letting it slip down his throat to heat his belly. Another mouthful, and heat spread to his fingertips.

     He had been afraid of what he would see when he emerged. Would heaps of bodies be scattered throughout the land? Would he see the rotting faces of the townspeople he had known? His nieces and nephews? His neighbors? He groaned, and it rose from the very marrow of his bones.

     Oh! That they would have turned from their selfish ways and embraced the truth!

     Oh! That they would have listened to his warnings, instead of laughing in his face!

     They had turned away from the stories of their forefathers. Of Adam, who had spoken with God. Of Enoch, who had walked with God. Instead, they had begun to worship the moon, the stars, the animals, and themselves most of all. They praised evil, and turned from good. The heroes were those that killed the most men, the talented thieves, the rapists who stole the prettiest girls from their homes, the vile and the corrupt. They were considered strong and blessed. How convoluted mankind had become!

     Word of “Crazy Noah” and his ark had reached far and wide. Everyone knew, and everyone mocked the God they refused to believe in. They had paid the cost.

     Tears began to stream down Noah's cheeks, and he tipped his chin and threw back his cup. He poured another. Bitterness rose in his heart. The fools! Their hardheartedness had condemned the innocent. It had been too long since he had heard the laughter of children. He pictured them screaming as the water snatched them from their mother's arms, their wails turning to bubbles as the waves crashed over their heads. Noah began to shake from head to toe, and he chugged his wine without pause. He poured a third cup.

     His hometown was gone. The wares his family had brought with them had been crafted by people now gone. His farming tools, the tent they lived under, the very clothes on his back had been purchased from skilled hands that were now only bones, buried in the muck. He looked down at himself. He remembered buying this very tunic, fingering the fine weave between his fingers. So soft, he had thought. Now it chaffed. The weaving woman had children with her in her booth, a whole brood of dark eyed children laughing and teasing. Now lost.

     Noah groaned as the wine had hit his head at last, and he shook his shaggy head slowly, feeling as if he wavered between sleeping and dreaming. He drank another cup, and felt sluggish, yet the pain would not recede as easily as the floodwaters had. There was no one left! He rose unsteadily to his feet. The garment on his back, the reminder of what was lost, felt as if was woven of briers and thorns. Reaching back, he grasped the neck of his garment and pulled it over his head.

     Naked, he collapsed to the floor of the tent. He sobbed and wept, and cried aloud, “Why God, why! Why am I spared when all the world is lost?”

     He lay on his back, and found solace in the blackness that overtook him.

     He awoke.

     He lifted his head, and rubbed a wrinkled hand to his brow with a groan. His tongue felt like leather, and his throat burned. He looked down on himself. He was naked, though his tunic had been spread over him like a blanket. Cold air struck his back as he sat up, and he shrugged the garment over his head.

     “Father, you're awake,” a voice spoke gently. Noah looked over. It was Shem. Shem looked concerned as he asked, “Are you all right?”

     Noah sighed and went to the large jug of water. He scooped up cupful and drank it before he answered, “I grieve, my son, for the innocent that were lost.”

     Shem nodded, understanding in his eyes.

     Noah took another cup of water and poured it over his pounding head, letting it trickle down his back under his tunic. He spoke lowly, “Did find me in my shame? Did you cover me?”

     Shem blushed. “Ham found you. Japheth and I covered you.” Noah felt his neck heat. Shem quickly added, “We walked backwards, you do not need to feel ashamed.”

     “But you said Ham found me?”

     Ham and Japheth entered the tent at that moment, and the women followed them in carrying the supper, babes strapped to their backs. Noah's wife looked at him with pity, and held out a bowl to him, which he shook his head at. Noah's stomach roiled at the thought of food, but worse still was the idea that Ham found him prostrate and drunk with sorrow, and had done nothing. He felt the blood rush to his face, and it only inflamed his pounding head. 

     Did Ham take pleasure in another man's suffering? Had he learned nothing? Nothing?!

     “Awake, I see?” Ham smirked at his dad, and turned to his wife with a chuckle.

     Noah turned to his youngest son, Ham, who was crooning over his new baby, a boy named Canaan.

     “Cursed be Canaan,” Noah cried out angrily, and Ham's neck snapped upwards to his father, his eyes widening. “Canaan shall be a servant to his brothers! Blessed be the Lord, the God of Shem, Canaan shall be his servant. May God enlarge Japheth, and let him dwell in the tents of Shem. Canaan shall be his servant.”

     “Father!” the three sons cried out in one voice, and then Ham's eyes darkened with anger. His wife pulled her young babe closer to her chest, tears wavering in her gaze.

     Noah, his hands shaking, pressed them to his eyes. He wanted more wine. But no. That would not help. He ducked under the tent flap and strode away from the staring eyes of his family, to the edge of his farm. He looked over the hills and the lake nearby. Dusk was falling, and the frogs and insects were emerging, adding their song to the night air. He breathed deep to clear his head, and the air was sweet and damp. He lifted his chin, and saw birds fly over head.

     The earth was reviving. The rotting foliage torn down by the flood was fertilizing the new seeds, and trees had shot up several feet since the waters had descended. He heard the squall of a babe from the tent. It was not a child's joyful laughter, yet it was a sound of life and renewal. He turned and looked at the pens they had made for the sheep, the goats, and the cattle. The flocks and herds were growing.

     He closed his eyes, and spread his hands open wide, beseeching the Lord to comfort him. He had heard God speak to him before. When He had told him to build the ark, and when they had emerged after the flood.

     Noah had sacrificed on the altar, and God had spoken to him.

     “Be fruitful and multiply! Fill the Earth!

      While the earth remains,

      Seed time and Harvest,

     Cold and Heat,

     Summer and winter,

     and day and night,

     Shall not cease.”

     And then God had spread a beautiful rainbow over the sky. The whole family had stared at it, their mouths open in wonder, their hearts singing with hope of a better world. A world where the people did what was right. A world where a man loved his neighbor and treated him with kindness.

     As his head cleared in the cool air, and he saw the world teeming with life again, hope rose in his heart again. Mankind would do better this time. They would remember the Lord.

Read this story for yourself in Genesis 6-9

My Thoughts:

     Okay. I'm still hesitant about posting this story. I feel this dark story needs some explanation.

     Ideas for short stories come to me throughout the week. I've often dwelt on a story for a few days before I sit down to write it. This story jumped into my mind weeks ago, pretty much fully formed, but I kept putting it off. "It's too dark," I protested. "This is a really difficult and controversial passage!" and "Where is the hope and inspiration? People won't like Noah suffering with something like PTSD or Survivor's Guilt." 

     Yet, the story, difficult as it was, kept coming back to me again and again.
     

     Noah's ark is considered a children's story by many. We latch onto the survival and the rainbow, and say it was a nice story. The ark was a sort of floating zoo, isn't that cute?
     No! The ark was a lifeboat in the greatest disaster the world had ever known! Perhaps will ever know.
     We never tell the kids about the part where Noah gets drunk, naked, and curses a family member. How can we explain a story to children that we don't fully understand ourselves?

     As a child, I knew that everyone except Noah's family died, but I sort of shrugged my shoulders at the trauma they may have felt. I assumed that because his family survived, Noah would not have minded much that a whole bunch of evil people had died. Yet, Noah had family that did not enter the ark. His father was Lamech, and it says that Lamech had other sons and daughters besides Noah. So Noah lost family. If they were evil, I doubt they were close while Noah crafted the ark, but life is more complicated than that. I'll bet he would have had memories of playing with his siblings as children. I'll bet he spoke to them, and tried to convince them of the truth.
     And what of the innocent children that suffered in the flood? Surely if Noah was righteous, he was also compassionate.

     So, did God cast a veil of protection over Noah and his family, so they could witness others suffer without feeling pain? It is possible, but not definitely not certain. (And, just to get you thinking, if it is likely that Noah suffered during the flood, what did the God of love have to endure as He suffered with these innocent children, each and every one?)

     I have added a fictional backstory to the controversial scriptures speaking of Noah's drunkenness, and the curse on one of his own. There are many different interpretations on this difficult story, and I'm not claiming that mine is the right one. (Did you notice the name Canaan? This is the history of the Canaanites, the ones Israel displaced in the promised land.) Most of us read this story, scratch our heads, and try to understand what is going on, and why this story is included in Genesis. It feels like the sort of story that should be hidden away, not written in scripture!

    To me, personally, this story shouts to me of a man suffering from trauma.

    So why has this story been calling out to me to be written? Why should I write about a traumatized Noah?

    I think it's because of the growing awareness around mental health, and the realization of our generation that faith in God does not mean you are shielded from depression, anxiety, or suffering traumatic memories that assault your mental well-being. 

     Suffering from mental health issues does not mean your faith is weak! Sometimes, mental illness can be borne directly out of you trying to do something good for others! You might be the first on a terrible car accident, rush in to help the wounded, and suffer from what you saw for the rest of your life. My husband is a volunteer Rescue Squad member. My friend's husband is a member of the RCMP. This is a real risk for them. Doing what is right does not shield you from suffering.

       There is some encouragement at the end of the story. Noah lived long after the flood. He would have seen his grandchildren grow. He would have seen his farm grow. I believe that while he would always remember the flood with pain, he could look around at what the flood had wrought, and know that God had a plan. 

     

Your turn:

     If you suffer mentally I hope you know that faith is usually not an instant cure for mental illness. Struggling with mental health is not a judgement of your faithfulness. Seeking help from professionals is the right thing to do, even for Christians. 

     Faith can help though, to know that God has a plan, that He wants good for you, and that someday He will make everything right for those that believe in Him. Hang in there.