From the Cutting Room Floor: Build Something That Floats

Sometimes when you’re writing a sermon, there’s a line you really love. A phrase or a question that you want so badly to include. And sometimes… it just doesn’t fit.

Here’s mine for this Sunday’s sermon on the flood:

“How many cubic cubits was the ark?”

I tried and I tried, but it just wouldn’t land. The reality is, it’s not about the boat. It’s not even about Noah. You might even say it’s not about the flood.
[smash cut to a tumbleweed rolling through the sanctuary during my sermon]

And yet—I do think there’s something for us in Noah’s story.

What does it mean to build something that floats when the world feels unsteady?

Noah is remarkably passive throughout this whole account. God gives instructions; Noah obeys. He doesn’t speak until after the flood, after the ark, after the altar, after the covenant… and the first thing out of his mouth is:

“Cursed be my youngest son!”

Oof.

Here’s a fun fact: there’s an ancient debate among the rabbis about what the Bible means when it says, “Noah was a righteous man, blameless in his generation.” Some say it means Noah stood as a pillar of righteousness in a corrupt time. Others say the phrase “in his generation” is doing a lot of work—as in, “Sure, he was righteous… for his generation.” In other words: grading on a curve.

Even so, Noah responds to God’s call. He builds the ark.

He had to look like a madman.

But what else could he do? He couldn’t stop the injustice. He couldn’t stop the flood.

All he could do was faithfully build something that might carry life through the storm.

There’s a lot of chaos in our world today. And a lot of things we can’t change. We’re pulled in a dozen directions, and honestly—it can feel a little ridiculous to try and faithfully respond to God’s call.

But still, we build.

We build family rhythms that float. Spiritual practices that float. Boundaries that float. A church community that floats.

So here’s the question:

What are you building that might carry you—and others—through the storm?

See you Sunday.

Grace & Peace,

Kim Herbert