Bones of Rebellion (Generations of Noah #2)

by Rachel S. Neal

The forests grew, fields were cultivated, civilization rose in layers of earthen brick. The sharp evidence of judgment was dull, the deluge no longer cutting through man’s conscience.

Noah named the great rivers after the ones that coursed around the sacred garden of First Man. The paradise of Eden was gone now, lying somewhere beneath the silt and rubble the flood waters left behind,

As the clouds grew black, she wrapped them up in her arms and told them once again about the flood that came because men rejected the One God, and also of the promise that it wouldn’t happen again. They learned to watch for the rainbow and find comfort in its presence.

The bones of rebellion were evident. In her family, in the families of Shem and of Japheth. Despite their teachings of the beginnings and the ways of the Creator, ears were closing, eyes shutting out the truth.

God’s sovereign power was of no question. It was later, as the ark shifted on the saturated hillside, then lifted off the land, carried on water that came from the heaven and the earth in an explosion that she felt the sting of doubt. Not in God’s power, but in his mercy. As the very earth disappeared and she realized everyone had perished beneath the churning flow, she cried out in her heart for his answers. Her entire family drowned.

God knew the hearts of men and men knew the ways of God, but chose to act in defiance. God had not been unjust. Man had been rebellious.

He told her how he found his father in a tent near the vineyard, completely unrobed and lying on a mat. At first Ham was frightened and he ran to Noah. Then he noticed the empty wineskins and smelled the fermented drink on his father’s lips. He was drunk. Noah, the man of God, the man of rules, had broken one of his own standards. He allowed himself a pleasure to an exorbitant extent. He put aside the regulation and followed his own desire. Ham was delighted. If his father could bend the standards, why couldn’t he? Why not all of them? Who was Noah now to chastise any one of them for behaviors deemed inappropriate? He no longer held the standard. Ham brought his brothers as witnesses, expecting them to rejoice in a new found freedom, rejoice in the broken chains of guilt and admonition. They did not. They were angry with Ham. They covered their father and left Ham without an ally.

They didn’t build a protective wall around the perimeter. There was no one left alive to protect themselves from.

The tower would be connecting ground for all. Under its shadow the people would unite as one people. Disagreements would melt in the heat of celebration. Conformity would dominate the platforms on their rise higher and higher toward the place of God’s dwelling. Joy would permeate the skies, chasing the smoky trail of the sacrificial animal, burning for God’s pleasure. It was good, this tower of Nimrod’s.

His family was prepared to house many beasts, but the sheer number that arrived was astounding. They came first in the night, led by an invisible hand. Then more came, and more. The birds, the beasts, even the bugs listened as their Creator called and because of it, were saved. Mankind turned a deaf ear.

Don’t misjudge my duty to God before my duty to you.”

“The iniquities of the wicked heap woe on the innocent,”

the sins of his children were not hers to carry. The sins of his children were their own.

Nimrod could have been a great leader. He should have been a great leader.

But choices could be made, choices to do right in the eyes of God. Nimrod chose himself instead.

Eber’s son was born the day the tower fell, giving Shem a great-great-grandchild. Peleg, he was called, Division, for on the day of his birth the generations of Noah became many peoples. Even in God’s wrath, he sent them hope, secured in a bundle of swaddling cloths.