Noah’s Ark: Becoming Helpless

Audio Version

So, I suppose, I can’t beat life to the punch all the time. As far away I am from the person I could be, I’m bound to encounter a flood where my only option is to start building an ark once the cold and frigid waters have crept up well past my ankles. Of course, I could just drown, but that doesn’t seem to be a good idea. I have delegated a large portion of the last several years attempting to figure three things out: What I will be facing, what kind of person I have to become to withstand the worst of what I’ll be facing, and how exactly I become such a person.

There are no instructions on the back of a box detailing how to perfectly create order out of tragedy. If there was, the likelihood that it would be applicable in any single situation in my life would be minuscule. Tragedy has many faces, all of which none of us are familiar with. I have only been able to ever articulate how to face tragedy in a very vague and ambiguous manner. At such a point, I would assume the problem is solved by wisdom, not knowledge. The only source of wisdom I’ve been satisfied with has come from stories, especially those of which are timeless.

I have always found the biblical stories to be fascinatingly wise. When it comes to stories—especially those that have been told for countless generations—there is much more being said than what lay on the page. When it comes to biblical stories, namely the ones in Genesis, very little lay on the page. I suppose, if we were to be able to read between the lines, it would reveal the tragic but vibrant wisdom of the countless generations who found the stories meaningful enough to share. Meaningful enough that despite the treacherous world giving them every reason not to just sit around and tell stories, they still told them. With that in mind, it would be foolish to take these stories at face value. One of the most impactful for me is that of Noah’s Ark. We all know the story. A flood covered the entire Earth, but Noah built an ark capable of weathering that storm and took alongside those he loved, giving another breath of life to those who were otherwise doomed. For me, the easiest way to unlock the potential of these stories is to read them as if they are about me. Let me explain what I think a flood would mean to me, and who I may become to best face it.

One thing I learned relatively early on is to never underestimate life’s ability to bring me to my knees, no matter how tall I stand. It doesn’t matter how dry the Earth beneath your feet, how bright the sun shines above your head, a storm like no other will eventually come, and if you’re not ready, you are done for. God forbid you have people who depend on you, because they will suffer the same fate. The scary thing about the volatility of life is that, for the most part, it works rather beautifully—until it suddenly and unpredictably doesn’t. It’s far too easy to get caught up in the beauty of life. However, if you don’t pay attention while wondering the pastures, don’t be so surprised when you fall off a cliff. Life can be quite beautiful, but every beautiful painting rests on a wall that separates it from pure hell, and that wall can crumble at any moment. In Noah’s case, a flood would soon come, and it would be the worst possible flood imaginable, one that will take everything out with it. Well Noah, you got some work to do, buddy.

I have quite the responsibility then as well, to remain vigilant of what lay forth, and to become prepared, because the last thing I could ever allow myself to do is watch the people I care for drown in a flood that I could have weathered if I just got my act together a little sooner. And of course, sooner is what I’m trying to achieve. I met often with a psychotherapist at my mother’s work to talk about what constitutes effective psychotherapy. She would often “therapize” me (most good conversations follow the same guidelines, anyway), and one thing she suggested I be weary of is how hard I’m pushing myself. I knew full well what she meant. I have seen time and time again a recurring theme in wisdom literature: Step too far into chaos, and you will drown. However, it is important to note that in all tragedy, the slightest of flaws in us maximize the chances of that tragedy to become pure, unbridled hell. I find great meaning in becoming—like Noah—he who can weather any storm, so no matter how far into the depths a chaos I get swept, I have found that I can endure. That may explain why human beings have been effectively guided through life far more arduous than we face today using nothing but vague and ambiguous stories. Maybe that’s all we need. The fact that we’re still around today makes that idea something to, at the very least, be taken seriously. However, sometimes these stories leave something out, and maybe for good reason. I often fall into lapses where my mind is trying to teach me a valuable lesson, but I can’t quite articulate what it is until I’ve fallen time and time again into that abyss to the point where an inability to articulate it would just mean I’m stupid. So, let’s have a crack at it.

Several months ago, life sent a flood my way. Not one that slowly crept. Not one that came rushing my way, either. I was instantly placed in the depths of a flood that didn’t just cover the Earth, but the entirety of existence. I’ve been taught from these stories that as long as I get my act together and set off on the tragic but meaningful heroic journey of voluntary suffering, I can become the person who, with an extension of his hand, can pull those face first in the smoldering sands of hell onto their feet, dust their shoulders off, and equip them with what they need to continue on with their lives. Well, that’s not entirely the case. Like Noah’s story and others similar, they leave out one bit of wisdom. No matter how strong of a boat you build, sometimes you just have to sit on board and watch the person you love the most drown, and all you can do is smile as if it isn’t something tearing you apart. Otherwise, the last thing they will see is pain and suffering on the faces of the people they care for the most in the world. Regardless, better a parting gift be that than the last glimpse of life they see is the unsheathed fangs of their loved ones pressed against each other’s necks. That happens far more often than you’d expect. I’d go so far to say it’s the natural condition. After all, tragedy can, and does, bring out the worst in us. Conversely, it may also bring out the best in us. So, then who exactly is the best of us in such a dreadful situation?

When things are terrible, we can always make the choice to make things better. Something noted by Viktor Frankl during his time in nazi concentration camps—which is a pretty damn good example of tragedy if you ask me—is that we are still capable of making a choice. “When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.” With this in mind, maybe it isn’t that different from Noah’s story at all. Despite the fact we will inevitably be subject to watching those we care for the most be swallowed by the wretched floods of life, we can still be the type of person that makes things better? Then, no matter what it takes, I’ll do just that. For those doomed to drown, may they do so peacefully, knowing the people they left behind are in good hands. I may not be able to do it alone, but thankfully, our friends and family contribute to that endeavor, and so will I.

For each individual who doesn’t take upon this burden, another must fill their shoes. I am fortunate in that my friends and family are full of heroic individuals who are no stranger to the volatility of life and the omnipresent grip of death. But not all families are the case. Regardless of our circumstances, I pray we all continue to strive to become admirable. I pray our families take part in a continual dance of reciprocity, so that no one is left behind who otherwise could have been saved. It is a difficult road, but the alternative is much worse. As a consequence, we emerge far more formidable and capable to contend with the tragedy that characterizes life, and we can bring on board the ones life allows us to bring. And for those who must stay behind, may we roar in applause as the curtain closes, and may we wave with warm assuring smiles on our face as our ship sails in search of new land. Become the person who can build a strong enough boat to survive a flood that covers the entire Earth. Only then, no matter the tragedy and what had to be left behind, you will eventually find new land, and the flood will be no more.