Somewhere Under the Rainbow Gen. 9:8-17, Mark 1:9-15

Any eighth grader in earth science class can tell you what makes a rainbow.
A rainbow is created when white light is refracted or bent
by water droplets in the atmosphere into its full spectrum of colors.
Contrary to Lucky Charms legend there is no pot of gold at the end of a rainbow
because there is no end.
It’s an atmospheric phenomenon.
It only looks like it ends because the earth’s horizon
interrupts our line of vision.

So, if a rainbow is nothing but refraction,
a mere mechanical breaking down of white light into it’s component parts,
why is it that when you and I see a rainbow our hearts skip a beat?
Why is it that we rush to the window and press our noses against the pane
or reach for our cameras and report it to our friends –
"I saw a rainbow this morning! Did you see it?
Wasn’t it beautiful? It was a perfect arc."

William Wordsworth wrote a poem to this effect.
My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!… 1

Ancient Greeks thought a rainbow was a jet trail of sorts
left by a messenger to the gods.
Our Biblical understanding, though, is closer to Hindu mythology
which understands a rainbow to be the bow from which Indra,
the god of thunder, shoots lightning bolts.2
In our story, God makes a covenant with Noah
that God is going to hang up this bow in a prominent spot,
sort of like if we were to hang it over our fireplace,
to serve as a sign of peace,
to serve as a reminder never to destroy the earth by flood again.

The story of God’s relationship to God’s people,
of God’s relationship to us,
is a story, first and foremost, of covenant.
It’s a story of promise, a story of grace,
a story that hinges on the incredible insight that God is ultimately FOR us.

I’m not enough of a student of mythology and world religions
to know if the Hebrew concept of God is unique in this,
but I do know that in Greek and Roman and Canaanite mythology at least
the gods are portrayed as being a pretty fickle lot.
Greek, Roman, and Canaanite gods enjoyed toying with human beings.
They were always in a petulant snit or plotting devious revenge.
Those who worshiped them never knew where they stood.
All they could do keep their heads down and their fingers crossed
and hope that their gods wouldn’t suddenly fly off the handle
and engage in a wholesale smite-fest.

Now, granted, there are isolated stories in the Bible, both Old and New Testaments
where God is said to strike someone down for a grievous breech of the law.
But as an overall theme, as an enduring thread going all the way back to Adam & Eve,
God is portrayed as the one who goes the extra mile to keep the relationship intact.
Biblical scholars call the first eleven chapters of Genesis "pre-history."
These are the great stories preceding the call of Abraham
where the story teller is trying to work out in story form his understanding
of the Hebrew God’s relationship to human beings.

In the Hebrew three-layered understanding of the universe,
God brought order out of chaos at the moment of creation
by gaining control of the waters that covered the face of the earth,
by shutting the waters up in the dome of heaven.
But God’s experiment in human-making is portrayed by the storyteller
as a work in progress, a learning laboratory.

First, God realizes that human beings shouldn’t live indefinitely
so God puts a cap on human life span of 120 years.
Then God has a spasm of Creator’s remorse
as God realizes how downright nasty these limited, earthy human beings can be.
The storyteller writes:
"God saw that the wickedness of humankind was great in the earth,
and that every inclination of the thoughts of their hearts was only evil continually."
But notice that the flood was not an impulsive, impetuous act.
It was a premeditated choice.
And even in it’s destruction there was an act of grace, a sign of hope.

God found one man, Noah, and his family who were worth saving.
It hardly seems worth the trouble to save one man and his family.
Why not just call it a total failure? Why not just start over with a clean slate?
The storyteller wants us to know that as wicked as humankind was (or is)
God’s first creation was not a total bust,
that even with all the muck, there is in humankind the potential for good.
In the midst of all the rot, there is something salvageable.

That’s important for us to understand.
It’s important because when God makes the covenant with Noah,
when God promises never again to destroy the earth
by opening the windows of heaven and unleashing chaos,
we need to realize that God is making that covenant with a sinful human being.
God is making that promise to part of the same stock
from which all that wickedness grew.
God is making that promise, not to some new, improved breed
but to original old flesh and blood like you and me.

As we were reminded on Ash Wednesday, we are but ash and dust.
Or, we in Virginia might say we are but red clay.
We are nothing more than chips off of Adam and Eve’s original block.
When God makes a covenant with Noah and seals it with the rainbow
God is not promising to preserve us as long as we don’t get too wicked again.
Instead, God is making the remarkable admission that God loves so much
even our wickedness will no longer be used against us.

Now, I admit, sometimes it SEEMS like we’re being punished.
We heard Friday night a report from the team that went to New Orleans
to contribute to the cleanup effort following hurricanes Katrina and Rita.
We saw pictures of the awful destruction and we remember how at the time
people were describing the aftermath of the levy breech
as a flood of "Biblical proportions."

Closer to home we deal every day with setbacks and disappointments,
with terrible news and frustrated aspirations
that FEEL like the results of a divine smite-fest.
And we sometimes, like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz,
dream of a place "Over the Rainbow"
"where troubles melt like lemon drops away above the chimney tops."
We get discouraged living in Kansas.
We get tired of the same old pig sties and drab monochrome existence.
We feel abused by the Almira Gulches of the world
who, for no good reason, appear to be out to get us AND our little dogs, too!

And so we fantasize about a place where there are only beautiful GOOD witches
and cheerful little people
and dazzling colors and lollipop guilds.
"If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow why, oh why, can’t I?"
Sometimes we get the idea that being a follower of Jesus Christ
should be an "over the rainbow" kind of existence,
that applying to our lives the golden rule or even just "the rules"
should win for us some kind of inoculation against heartache and pain.
You and I want to go straight from baptism to proclamation,
proceed from glory into glory,
eat our pie and then fly into the sky by and by
without ever again having to deal with the grief of unexpected loss
or the shame of failure
or uncertainty over what the future holds.

But Mark reminds us that even Jesus didn’t go from baptism to proclamation
without first going through Hell.
He was tempted. He was tested. He met Satan, the Accuser, face to face.
There he is, dripping wet, hearing the voice of God,
and the next thing you know the Spirit DRIVES him out into the wilderness -
not leads, not coaxes, not guides, but DRIVES him out
where he must face the truth about himself and his humanity.
It’s only AFTER he’s gone through the wilderness
that he can proclaim that the kingdom of God is at hand.

But Dorothy found that out, too.
She thought going over the rainbow would solve all her problems.
But she, like Jesus, was baptized not into a life of ease in Oz but of testing.
In fact Dorothy serves as a Jesus figure of sorts.
Think about it. She is baptized by the tornado into a new world.
But contrary to her naive expectations, her new world doesn’t take away
life’s challenges, it only intensifies them.
She and her friends must face trial, be tested, and come face to face with evil itself
in the form of the Wicked Witch and her flying monkeys.
It’s only AFTER she’s faced her worst fears
that she is able to recognize and speak the truth saying,
"There’s no place like home."

Judy Garland, the woman who played the character Dorothy,
never quite grasped the truth that her character came to know.
Early in the course of working under contract with MGM
she became addicted to a deadly routine of amphetamines to wake her up
and barbiturates to help her sleep.
The drugs with alcohol became her way of blocking out the pain of reality.
In her addiction she became erratic, got the reputation of being hard to work with,
and went through five husbands.
She remained, however, enormously talented.

When the subject of "Over the Rainbow" came up she is quoted as saying,
"I wanted to believe and I tried my hardest to believe in the rainbow.
I tried to get over and I couldn’t. So what? Lots of people can’t."3
At the age of 47 Judy Garland died of an accidental overdose of barbiturates.
On the day she died there was a tornado in Kansas.

Judy Garland never quite grasped the truth that Dorothy came to know.
We don’t need to go over the rainbow.
God’s covenant is with us and with all creation from now unto eternity.
The kingdom of God has come near.
There’s no place like home.
Even with the pig sty.
Even with the frustration.
Even with the Almira Gulches of the world.
UNDER God’s rainbow, there’s no place like home.