The Primeval Mythology of Genesis - Babel and Beyond

John 17:20-23

Jesus prayed, “I ask not only on behalf of these but also on behalf of those who believe in me through their word, that they may all be one. As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me.

The glory that you have given me I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may become completely one,

so that the world may know that you have sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.”

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Artificial Intelligence is not your friend—it’s the Tower of Babel. That was the title of the first article I saw this week while preparing for today. Another headline from a Jewish student paper read: AI: The Modern Tower of Babel. A theme was emerging. Faith publications and organizations are writing incessantly about AI and faith, the church, spirituality, and more.

Then Pastor Mark told me to listen to a segment from 1A this week about AI and faith. It was fascinating—and a little frightening.

I’ll be honest, I thought I had pretty good job security against AI and robots… until I listened to that segment.

I learned about Pastors.AI, a chatbot trained for a specific church using sermons and resources from real pastors. Meaning, you could upload all the videos and manuscripts from Pastor Mark’s sermons over the past 24 years, and the chatbot would generate answers to questions, write sermons, and craft Bible studies—just like he would! You could have your own Pastor Mark in your pocket.

Then there’s Gloo—AI evangelism. Gloo claims it helps churches grow by tracking digital interactions, managing prayer requests, responding to texts, and making new connections.

Entire denominations are diving into AI. If you're Catholic, you can't use just any faith-based AI, so you turn to Ask Father Justin. Apparently, a problem arose where some people preferred confessing to Father Justin instead of their priest. Imagine that… And it’s not just Catholics who do AI.

Episcopalians have Cathy—Church Answers That Help You. Right on the Diocese of Lexington’s homepage, you can talk with Cathy and learn anything you want from the Episcopalian perspective.But what good is the church or denominations if you can just chat with Jesus yourself, AI Jesus that is? If you try that one let me know.

So is AI a threat to the church? Or a tool to help it grow? Is it humans trying to become like God, or is it a resource that makes God more accessible? Is this software a reversal of Genesis 1 where we make God in our image, one chatbot at a time?Is it a new Tower of Babel—our attempt to code our way to God?

How might this ancient story help us with such questions? More importantly, what might it tell us about Jesus?

The Tower of Babel is mysterious. It's short, raises more questions than it answers, and isn't referenced anywhere else in the Bible. Like the other stories in Genesis 1–11, it’s an origin story; one that tries to explain how different nations and languages came to be. Linguists agree though, this is not how languages came about. It much more complicated. As is this story. To read it as only an explanation of languages or cultures misses what all it reveals about God.

It’s also the origin story of Babylon. Thousands of years ago, Babylon made a major technological advance: the brick. They could take bricks, butter’em with bitumen, stack them on top of each other and build.

So the people said, “Let’s build a city and a tower with its top in the heavens, and make a name for ourselves, or else we’ll be scattered across the earth.” That one sentence is full of so much irony. The tower didn’t reach heaven. In fact, God had to come down to earth just to see it. And when God finds it, God isn’t pleased. Why exactly? We’re not told. What we do know is that God confused their language and scattered all the people—the very thing they were trying to avoid.

That question—why did God do this?—has led to many interpretations, some with harmful consequences.

One interpretation says God scattered the people because mixing cultures, ethnicities, and languages is bad. That view has been used to justify segregation in this country and apartheid in South Africa.But I don’t read this story as the scattering being a consequence or punishment.

God said twice “to fill the earth and subdue”. Well you can’t do that if people are all in one place.

So scattering wasn’t punishment - it was the plan. As were the different languages and ethnicities. Diversity was God’s design from the start.

Another view is that God is suspicious of cities. So, urban life must be prideful or ungodly, while small-town life is holier and safer. But that doesn’t align with the broader biblical story.

God called Jonah to Nineveh, a powerful city, because God cared for its people and animals.

Jesus longed to gather Jerusalem under his wing. Revelation envisions a new heaven and earth—with a new Jerusalem at its center.

God is not suspicious of cities, but is as present there as anywhere else in the world.

And perhaps most pertinent today: some believe God scattered humanity because they were too advanced. Such a reading makes folks skeptical of scientific progress and technological advances like, well, Artificial Intelligence.

But I don’t think God was all that concerned about some bricks stacked a couple hundred feet in the air. Nor is God all that impressed with our towers of today: our advances, systems, or political structures.

And I am pretty sure God isn’t wringing hands over Artificial Intelligence like everyone else seems to be.

What I think God is concerned about is any human attempt to work our way up to God, any effort to work out our own salvation. And we try all the time. We think: “If I just do enough good,” “If I go to church enough,” “If I text with AI Jesus,” or “complete my Bible AI devotional”—then I’ll get to God.

All our technological advances will undoubtedly do a lot of good. But if we think software can save us, it’s no different than thinking a tower can take us to heaven. The tower never reaches.

We can’t code our way up to God.

But the good news of our faith is that we don’t have to go up to God because God came down to us in Jesus Christ. And through that person, that real, divine, tangible person, do we and all the world receive the grace and forgiveness we could never create for ourselves, no matter how advanced we get. Through that person, all the scattered people of the world might be one in him.

That’s what, or really who, holds this community together. We don’t all hold the same views, or come from the same backgrounds, or see the world in the same way. Sometimes it probably seems like we aren’t even speaking the same language. And yet, it is the grace and forgiveness and mercy of Jesus that binds us together as one.

This A.I stuff isn’t going away anytime soon. It certainly has it’s dangers. At the same time it is a technological tool and the church has always engaged with these tools. When the printing press was invited, the church made tracts and pamphlets. When radio came around, preachers broadcasted their sermons across the airwaves.

TVs gave rise to the televangelist. And today nearly everyone watches a service online before they ever step foot through our doors. So it should be no surprise that christians, churches, pastors, denominations, are using A.I. in all sorts of ways.

But like any tool, it can be misused and lead to harm, like thinking it can somehow take us up to God, as an ancient tower once tried. Or that it can bring Jesus down to us.

Yet it can’t do that either, because Jesus came down and is here already. Here at the table where we get our fill of his forgiveness in bread and wine. Here in the waters of baptism where we are washed by his grace. Here in your neighbor, who reflects the very image of God. By his coming down to us, Jesus made his love tangible through these physical signs of his grace that he freely gives to us.

And that’s something A.I. can never give. Amen.

The Primeval Mythology of Genesis - The Flood

Genesis 9:8-17

Then God said to Noah and to his sons with him, ‘As for me, I am establishing my covenant with you and your descendants after you, and with every living creature that is with you, the birds, the domestic animals, and every animal of the earth with you, as many as came out of the ark. I establish my covenant with you, that never again shall all flesh be cut off by the waters of a flood, and never again shall there be a flood to destroy the earth.’ God said, ‘This is the sign of the covenant that I make between me and you and every living creature that is with you, for all future generations: I have set my bow in the clouds, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and the earth. When I bring clouds over the earth and the bow is seen in the clouds, I will remember my covenant that is between me and you and every living creature of all flesh; and the waters shall never again become a flood to destroy all flesh. When the bow is in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is on the earth.’ God said to Noah, ‘This is the sign of the covenant that I have established between me and all flesh that is on the earth.’

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I was worried I’d mess up and say, “The Gospel of the Lord,” when I got done reading that bit from Genesis. I was worried, because that’s just what I’m used to saying after reading whatever text it is I’ll be preaching on – which is more often than not, something from one of the actual Gospels in scripture. And, even though this bit from Genesis, in the Hebrew scriptures, can’t technically be called “the Gospel,” it – as much as anything else in the Hebrew scriptures – reads, sounds, and feels like Gospel good news to me.

I mean, it has all the things, right? There’s the declaration of a covenant, for all of creation. There’s the promise of mercy, love, hope, and redemption. And there’s a visible, almost tangible, sign of all of that – not a cross, or an empty tomb, but that bow in the clouds. It seems so very much like the Gospel, if you ask me.

It also seems/feels/sounds like “the Gospel” because it’s so BIG, so cosmic in scope, which is the way the “primeval mythology” we’ve been talking about is supposed to work. It addresses the big things … the big picture … in a big way. And you know it’s big when the idea of something like a great flood shows up in several other world religions, just like it does in our own.

- The most familiar flood narrative – and the one very close to ours in terms of culture and content – is from the Epic of Gilgamesh, where a hero is warned by a god to build a boat in order to survive the coming rains.

- Hindus have a flood story, too, where the fishy incarnation of Vishnu warns the first human about a coming flood and instructs him to build a boat.

- The Greeks have Zeus send a flood where Deucalion and Pyrrha build a boat, survive, and repopulate the earth by throwing stones behind them.

- And there are other flood narratives, too, from the Incas, the Aztecs, the Chinese, Aboriginals, and more.

Smarter people than me use the seemingly universal nature of and affinity for such stories as evidence that there really was some sort of global deluge and flood that people of all stripes were trying to make sense of and ascribe meaning to. Other smarter people than me wonder if these stories are evidence of peoples and cultures simply trying to make sense of more localized natural disasters, torrential rains, and terrible floods when they hit – maybe like the tragedy we all watched play out in Texas a couple weeks ago; or the ones that have also threatened and taken lives in New York, Virginia, Washington, and South Korea, lately, too.

Whatever the case – cosmic or close to home – it’s helpful for me to remind myself that our flood story isn’t necessarily about the water, the rain, or the flood. That it’s not so much about the length of days, the size of the boat, or the number of which kinds of beasts were on board with Noah and his family. (The guys at the Cross of Grace Brew Club yesterday wanted to be sure I explained how dinosaurs fit onto the ark, why God bothered to save the mosquitos, and something about pigs and bacon, too.) Someone at the “Ark Encounter”– that Noah’s Ark museum in northern Kentucky? – will pretend to give you an answer to those questions, but I’m suspicious of their certainty and I’m certainly not willing to pay them for it.

Which is to say – again and again and again – the capital-T-TRUTH in these origin stories of our faith isn’t found by way of a literal reading of scripture. That is simply not their intention. And again, today’s story is not about the details of the flood, the length of days, the size of the boat, or the number of birds, beasts, or brothers on Noah’s boat. The Truth we’re meant to find in all of that is about the nature of the God we’re invited to wonder about – and to encounter – thanks to the telling of this ancient tale.

This is a God who calls righteous people to do hard things; impossible things; unreasonably faithful, fearless things for the greater good.

This is a God who calls people to respect, care for, and tend to the natural, created world and to humbly revere nature’s capacity for beauty and brutality.

This is a God who never promises that life will be easy – or without its suffering and struggle and sacrifice. This is true for the sinful and for the righteous. (Just because Noah was chosen and survived, he lost plenty along the way, for sure.)

And this is a God who promises that the world’s destruction – if or when or should it ever happen again – won’t be God’s doing; which is our call to faith, hope, and love, in action, if you ask me.

To me, that means, if there’s to be another flood … or a fire … or a famine – on a cosmic scale or somewhere close to home – where so many lives are lost, it won’t be God’s fault. So maybe that’s a very practical, timely warning to pay attention to global warming. Maybe that’s our invitation to wonder about who’s at risk or in harm’s way – from floods or fires or famines or whatever. And maybe that’s our call to look out for and protect our neighbor – and the world around us – rather than to build a boat with only enough room to save ourselves. But I digress…

There’s a recent trend on social media where parents of my generation ask their children or grandchildren to complete what have been identified as “toxic parenting phrases” that many of us heard often when we were growing up. “Toxic parenting phrases” that, in theory, parents have learned not to use as frequently – if at all – anymore, like they used to.

Phrases like “Do as I say, not as I do.”

Or, “Children should be seen and not heard.”

Or, “If you don’t stop crying I’ll give you something to cry about.”

The point of the exercise is to show how raising kids WITHOUT such negative, “toxic” phrases has changed and is, presumably better, more kind, loving, encouraging, emotionally intelligent, and psychologically healthy.

And this seems obvious – and evident – once you hear children from more recent generations who’ve never heard those “toxic phrases” try to guess at filling in the blanks like many of you all just did so capably.

For example, instead of “Children should be seen and not heard,” one young toddler said, “Children should be seen … at school.”

Instead of “If you don’t stop crying, I’ll give you something to cry about,” other kids said, “If you don’t stop crying, I’ll give you … a hug … or I’ll give you something to eat.” Again, a much more emotionally healthy, loving, hopeful way to live as a young child in the world, don’t you think?

And my favorite one of these – and perhaps the most toxic of them all – is that oldie but goody, “I brought you into this world and I can take you out of it.”

How terrible is that if a kid hears if often enough and starts to believe it?!? And we can pretend it’s a joke … that it’s funny, perhaps … that we or our parents never really meant to follow through on that threat. But that just isn’t the case with the popular theology of the God so many have been raised to learn about and to believe in from Genesis.

See, too much of the time, that’s all and only what we’ve done with the story of Noah, the Ark, and the Flood.

Because as an origin story of our faith … as part of this “primeval mythology” we’ve been talking about … the other thing this story has in common with other world religions is that their flood stories are often very deliberately connected with the creation stories, too. Just like ours, they first tell of a God who has the power of creation and the power of judgment, punishment, and destruction, too.

In other words, the story they tell is nothing more and nothing less than: “God brought us into this world and God can take us out of it.”

So what makes Noah’s story – our story – so different for us, is that God promises that that won’t happen ever again. There’s a reminder and a rainbow, remember … there is a covenant and a promise … there is Gospel good news here for all people; for every living creature; for all flesh.

And this good news should call us to live differently because of it.

Because, on the other side of the flood – on the other side of the cross and the empty tomb of Jesus, too – the waters of the flood become waters of baptism; they become waters of forgiveness, redemption, love, hope, and new life.

So, as we share the blessing of that water with Scout Ehle today (and every time we have the chance to share, celebrate, and remember the sacrament) – as we celebrate with his dads and his family – as we promise to pray for, support, and live together with him in this covenant that belongs to us all – I hope that it’s a God of grace and good news we’re living for, responding to, and sharing – with Scout, with each other, and with the whole wide world – every chance we get.

Amen