10 Standing in the Middle of the Ocean: Time for a Public Theology
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form of climate denial ‘rooted in Christian teaching’. The recourse to such is seen
as evidence of a deficit of scientific knowledge. It can seem like a ‘fundamentalist
extravagance’ (Kempf 2017, p. 23). For her part Fair takes issue with ‘the reductive
approach common to academic accounts of religious responses to climate change
in Oceania’. Religion becomes a ‘barrier’; the church is slow to become ‘a climate
change actor’ and is more content with its internal maintenance and the provision
of worship and pastoral care (Fair 2018, pp. 4–6). In order to meet this criticism
Kempf insists upon there being many different types of ‘discursive constructions’
surrounding climate change and sea-level rise (p. 30). Fair effectively agrees: she
duly argues the case for storytelling and the possibility of what she described as a
‘double knowledge’ approach to beliefs where science and religion can work together
(p. 7).
The Problem with Noah
The particular biblical text most often cited has to do with the covenant God made
with Noah at Gen 9:11: “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”. The promise embedded
within this covenant presumes earlier movements in the Noah cycle (Gen: 6.9-9-17),
most notably the narrative of the flood itself. For Bible-conscious peoples there is
much to commend a literal reading of this covenant. The hermeneutical distance
in terms of time and place between its original setting and the islands of Kiribati
and Tuvalu can be ignored. There is no need to delve into its Yahwist and Priestly
sources, how those sources were woven together and whatever level of indebtedness
there might be to other ancient Mesopotamian epics (de la Torre 2011, p. 112; Habel
2011, pp. 90–102). Nor is there any need to become familiar with how the whole
Noah cycle has been interpreted in the light of ecojustice principles for the sake
of a biblical ecotheology (Habel 2011, pp. 90–114). There is no need to place this
covenant established through a bow in the sky into canonical discussion with others
to do with circumcision, the sabbath and the new covenant in Christ.
Read at face value the Noah covenant seems to establish grounds for hope and
some solace or comfort. This reading offers a more sympathetic theological response
than the default tendency to regard natural disasters as a type of righteous punishment
(Fair 2018, p. 5). That is necessary because without the covenant the flood stands as
‘the archetype of human catastrophe’. James Okoye reckons that it represents God’s
absolute “no” to a corrupt and violent world’ (Okoye 2018, p. 96). It presumes the
indictment that follows. It is not hard to see how the text can then easily become
either misused—or abused. The flood saga is ripe for preying upon vulnerabilities.
What unfolds in the Hebrew text is rather different. The Hiphil stem for the Hebrew
word ‘to establish’ (Gen: 9.17) resonates with Timon’s standing in the middle of the
ocean. It means ‘to make stand, to erect’. It is designed to convey a sense of the
covenant being fulfilled, carried out and kept (Hamilton 1990, p. 316). The literal
reader is able to embrace the first covenant to be made with ‘all flesh’—with the
193
form of climate denial ‘rooted in Christian teaching’. The recourse to such is seen
as evidence of a deficit of scientific knowledge. It can seem like a ‘fundamentalist
extravagance’ (Kempf 2017, p. 23). For her part Fair takes issue with ‘the reductive
approach common to academic accounts of religious responses to climate change
in Oceania’. Religion becomes a ‘barrier’; the church is slow to become ‘a climate
change actor’ and is more content with its internal maintenance and the provision
of worship and pastoral care (Fair 2018, pp. 4–6). In order to meet this criticism
Kempf insists upon there being many different types of ‘discursive constructions’
surrounding climate change and sea-level rise (p. 30). Fair effectively agrees: she
duly argues the case for storytelling and the possibility of what she described as a
‘double knowledge’ approach to beliefs where science and religion can work together
(p. 7).
The Problem with Noah
The particular biblical text most often cited has to do with the covenant God made
with Noah at Gen 9:11: “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”. The promise embedded
within this covenant presumes earlier movements in the Noah cycle (Gen: 6.9-9-17),
most notably the narrative of the flood itself. For Bible-conscious peoples there is
much to commend a literal reading of this covenant. The hermeneutical distance
in terms of time and place between its original setting and the islands of Kiribati
and Tuvalu can be ignored. There is no need to delve into its Yahwist and Priestly
sources, how those sources were woven together and whatever level of indebtedness
there might be to other ancient Mesopotamian epics (de la Torre 2011, p. 112; Habel
2011, pp. 90–102). Nor is there any need to become familiar with how the whole
Noah cycle has been interpreted in the light of ecojustice principles for the sake
of a biblical ecotheology (Habel 2011, pp. 90–114). There is no need to place this
covenant established through a bow in the sky into canonical discussion with others
to do with circumcision, the sabbath and the new covenant in Christ.
Read at face value the Noah covenant seems to establish grounds for hope and
some solace or comfort. This reading offers a more sympathetic theological response
than the default tendency to regard natural disasters as a type of righteous punishment
(Fair 2018, p. 5). That is necessary because without the covenant the flood stands as
‘the archetype of human catastrophe’. James Okoye reckons that it represents God’s
absolute “no” to a corrupt and violent world’ (Okoye 2018, p. 96). It presumes the
indictment that follows. It is not hard to see how the text can then easily become
either misused—or abused. The flood saga is ripe for preying upon vulnerabilities.
What unfolds in the Hebrew text is rather different. The Hiphil stem for the Hebrew
word ‘to establish’ (Gen: 9.17) resonates with Timon’s standing in the middle of the
ocean. It means ‘to make stand, to erect’. It is designed to convey a sense of the
covenant being fulfilled, carried out and kept (Hamilton 1990, p. 316). The literal
reader is able to embrace the first covenant to be made with ‘all flesh’—with the