Last night my wife and I found a very old box that had been stored in our attic for 20 years. Guess what was in it?
Read 1 Chronicles 1-2
We had been cleaning out some storage space, getting rid of a few things and happened across this old box that we didn’t even realize that we had. It wasn’t one of ours, it looked like something that was very old when we moved to the area…making it fairly exciting to open. Inside we found old memorabilia and photos from all of my childhood, along with pictures of my mom from when she was in school, when she dated my dad, and even from as far back as 1943. It was truly a special find.
Can you imagine how exciting is was to try and make out the names of my ancestors, and then associate the names with faces from these old photos? I never knew my grandparents as young people (obviously), but here I saw them driving old cars, holding my parents when they were babies, smiling and having fun. They weren’t so much different from my parents, or from me. In fact, as I looked at the pictures I felt more of a connection to them. I felt more connected to West Virginia, and to New York City. I would have no connection to either of those places without these photos, and unless I was reminded that the people who live there are my relatives, I very well may have stereotyped them both and used them in telling jokes.
But now that I know we’re related, it’s little harder somehow. I can’t explain it, because I have no real connection to them at all…but still, I know that my family and their family came from the same place. There’s something to that.
Before today, the Philistines were my “go to” example of people who were rough, abusive and violent. They didn’t serve God, hated the Israelites and oppressed them for years. I could smile as I heard of Philistines being killed by the cart load under the leadership of Samson, or David. But today I realize that the Philistines were Noah’s great-great-great grandkids. I feel rather sad that all the people of the middle east trace their lineage back to three sons, and yet they hate each other. I doubt that the three sons would be happy to see what has happened to their offspring.
I am reminded today that we are all related. I should be able to “work it out” with people who have customs foreign to me. And the only time I should be warring against my relatives is when God says so…other than that I should leave them to live in peace, or assist them in whatever way I can. After all, we’re related.
This seems so distant and unfamiliar to us, because we live a short time, and have no interaction with any of these people. They are unknown to us, therefore their beliefs and practices are unimportant as well. But God lives forever, and He knows every generation personally. None of these people that are foreign to me are foreign to God. He knows them as well as He knows me. Surely there must have been some goodness in each of these generations. There must have been accomplishments and successes that brought a smile to God’s face. I read about the man who founded the town of Bethlehem. I hadn’t caught that before, I didn’t know we knew who founded Bethlehem.
Did God smile as they marked out the city limits? Did he nod with approval as they said “this would make a nice sheep pen” as they noticed a local cave? Or, was it God who spoke to Salma and said “this looks like a good place to settle down”.
Today I have opened a box of unfamiliar faces and pictures. Stories and scraps of paper with notes jotted on them about happier times and accomplishments that are long forgotten. I am reading about the hopes and dreams they had for the future, and realizing that all of them are now long dead, their dreams may have been realized or dashed…I have no idea. I may very well know their descendents, but I’m not aware of that either.
As I read down through this list of names and places it suddenly dawns on me that some of these folks are MY ancestors. All of them are my relatives. My family was on Noah’s ark.
Faithfully,
PR