The Thin Edge

Remember the "Tower of Babel" story in Genesis 11:1–9 where the descendants of Noah and his sons began using their construction technology to make a name for themselves? I have a friend who believes that the technological advances of their day might surprise even a twenty-first century time traveler; and his imagination goes a little wild—especially when he's off his medication—saying that they might have invented things that makes our best stuff look like it came with a Happy Meal at McDonald's. He's dead serious. Things like personal space craft (George Jetson-style), teleportation devices ("Beam me up, Scotty!"), and prepackaged intelligence downloads (Neo's martial arts training in Matrix). I'm not sure I agree with him, but I do sometimes wonder about the cool stuff that Steve Jobs and the Apple gang could invent if they lived 969 years like Methuselah!

What's so wrong with community & spirituality? 

The "Tower of Babel" text is very brief. Genesis 11:4 seems to capture the essence of their passion:

Come, let us build ourselves a city and a tower with its top in the heavens, and let us make a name for ourselves, lest we be dispersed over the face of the whole earth. [ESV]

Various theories have dated this event from 100 years to 530 years after the flood, when the total population of the earth was only in the tens of thousands. People were searching for community and significance. The city offered a safe place to gather together for mutual companionship and a "one stop shop" for their amalgamated achievements. The "High Streets" of Britain or the shopping malls of America would be a modern version of this innate human craving. Many commentators believe these post-flood citizens were also keenly interested in spiritual pursuits, which would explain the importance of the tower. It was an establishment of religion: the ultimate human expedition to locate and commune with the Almighty on their own terms. Ray Stedman writes in Controlling God:

The fact that this was a religious tower—and yet built to make a name for man—reveals the master motive behind religion. It is a means by which man attempts to share the glory of God. We must understand this, otherwise we will never understand the power of religion as it has pervaded the earth and permeated our culture ever since. It is a way by which man seeks to share what is rightfully God's alone. This tower was a grandiose structure, and undoubtedly it was intended to be a means by which man would glorify God. Unquestionably there was a plaque somewhere attached to it that carried the pious words, "Erected in the year xxxx, to the greater glory of God." But it was not really for the glory of God; it was a way of controlling God, a way of channeling God by using him for man's glory. That is what man's religion has always sought to do. It is a way of making God available to us.

Man does not really want to eliminate God. It is only sporadically, and then only for a relatively brief time, that men cry out for the elimination of God. Atheism is too barren, too pessimistic, and too morally bankrupt to live with very long. The Communists are finding this out. No, we need "dear old God," but let's keep him under control. Do not let him get out of his place. "Don't call us, God; we'll call you." This is the fundamental philosophy of society. It is the tower of Babel all over again.

Cultural equivalence?

Hmmm. This sounds strangely familiar, doesn't it? Does anyone see a connection between the Tower of Babel and the post-Constantinian proliferation of buildings dedicated to the worship of God? The ancient cathedrals of Europe and the sprawling mega-church campuses in the United States share one thing in common: a cornerstone or plaque dedicating the facility to God and listing the name of the religious philanthropists and/or church leaders whose memories will forever be inscribed for all to see. Even the modest wood-frame churches of rural Mississippi follow this nearly-universal ritual of sharing the glory of institutional religion between God and man. Some go to extremes…putting little bronze plaques on every significant capital investment, such as organs, pianos, pews, stained glass windows, baptismal fonts, pulpits, communion tables, and the list goes on. If only I had invented the technology behind those little sticky plaques. They're everywhere!

What's irritating Yahweh?

Okay. Back to Genesis 11. Next thing you know, God visits the city and the completed tower. I seem to remember being taught as a child that God interrupted their building program, so they couldn't fulfill their dream, but Genesis 11:5 says, "the LORD came down to see the city and the tower, which the children of man had built." Past tense. It was a finished project and they felt that they had every right to be proud of their accomplishment, but it seems that God was not thrilled by the hoopla. The divine response is interesting:

Behold, they are one people, and they have all one language, and this is only the beginning of what they will do. And nothing that they propose to do will now be impossible for them. [ESV]

Does this catch God by surprise? Sure sounds like it. I'm an inerrantist and a Calvinist, so I'm scratching my head on this bit of narrative. My Reformed theology says, "Wait a minute! God is never surprised by anything, because He's sovereign and knows all this stuff in advance. So let's put this surprise theory to rest." So then I'm thinking, "It's an error in the text. Moses got it wrong when he wrote this down. God's Spirit said one thing, but the old guy had been wandering around in the desert too long!" The inerrantist side of me says, "No way! There are no significant textual errors in the original Hebrew and we have thousands of manuscripts that corroborate Genesis 11."

Does anyone else have conflicting thoughts about this story? How can God make mankind in His own image, give them a potential life span of nearly a thousand years, and then get caught short when they begin achieving things that make the headlines in heaven? In one sense, it demonstrates the creativity and ingenuity of the human race; but it blows my mind that such an event would spark divine intervention designed to confuse, frustrate, and scatter the human race throughout the earth. That is, until I think through Stedman's argument (above quotation) more carefully within the overall theme of "Controlling God."

No, this is not a primitive concept of God at all; it is an ironic expression. It is a humorous expression, if you please, designed to indicate to us, in a very clever way, the ridiculousness of this whole situation. Here is this tower that men erect, thinking that it will take God's breath away, it will threaten him. Men think, "Here we are, we wild Promethean creatures; we've dared to invade the heavens! You had better watch out, God!" But up in the real heavens this tower is so little that God can't see it. It is so tiny that even the strongest telescope in heaven does not reveal it. So God says, "I'll come down and investigate." It is language designed to set in contrast the ridiculousness of the suppositions of men, and the greatness of the Being of God. He "came down" to investigate this tiny tower that men had erected.

Did He? Could He? Is He?

If God can "come down" to visit an ancient city in the land of Shinar, why is it so difficult to imagine Him visiting our villages, towns, and cities today? And what if He doesn't like what He sees, especially the religious institutions we have built to His glory…the non-profit organizations we call "churches"? Are they little more than replicas of what He saw in Babel: religious structures that reflect our insatiable pride, our lust for power, our control of others, and our desire to keep Him at a safe distance. This may explain the constant fragmentation we keep experiencing in the body of Christ. Could it be God's judgment for substituting religion for a relationship? We get scattered to the four winds and speak gibberish to one another, unable to come together or communicate with one another.

Is it possible to build a tower (or a ministry) without it going to our heads?

Think very carefully about that question. Go back and read it slowly to yourself. Be honest before God.

I don't know for sure, but I'm pretty skeptical that anyone can pull this off. I suspect it's caused by spiritual genetics: a mutant "religion DNA" that generates an instinctive urge to remix the Tower of Babel episode. Why else would we be so obsessed with organizing everything to death? God brings a couple of homeless people and drug addicts across my path and…BOOM…I'm ready to start a new ministry…and all for God's glory! And then two years later I get bored or overwhelmed: time for a change! God must be calling me to a new mission field. Why do I do these things?

Ideas anyone?

It's easy to criticize. Some of you think I'm suggesting that we "throw the baby out with the bath water." So what are the options? Are there any positive suggestions? What if we start by acknowledging…

• That knowing, believing, and walking with Father is sufficient…anything else is a distraction or an idol.
• That simplicity (coming to Him as little children) is desired far above innovation.
• That Father is not impressed with size or structure: two or three get His attention and His presence.
• That He's the builder, putting together a temple of living stones.
• That Father has not asked us to build anything tangible, because He knows the damage it will bring.
• That pragmatic, zealous, religious strategies can never replace a living relationship with Him.
• That joining others in the journey does not require what we've been programmed to think it requires.