The weather forecasters were predicting 10-15 inches of rain as Tropical Storm Debby passed over South Carolina.  Headlines proclaimed we might surpass a 1,000-year storm total.  It looks like the forecasters were wrong.  The bulk of the rain was North and East of us.  Jesus did say it would rain on the just and the unjust.

I remember the flood of 2015.  We were hit by 22 inches of rain.  The rain started on Saturday.  We have a long-standing policy of not canceling church services.  When other churches cancel services, we tell people to use their judgment.  If we have power, we are going to have church.

By the next day, Sunday, my street was flooded.  So was the church parking lot.  I was getting ready for the first service when our Administrative Pastor stuck his head in the door and said, “I know I’m the cautious one, but I’m afraid if we don’t go home now, we might not be able to get home.”  I gathered up the small crowd ready for the first service and asked them for their opinion.  The decision was unanimous: let’s go home.  Several looked relieved.  I admit the thought of having to feed and sleep those fifty people was not appealing to me.  Still, I think everybody that day missed the best sermon I never preached.

The damage in our community was extensive.  Homes flooded; cars were abandoned.  Our house was on high ground, but I did have to pump out the pool, sending more water down the street to our neighbors.  I hated to do it, but…

Floods are a magnetic mystery to me.  I marvel at the power and weight of water.  After Hurricane Ian, I went to the ranch in Florida and was amazed.  In a grove belonging to my cousins, water had carved a new channel down the middle five feet deep. 

The main damage we had was to fences around the pasture.  Where the Buckhorn Creek flows through our property, debris was caught in the barbwire fence a quarter of a mile on both sides of the creek.  Water was standing in most of the pastures.  I was afraid the cows would get webbed feet.

I remember making a trip to Florida after Hurricane Charlie to check on my parents.  They had no electricity.  My mother was bedbound by this time, and it was miserably hot.  We had generators to keep refrigerators and freezers running and fans blowing on my Mom.  I spent a couple of miserable nights trying to sleep in my old room.  Riding in my airconditioned truck was much more comfortable. 

I went to check on the cows, riding a four-wheeler.  The water stretched out from the gullies and creeks.  I thought it was safe to cross until the four-wheeler began to float.  Prayer took on a new meaning that day.

Before my memory sparked alive, there was Hurricane Donna in 1960.  My mother told me that my father, all six feet, 280 pounds of him, got me (I was about eight months old) and crawled under the dining room table as the winds howled over, under, and through the Old House built by my great-grandfather.  The Old House held, but Mama said Daddy was stiff for days.

That story always stuck with me.  Years later, I would sing out of the old hymnal, “He hideth my soul in the cleft of rock…”  I would think about my earthly father hiding me under the table from the storm and my Heavenly Father hiding my soul in the cleft of the rock, in the safety of his love and grace.

Preachers love metaphors.  We talk about “the storms of life.”  And there are storms.  Sometimes, the storms are emotional.  Sometimes, they are relational.  Sometimes, they are literal and have names like Debby, Hugo, Ian, Charlie, and Donna.  We usually say something like, “God will protect us in the storm.”  I think it is more accurate to say, “God will be with us in the storm.”  If, like the personalities on the Weather Channel, we choose to stand out in the storm, God is still with us, even in our foolishness.  If the storm blows down our house (literally or figuratively), God is with us.  We are never alone in the storms.

God also gave us a promise: after the earth is wiped out in the Great Flood, God promises Noah he will never again flood the whole earth.  There may be a local flood, but there will always be high ground.  God then gives Noah a sign.  He puts his bow (as in “bow and arrows”) in the sky.  It is a sign that God does not want to react in anger to our misconduct.

Thousands of years later, God will erect another sign, his Son, on a cross.  With this great sacrifice, he tells us he is flooding the world with grace.  That is the flood we need, a flood of grace greater than all our sins.