Secret Grace

It’s been centuries — maybe longer — since the earth was flooded.

The survivors, descendants of Noah, are restless.

So they migrate, journeying eastward in search of something... more.

Eventually, they settle on the plains of Shinar.

And there — on those wide, open plains — they begin to envision greatness.

United in purpose, they start building a grand city, crowned with a magnificent tower meant to pierce the heavens. Their goal is to make a name for themselves — to become the talk of the world, a shining jewel in the ancient landscape, the envy of the earth.

They get to work. They have plenty of brick for stone and bitumen for mortar — and they’re using it all.

Foundations are laid. The city begins rising. Optimism grows.

And with time, the tower stretches higher and higher…

Everything is going according to plan.

But once the city is complete — once the tower scrapes the heavens, once they’ve made a name for themselves, become the talk of the world, the shining jewel of the ancient landscape, and the envy of the earth — then what?

Will it be enough? What do you think?

I imagine even the impressive city, its spectacular tower, and the renowned reputation born from their ambitious project wouldn’t truly satisfy them.

Well, maybe it would gratify them for a while — they’d feel proud, confident even — but sooner or later, the novelty would fade.

They’d look at their city and tower and say,

“Not bad, I guess, but…

It can be better. Bigger. Mightier.

We can be stronger, more feared.

This city and tower isn’t bad — but it isn’t quite enough.”

Once the city is complete, once the tower is soaring into the heavens, once they’ve made a name for themselves — become the talk of the world, the shining jewel of the ancient landscape, and the envy of the earth —

it still won’t be enough, will it?

They will want more...

Bigger. Better. Mightier.

They’d attempt to build again — a newer city eclipsing the first, a taller tower reaching even further into the heavens…

… Always bigger, better, mightier…

Sound familiar? Has enough ever been enough for humanity?

We developed typewriters — only to replace them with something better: computers.

Once we had computers, they needed to be smaller, faster, smarter — now we want them to be intelligent.

We invented cars, but they’re never fast enough or durable enough — or able to haul enough.

We invented airplanes, but they could always be faster, carry more passengers — or hold more bombs.

We created the telephone to improve communication — but now we demand instant video calls anytime, anywhere.

We built enormous libraries of knowledge — then created the internet to have it all at our fingertips, 24/7.

We developed medicines to cure diseases — now we want them better, faster, cheaper, and able to prevent illness before it starts.

We have schools and places of learning, but they need to be even more enlightening — on the cutting edge of critical thought.

We developed the largest and most devastating weapons in history —

yet we pushed to make them even more destructive, more lethal, more terrifying.

We’ve gained respect, even admiration — but not like them over there. There’s always someone ahead. So, we hustle to keep pace.

We have close friends, but never enough.

We have money, but it’s never enough — we always want more.

We have a home — but it’s too small or demands constant maintenance just to keep up with the Joneses.

Is it ever enough? Will more ever be enough?

The people on the plains of Shinar never reached their goal.

They never made a name for themselves or became the envy of the world with their magnificent city and grand tower —

they never even had the chance to wonder if it would be enough…

Because God intervened.

God scatters the people in Shinar not to punish prideful ambition or reject cities and technology,

but to redirect a wayward path — one of endless striving that yields neither satisfaction nor fulfillment, only perpetual restlessness and emptiness.

And He does so without uttering a word. Curious, isn’t it?

He comes down — quietly, covertly, unseen — confusing their languages and rendering further construction impossible.

But why does He remain silent?

Why does He not speak to them and warn them, as a tender Father would, of the futility that lies ahead?

God spoke directly to Adam and Eve.

He spoke to Cain, Abel, and Seth.

He spoke to Noah.

But now — silence.

Where is the voice of God tenderly directing His people?

Is there not a single person God can speak to directly —

to command them all to stop,

to tell them plainly that this city and tower will never fill the void in their hearts — that it’s a bad idea?