I don’t know about you, but I’m not one who watches the news every day. Our souls are not at their best when we continually take in so much heaviness—especially in the days we are living in, when news flows without pause from both mainstream and independent voices. As I glance at the media now, we are met again and again with reports and images of violence, both near and far—and with wars and rumors of wars telling a dark, age-old truth. It is a heavy weight to bear and behold—a world soaked in hatred, chaos, and unrestrained fury. And sadly, there is nothing new about what we are being exposed to.
Noah lived in a generation much like the one we are living in. He was the 10th generation from Adam and Eve and the great grandson of Enoch. The Bible says that in Noah’s day, the earth was filled with violence (Genesis 6:11). In that verse, the Hebrew word for violence is ḥāmās—cruelty woven into the fabric of daily life, injustice normalized, and oppression exercised without remorse from souls not walking with God.
But here’s what I realized: violence encompasses more than physical harm. At its core, it is a violation of God’s divine standards. The word of God tells us that God’s “commands are holy and right and good” (Romans 7:12, NLT). Any thought or action that does not align perfectly with God’s ways is violent by nature. If we want to walk in truth, we have to call a spade a spade and not allow ourselves to be deceived.
As I was thinking about this, I wanted to go back to when the first act of violence occurred, and I realized that it began with one spiritual being referred to as Lucifer. He was a covering cherub—a high-ranking angel—who is most commonly known as Satan or the Devil. He was in close proximity to God. Can you imagine that? And then something inside him changed. It wasn’t enough to be close to God; he desired the unthinkable—to dethrone God and take His place.
The following verse describes Satan’s internal shift from perfection to corruption:
“You were perfect in your ways from the day you were created, till iniquity was found in you. By the abundance of your trading, you became filled with violence within, and you sinned; therefore I cast you as a profane thing out of the mountain of God; and I destroyed you, O covering cherub, from the midst of the fiery stones.” (Ezekiel 28:15–16, NKJV)
Lucifer was cast from heaven after his rebellion. He not only convinced a third of the angels to rebel against God, but he also eventually tempted the first man and woman to do the same. The human heart was corrupted by the seed of disobedience—born the moment Adam and Eve ate from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, which God commanded them not to eat from—and from that moment on, violence entered the human story.
Violence flows from an inner decay that rejects God’s ways. This ḥāmās can be seen in modern extremist movements, where violence is not merely an act but the fruit of ideologies that have turned away from righteousness—distorting truth, destroying life, and hardening hearts against compassion and peace with God and one another.
It is not surprising that the sins of Noah’s time provoked the righteous judgment of God, who sent a global flood to cleanse the corruption that had overtaken His creation. This was never God’s desire for the world He formed with such care. Yet in the midst of that darkness, Noah found favor with God. He was called to build an ark—a vessel of rescue for himself and his family—because he lived by faith and obedience, choosing to walk with God when the world would not.
A Dove Beyond the Flood
Not only is the world presently living in spiritually dark times, but many of us are experiencing a personal deluge of difficult days rising like a flood. Some may even be crying themselves to sleep every night—desperate for relief. And though we know God’s love for us is titanic and unsinkable, we sway like fragile vessels upon the waves and fear we may sink beneath the weight of our sorrows.
Even when we know God’s hand guards us and His presence remains close, it does not always feel so. In seasons of hardship, joy feels distant. We retreat into a shadowed world of pain, where the warmth of hope and the sounds of laughter are muted by the rain and thunder of the storms around us. Still, we pray that the flood of our tears will sink deep into the soil of yesterday, slowly fading like a forgotten memory. And we hold on to the hope that one day we will draw back a curtain and feel a ray of light rest upon our cheek—a gentle, holy kiss from above—reassuring us that the storm is over.
Many of us have released prayer after prayer to the heavenlies, like messenger birds sent from our open hands, waiting for His reply to return. We hope the answer will look the way we imagined. We ache for peace—for our hearts, for our families, for our communities, for our nation, and for the world.
After Noah constructed the ark, he was instructed by God to get inside along with his family, the birds, and the land animals—the seeds of hope for the tomorrows to come. They were secure inside God’s saving grace for roughly 370 days—just a little over a year. Just as the ark was created as a refuge from righteous judgment, God sent His Son, Jesus the Messiah, to rescue us from the violence of sin. Seven months after the flood, the mountains were visible.
Noah opened the window he had made and sent out a raven, who never came back, flying “back and forth” until the floodwaters dried up.
He waited seven days and then sent out a dove, which returned. He waited seven more days and sent out the dove again, and this time it came back with hope in its beak—an olive branch. He sent the dove a third time, and it did not return to the ark. The waters had subsided, and the bird found a place of rest on the land. Every time we pray, God most assuredly answers our prayers in due season.
While on earth, we will live through personal and global times of violence and times of calm. One day, the rising waters of hardship will subside, and we will find that as the deep waters kept rising in our personal lives, we were also being elevated spiritually—finding ourselves on the mountain of God. This is where our help comes from. And we realize that what felt like a prison was actually our liberty. While the raven never returned to God’s protection, feeding off the destroyed world, the dove did not settle until it found a habitable place to live on the mountains.
Day by day, we should seek to disengage from the transitory and mundane and find our hope and peace in the permanence of God’s love and care for us. Our pain can drown us or cause us to seek God. Let’s focus on living in the secret place with our Everlasting Father, our Prince of Peace, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit.
The dove with an olive branch is a beautiful symbol of peace, hope, and restoration. Rooted in the story of Noah, it reminds us that after every storm—every war, whether personal or global—God will eventually bring peace and renewal. Like the white dove in flight with hope in its beak, it whispers that conflict will end and harmony will return under His faithful care for those who put their trust in Him.
