So we know that Enoch lived over three and a half centuries on this earth. This means that if Enoch’s 365-year life span had ended in 1992, he would have been born in 1627—the year before Salem was founded by our Pilgrim fathers on Massachusetts Bay. That same year Francis Bacon published New Atlantis in London. On Enoch’s hundredth birthday in 1727, young Jonathan Edwards would have been installed as assistant pastor to his grandfather, Solomon Stoddard, in Northampton, and the Danish explorer Vitus Bering would have discovered the strait between Asia and North America.

When Enoch celebrated his second century in 1827, Jedediah Smith blazed the first trail from Southern California to Fort Vancouver. And at the other end of the country, New Orleans would celebrate its first Mardi Gras when students from Paris introduced the Shrove Tuesday event.

In 1927, on his 300th birthday (the cake would have melted from the heat of the candles!), Charles Lindbergh would pilot the Spirit of St. Louis across the Atlantic to Paris, Babe Ruth would hit sixty home runs, and the first “talkie” (The Jazz Singer with Al Jolson) would be produced.

And finally, in 1992, the whole world would know of his departure in one instant through satellite cable communication. Not only that, but Enoch’s son, Methuselah, born when Enoch was sixty-five in 1692, would not die until the twenty-seventh century, A.D. 2,661—at the ripe old age of 969 years (cf. Genesis 5:27).

The point of all this is that though Enoch’s tenure was brief in comparison with that of his father and son, it is nonetheless an amazing stint of time—and those 300-plus years were given to righteous living in the midst of a terribly evil ante-diluvian world that was destroyed precisely because of its depravity (cf. Genesis 6:11–13).