Genesis 15: 1–12, 17–18
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May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable
to you, O Lord our strength and our redeemer. Amen.
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The Franciscan writer, Richard Rohr, says that the stories in the Bible
usually fall into one of three categories. Some are creation
stories, that tell us where we came from. Others are pattern
stories, that show us how to make sense of our lives as we live
them. And some are destination stories that tell us where we
are going. This morning, in the story of Abram and Sarai, we
have a pattern story – a pattern for our own lives, our own lives
of faith.
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From the look of things, Abram, as he was called in those days,
didn’t have much at all. He had a few flocks of sheep
and goats. He had a wife, Sarai. And he had a promise
from God – that as he followed him, God would make of him a
great nation. And that one promise changed everything. For
that one promise from God, that one relationship with the God of the
Universe made Abram, as best he could figure, a rich man. So on
the basis of that one promise Abram bet the farm. In the late
afternoon of his life, at the age of 75, Abram left his father’s
land of Ur in the Euphrates River Valley, and he and Sarai travelled
down to Canaan with just the clothes on their backs, living in tents
and caring for their flocks and herds as best they could. It was
a crazy way to live – to find by losing. To hold fast by
letting go. To hope for something new by abandoning the
old. Yet that was the way God was leading them. And Abram
and Sarai simply obeyed, trusting that God would supply.
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At first, the whole journey was an exciting adventure, for God
promised them that the land he showed them, the land he guided them
through would one day be their own land – and the land of their
offspring. For that was the second part of God’s
promise – that one day they would have children. And
since this was the desire of Abram and Sarai’s hearts, they willingly
listened to God. They believed his promise. And they
followed God’s lead through Canaan down to the Negev. God
spoke. They listened. God commanded. They
obeyed. And when drought settled in to the Negev they pulled
up their tent stakes once again and travelled down to Egypt. And,
once again, God blessed them with even more flocks, a larger household,
and a whole campground full of tents. Only now it had been more
than a dozen years that they’d been hearkening to God’s voice,
believing his promises, moving by his direction. And so far they
had no land and no children. That thought began to nag at Abram.
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So the next time God appeared to him, this time in a dream, Abram
said, “Wait a minute God, I have a question.” And as
his questions surfaced they sounded more and more like
complaints. “Are you giving me what I really want,
God? Is a slave going to be my heir? I want a
legitimate son. I want what you promised me.”
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As we overhear Abram voice these complaints to God, we hold our
breath. We place our hands over our mouths, waiting to hear
what God will say. For Abram is our model of faith.
Abram – or Abraham, as he would soon be known – is the
model of faith for three religions – Judaism, Christianity and
Islam. God spoke. Abram listened. God commanded.
Abram obeyed. Our text this morning says that God counted
Abram’s faith as righteousness. So now can Abram really
say, “Wait a minute, God. I have a question. I have
some doubts.”
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And, of course, it’s not only Abram who wants to know. We
too follow God. We too have received promises – at least,
some hints. So now, when we can’t see the God we believe
in, can we trust the whispers of hope, the sense of promise we think
we have received? Can God, in fact, be counted on?
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The answer, praise God, is “Yes.” We hear God
reassuring Abram, “Don’t be afraid, Abram. I
haven’t forgotten you and Sarai. Remember my promise of
land.” And once again Abram dares to question God
more closely. “Lord, even if I had land, I still
don’t have a child. Will I be leaving my land to my
slave?”
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Once again, God, in his compassion and patience, reassures Abram. He
gives Abram an unforgettable illustration of the heirs who will one
day call him ‘Father Abraham’. He shows him the dark
night sky filled with myriad stars. “There, Abram, if you
can count them, are the numbers of children and grandchildren and
great grandchildren you will have. Trust me on this one,” he
says.
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So against all odds, in the face of all evidence to the contrary, Abram
does place his trust in God once again. He moves beyond reason,
beyond logic, beyond any experience he and Sarai can name to a new
place of faith and hope. Embraced by God’s love and
compassion he trusts once again.
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And now, of course, with the benefit of hindsight, we know that his
trust was well founded. God did give Abraham and Sarah a son,
Isaac, whose name means laughter. He did give their descendants
the lands they had wandered through. Best of all, just as
he’d promised, he was with them, which is, I think, what all
of us want. Emmanuel, God with us. Not to do our bidding,
like some celestial bell boy, but to invite us into his dreams for the
world, to give us our parts to play in his Kingdom.
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This was the story I needed to hear this week – a week when my
prayers for Ukraine and all of Europe have been urgent,
unceasing . . . and maybe just a bit
demanding. This was the story I needed to remember – to
realize that God’s answers do not always come when I think they
should. Nor do they come in the form I’ve imagined.
But God is faithful. He does respond to our prayers. And
in the process our faith deepens. Our trust expands as he gives
us gifts larger than we had ever
imagined . . . and fits us into his
agenda rather than complying with our own.
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To God be the glory.
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Amen.
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