Lent 2
March 13, 2022
After these things the word of the Lord came to Abram in a vision, “Do not be afraid, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great.”
But Abram said, “O Lord God, what will you give me, for I continue childless, and the heir of my house is Eliezer of Damascus?” And Abram said, “You have given me no offspring, and so a slave born in my house is to be my heir.” But the word of the Lord came to him, “This man shall not be your heir; no one but your very own issue shall be your heir.” He brought him outside and said, “Look toward heaven and count the stars, if you are able to count them.” Then he said to him, “So shall your descendants be.” And he believed the Lord; and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness.
For nine years, I lived in the countryside of Newton Township. There was a bit more elbow room than the housing development where I now reside. The kids had a big yard to play in. The snowy squalls in March offered a sense of adventure. But the greatest gift of living out there was the night sky. My place was just far enough out that the city light didn’t pollute the view. On a clear night, you could see a billion stars.
Some arranged themselves in constellations, like Orion and the Little Dipper. Others sprayed across the sky in haphazard fashion. On a brisk, cloudless evening, the heavens were full of twinkling lights. And more than once, I remembered the promise to old Abram: "Look toward the heavens and count the stars; so shall your descendants be."
His future was in the stars. How appropriate! Look up to heaven to see what heaven has in store for you. Maybe you saw the Bible picture as a child. An old man leans out of a tent and looks up to countless points of light. The caption on the picture said, "Abram believed the promise of God, and it was reckoned to him as righteousness." (Genesis 15:6).
Now, the caption could also read Romans 4:3, or Romans 4:22, or Galatians 3:6, or James 2:23, because the same verse shows up no less than four times in the Christian scriptures too. The New Testament claims this was the moment when faith was born. God made a promise and Abram believed it. The apostle Paul said this is the essence of faith. Martin Luther began a reformation by agreeing with him. "Abram believed the Lord, and the Lord counted it as righteousness."
This is what we mean when we say we are “justified through faith.” We trust in God, and that trust is what sets us straight and makes the relationship right. For people of faith, Father Abraham has been our good example of faith.
God said, "Abram, pack up your things. I'm sending you to a Promised Land that will be filled with your children, and I'll let you know when you get there." And Abraham booked the U-Haul, packed up, and got on the way. Faith responds by stepping out
A second time, God said, "Abram, I will make your offspring like the particles of sand. Can you count the grains sand?” Well, they’re in the desert where there’s a whole lot of sand. And God said, “That’s how many children you will have." So Abram built a holy altar. Faith responds by marking the promise as holy. (13:18)
Today we hear the promise a third time. God said, "Abram, I will spread your name around the world; your descendants shall number like the stars in the sky." And Abram believed the promise.
There’s only one small issue and you know what it is. God has been promising all these children, but they haven’t shown up yet. God has been promising a future, but the clock is ticking. God makes a grand, sweeping, enormous promise, but it still seems far off. God must have a lot more time on the divine hands than old Abram. Can you trust a God who keeps making promises that you cannot see?
This is the question where faith begins, and it lies at the heart of today's story. Before Abraham comes to belief, he must wrestle it through. God whispers to him as if he were a prophet, and says, "Don't be afraid; You have a big reward coming.” Abram, whose name means “father,” replies, "Lord, that's exceedingly kind of you, but what about that child you keep promising? My name is Abram, father, but there aren’t any kids yet. All I have is Eliezer, the house servant.”
That’s when God says, “Look at the stars. Count them if you can. That’s how many children you shall have.” Abram believes – and this is the point where the story becomes interesting.
Abram does something that a lot of people do. After he hears God’s promise, he takes the matter into his own hands. He has heard what God will do, so he does what he can to make it happen.
It begins with a suggestion from his wife. Sarah has heard this old man babble on about God's promise to make him a father. One day, she says, "Listen, Abe, I don't have what it takes to become a mother. We've been trying for four or five decades, but it just hasn't happened. Now, I have a servant girl named Hagar. She's an Egyptian, but that won't be an issue for a few hundred years.”
“So if this God of yours says you will be a father, and I can't be the mother, maybe you should stop by Hagar’s tent. If something happens, it would be like having a baby of my own."
Now, I remind you this is the Bible, and not a book about morality. The Bible collects stories about how people before us made their way through the world, not particularly different from today. So Abram, who has been promised to be a father, stops by Hagar’s tent. Next thing you know, she conceives and carries his child. She calls the little boy Ishmael.
That’s about the time that Sarah, Abram’s wife, discovers the difference between theory and practice. Just because something sounded like a good idea doesn't mean that it is. After an explosive conversation, Sarah says, “I want you to get that illegitimate kid of yours out of here." Hagar and little Ishmael are sent away.
This is a hard story for several reasons: unfair to Hagar, Ishmael is left out, Sarah realizes her costly mistake, and Abram, who forced himself to become a father in a round-about way, doesn’t have a son anymore. Even harder is the truth that whenever God makes a promise, it's up to God alone to keep that promise. Try as we might, we can't force God's hand. That’s not trust, but manipulation. And we must wait on God.
We’ve been through that, haven’t we? Two years of pandemic, some saying it wouldn’t amount to much, some of us getting sick, some of us fearing for our lives, some of us having to wade through foolish advice, making career shifts, hunkering down, worrying. A lot of us had the abiding sense that we would get through it; others throughout history survived a lot worse. But how long, O Lord? How long? Isn’t there something we can do to turn the clock ahead – not merely an hour, but a couple of years?
Like Abram and Sarah, we realize we can’t do anything. Just keep going, keep hanging on, keep trusting. As for our aging patriarch, the clock kept ticking. He turned ninety-nine, with his younger wife turning ninety. They have learned the hard way that they are powerless to create their own future. So imagine how they’re going to respond when a couple of angels stop by for a meal and announce their baby is coming.
Both bust a gut laughing. They simply don’t have any other alternative. It’s a hysterical laugh, a sad laugh, but it’s a laugh of improbable faith, too. I remember a comedian, a former rabbi, declaring that the serious business of comedy started with Abram and Sarah. Ninety-nine and ninety, informed that the baby is due - all they have is laughter. “Really, Lord? Are you serious? And good Lord, what if you are serious? Look how wrinkled we are!” Can we truly trust there’s a future? Really?
One of my preacher friends tells about a terrible drought on the island of Crete. The crops withered. The ground cracked open. The villagers were afraid. They asked the local priest, "What can we do?" The priest thought for a moment, and said, "Nothing will save us except a special prayer for rain. Go to your homes. Fast during the next week. Believe God will hear you and return to worship next Sunday for the special prayer for rain." The villagers did as they were told. They went home and began to fast.
The next Sunday came, the church bells rang, and all gathered at the church. The priest grew furious when he saw them. He said, "Go away. You didn’t obey. I will not lead the prayer for rain." "But Father," they protested, "we fasted, and we believed."
"Go away,” said the priest, “I will hear no more of this. None of you believe God will send the rain." "Father," they said, "how can you say that we do not believe?"
"Look at you," he replied. "You come to church, but none of you carry umbrellas."
See who gets the last laugh. For when the time was right, God gave Abraham and Sarah a little baby boy, a child of their own. He was delivered in the parking lot of the Senior Citizen Center. And they named him "Isaac," which means "Laughter." Every time they called his name, every time “Isaac” rolled from their tongues, they remembered God always has the last laugh, the God who never runs out of time.
Beyond all human effort, beyond all mortal limits, faith leaves us with a lengthy list of promises. "The law of God shall be written upon our hearts." That's a promise. "The meek shall inherit the earth." That's a promise, too. “You shall love the Lord, you shall love the neighbor” – we regard them as two commandments, but they are both promises. We shall love; it’s a promise.
The greatest promise is one that we hear at the greatest moments of extremity. "God shall be with us and wipe away every tear from our eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain shall be no more; and God shall make all things new." (Rev. 21:3-6)
A promise is only as good as the One who makes it. That’s why our story today ends with a strange ritual. Abraham believes; his belief makes him righteous, but he wants to know, "Lord, how can I be sure that you will do what you say?" Without offering a straight answer, God commands him to cut up some animals, and chase away the vultures.
When a deep and terrifying darkness descends upon Abraham, God himself draws near. It is a strange, eerie moment, one of the most mysterious of all scripture’s accounts. God comes “like a smoking fire pot and a flaming torch.” Yet the inexplicable scene has such a simple meaning: God comes. God is good for his promises. God will act regardless of our comprehension. God will finish what he has started. We testify to that truth together.
Someone told me Edmund Steimle, the great Lutheran preacher of the last century. He was a well-spoken, thoughtful interpreter of the faith. So wise, so compassionate, not afraid to face uncertainty. But I did not know that Steimle lost his wife on the Saturday before Easter. She woke up feeling poorly. It took a quick turn for the worse. By nightfall, she was gone.
When Easter Sunday, as much out of habit as numbness, Steimle went to worship in his church. There was a brass choir, a huge bank of flowers, and crowds of joyful people. They opened their hymnals, he said, and all around him, the people began to sing about resurrection.
"I tried to sing," he confessed, "but the words got stuck in my throat. People were singing about the power of God to raise the dead, and I didn't believe a word of it. I couldn't believe a word of it. Not then. Not in the shadow of my wife's death. I slammed my hymnal shut, and just stood there, arms at my side, not singing a word, tears streaming down my face."
"Suddenly it struck me: in that moment, I could not sing. But I was surrounded by people who could sing on my behalf. Even though I could not believe in the resurrection at that moment, they did. And they kept singing the hymns for me, until the time came when I could once again sing them for myself."
“Abram, Abram, go out and look at the night sky? Are you able to count the stars? The stars that I myself have set int the heavens?” That’s how many children you will have. Your future is in the stars.
And for the rest of us? "The day is coming when every tear shall be dried, and death shall be no more." Can you believe it? Yes, you can, because the promise is held in the One who holds the stars. He’s the only One who can keep it, the only One who can keep us.
There’s only one small issue and you know what it is. God has been promising all these children, but they haven’t shown up yet. God has been promising a future, but the clock is ticking. God makes a grand, sweeping, enormous promise, but it still seems far off. God must have a lot more time on the divine hands than old Abram. Can you trust a God who keeps making promises that you cannot see?
This is the question where faith begins, and it lies at the heart of today's story. Before Abraham comes to belief, he must wrestle it through. God whispers to him as if he were a prophet, and says, "Don't be afraid; You have a big reward coming.” Abram, whose name means “father,” replies, "Lord, that's exceedingly kind of you, but what about that child you keep promising? My name is Abram, father, but there aren’t any kids yet. All I have is Eliezer, the house servant.”
That’s when God says, “Look at the stars. Count them if you can. That’s how many children you shall have.” Abram believes – and this is the point where the story becomes interesting.
Abram does something that a lot of people do. After he hears God’s promise, he takes the matter into his own hands. He has heard what God will do, so he does what he can to make it happen.
It begins with a suggestion from his wife. Sarah has heard this old man babble on about God's promise to make him a father. One day, she says, "Listen, Abe, I don't have what it takes to become a mother. We've been trying for four or five decades, but it just hasn't happened. Now, I have a servant girl named Hagar. She's an Egyptian, but that won't be an issue for a few hundred years.”
“So if this God of yours says you will be a father, and I can't be the mother, maybe you should stop by Hagar’s tent. If something happens, it would be like having a baby of my own."
Now, I remind you this is the Bible, and not a book about morality. The Bible collects stories about how people before us made their way through the world, not particularly different from today. So Abram, who has been promised to be a father, stops by Hagar’s tent. Next thing you know, she conceives and carries his child. She calls the little boy Ishmael.
That’s about the time that Sarah, Abram’s wife, discovers the difference between theory and practice. Just because something sounded like a good idea doesn't mean that it is. After an explosive conversation, Sarah says, “I want you to get that illegitimate kid of yours out of here." Hagar and little Ishmael are sent away.
This is a hard story for several reasons: unfair to Hagar, Ishmael is left out, Sarah realizes her costly mistake, and Abram, who forced himself to become a father in a round-about way, doesn’t have a son anymore. Even harder is the truth that whenever God makes a promise, it's up to God alone to keep that promise. Try as we might, we can't force God's hand. That’s not trust, but manipulation. And we must wait on God.
We’ve been through that, haven’t we? Two years of pandemic, some saying it wouldn’t amount to much, some of us getting sick, some of us fearing for our lives, some of us having to wade through foolish advice, making career shifts, hunkering down, worrying. A lot of us had the abiding sense that we would get through it; others throughout history survived a lot worse. But how long, O Lord? How long? Isn’t there something we can do to turn the clock ahead – not merely an hour, but a couple of years?
Like Abram and Sarah, we realize we can’t do anything. Just keep going, keep hanging on, keep trusting. As for our aging patriarch, the clock kept ticking. He turned ninety-nine, with his younger wife turning ninety. They have learned the hard way that they are powerless to create their own future. So imagine how they’re going to respond when a couple of angels stop by for a meal and announce their baby is coming.
Both bust a gut laughing. They simply don’t have any other alternative. It’s a hysterical laugh, a sad laugh, but it’s a laugh of improbable faith, too. I remember a comedian, a former rabbi, declaring that the serious business of comedy started with Abram and Sarah. Ninety-nine and ninety, informed that the baby is due - all they have is laughter. “Really, Lord? Are you serious? And good Lord, what if you are serious? Look how wrinkled we are!” Can we truly trust there’s a future? Really?
One of my preacher friends tells about a terrible drought on the island of Crete. The crops withered. The ground cracked open. The villagers were afraid. They asked the local priest, "What can we do?" The priest thought for a moment, and said, "Nothing will save us except a special prayer for rain. Go to your homes. Fast during the next week. Believe God will hear you and return to worship next Sunday for the special prayer for rain." The villagers did as they were told. They went home and began to fast.
The next Sunday came, the church bells rang, and all gathered at the church. The priest grew furious when he saw them. He said, "Go away. You didn’t obey. I will not lead the prayer for rain." "But Father," they protested, "we fasted, and we believed."
"Go away,” said the priest, “I will hear no more of this. None of you believe God will send the rain." "Father," they said, "how can you say that we do not believe?"
"Look at you," he replied. "You come to church, but none of you carry umbrellas."
See who gets the last laugh. For when the time was right, God gave Abraham and Sarah a little baby boy, a child of their own. He was delivered in the parking lot of the Senior Citizen Center. And they named him "Isaac," which means "Laughter." Every time they called his name, every time “Isaac” rolled from their tongues, they remembered God always has the last laugh, the God who never runs out of time.
Beyond all human effort, beyond all mortal limits, faith leaves us with a lengthy list of promises. "The law of God shall be written upon our hearts." That's a promise. "The meek shall inherit the earth." That's a promise, too. “You shall love the Lord, you shall love the neighbor” – we regard them as two commandments, but they are both promises. We shall love; it’s a promise.
The greatest promise is one that we hear at the greatest moments of extremity. "God shall be with us and wipe away every tear from our eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain shall be no more; and God shall make all things new." (Rev. 21:3-6)
A promise is only as good as the One who makes it. That’s why our story today ends with a strange ritual. Abraham believes; his belief makes him righteous, but he wants to know, "Lord, how can I be sure that you will do what you say?" Without offering a straight answer, God commands him to cut up some animals, and chase away the vultures.
When a deep and terrifying darkness descends upon Abraham, God himself draws near. It is a strange, eerie moment, one of the most mysterious of all scripture’s accounts. God comes “like a smoking fire pot and a flaming torch.” Yet the inexplicable scene has such a simple meaning: God comes. God is good for his promises. God will act regardless of our comprehension. God will finish what he has started. We testify to that truth together.
Someone told me Edmund Steimle, the great Lutheran preacher of the last century. He was a well-spoken, thoughtful interpreter of the faith. So wise, so compassionate, not afraid to face uncertainty. But I did not know that Steimle lost his wife on the Saturday before Easter. She woke up feeling poorly. It took a quick turn for the worse. By nightfall, she was gone.
When Easter Sunday, as much out of habit as numbness, Steimle went to worship in his church. There was a brass choir, a huge bank of flowers, and crowds of joyful people. They opened their hymnals, he said, and all around him, the people began to sing about resurrection.
"I tried to sing," he confessed, "but the words got stuck in my throat. People were singing about the power of God to raise the dead, and I didn't believe a word of it. I couldn't believe a word of it. Not then. Not in the shadow of my wife's death. I slammed my hymnal shut, and just stood there, arms at my side, not singing a word, tears streaming down my face."
"Suddenly it struck me: in that moment, I could not sing. But I was surrounded by people who could sing on my behalf. Even though I could not believe in the resurrection at that moment, they did. And they kept singing the hymns for me, until the time came when I could once again sing them for myself."
“Abram, Abram, go out and look at the night sky? Are you able to count the stars? The stars that I myself have set int the heavens?” That’s how many children you will have. Your future is in the stars.
And for the rest of us? "The day is coming when every tear shall be dried, and death shall be no more." Can you believe it? Yes, you can, because the promise is held in the One who holds the stars. He’s the only One who can keep it, the only One who can keep us.
(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.
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