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This summer we are looking at the story
of the First Family of our faith, the story of Abraham and
Sarah. Father Abraham and Mother Sarah—if we were to trace
our spiritual family trees back far enough, eventually they
would lead right to these two. So over these next weeks, we
will try to better understand their story in hopes of better
understanding our own.
The story of our First Family is rich in
symbolism. But before we launch into today’s text, let us
review some of the symbols at play in the story. We start
with Father Abraham (and remember, at the beginning of the
story he isn’t Abraham yet, he is Abram). Old Abe has been
called by God to become a father. But it is not just any old
father that Abe is called to be. He is not called to become
just the father of his nuclear family: a wife, 2.5 kids, a
dog, and a white picket fence. No, God tells old Abe that he
will be the father of a whole new people, that a new nation
will be born through him. One night God asks Abram to look
up at the sky and count the stars. “Count them, Abram. Count
every last one of them. One day your descendants will number
more than the stars in the sky.” God has chosen Abraham to
give birth to the chosen people. Throughout this story,
Abram—soon to become Abraham—is the symbol of God’s promise
to create a chosen people.
But before moving too quickly ahead, let
us unpack the promise God made to this father of our faith.
Abram is symbolic of God’s desire to create a unique and
special people, a chosen people. This family that Abram will
father will be privileged among the nations. Abram and his
descendants will have a special relationship with God. But
here is the deal. There is a reason God is going to bless
Abram and his offspring. They will be blessed so they can be
a blessing to others. This is important to remember. God
does not create a chosen people so they may be set apart
from the world for their own benefit. Quite the opposite.
God blesses them so they might be a blessing to others.
Abram represents God’s great experiment. Can God reveal
himself to the world through a community of people in such a
way that can heal and transform the world? So if you and I
count ourselves among the descendants of Abraham—if we find
ourselves blessed by God—then let us remember that we are
blessed so we might be a blessing to others.
So it is to Abram that God promises to
create this great nation of people. But there are a couple
of problems. First, God speaks this promise to Abram in his
75th year, which wouldn’t be such a big deal if
he had any children. He can’t start this new family of
people if he doesn’t have any children. And at 75 years of
age, it would appear that his child-rearing days are behind
him. This is the dilemma that underlies this First Family’s
story, as well as underlying much of our own stories. Can
the immense promises of God actually be realized through the
limited frailties of humanity?
Nowhere is this dilemma more present than
in the person of Sarai, who will later become known as
Sarah. Sarai is the mother of our faith. Sure, it is to
Abram that God speaks the promise of a new family. But if
the reality of this promise is ever to happen, it will be
Sarai who will give birth to it. Sarai will be the one who
makes God’s promise a reality.
But there is a problem. It is a problem
that has been with Abe and Sarah since the very beginning of
their story: Sarai was barren. She was unable to have
children, unable to carry the promise of this new family
into the next generation. If Sarai cannot bear the child of
the promise, then the promise will die along with them.
Therefore, Sarai’s barrenness isn’t just a biological
problem, it is a theological one, as well. Her barrenness
means creation has halted. The endless flow from generation
to generation, the turning of season upon season, is
threatened by barrenness. Barren. Empty. Dried up. Sarai is
symbolic of an uncertain and seemingly hopeless future.
Therefore, this child God promises to deliver represents the
future, a legacy, a life beyond their own. But Sarai is
barren and there is nothing she can do about it.
Biblical scholar Walter Bruggemann says:
“Barrenness is the way of human history… There is no
foreseeable future. There is no human power to invent a
future.” Just as barrenness enters into the story of this
First Family of our faith, so too does it enter ours—moments
when history just seems to stop and all hope for the future
is lost. We have all traveled those barren stretches of
life, times when everything seemed dried up and empty. Here
are some of the ways barrenness enters our story:
·
Everything changed the year mom
died.
·
When he left, everything changed.
·
She was never the same after we
lost the baby.
·
Everything was going fine until
they shut down the plant.
·
I am sorry, son, but your
condition has returned.
Sooner or later, the everyday routines of
our lives find themselves bumped up against the uncertainty
of tomorrow, smacked headlong into the insecurity of the
unknown, and/or simply weighted down by unbearable
hopelessness. Barrenness is a part of the First Family’s
story much in the same way it is a part of ours.
And barrenness isn’t just an individual
experience. It is a communal one, as well. Many worry that
Southeast Michigan has become barren, a place no longer able
to ensure a viable future for its people. The economy has
dried up, and many jobs along with it. Are we living in the
midst of barrenness?
I have just returned from two weeks in
Africa, a place many have written off as being barren. The
poverty, the international debt, and the AIDS crisis all
threaten the future of this continent. Is there a better
tomorrow for the almost 900,000,000 people who inhabit
Africa? What kind of future does Africa have?
What about the Middle East? It sure seems
barren to me—dried up, without hope, with no future. The
question that underlies the entire story of our First
Family, and I would argue underlies much of our story, is
this: Can God be trusted to deliver on his promises, even
when all hope seems to be lost?
So that is the question deep in the
hearts of old Abe and Sarah. Is God really going to come
through here? You can imagine their excitement when God
first announced the promise of a child, the promise of a
future. Even though they were too old, and even though Sarai
was barren, if God said it was going to happen, then it was
going to happen. I can just picture old Abram running into
the house with a dozen roses and a bottle of wine, saying to
Sarai: “Pack your bags, honey! I’ve booked the honeymoon
suite at the Holy Land’s finest hotel. God says we’re having
a baby!”
There is nothing quite as powerful as
those first moments when someone glimpses God’s promise.
When one realizes that God is calling them to something big,
something new, something exciting and important, there is
little they won’t do in order to see the promise come to
pass. When Abram and Sarai get this glimpse of a new
promise, there is a spring in their step that they haven’t
known since they were newlyweds.
But that was then. Time had passed—eleven
years to be exact—and there was no sign of a baby, no new
future anywhere to be seen. Just barrenness. The questions
that began their journey nag at them more loudly than ever.
Will there be an heir? Is there still hope? Can God still be
trusted? If it seemed crazy for a couple in their
seventies to believe that they could conceive and have a
child, it now seemed downright foolish for a couple in their
late eighties to believe it.
This is the place Abram and Sarai find
themselves in today’s text. They have to be asking
themselves some pretty tough questions: “Is it time to give
up on this silly dream? Has God forgotten them? Has God
forgotten the promise He made to them?” It sure seemed like
God had forgotten them. But the delay between the promise
and its realization raised even deeper and scarier
questions, questions that none of us dare utter aloud. But
in our darkest moments, these are the questions each of us
ask. Maybe it wasn’t that God had forgotten, maybe God just
wasn’t capable. In fact, maybe God just doesn’t exist. When
Abram and Sarai can no longer wait for God to make good on
His promise, they decide to take the promise into their own
hands, to work things out on their own terms, in their own
time. They decide to take a shortcut.
Are any of you “shortcut people,” always
looking for a quicker and a shorter route? It doesn’t matter
what MapQuest says, you are sure you can find an easier,
more efficient way to get where you are going. Have any of
you ever traveled with a shortcut person, only to discover
that their “shortcut” wasn’t so short? Their “shortcut”
actually ended up taking more time, getting you lost or
having you arrive somewhere other than where you wanted to
end up in the first place. Let’s face it, there is a part of
all of us that wants to take shortcuts. We want to find the
path of least resistance. We want to get the things we want
on our terms and on our timetable. There is a part of us
that is always looking for a shortcut.
At this point of the story, Abram and
Sarai decide to take a shortcut. God has promised them a
child, but old age and Sarai’s barrenness seem to be
insurmountable obstacles to ever holding a baby in their
arms. That’s when they decide to take the shortcut. And
shortcuts are most attractive when the desire to obtain
something is greater than the appropriate means to attain
it. If God promised them a baby, then a baby they would
have. The story tells us that they turned to their slave
woman, Hagar, who Abram slept with, and she of course became
pregnant with child. The day came when the son was born, and
they named him Ishmael. This was supposed to be the day of
great joy. But the text tells us that Hagar’s pregnancy and
Ishmael’s arrival caused dissention and jealously, not joy
and celebration. Things were messy and confusing. Everything
this long-awaited day was supposed to be about, wasn’t. Why?
Because instead of waiting for God, they took a shortcut.
Today’s glimpse into the life of our
First Family reminds us that there are deep and often
unforeseen consequences when our desire to have things our
way entices us to shortcut the right and ethical way to
achieve our hopes and dreams. In taking their shortcut,
Abram and Sarai disregard their own marital covenant, strip
Hagar of her humanity and treat her as a mere object of
desire, put an innocent child in a place of scorn and shame,
and turn their backs on the God who first spoke the promise
to them. Although the shortcut seemed justifiable in the
moment, its consequences will rob them of any joy they ever
hoped to attain.
It is
tempting to take shortcuts that seem so justifiable in the
moment.
·
When the marriage is struggling,
the arms of another can seem like the shortcut to happiness.
·
When pay raises are not coming and
the promotions have been skipped over, sneaking a little
extra for yourself can seem like a shortcut to financial
security.
·
Or when the depression, or the
fear, or the frustration, or the pain, or the anxiety, or
the anger has become too much to carry, then alcohol, or
drugs, or food, or shopping, or other addictions can seem
like a shortcut to peace.
What Abram and Sarai have yet to realize
is that faith is not easy. It calls for a persistence which
often goes against common sense. It calls for believing in a
gift from God which none of the present data can
substantiate. Faith means staying the course. It means no
shortcuts.
But one has got to ask why. Why the
delay? Why the long wait between what God promises and the
realization of that promise? Why all the frustration and
anguish? In the end, we realize that if we stay the course,
if we avoid the temptation to take a shortcut, eventually we
will realize that the anguish we felt while we waited was
labor pain. It is one of the ways we are molded and shaped
into the people God has called to us be. Through patient
waiting, through holding on when there doesn’t seem to be
anything to hold onto, through trusting in the promises of
God even when everything around you says to give up, we are
formed into people who will better be able to appreciate,
cherish and share the fruit of God’s promises when they
finally come to pass. The journey of this First Family
reminds us of the truth of Paul’s words in Romans that all
creation is “groaning in labor…groaning inwardly as we wait
for adoption as children, the redemption of our bodies. For
in this hope we were saved.” (Romans 8:22-24) Taking the
shortcut robs us of the process God uses to mold us into the
kind of people who will be a blessing to others.
I want to make a confession to you
tonight. Since that day two years ago when the youth decided
to collect 23 million pennies, there has been more than once
that I have thought we should take a shortcut. You know,
plan one big blowout event—a golf outing or a charity
auction—the kind of event where if you get the right
sponsors and invite the right people, you could raise
$230,000 all in one shot. Then we could distribute the
money, throw ourselves a party, get our picture in the
paper, feel good about ourselves for a moment, and get on to
the next thing.
But that would shortcut what I think God
has called us to do with the Penny Project. Raising this
$230,000 by collecting spare change has forced us to make a
long-term commitment to Africa, because it will take years
for us to complete the task. By sticking to the vision of
collecting pennies, it will require us to invite more
churches to join the cause, which will continue to highlight
the cause of relief for Africa. The Penny Project serves as
a constant reminder to us that God is sometimes most active
in the small acts of faith, like the simple act of saving a
penny. While it would be tempting to find some shortcut and
speed up the process, to do so would shortchange the unique
blessing God is offering us through this project.
Every one of us who has just returned
from Africa will tell you that there is no shortcut to help
Africa heal and live into a brighter future. There are no
easy answers, no simple solutions. It is going to take years
of dedicated partnering, educating, investing and praying on
behalf of the global community to create new hope and new
possibilities for this continent. It will take patience and
perseverance and sacrifice and faith. It will take time. And
it will take trust— trust that God’s promise to heal and
transform the entire world will come to pass, even when
everything around us says we are crazy for believing it. It
might be as crazy as believing that a couple in their
eighties can have a baby. Who would ever believe a thing
like that?
Note: I am grateful for the work of
Walter Bruggemann. He is, without a doubt, my favorite
biblical scholar. His commentary on Genesis in the
Interpretation series is considered the seminal text for
preachers in handling these ancient stories. Don’t be
surprised to find me using his work often in the weeks to
come.
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