The Second Sunday in Lent (B) — Genesis 17:1–7, 15–16
Bethany and Faith Lutheran Churches, Reading, PA
This season of Lent, my plans are to talk about how we can imitate–or at least, live more like–Jesus. We can take a good look at what God is like, what his various characteristics are, and start to get a sense of those we might emulate. Last week we talked about how God is creative, not destructive. God’s heart breaks because of our injustice, but breaks even more at the idea of ending our evil by removing us altogether. After the flood, God promises to look for other ways to redeem us and all of creation.
Today, the Church reads the story of Abraham and Sarah, and the promises given to them. Their covenant is made several times in Genesis, and our version today is from chapter 17—somewhat more straightforward than the stories in chapters 15 or 18. While it’s a simple account, there are some wonderful, interesting little details.
When God appears to Abram, he begins with a request. “Walk before me,” he says, “Walk always in my presence.” Not that there is any way we can remove ourselves from God’s presence, of course. But we’re not always aware of it. It’s something we would do well to learn from our Jewish sisters and brothers, the cultivation of an awareness that God is truly here.
That’s what so many of the biblical laws, and the ways the Rabbis interpreted them through the centuries, are about. Attach a mezuzah, a little scroll with words of scripture, to the doorpost of your home, so whenever you go out and whenever you come in, it will remind you of God’s promises. When you wake and when you go to bed, repeat Moses’s words, to remind you that the Lord your God is one Lord, that you belong to God. When you eat, be sure to choose foods that follow certain rules, set up to prevent cruelty to animals; that way, you can remember to treat the world with the same love with which God treats you. When you live, you live to the Lord. When you die, you die to the Lord. Whatever you do, you do it to the glory of God, there, in front of his face.
“Always walk before me,” God says to Abram. “And if you do, you will be without blame.” For it is God, with us, that makes us holy.
So Abram is holy. And then God announces a promise. “I will make you exceedingly numerous. You will be the ancestor of many nations.” Abram and Sarai are very old. They have given up any hope of having children. At age ninety, Sarai’s body simply can no longer produce children. We know how it all works these days. She is out of egg cells, her hormones have adjusted, it just is not possible. Chances are that Abram isn’t as functional as he once was, either. In the previous chapter, Abram and Sarai decided to have a child by means of a servant woman, Hagar, whose treatment at their hands is questionable at best and shockingly cruel at worst. But God says that while he will bring great blessing to this one of Abram’s offspring, there will be another child to carry forward the blessing.
And not just a child, but offspring to become a whole multitude of nations. In this ancient world, you lived and you died, and you were lucky if you had a child or two to care for you in your old age and remember your name for a few generations. But God’s promise here is that for countless generations, nations upon nations would remember his name. Not eternal life the way that we conceive of it, but in a very real way Sarai and Abram could. Your descendants will remember you forever.
So God has promised Abram and Sarai both holiness and eternity. God has already given them everything. And yet there is still another gift for them. God gives them new names. “Abram” means “Great father;” he becomes “Abraham,” which means, “Father of many.” God’s promises to him are now imbedded in his own name. The same is true for Sarai, whose name meant, “My little princess,” and whose name now reveals true royalty. Our names are extremely important to us; they connect to our identity. This was even more true in ancient Israel, where speech was believed to have real power. If your name, the word by which you were called, changed, it also changed who you are.
God was incredibly generous to Abraham, for practically no reason whatever. God made Abraham holy. He gave him eternal life in the memory of many nations. And he gave him a new birth, re-created him as a new person, with a whole new name.
I had been serving my congregations in New England for almost six years when the senior pastor invited our bishop, Jim Hazelwood, to preach. Bishops are called in for all the worst parts of the life of God’s community: abuse, disaster, closure, terrible conflict. But bishops also get to see the exciting things that can happen when God’s people are truly open to the Holy Spirit, and the ways that we are the whole body of Christ even beyond the four walls of our church building.
Jim talked about the joys he gets to witness, but he also addressed some of the challenges ahead. Some of our members decided we should respond to those difficulties, and planned to help with a campaign for a synod-wide fund for seminary scholarships, training deacons and pastors for the future of the church. They came the pastors and asked if we would support it. We suggested a stretch goal of 20 thousand dollars. They wanted to push further.
In the end, the total raised came to just under $120,000. The committee then revealed their secret; evidently the whole congregation knew, except for me, that they’d decided to split the total and give half to me. If we were going to help new pastors with student loans, well, we had a new pastor right here with a crippling student debt.
Crippling was the right word; I could barely afford my bills with such a high student loan payment—even on a payment plan adjusted for income. And even that large payment didn’t cover the monthly interest; my balance was constantly increasing. Their generosity literally changed my life. Without it, I wouldn’t have the freedom I do today, knowing that my loan balance is finally decreasing with every payment. I couldn’t have afforded to return to school. I’d never have gotten to have the amazing experiences of these last four years. I probably wouldn’t be here at [Bethany/Faith] today.
There is nothing in our lives–not even our lives themselves–that does not depend on God’s generosity. God has always been willing to give everything, even his life on the cross, so that we would have life. As God was to Sarah and Abraham long ago, God will always give us more than we need. And that means we, too, have the freedom to be generous with others—with our finances, with our time and energy, with our joy. May we be willing to give enough to change people’s lives. Amen.