Passage: Genesis 12:1-4a
Now the Lord said to Abram, “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you. 2 I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you, and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing. 3 I will bless those who bless you, and the one who curses you I will curse; and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.”
4 So Abram went, as the Lord had told him; and Lot went with him. Abram was seventy-five years old when he departed from Haran.
And so begins the covenant which God forges with the Hebrew people. It happens with very little fanfare, not unlike at the stable in Bethlehem. Nor can we find much in the background of Abram/Abraham or Sarai/Sarah that warrants the great consequence God will place upon this affiliation. Only God knows why those who are chosen, find themselves in a relationship with God.
When I was young, my mother and father would instruct us about the absolute importance of honesty. My dad would affirm, “Honesty is the best policy.” “Say what you mean, and mean what you say.” “Your word is your word.” My mom told me and my two brothers an object lesson when we were little, saying that your conscience was like a big gear covered with many teeth. Each time you told a lie, you wear down one of those teeth, making it easier for that gear to slip, and by inference that much easier for you to tell the next lie. It was a visually effective story, one that got lots of mileage when we were older and might catch Mom in an exaggeration, and then would tell her that her “conscience gear” was spinning freely like a flywheel.
On the whole, I think my parents did a good job instilling this lesson, to tell the truth to others, but also that you must be honest with yourself. Perhaps my thinking is a bit too simple, but I have considered that my interest in theology began with these questions about what’s true, honest, and fair, for me and for others. These led me to examine a lot of what I heard at church and in other religious settings. Thankfully, with insightful teachers, generous mentors, and friends of faith, the questions have found answers that have sounded honest, full of truth and meaning.
I believe that honesty is the basis for all relationships. Isn’t it true that we are closest to those with whom we can share most openly and honestly? Even when we can make that truthful assessment of our own failures and shortcomings, how difficult is it to share this inner self-portrait with others in an authentic and candid way. Only when people permit others behind this veil of truth-telling, are they ever capable of forming real relationships. If we never truly know each other, how deep can our bonds with others be? Without honesty, there is no intimacy.
With this in mind, I return to the covenant God initiated with his people, starting here with Abraham. This covenant is the great thread which links all of the stories in the Old and New Testaments. Much has been written about covenants made in the Bible. Covenants, simply stated, are promise-bound relationships between two parties, and the promises made are typically general and far-reaching. In the marriage covenant, promises are made by two persons to remain loving and loyal, whether rich or poor, through sickness and health, until they are parted by death. Both parties are advised that they will need to be unconditional in their giving, during the many seasons of their relationship. As one who has been through a divorce, I know that marriages can fail, our promises can be broken, and these covenants can be ended.
But the covenants made between God and God’s people are much more one-sided. Let’s look at the conditions of this original covenant. God was the one who established the parameters of the bond. As if it were to be their vocation, God called Abraham and Sarah to leave the entire world they were comfortable in and familiar with to become migrants. Perhaps this is why Jews held so fervently to the statutes demanding hospitality to strangers. “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you.” You cannot become a new people if you continue in the old ways linked by all those old relationships. That old identity of his land, his family ties, and his parents’ home has been replaced by a new one based on a series of promises about what God will do for Abraham. I will show you (the land). I will make you (a great nation). I will bless you. I will make great your name. I will bless those who bless you. I will curse the one who curses you.
Following one’s calling can involve sacrifices, even when much is being promised. And God is making some immense promises. God promises Abraham that he would be the father of a large nation – a promise that sounds truly outrageous given the fact he and Sarah seem beyond the age of having children, and Sarah has previously been unable to have children. How does Abraham respond to such a calling? He goes. “So Abram went, as the Lord had told him … Abram was seventy-five years old when he departed from Haran.”
For we who know the story, we’re aware that Abraham and his descendants are in for a wild ride. There will be bitter suffering under the yoke of Pharaoh, great hardships experienced in the wilderness, and much grief during years of exile. Living out our relationship with God does not guarantee us a life of ease and pleasure. When we are called to take up our cross and follow Jesus, it sounds as if we should expect quite the opposite. But what the covenant story that Abraham and his descendants reveals, is that the God who upholds this relationship is trustworthy and committed to these promises. God’s word is God’s word. Indeed, God’s fidelity to us continues even after God glimpses the honest reality of our true selves, the bad and the good. All who are called to a life in Jesus Christ, should be aware of this boundless commitment to us. But what this brief passage from Genesis reminds us, is that our own journey, like that of Abraham and Sarah, is not about what we are doing, but about what God is doing in and through us.
When I started this Lenten trek, I was under the impression that the point of our journey was reaching the reward at its end. Now, I’m hearing that the main purpose for all our effort is the journey itself. It’s true; I have learned so much about myself over these days; and I have met the nicest folks during our travels. But what a strange idea this is to consider.
Prayer: Thank you for keeping your promises, O Lord. Thank you for inviting us into relationship in the first place. As we’ve learned from all the others who truly love us, there’s nothing we have done to merit such love.
Amen.