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Spanish Springs Presbyterian Church, Sparks, Nevada

June 5, 2005

Genesis 12:1–9

Romans 4:13–25

Matthew 9:9–13, 18–26

“Reaching Out and Letting Go”

With just the sparest of descriptions, the book of Genesis reports the most momentous decision that any human being has ever made: “So Abram went, as the Lord had told him” (Gen 12:4a, NRSV). What preceded that is almost as brief: “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. 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. 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’” (Gen 12:1–3 NRSV). The same God who, Genesis testifies, was once so frustrated with humankind that he sent a flood to blot out the earth, now determined to make a covenant with Abram and his family forever, to bless them and make them a great people, and, through them, to bless every family on earth. And to that huge promise that gives shape and direction to all of history, that gives purpose and meaning to life, Genesis reports Abram’s response as simply this: “So Abram went, as the Lord had told him” (Gen 12:4a, NRSV). And, almost as a footnote, we are informed that Abram took his brother’s son, Lot, with him, and Sarai his wife, and their possessions and household, and set forth and went to Canaan. “Abram was seventy-five years old when he departed” (Gen 12:4b, NRSV).

The rest of the Bible—all the many chapters in the many books—is an elaboration, and explanation, of the working out of the promise that God made to Abram. And, as today’s reading from Romans shows, the apostles of Christ perceived that the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus were the fulfilling of the covenant God made with Abram so many centuries before, the covenant that Abram embraced with his simple yet crucial response: “So Abram went, as the Lord had told him” (Gen 12:4a, NRSV).

In ancient Near Eastern culture, it was unheard of for someone to strike out to find their own future off and away from the family, for anyone to journey into a foreign land far beyond the horizon from the farm where he had been born and had grown up. Contrary to our American pioneer heritage, such individualism, being cut off from one’s roots, was not considered a virtue, never recognized as a goal. And even if a younger person might chance it, might break with every tradition and go off on his own, someone as old as Abram was—seventy-five—would hardly set out to start life over at his age. But God had spoken, we know not how, and Abram had recognized God’s voice, we know not how, and Abram had trusted God enough not to raise practical objections or even ask questions at all, apparently, and to commit not only his own future, but the future of his entire family and household, to the venture of pioneering in a place where, for all he knew, there might already be inhabitants who would not welcome his incursion or obligingly step aside. The way might be treacherous; certainly, the journey would be difficult. And where was it that he was going, anyway? Had he ever even heard of it before? He would not have seen travel brochures. He couldn’t pick up a map at AAA. All he had to go on was the word of God.

In Abram’s case, though, one place might have been as good as another. Where he was, where he had been all his life, held little prospect beyond the predictable sameness of one day after another. The great word of God’s promise in Genesis comes only a few verses after the great word of despair in Genesis: “Now Sarai was barren; she had no child” (Gen 11:30, NRSV). In ancient culture, that little phrase was almost a death sentence. In fact, it was a death sentence, in a way; the family was everything, and if the family were to come to an end, if a man were to have no heirs to carry on the name and work the fields or tend the flocks, then his life was judged to be perhaps not a failure, but essentially pointless. Cruel and insensitive as it sounds, a marriage was thought to be unsuccessful if it produced no children. And without heirs, there was no need to have land. But that is just the reason that God’s promise to Abram was so remarkable: God was pointing Abram toward a land, a broad land, which presumes a need for the land, room to grow and expand, and God was announcing that this old man—“already as good as dead” (Rom 4:19b, NRSV), as Paul indelicately put it—and this childless woman, his wife Sarai, would be the parents of a great nation, blessed by God and a blessing to the rest of the world.

Most people these days would want a good deal more to go on than Abram had. Before leaving the only home they had ever known, where life was comfortable if not outstanding, where they knew the source of their next meal and knew the people who would come to their aid if the crop failed or the sheep died or the well went dry, most people today would want some guarantee of their future. More than a travel brochure and a map, we would probably insist that it all be in writing, spelling out exactly what God was promising to do and where and when God was promising to do it, and we might check with our insurance agent to see if a policy could be issued to cover our actual expenses plus emotional damage if things didn’t turn out just as expected. Abram not only didn’t have those things; the very point of his faithfulness, and the very point of Paul’s writing about Abram’s faithfulness, is just that he didn’t seek assurances or guarantees; the only assurance or guarantee that Abram required was the promise of God. His faithfulness is defined by the fact that as soon as God had spoken, Abram did as God directed. And the result, after episodes that flirted with doubt and temptations to take things into one’s own hands, was the nation of Israel, a people whom God took specially to himself and fashioned to become a witness to all peoples about who God is and what God intends, and with whom you and I are put on a par through the faithfulness of Jesus Christ on the cross.

If the writer of Genesis had ended the story after Abram had set out from home with Lot his brother’s son and his wife Sarai and the animals and servants, you and I would be unlikely to vote for Abram as the “Most Likely to Succeed.” He hadn’t planned adequately before forging ahead. He hadn’t asked the right questions, hadn’t done enough research, hadn’t hedged his bets. I have yet to find a church session that would consider doing anything like what Abram did, for instance. He might be a patriarch, we might applaud his faith, but, when it comes right down to it, we would judge him really to be rather rash and irresponsible. (Honestly, now, would you hold up Abram’s quick decision to pack up and go as an example for your son or daughter, or for yourself?) Our Presbyterian way would not just be to demand a brochure and a map. We would appoint a committee to study the matter and make a recommendation before changing the status quo in any way. And if money were concerned . . .

But the blessedness of Abram here lies not in his being cautious or organized or ambitious. The blessedness of Abram, and perhaps the blessedness of any human being, lies in acknowledging one’s right relationship with God, trusting the sufficiency of God’s provision for whatever life may bring us, and committing oneself to being a blessing for others. Faith is not about speculation, but about action. Saying that he believed in God but not doing what God said to do would not only have meant that Abram’s faith was false, but also that Abram would have remained childless, unresponsive to the future God had planned for him and for Sarai and for their family that would never be if they were to remain safe and secure though unfruitful in Haran. And the rest of the world would have remained unblessed. The past was a bleak story; if there was to be a different future, Abram had to risk embracing the promise that God was holding out to him. And so, in the blink of an eye, without any calculating or scheming, Abram reached out to God, let go of the past, and threw himself into the future that was unknown to anyone but God. Abram could not foresee the end of his adventure, but he had the courage to begin. And God faithfully took care of the rest. And what the world then, and the world now, would call “reckless” and “irresponsible,” God blessed as “faith.”

The Bible doesn’t tell us what God would have done if Abram had refused, had sat down and shaken his head and concluded that such an adventure was just too fraught with uncertainties. It seems to me that Abram was not the only one taking a risk here. God was taking a risk, too—the risk of being turned down, but also the risk that his offer would be accepted—and then that God would be bound in covenant to this man and his generations of progeny that weren’t even born yet. Would they be worthy? Would they uphold their end of the bargain?

But God took the risk, and the Bible testifies that, for his part, God remained faithful all along, despite all of the missteps of the Israelites, including a few missteps by Abram himself. And finally, it was one of Abraham’s own descendants, as Matthew shows Jesus to have been, that Paul testifies fulfilled God’s original intention in seeking out Abram and making the covenant after the disappointing start to creation that ended with the flood: the redemption of the creation God loves through the faithfulness of Jesus, God’s own Son but also reckoned a child of Abraham, and Jesus’ death on the cross and resurrection from the tomb. And for anyone to confess Jesus Christ as Lord, and that God raised him from the dead, means to share the faith of Abraham whose covenant with God is fulfilled in Christ—to reach out from the shadows of stagnation and despair and let go of the safe and the familiar. Genealogy is no longer important, adhering to the Torah is no longer necessary, for the distinction between Abraham’s biological family—the Jews—and Abraham’s family by faith—Gentiles who have responded to Christ in faith—that distinction is forever overcome and set aside. The same God who gave life where there was none—the birds and the fish and the cattle and every creeping thing and man and woman—is the God who again gave life where there was none—a child to barren and childless Abraham and Sarah in their old age—and is the God who once again gave life where there was none—to the dead and buried Jesus—and is the God who yet again gives life where there was none—the quickening faith that leads people out from caverns of hopelessness into the full daylight of God’s purpose of salvation. And this same God blesses and continues to bless all families of the earth through the faithful witness, by words and deeds, of people who are open to hearing God’s call and are willing to act on it immediately, without question, without calculation, without regret.

“As Jesus was walking along, he saw a man called Matthew sitting at the tax booth; and he said to him, ‘Follow me.’ And he got up and followed him” (Matt 9:9, NRSV). That is a characteristic of disciples, according to Matthew—a willingness, without deliberation or debate, to trust Jesus—God’s Son—enough to reach out from the ordinary expectations of life, the ordinary securities of life, the ordinary disappointments of life—and let go the past so that we can be part of God’s future, to allow ourselves to be blessed by God and, by risking in faith, be a blessing to others. What if Abram had said “no,” or even said he’d have to think about it? What if Matthew or any of the others of the twelve had said “no,” or even said they’d have to think about it? Perhaps we begin to understand the consequences to God’s passionate purpose of redeeming the world if we should say “no,” or even “I’ll have to think about it.” The call of Christ may come at any moment to risk acting on faith so that we may be blessed and be a blessing. Faith in Jesus Christ means being ready, at every moment, to reach out and let go.