Patience With God
Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18
In the remote northwest corner of Nevada, far from the eternally lit neon lights of Las Vegas in the southeastern part of the state, lies the ominously named Massacre Rim Dark Sky Sanctuary. A dark sky sanctuary is an area of public or private land that restricts or reduces light pollution to allow for unspoiled views of the night sky. In 2019 the International Dark Sky Sanctuary Association—yes, that’s a real thing—named Massacre Rim one of the darkest places on Earth.
There are 155 dark sky sanctuaries spread throughout the United States. The closest one to us is 275 miles away in Cherry Springs State Park in north-central Pennsylvania. There are lots of reasons to enjoy living in the Northeast, but stargazing isn’t one of them. Too many people. Too much light pollution.
By coincidence, before I knew what I would be preaching on today, I had tried to do some stargazing a few nights ago on the patio. As I looked skyward I was able to count about a dozen or so stars. Better than nothing, but not exactly the light show offered in Massacre Rim, with stars filling the sky like confetti at a ticker-tape parade.
With no light pollution to speak of, I imagine that the night sky under which Abram slept glimmered like a golden dome from horizon to horizon. Thus God’s promise to Abram that his descendants would be as numerous as the stars must have filled him with awe and wonder. (Editorial note: At this point in the narrative Abram has yet to be renamed “Abraham,” and so I’m going to refer to him as “Abram”.)
I remember hearing as a child, courtesy of the astronomer Carl Sagan, that there are more stars in the sky than grains of sand on Earth, a claim that renders one dizzy if you seriously contemplate it. But we ought to contemplate it because it puts us in Abram’s shoes, or sandals, as the case may be. The promises of God are almost too wondrous to comprehend—the promise of blessing for Abram and the promise of forgiveness and new life for us.
This passage in chapter 15 of Genesis is not Abram’s first encounter with God, nor will it be his last. Abram’s history with God begins in chapter 12 when God tells him to pack his bags and leave his homeland for a distant land that God will show him, and with the promise that God will make of him a great nation.
That’s good enough for Abram. At the ripe old age of seventy-five, he gathers all his things, gasses up the minivan, and heads out on to the open road with his wife Sarai and his nephew Lot. With a famine sweeping the land, they end up in Egypt, where Abram passes his wife off as his sister, fearful that her beauty might cause the Egyptians to seize her and kill him.
Abram’s fears are well founded. None other than Pharaoh takes a fancy to Sarai and proceeds to marry her, with Abram saying not a word. “If anyone here knows any reason why these two people should not be joined in marriage, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.” Crickets. Not exactly a profile in courage on Abram’s part.
Abram is silent partially out of fear but also partially because Pharaoh showers him with gifts of all manner of livestock and enslaved persons. In forsaking his wife, Abram becomes quite wealthy. Only when a series of plagues break out and Pharaoh realizes something’s up does Abram finally fess up that Sarai isn’t his sister but is in fact his wife. Pharaoh then kicks Abram and his entire entourage out of Egypt.
Abram and Lot then go their separate ways, with Lot choosing to settle near the Dead Sea and Abram settling in the land of Canaan (which will one day become Israel). There God reiterates the promise to Abram of countless descendants (as numerous as the dust of the earth). But before Abram can relax and put his feet up, he has to go rescue Lot who has ended up on the losing side of a battle and who’s been taken prisoner. Finally, for his effort in rescuing Lot, Abram is blessed by a mysterious figure named Melchizedek.
That catches us up to verse 1 of today’s reading which begins with the phrase “After these things,” these things being everything you just heard. For a senior citizen who ought to be resting easy, collecting Social Security, and maybe doing some gardening, Abram’s life hasn’t lacked for excitement. We’re not told how long it’s been since God first called him back in chapter 12, but given all that he and Sarai have gone through, we’re likely talking years not months. But still God’s promise to Abram of descendants as numerous as the stars has yet to become a reality.
Perhaps sensing that Abram needs reassurance that God has not forgotten his promise, the Lord speaks to Abram in a vision saying, “Do not be afraid, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great.” Trust me, Abram. Be patient. Have faith.
In leaving his homeland at God’s command, as he did in chapter 12, Abram showed a remarkable faith in God’s promises of land and descendants. But you get the sense here in chapter 15 that Abram is becoming impatient. After the Lord reiterates once more the same promise to Abram, Abram responds saying, “O Lord God, what will you give me, for I continue childless, and the heir of my house is Eliezer of Damascus. You have given me no offspring, so a slave born in my house is to be my heir.”
Lord, I’ve done what you asked. I left my homeland. I’ve followed wherever you’ve led me. I’ve trusted in your promise from the day you called me until now. I’m not asking for anything other than what you promised me. What’s taking so long?
Abram has been patient with God, but he feels the ticking of the clock. He’s not getting any younger, and each day that passes makes the promise of offspring seem like more of a pipe dream. He has no son, no heir, and no sign of one. As it stands, the heir of his estate will not be his son but his slave.
To have patience with God does not come naturally to most of us. We want what we want and we want it now. God, I need healing now. Lord, I need guidance now. I need an answer not tomorrow but today. Do you not hear me?
Patience with God is central to Christian faith. In some sense, it is faith.
Several years ago I read a book titled Patience With God by Tomás Halik. Trained as a psychotherapist, Halik is a Catholic priest from the Czech Republic. In the late 1970s, during Communist rule, he secretly studied for the priesthood, was ordained, and became active in the underground church.
Halik suggests that the main difference between Christians and atheists is not faith but patience. Both atheists and Christians experience doubt about God, Halik argues, but do so from different perspectives. Because atheists are impatient, demanding answers to theological questions right away, they reject the whole notion of faith.
But Christians understand doubt differently. For Christians, doubt is not a question to be answered but a trial to be endured. The Christian approaches doubt with something the atheist lacks…patience. The Christian is one who cultivates patience, not only with God, but also with others and even with self. According to Halik, patience with God is faith, patience with self is hope, and patience with others is love. There is much wisdom in that, I think.
One day in another sermon I will explore those themes further, but today I want to focus on this notion of faith as patience with God. Abram is clearly running low on patience. He’s beginning to question. He wants to know how long he must wait before God does what God said he would do—give him a son.
What does God say in response? I’ll get on that right away? No! God once again reaffirms the promise! He takes Abram outside and tells him to look up and count the stars, if he can. So will his descendants be.
I feel for Abram. I really do. God is as near to him as his own breath, and yet God’s promise must seem as distant as the stars in the night sky. And yet, we read, “And [Abram] believed the Lord, and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness.” In other words, Abram’s faith is expressed as patience.
Sometimes the Lectionary ends the reading there in verse 6 with Abram going out on a high note, demonstrating his renewed patience with, and trust in, the Lord. But reading just a few verses more tells a different story. In verse 7, God reaffirms his promise of a permanent homeland for Abram, who left his own homeland at God’s command long ago. “I am the Lord who brought you from Ur of the Chaldeans, to give you this land to possess.”
I’m sure that Abram will respond with the same steadfast patience that he demonstrated just a moment ago. Let’s see, verse 7 reads, “But he said, ‘O Lord God, how am I to know that I shall possess it?’”
Hmmm. That’s peculiar. You see what’s happening here, right? Words aren’t going to be enough for Abram this time. He wants more than God’s promise; he wants a sign. You’re saying that I’m going to possess this land, but how do I know that what you’re saying will come to pass? Don’t tell me. Show me.
I love the honesty of the Bible. As portrayed in Genesis, Abram is a complicated figure. He is at times courageous, at other times cowardly. He accepts God’s promise with faith in one moment but the next moment he asks for proof. He has faith, but at the same time he questions.
And as far as God is concerned, that’s just fine. God can handle our questions. God can deal with our doubts. God can accept our impatience. Some of us have this notion that the God of the Old Testament is an angry, jealous God who can’t wait to smite sinners with a well placed lighting bolt, but as this passage shows, that is a caricature. While Abram may struggle to be patient with God, God is endlessly patient with Abram.
Look what God does after Abram asks for a sign. Does God say, Enough with your questions, you puny mortal? Who are you to question me? Of course not, that’s the Book of Job! What God does is tell Abram to gather an assortment of animals for ritual sacrifice—a heifer, a goat, a ram, a turtledove, and a pigeon. Abram cuts them in two and separates the two halves. He then falls into a deep sleep as a terrifying darkness descends upon him.
Good lord! What in the world is going on here? What’s being described is the ancient Near Eastern version of a contract signing. Rather than writing their signatures on a piece of paper as we do, the two parties would walk between the two halves of the animal carcasses, a gesture that meant “may the same happen to me if I don’t uphold my end.”
Ordinarily, both parties would walk between the carcasses to show that they each have a stake in the agreement, but listen to what happens. “When the sun had gone down and it was dark, a smoking fire pot and a flaming torch passed between these pieces.”
Throughout the Bible fire is a symbol of God—the burning bush that speaks to Moses and the tongues of fire that rest upon the disciples at Pentecost. Therefore the smoking fire pot and the flaming torch represent God. God walks between the animal carcasses while Abram does what? He sleeps! In other words, God is saying, It’s all on me. I take all of the responsibility. I assume all of the risk. I will carry all of the burden.
This God that we see here in Genesis 15 is the same God that we encounter in Jesus Christ. As God binds himself to Abram through this covenant, God binds himself to us through the new covenant in Jesus Christ. In going to the cross for our sakes, Jesus says, It’s all on me. All of your sins, all of your burdens, the full weight of all your pain and suffering, I will take it all upon my shoulders.