Focus: God is faithful to his baptismal promises to us.
In the introduction to our bible study book Entering the Passion of Jesus, Amy-Jill Levine writes, “In every good story, there is history and there s risk; and the stories of Holy Week, also called Passion Week, are brimming with both history and risk.
”1 History and risk. Abraham knew both well. Many of us probably know Abraham from the Sunday school song, “Father Abraham had many sons. Many sons had Father Abraham. I am one of them, and so are you, so let’s all praise the Lord!” But it wasn’t always that way. When we meet Abraham in chapter 12, he’s got a different name: Abram, he’s 75-years-old, and he and his wife Sarah have no children and very little land. God comes to Abram, and his first words are, “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.” By the end of the story, that’s exactly what happens. That’s the history.
But at every moment of that history is risk. Put yourself in Abraham’s place.
If God told you to get up and leave your home and your family and everything you knew, would
you leave? If God told you to change your name, would you do it?
If God told you that you would bear a child at age 100, would you believe him?
And, men, let’s not even get into the question of whether we’d get circumcised at that age.
Today’s story focuses on those last two questions. Abraham is promised time and again that he will have a child going all the way back to 12, and it never seems to happen. This is still a painful experience for so many today. Back then was no exception, when being able to pass on your possessions and your name to a child—and yes, at the time, a son—was everything. When we first meet Abraham, Eliezer of Damascus is his heir. Later, after decades of waiting, Abraham takes matters into his own hands and has a child with his servant Hagar. His child is named Ishmael.
And now, with Ishmael already born, God is coming to him again. In a way, God is promising him more than he has now: a son from his own wife Sarah. But Abraham faces several practical questions: Is he willing to risk the ridicule of being laughed at by Sarah and/or others, the hardship of raising another child when he’s well past the century mark, of having another mouth to feed, of the disappointment and anger he knows this will cause Hagar and Ishmael? Is he willing in so many ways to start over? But not just that. Beyond all the practical questions: Is Abraham willing to trust in God’s promises for him and for Sarah once again? Is he still willing to step out in risk? After so much disappointment, are he and Sarah still willing to hope for something more than what they already have?
I could tell you the happy ending to this story, of the birth of his son Isaac, of the birth of his grandson Jacob and then his twelve sons, how Abraham really did become “Father Abraham,” of all the nations. But it seems to me that our life in faith is a lot closer to Abraham right here at this moment, to Sarah right here at this moment, than it is to Father Abraham of the song. The daily life of faith is: what that we have right now are we willing to risk for the promises of the Gospel?
Amy-Jill Levine writes:
During Lent, we should ask ourselves, what should I have done that I did not do? What risk should I have taken that I was afraid to take? When did my sense of self- preservation trump my sense of courage? Jesus not only takes up his own cross, Mark 8:34 states, “He called the crowd with his disciples and said to them, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”…The Passion narrative asks much of us, and it also through Jesus’ example, gives us the knowledge that we can do what we are asked, and the assurance that we will succeed.2
Taking up our cross, it’s not about the small jokes we make like when we say, “I’m chronically late, guess it’s my cross to bear,” and so on. No, it’s about when we step out to take a risk in love for the Gospel and for our neighbors. Taking up our cross is risking the apology or the tough conversation or offering forgiveness in the hope that a better relationship is possible. Taking up our cross is risking saying the unpopular thing in hope that a more loving, more just world is possible. Taking up our cross during a pandemic looks like risking our own comfort or convenience in the hope of saving others’ lives. Taking up our cross means giving of ourselves and our possessions, in the hope that God will make sure there is enough to go around for all. Taking up our cross means risking talking to someone we disagree with or looking at something in a new way, risking that we might be wrong or need to change our minds, in the hope that God will lead us to the truth together. Taking up our cross is when we refuse to accept “good enough” and step out in faith, with Abraham, with Peter, behind Jesus.
The faith God asks of us is not easy. It’s not theoretical. It is lived out in daily, practical decisions. In our stories today, Abraham laughed at what God asked of him, Peter got angry and, get this, rebuked Jesus. But faith that is willing to risk loss, shame, even the cross, is the only faith that has ever led to resurrection. A risk-taking faith: that’s our part of our covenant, our pact, our relationship with God.
On God’s end, all the best promises. Abraham was promised land, descendants, and to be a blessing. We are promised righteousness, forgiveness, resurrection, eternal life, and so much more, to walk in newness of life: a world restored and renewed. We Christians are not just hoping for more than we have; we are hoping for the most anyone could ever have. We can risk stepping out in faith that God is reliable because we know his history. God was faithful to Abraham: giving him a son Isaac. God was faithful to Jesus, resurrecting him on the third day.
We can trust that God will be reliable for us too by looking to our sign of the covenant. Abraham was circumcised and renamed. It is hard to think of a more daily reminder of his special relationship with God. Except perhaps for the daily sign that we have: our baptism. Every day, we can trace the sign of the cross on our forehead. Every day, we can remember our new name child of God. Every day as water washes over our face and our bodies, we can remember the water that gave us something better than a risk or a history: a future in Christ forever. With that eternal future secure for us, what in the present are we willing to risk for the Gospel and for our neighbors?
1 Amy-Jill Levine, Entering the Passion of Jesus (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2018), 7.
2 Amy-Jill Levine, Entering the Passion of Jesus (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2018), 9.