Texts: Genesis 15; Luke 13:31-35

This morning’s text from the Hebrew Scriptures contains what seem to be some problematic promises. Abram and Sarai have traveled far, drawn by God’s promise of a future that will be radically different from the life they have known. This is an ancient tale of people making the transition from a nomadic wandering of the earth, making do with the resources they find and forage, to being a settled people, who cultivate the earth and cultivate a richer life than that allowed nomadic people. The promise of a land that would not only be theirs but would provide abundantly for them and their heirs must have been a powerful draw for people who had known only the hardships of moving constantly back and forth across the face of the earth. This same Abram is seen as the progenitor of the three great Western, monotheistic religions that developed in the Middle East as nomads settled in and claimed the land as their own. His story, including the promise of land and heirs, is scripture for all three faiths – Judaism, Christianity and Islam. It is sadly fascinating that children of common parents and heirs of a single promise have created such deep enmity and shed so much blood among themselves, fighting over what they understand to be the fulfillment of that ancient promise.

Many scholars consider this text as possibly the oldest framing of the covenant between God and God’s people. Abram and Sarai have followed God’s leading, trusting that their barrenness – the barrenness of their wandering ways, as well as the literal barrenness of their loin and womb, will be overcome. They have lived their lives in faith that God will provide both the land and the heirs that have been promised. This is not the first or the last time we will find Abram confronting God over the fulfillment of this promise.

In a vision, God comes to Abram, restating the promise already made: “Do not be afraid, Abram. I am your shield; your reward shall be very great.” Reward here is not to be translated as something earned, rather it is a gift given to one who trusts, who lives in faithful attendance. But old Abram is very practical, “O Lord God, what will you give me…?” That is, his concern is for the promise already made of land and of the heir that necessarily goes with it. “…I continue childless…You have given me no offspring…,” he complains. God reassures him: “Look toward heaven and count the stars…So shall your descendants be.” And the text says, “…he believed the Lord…”

Walter Brueggemann says of this passage that “the promise of Yahweh stood over against the barrenness.” But the promise becomes problematic in its failure of fulfillment. Brueggemann goes on to say that “The large question is that the promise does delay, even to the point of doubt. It is part of the destiny of our common faith that those who believe the promise and hope against barrenness nevertheless must live with the barrenness. Why and how,” he asks, “does one continue to trust solely in the promise when the evidence against the promise is all around? It is this scandal that is faced here. It is Abraham’s embrace of this scandal that makes him the father of faith” (Walter Brueggemann, Genesis - Interpretation: A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching, p. 14

Abram’s faith is sustained, not by physical evidence of the fulfillment of the promise, but by the intimacy of the word spoken to him by God. His faith is in the relationship, which is very real for him. He has heard God whispering in his heart. He has looked to the stars and seen a vision of what may yet be. He cannot explain it, but he knows its truth in his bones. Brueggemann, again, says, “There is a future to be given which will be new and not derived from the present barrenness. [Abram] believes that God can cause a break point between the exhausted present and the buoyant future. He believes in a genuine Genesis” (Brueggemann, Genesis…, p. 144.) Abram’s continued faith is not a reasoned response to physical evidence, it is born of his personal experience of the great and loving Creator of the universe.

In the end of this chapter of Genesis, we find one more manifestation of the promise that I find particularly problematic and for which I could find no simple or satisfying solution in scriptural scholarship. The lectionary reading stops with God’s promise to give to Abram’s descendants the land “from the river of Egypt to the great river, the river Euphrates.” This is a big chunk of the Middle East. Since Genesis was written down during and after the Exile, we know it is meant to support religious and cultural views held by readers and hearers from that time. The image is an anachronistic one, read back into the Abraham story, really describing the borders of Israel at the height of its power and glory during the reign of King Solomon. Among other things, it ironically represents a longing for the good old days, at the same time it purports to discuss Abraham’s vision of the future. The lectionary leaves out the last three verses of the chapter, partly, I suppose, because of the challenge of reading a list of strange names. In this text, God is said to promise to Abram’s descendants “the land of the Kenites, the Kenizzites, the Kadmonites, the Hittites, the Perizzites, the Rephaim, the Amorites, the Canaanites, the Girgashites, and the Jebusites.” (Genesis 15:19-21)

Who were these people? Why was God so eager to give their land to Israel? What had they done or not done to deserve the fate of being overrun and occupied by foreigners? I know these questions are also anachronistic, me reading my concern for contemporary enmity and warfare back into an ancient story. Still, it seems to me that this is a very problematic promise. I imagine that at least part of the rationalization for the fate of these folk was that they did not recognize and follow the one true God. I’m sure it is also a way of blessing the history of the Hebrew people.

Throughout the Judaeo-Christian tradition, we see an evolution of understanding of God and God’s desire for creation. It moves from nomadic people and the practice of polytheism to settlers, who established themselves and cultivated culture in many forms, including religious ones. God becomes one who rules over a court of lesser gods in heaven, and, then, alone the great God of the universe, whose name may not be uttered and whose face may not be seen. Finally, God takes human form in Jesus, the Christ, and moves among us with compassion and a compelling call to follow the Lord of love. God calls Her people from being a chosen people, solely focused on their own survival and welfare, to being a people chosen to bring “light to the nations,” people who will lead all creation back to God.

Still, centuries later, sisters and brothers are fighting over who has been promised that same little piece of land, forgetting that as common children of one God we are meant to share responsibility for the whole creation, including one another. In other places, people fight over land and resources with the same fervor, based on equally obscure religious claims, on problematic promises, literally interpreted.

Many years after Abram, Jesus weeps over the city of Jerusalem, the seat of both temporal and religious authority for his people, the descendants of Abram, those who should be the fulfillment of God’s ancient promise and covenant. The sacred city is also the seat of the authorities that have sought to silence and do away with God’s true prophets for centuries. Jerusalem, the home of the temple, once thought to be the very throne of God on earth, is now cast as the killing ground for those who come in the name of God, the messengers of peace and justice, the carriers of compassion and love, the very son of God.

Jesus’ lament over the city is achingly beautiful. He bares his soul as he sings out, “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!” Where is the future promised, free of this very barrenness? The ancient story is tapped, the old patterns repeat themselves. The person of faith moves forward when the fulfillment of the promise seems least possible. Jesus’ experience of God’s desire to redeem creation to God’s self is enough to keep him moving toward the fulfillment of the promise, now seemingly delayed by eons. But the scene has changed. It is clear that the promise is no longer about land, about possessions and inheritance. It is about inheriting and inhabiting the realm of God, a different kind of culture than what was (or is) commonly known and practiced, a strange order of being, a new creation in which all humanity may live in peace and harmony. Herod was threatened by its prophet, the religious authorities were largely skeptical or outright condemning of his vision, his own disciples really didn’t get it, and yet, in faith, he moves on, believing the promise will be fulfilled.

Today, in Jerusalem, in the land between the river of Egypt and the Euphrates, and all around the globe, in greed and fear, grasping for false security, we continue to make sure that the promise is problematic. We foolishly escalate a foolish war to fight terror with terror; we insanely announce plans to build a new hydrogen bomb; we build walls in a mad attempt to seal our borders against sisters and brothers in need; we blindly believe there is not enough stuff to go around, so we accumulate and hoard, thinking that this is precisely what God has promised us as God’s new chosen people. It is time to set our own faces steadfastly toward a city whose Maker and Builder is God, a new Jerusalem in which righteousness reigns, in which justice, compassion and love are the law of the land, in which we lay our weapons down and study war no more. God’s promise, too often problematic for those of us who think we know best what the future should be, will surprise us and satisfy us, if we let it.

Hear Brueggemann once more on the promise of God’s covenant with God’s people. “The text announces afresh what it means to be the human creatures we are created to be, that is to be righteous. It means to trust God’s future and to live assured of that future even in the deadly present” (Brueggemann, Genesis…, p. 145.) He goes on, “The future of God’s goodness is open to those who trust themselves to that future, seeking neither to hold on to the present or conjure an alternative future of their own…finally it is not faith which makes the difference. Faith responds to an already given grace. This faith is not simply an embrace of the goodness which meets us in the world, but a reception of the goodness of God promised in spite of the way the world is” (Brueggemann, Genesis…, p. 146.)

For a while, let us weep with Jesus over the beloved city as we ponder for ourselves the promise delayed; then let us set our faces steadfastly toward that city, casting out demons like war, poverty, hunger, greed and abuse, healing the sick, the tormented, the broken hearted, the least of our very own sisters and brothers, as we go to the reward God has promised, a promise on which to build our lives, our world, our future. Amen.