SERMON Starry Sky and Deep Darkness
Lent
2 (C) (07): Genesis 15:1-6, 17-18; Psalm 27; Philippians 3:17:4:1; Luke
13:31-35
A
starry sky and deep darkness are a strange combination. They don't happen
together in nature. They are distinct and different. Yet we hear of both this
morning.
The
starry sky begins with a baby -- or more properly, the lack of a baby.
Babies -- and, more specifically, the lack of a baby --
is something I can relate to. Before our first grandchild was born, Lee and I
were serious grandparent wannabee. Many of you will recognize the symptoms. We
were drawn to every passing infant. We volunteered to babysit for young
friends. All the while, trying not to be too obvious with our
daughter and son-in-law about our feelings. But not hiding them either.
There were all sorts of babies in our lives but not the baby that would
make us grandparents. We ached for that baby.
And
the same was true for Abram / Abraham. The baby was missing. God
directed Abraham to leave his country and his family and go to a land that God
would show him. God promised that, if Abraham did that, God would "make
of [him] a great nation" (Gen 12:2). So Abraham leaves country and family.
And along the way, God further promises, "I will make your offspring like
the dust of the earth" (Gen 13:16). Where we join Abraham this morning, he
has done what God has directed, but there is no baby, no offspring.
Furthermore, Abraham is old.
This
morning we hear the first exchange that Abraham has with God where God doesn't
do all the talking. And in that exchange we learn that Abraham is not a happy
camper. We know this because, in the exchange, Abraham challenges -- or, as
community organizers would say -- Abraham "agitates" God: "Here
I am," He says. "I am about to die, and I am childless. How can you
give me anything?" That's a literal translation. "The one who will
inherit my estate," he goes on, "is Eliezer of Damascus." When
God says nothing, Abraham continues to agitate God and repeats his statement
that he has no direct heirs and that a servant will inherit.
Now,
the lack of a direct heir -- a biological heir -- is not a trivial matter for
Abraham.
On
a personal level, it is not a trivial matter because in ancient near eastern
societies it was left to a son to provide the proper rites and burial to ensure
the father a restful afterlife. But here, of course, there is much more at
stake than that. This is not just about one baby and a proper burial. It is
about establishing a great people, God's people.
And
it is in terms of God's promise that Abraham will be the father of this great
nation that God assures Abraham that Eliezer of Damascus will not be an
indirect heir. Abraham will have a direct heir, a biological baby. And it is in
terms of that promise that God takes Abraham outside.
And
this is where the starry sky comes in. Abraham is shown a starry sky. This is
not something we see when we go outside our city homes. Ever.
When we lived in
Rightly so, because starry skies are
extraordinary. Abraham's starry sky is something that
makes our times on
And
then, the most amazing thing happens. As we just heard, despite Abraham's
advanced years and the lack of a baby or any realistic prospect of a baby, he
believes the Lord. The word here for "believe"
comes from the same root as the word "Amen" -- "So be it!"
This is faith that is conviction so deep as to be absolute fact. For Abraham, it is the faith that --
notwithstanding the reality of his age and of Sarah's -- he will be father of a
great nation that will be God's nation and God's history.
But
there is more.
God
goes on to promise Abraham that he will possess the land he is passing through.
And, here Abraham is not satisfied with just God's word that Abraham will
possess the land. Almost exasperated, Abraham asks, "O Lord God, how am I to know that I shall possess it?" God
directs (in the words of one commentator) that "a small zoo" be
slaughtered and cut in half. In so directing Abraham, God is setting the stage
for making a covenant -- a covenant "modeled after the royal land-grant
treaty common in the ancient Near East, by which a king bestowed a gift of land
on an individual or vassal as a reward for royal service." (ETZ HAIM (2000) 84. (In case you were wondering, "The
cutting of the animals in Mesopotamian sources is a warning that the violator
of the covenant treaty would be sliced in half, as criminals were." ETZ
HAYIM (2000) 84)
The
covenant itself is not made until sunset when a deep sleep falls on Abraham and "a
deep and terrifying darkness" descends on him. This darkness has been
described as "an abnormal stupor . . . associated with the dread aroused
by the awareness of the presence of God." (ETZ HAYIM (2000) 84) After the sun has gone down and it is dark,
God -- as a smoking pot and a flaming torch -- passes between the sacrificed
animal halves. In the dark. In the
absence of starry skies. And the
covenant giving Abraham's descendants the land is made.
And
as different as starry skies are from deep darkness, the two come together in
God's promise and covenant. Both God's promise to give Abraham a biological
child and God's covenant bestowing land on Abraham's descendants are
unconditioned and unconditional. Abraham has done nothing to merit either. Nor
has he asked for or expected either. In the words of a Jewish
commentary, in the case of the covenant, "for the first time in the
history of religions, it is God who initiates the contract." Just
as it is God initiates the promise of children.
And
as Christians we are part of that promise. Part of the starry
galaxy. We hear Paul tell the
Philippians "our citizenship is in heaven." And, in saying this, he
is asking the Philippian Christians to reject religious leaders who were
insisting that heavenly citizenship required either "a religious rite like
circumcision or religious secrets to make our bodies somehow acceptable to
God." (Van Harn, ed. (2001) 364) "Real human beings really matter,
and that means that our concrete self, our personality, our emotions, our
distinctive characteristics -- the total mixture of who we are -- is beloved by
Jesus Christ . . . " (Van Harn, ed.
(2001) 364) As was true of God's promise to Abraham, the promise to us through
Christ is pure gift.
As
is the faith that promise engenders. Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote in one of his
letters from prison: "The religious act is always something partial;
faith is always something whole, an act involving the whole life."
That was certainly true of Abraham. Shown the starry skies, Abraham believed
with a conviction as deep as fact. Gifted with God's covenant, he lived in the
reality of that covenant. Reflecting on Paul's advice to the Philippians, one
commentator writes: "We live Christian lives in the real present with its
concrete street addresses and political and social realities because we belong
to a permanent citizenship that is God's gift to us here and now" (Van Harn, ed.
(2001) 364) -- here and now in Chicago; in Wicker Park; at Wicker Park Lutheran
Church; as members of this community of faith.
Paul
urges the Philippian Christians to seek to find examples of that life in faith
to imitate (Paul, being Paul, of course suggests himself). Let me suggest Abraham. (Someone whom Paul himself holds up as
an example in his letter to the Romans.) Someone who lived
faith. Let me suggest that, without deep darkness, starry skies will remain
hidden. By God's grace, this Lent, we
will be open to both. Amen
March
4, 2007
Ruth VanDemark,
pastor