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Sight Unseen

Friday, July 16th, 2010 | Author: Skip Moen

For you trusted in your wickedness; you said, “No one sees me.”  Your wisdom and your knowledge, it leads you away, and you said in your heart, “I am and none else is.” Isaiah 47:10

Wickedness – How could anyone trust in wickedness?  Does that make any sense at all?  No one actually puts their faith in evil, do they?  Yes, there are folklore stories about making a pact with the devil, but for the most part we all know that these are fictitious.  So what can Isaiah mean?  The explanation is found in the elaboration.  To trust in ra’a’ (evil) is to say to yourself, “No one sees me.”  In other words, it is the presumption that I will not get caught.  To trust in wickedness is to assume that unobserved behavior avoids moral consequences. It doesn’t mean that I don’t acknowledge the behavior is evil.  It just means that I don’t think I will have to pay any consequences for doing it.

Why is this assumption about life so foolish?  It is foolish because it denies the sovereignty of God.  He always sees.  The man who thinks that getting away with it is the man thinks he is his own god.  Such a man is not only guilty of the moral infraction of his behavior, he is also guilty of idolatry.  He has put himself in God’s place.  He is a sinner twice over with a single act.

Of course, none of us is like this foolish man, are we?  We never take action that depends on secrecy in order to avoid consequences.  We never avoid the light in order to accomplish a deed.  We never calculate the probabilities of being caught before we move ahead.  No, all of our actions are able to stand in the light, justified because they are aligned with the character of the King.  We would be mortified to even imagine that any deed of ours needed to be hidden in an effort to avoid its natural consequences.  Of course. Of course.

But sometimes we aren’t quite so righteous, are we?  Sometimes we do seek a little excuse, we do create a bit of darkness, sometimes we do scheme how not to get caught.  What we don’t realize is that no matter how small the moral infraction, each of these acts is idolatry.  Each action asserts that God is not Judge of all Mankind, that He is not sovereign and supreme and that His law is not written into the fabric of the universe.

When I volunteered in the jail, I worked with young men who routinely asserted that their only crime was being caught.  They believed their actions were entirely justifiable.  These men had no remorse, only regret that they weren’t smart enough to avoid arrest.  Next time would be different.  I often wondered if I were any different, with the one exception that I didn’t get caught.  I was certainly capable of doing what they had done.  Did I avoid those actions because of the fear of being caught or because I wished only to follow the King?  Isaiah raises the age-old question of faith:  Who do you trust?  The idolater trusts himself.  He has no other god.  The problem is that his god is blind.  My God isn’t!

Topical Index:  trust, wickedness, ra’a’, idolatry, Isaiah 47:10

Tidy Answers

Monday, January 25th, 2010 | Author: Skip Moen

For our heart rejoices in Him because we trust in His holy name. Psalm 33:21

Trust – Remember the difficulties we found in Psalm 33:22.  Trying to capture the meaning of ka-asher turned into a lesson about tidy answers and worldviews.  But what we may have overlooked is the parallelism of Hebrew poetry.  In other words, we probably should have started with this verse in order to understand what is happening in the next verse.  Here the psalmist tells us that trust is parallel to hope.  Rejoicing is connected with trust in the same way that hesed is connected with hope.  So, what does it mean to trust in His holy name?

The Hebrew word is batach. The pictograph reveals “the house separated by the covenant.”  What is the distinguishing characteristic of trust?  It is to be under the covenant.  It is being different than the rest of the world.  Those who live according to God’s covenant have confidence in Him.  They rejoice because their lives are not determined by their own efforts.  They rest under His banner.  In other words, trusting God is being set apart, precisely what God says about His people at Sinai.  They are separated by His covenant.

Notice that the psalmist doesn’t say, “We trust in Your commandments.”  Why not?  God gave the covenant instructions at Sinai.  He set His people apart by providing them with a distinctively different lifestyle.  Why doesn’t the psalmist acknowledge this lifestyle difference as the basis of trust?  The answer is found in the difference between legislation and person.  No commandment is an end in itself.  Yes, God’s rules for living provide protection, direction and confirmation, but they do not exist apart from His character.  The purpose of the commandments is not to produce morally superior people.  It is to reflect the heart of the Lord.  That’s why Yeshua can castigate those who mechanically kept the commandments but lacked God’s heart as motivation.  Keeping the commandments is supposed to be an expression of my abandonment to God’s character.  Then, and only then, does the distinctive difference of my life radiate who He is.  So, we don’t hope in His instructions.  We hope in His name!

But wait!  If it’s all about hoping in His character, why does the psalmist say, “His holy name”?  Does He mean that we hope in the word YHWH?  Of course not.  In Hebrew thought, a name is the summary essence of a person.  Adam isn’t just any name.  It is the name of the one who comes from ‘adamah, the earth-creature, the first water of life.  Adam is his name and his essential character.  Just so, God’s name is the summary of who He is.  His name is the shorthand way of referring to the very nature of God.  And what is God’s nature?  For that answer, we need to read Exodus 34:6 where God Himself declares who He is.  Take the attributes found in Exodus and compare them to the qualities of your motivation for following Him.  If the comparison reveals some differences, then corrective action is needed, because His people are called by His name.

Topical Index:  name, trust, batach, Psalm 33:21

Category: Today's Word  | Tags: , , ,  | 4 Comments

As By One Man

Friday, June 12th, 2009 | Author: Skip Moen

and when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make one wise, she took of its fruit, and ate, and gave also to her husband with her; and he ate  Genesis 3:6

With Her – “Why, oh, why did you come into my life?  Why did God send you to me?  Look what a mess you’ve caused?  It’s all your fault!”  Adam has a sad song to sing very soon after he and his ‘ezer kenedgo ate from the Tree.  But when she offered him the fruit, he didn’t reject it.  He didn’t say, “Now wait a minute.  God said not to eat from this tree.  Why are you doing this?”  No, he went right along with her.  Why?

The first thing we notice is that the Hebrew text makes it very clear that Adam was not off fishing while Havvah was conversing with the serpent.  He was right there beside her!  The Hebrew is ‘immah.  It doesn’t just mean that he was standing there.  It means that he was agreeing with everything that was happening.  The preposition ‘im carries the meaning of something done together or in common.  This is not the exclusive sin of the ‘ezer.  This is mutual culpability.

My wife and I love doing things together.  In fact, when we got married, we agreed that the life of the corporate world where husband and wife occupy two different realities was not for us.  We tried to spend as much time as possible doing the same things.  That has been increasingly difficult as we have weathered financial storms, but the truth is that when we can just spend the day together, we are very happy.  I can only imagine what it must have been like for Adam and his ‘ezer.  They were the only human occupants of God’s Garden.  What joy it must have been to discover all that God put there, to walk hand in hand through the creation of the Lord, observing the perfect harmony of the ordered world.  And Adam knew, in his bones, that the one walking beside him was exactly right for him.  She was his complement in the perfect order of existence.  So, it’s not surprising at all to find that he is right there during the serpent’s conversation.

What is surprising is that Adam doesn’t say a word.  He doesn’t object, resist or challenge anything.  He submits to her suggestion and follows her lead.  Why?  Isn’t he the one who is supposed to remember?  Isn’t he the zakar?  Of course he is.  When God asks him why he ate of the fruit, he offers the reasonable excuse.  “I just did what she told me to do.  That’s what You made her for, God.  To give me direction.”  And he’s right.  That is what the ‘ezer is supposed to do.  She is responsible for her mate’s relationship guidance.  Adam did what she said because he trusted her.  But it was a huge mistake.

The woman fails to maintain the boundaries.  She fails to recognize the difference between how she is made and how she might be made.  Because she does not see the difference between being equipped by God and being self-sufficient, she steps over the line.  And Adam follows.  He forgets that the Lord told him something else.  Both the man and the woman violate their essential, God-created character.  But that’s what sin does.  It violates who we really are.

Was it a mistake to trust her?  No.  The only place in the Bible where the Hebrew word for trust (batach) is used positively between human beings is in Proverbs 31:11.  That verse instructs a man to trust his wife.  In every other case, the use of batach as a positive declaration of trust is between a man and God.  Adam was not wrong to trust her.  A man is supposed to trust his wife in the same way that he trusts God.  Adam’s problem is not trust.  It’s remembering.  When Adam fails to be who he really is – the one who remembers – then the slate is wiped clean and all that is left is trust.  But trust without truth is sin.  Trust without remembering the truth is like sailing without a compass.  You can trust that the wind will fill the sails and propel you forward, but you have no idea where you are going.  Paul was entirely correct to say, “As by one man, sin entered the world.”  He did not have to say, “As by one woman.”  Adam was right there, forgetting how God made him and what he was supposed to be.

The reason that I trust God is that He is unwaveringly true.  That is the divine standard of the ‘ezer – action based on unwavering truthfulness.  But since the Fall, everyone wavers.  We need an outside voice of correction to correspond to our inside voice of direction.  We need a compass that is not influenced by our idea of True North.  Adam forgot the truth – and his trust killed him.  Eve forgot her boundaries – and her step slew her.

If you are in complement with another, you will need both truth and boundaries before trust and direction can accomplish their purposes.  Don’t confuse them no matter how desirable the fruit.

Topical Index:  Adam, trust, with her, ‘immah, batach, boundaries, truth, Genesis 3:6

A Year on the Ash Heap

Sunday, May 10th, 2009 | Author: Skip Moen

A Year on the Ash Heap: Travels with Job

The book of Job is considered the oldest book of the Bible. With this in mind, the story becomes even more challenging. After all, if this account is the oldest book, then it follows that all of the other stories, directions, prophetic utterances and guidance was not around when Job saw his life come apart at the seams. He did not have the chance of reflecting on the Psalms of David, the wisdom of Solomon, the accounts of God’s faithfulness is Genesis and Exodus, the history of God’s care in the prophets or the rules for living in the other books. Job had to go it alone.

The record of God’s interaction with Man reduces the devastation of our catastrophes. Perhaps God knew that those of us who were not “blameless and upright” needed to have a source of comfort and direction. God is merciful. We could have been born in Job’s world.

There is another tiny factor that we often overlook when we find ourselves in a Job environment. Job’s catastrophe continued much longer than it takes us to read the forty-two chapters. Disasters are quite different when they stretch along for month after month. Human beings show great courage and resilience when faced with sudden traumas, but it’s the daily grind of unresolved terror that eats up the soul. Just ask anyone who is dealing with a slow losing battle with cancer. Time squeezes the hope from us. We have no idea how long Job endured his suffering. Long enough for him to consider death a pleasant alternative. And Job dealt with the continuation of suffering without the comfort of words like, “I have overcome the world” or “I saw a new heaven and a new earth”. God is merciful in ways we sometimes do not recognize.

Job may not have had the reservoir of Biblical teaching and promises, but Job has some advantages. His interaction with God is not as cluttered as ours. He doesn’t have to sort through 5000 years of theological bickering to decide if some text really applies to him. His faith is first-hand personal communication (much like ours is supposed to be, I would guess). Job doesn’t need to go to the local bookstore and buy the latest thinking on God’s view of crisis, relationship management or career restructuring. Job deals direct. And, of course, Job knows that he is righteous. That is a big leg up. I personally know that I am a long way from righteous. My guess is that most of us will hesitate to raise a hand when God asks, “Who among you is blameless and upright?” God has redeemed me from myself, but He probably wouldn’t say, “There is no one on earth like Skip”. I am a terrible sinner rescued by grace, not deserving of any compliment by God. Job and I might be the same in some ways, but on this one, I don’t seem to be even close.

Uncluttered, blameless and personally connected. Job’s advantages. Of course, my life in Christ puts me in the same camp by adoption. So Job’s advantages become mine by inheritance. I don’t have to sort out the theology in order to know God. God counts me blameless because of His Son and I have a direct channel of communication with the Spirit Who lives within me.

Job’s disadvantages are a little different too. We share the same “friends”. We both have that group of “helpers” whose role in life is to remind us that terrible circumstances are curses directly related to our past performance. We both have the company of spiritual advisors who are anxious to propose solutions but who quickly dismiss our explanations or questions. We are blessed with the group consciousness of moral blame; the ones who are more than ready to point out why we deserved this calamity. And, of course, we are visited often by those who offer God’s advice but withhold substantive compassion. Do you recall any of Job’s companions bringing medication or money or means of support? They had lots to say, but the only thing they provided Job in his trouble was the tonnage of words. I wonder if he might not have appreciated a drink or a meal a bit more.

Job and I have been traveling together for a year now. During that time, we have seen the companions come and go. The first group rushed in to remind us of our failures to prepare. Life is full of potential disasters. You should have known this. Why were to so trusting, so open, or gullible? After they leveled the playing field to the common denominator of fate, they left. What more could they add? They were really Greeks, afraid of undeserved catastrophe. After all, if it can happen to you, it can happen to me. So, better to stay away from any chance that your bad luck will rub off on me. Give advice and get away. If I pretend it isn’t my problem, I won’t have to deal with the fragile nature of my life.

The second group is the “spiritual” advisors. These people mean well. They have good hearts. They truly sympathize. But they just can’t listen. They want to convey God’s direction to those who are suffering but they take the shotgun approach – “Let me tell you all that God can do”. Job and I don’t say much. We try to be polite. But inside we are sort of saying, “You really don’t understand what’s happening here.” They haven’t been on the ash heap themselves. They’ve read about it or heard about it or can imagine it. But that’s the end of the story. They forgot to listen. Kind of like a couple who haven’t had children talking about their plans for parenting. They all sound good. They just haven’t encountered the two-year old yet.

The next companions are those who really want to help but they don’t think that they have the means. The have forgotten something Job never knew. The story of the loaves and fishes. “I really wish I could do something to help you,” but what they really mean is “I would do something if it were big enough to matter.” So, they don’t do anything. Job could have used a tube of ointment for his sores, but because they could not heal him, they did not bring anything for the relief of a single infection. I am constantly amazed when I discover that someone I know who is in desperate trouble has not received a card or a plate of cookies or a ticket to a movie or an offer to do the cleaning. When life is a total disaster, every sign of care and relief matters. You don’t have to solve the big problem. You just have to solve a problem.

This seems to be an American problem. My friend wrote to me about his effort to raise money for housing for someone who needs a home. The total project is a lot of money. But he only needed $1.00 from each of the employees in several businesses. $1.00! Nothing. Everyone can give $1.00. But no one will. Why? Because they will think, “What will $1.00 matter?” What will a card matter? What will a tank of gas matter? What will paying for a babysitter matter? None of it will matter at all because people in this group will wait for God to do something big instead of doing something big with the very little God has already given them. It is the American view of individualism turned into spiritual dyslexia. You look at the situation and see only the total picture. So, you throw up your hands and say, “Well, only God can fix that” while the victim has the power shut off because the group would not give $0.25 each. The “church” in America is just a collection of individuals, not a community, until each individual makes a life commitment to the welfare of everyone else in the group.

Finally there’s the family. This is a mixed bag. Sometimes someone in the family actually understands. Patience, weeping, shared sorrow and shared encouragement. These people are priceless. They hold your hand, listen to you talk about the sorrows and the joys, say little, pray a lot. We need these people. Usually family also includes the other ones. These are the family members who tell you that whatever you did to deserve this, you need to confess and make it right. They ignore your protestations. They already know you too well to believe that you can change. They remember when you did this or that. They are your human judges, passing out God’s verdict on your life so that you will be brought to the proper place of repentance. They are focused on blame. But the motivation for assigning blame is not because they are anxious to have God relieve your sorrow. They want God to relieve the fallout that your disaster has had for them. Job’s wife comes to him with a plea. “Don’t be so stubborn. Admit that you sinned. Say you’re sorry so God will give us back everything that I lost because of you. Stop pretending it’s not your fault.”

As Job and I travel along this road, we discover that each step of progress is a step away from the expectation of return to the old life. Perhaps that’s the message in the lost children. I have always wondered how Job could ever return to joy no matter what God restored to him if he lived the rest of his life under the specter of the death of his children. But I am beginning to see that the restoration of his fortune is an after-thought. What Job really needed is exactly what I need. Not a return to a better life after collapse but rather a tighter, closer dependence on God so that no external circumstance alters my confidence in His care.

God had to take away the false security I enjoyed to show me the truth of my existence. I am one of the most fragile of His creations. A few degrees change in the global temperature and I am finished. A shift in biological balance, a tiny change in the food chain, a small disturbance in natural resources and my world reveals itself as a very hostile place – from which there is no real protection. The first lesson of life is dependence. It is not a once-learned lesson. It is a continuous reassessment of my daily direction. It goes hand in hand with finite and fragile. Death is not entirely tragic. The presence of death in my world is a very meaningful reminder that I am a totally dependent creature, deliberately designed that way.

The second lesson I learned with Job is humility. Recognizing my inability to provide even the most basic needs of life has given me a new perspective on humility. My existence depends on grace – the grace of God and the grace of God through the hands of others. Desperation is the acid cleanser of pride. Proud people starve. Desperate people bow in humility in order to be fed. There is a reason why Jesus spent his time with the outcasts. They understood what it meant to be unable to care for themselves. Until we learn the lesson of humility, we will be unlikely to see God’s grace when it does come. We will still be shouting, “It’s my right” or “I am entitled.” I must have had a lot of pride because I had to take a great fall. Don’t ask me to be my own god anymore. I don’t have the stomach for it.

Number three at mile marker 365 is trust. The lesson here is simple: trust takes time. Abraham got up and followed God as a young man. Things looked promising. But over the decades that followed, Abraham learned dependence and humility (in some very stressful ways) until one day, a century after he left home, God said, “Now I know you really love me.” Trust takes time. My battle today is not about dependence. I learned that lesson in relatively short order. When you hit zero, you know it is no longer up to you. Humility took a lot longer. I always thought that if I just worked harder, was smarter, looked for all the angles and did all I could, I would find a way out. I had my pride. I would not take food stamps. But God can’t use a man with pride. Even in bankruptcy, that man is still claiming his own right to the world. Humility is giving up my way.

Trust is a lot more difficult. It is the positive side of the equation. What I have discovered is that trust requires failure. I have to learn through failure that I can’t trust anyone or anything except God and that the only reason I can trust God is because He says I can. Trust is not about being restored. It is about immersion in the character of the restorer, even if nothing ever gets restored. Trust is my learned confidence in who God is, not in what He does. Today, at mile marker 365, my expectations about life are being scraped away. I no longer know where I am going. My personal goal setting has lots of blank spaces. But I am learning to trust the one I follow, even if I don’t know where he is taking me. Some days it seems as though we are heading in the wrong direction. I complain, “But Lord, things looked like they were going to turn around. Why are we walking away now?” He rarely answers me. He just motions – come along. Those are difficult days. For a self-reliant, arrogant, planner like me, becoming a child who just follows along is a big assignment. I’ll need a lot of grace to complete it.

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But Do I Really Trust You?

Wednesday, February 04th, 2009 | Author: Skip Moen

My intellectual theology is in pretty good shape. I have a good grasp of most of the doctrines. I believe them. I know the arguments and the proofs. But that kind of theology can’t save me from my demons. Just putting more correct information in my head does not give me more courage or fortitude or strength to counteract the pull of the dark side of my life. If my theology is going to be any good to me, it must address my emotions. That’s where the really difficult parts of living occur. I need someone who can redeem me from the torments that haunt my soul. Unless I have a fully functioning emotional theology, I will be left a compartmentalized, fragmented, discouraged individual. More than anything else, I need a God who comforts me.

Emotional theology has to address the common struggles that often overwhelm me. I’m not like Paul. I fail – miserably. I don’t seem to have that inner resolve to keep running the good race. I get tired. I want relief. I know discouragement and rejection and inadequacy. I want someone to care about me no matter how terrible I am.

Of course, my formal theology tells me that God loves me. God is compassionate, long-suffering, slow to anger and anxious to show His love. But I need a god who can hold me when I cry. I need a god who can fix things when I am really hurting. Yes, I know that life is a test, but that isn’t much consolation when I feel the emotional pangs of abandonment and insignificance. Some tests seem just too hard for me. I don’t have the stamina to keep going day after day without rest for my soul, even if I know that after I die God will welcome me. I’m sorry to admit this, but the eternal reward is sometimes not quite enough to help me overcome the temporal despair.

I am reminded of Abraham. Abraham spent a long time with God. He bravely responded to God’s call. He patiently endured for years without hearing from his Lord. Many times he tried to take charge of his circumstances by giving God a hand. He made some very stupid mistakes, but he sought and found forgiveness. Nevertheless, toward the end of his life, things still reached a crisis point. Now he had a son – the son of promise. And God gently asked him to sacrifice that gift – to give up the one thing he waited to receive all of his days. Abraham had to face the same question that I face – “Do I really trust Him?”

We’ve read the story so many time that we fail to feel the impact of this request. We know how it turns out, so we tend not to put ourselves in the emotional circumstances of the moments of this story. I am beginning to see something in Abraham’s circumstances that makes this occasion much more difficult. Abraham did not know how the story would end. That’s the part that I need to keep in mind, because that’s the part that explains my own fear.

Forgive a bit of personal history, but it seems necessary. Five years ago I was a millionaire. It took nearly all of my life to amass the fortune. A good part of my identity was tied to that wealth. I’m not proud of the way I lived in order to get the fortune nor am I proud of all the things that I did with it. So, I wasn’t really surprised when one day, through no fault of my own, it was gone. Stolen. Disappeared. God knows who all the responsible parties are, but no one else seems to. And no one really cares. It’s just another white collar crime that will be swept away because there are much bigger issues to deal with. In spite of the fact that I see God’s hand in this action, and that I probably needed this to happen, it was still an incredible shock. Life was radically altered. Suddenly, I was no longer the person I thought I had become. My dream was gone and along with it went a lot of my personal value and all of my confidence and security. It wasn’t about the money. It was about the symbol of success, something I had been chasing all my life. It was about the fact that with millions in the bank people could no longer say, “You just aren’t good enough.” So, when it all disappeared, I faced more than a financial crisis. I faced a demon that I thought had been exorcised long ago. Now there was a new reason for the verdict, “not good enough.” Now I lost what most people can only dream about having. I was a real failure. I should have done a better job.

Lots of things changed immediately. No money forces lifestyle corrections. We made them. Slowly the process of seeing things stripped away turned into a long road back. Just finding work was excruciating, but God (the God of my formal theology) was faithful and we survived. I thought that I was on the road to recovery. Perhaps I would never again have the things that I used to prize so highly, but we were not going to live on the street. God was not only faithful, He was good. The financial needs were slowly being meet.

Then someone happened. It was actually quite subtle. Only now do I recognize the bits and pieces of evidence. I began to unravel. I got through the crisis of loss of capital and loss of lifestyle, but I never got through the crisis of identity. I began to feel inadequate. It wasn’t a new feeling. Most of my life has been a fight against the comment “You just aren’t good enough.” My accomplishments have often been reactions to that verdict. But, of course, no accomplishment can actually overcome the emotional corruption that feeling inadequate actually spawns. I used to think that God was after my sinful preoccupation with self-sufficiency. He chastised me on that score by removing my fortune. Now I think that there is something much more fundamental going on. Money means nothing to God. Consequently, it should certainly not determine my worth. It is simply another commodity in His kingdom, to be used, hopefully, for His purposes. I can accept that. Not easily, but truthfully. Money doesn’t seem to be the issue anymore. If God wants to provide it, through direct or indirect means, He seems perfectly capable of doing so. I have had to learn that what I possess is pure gift, not reward. God does what He wants with it. He just asks me to be a steward of His treasure while it passes through my hands. I might have learned some of this lesson. But there are other lessons that are much more difficult for me.

I am much closer to Abraham on that fateful day when God said, “Please, take your son.”

What was the son to Abraham? We are quick to say, “He was the fulfillment of the promise, the pathway to Abraham’s destiny.” True. Of course, he was also loved and singularly special, as is any first-born son. But he was more than all this. He was Abraham’s true identity. In other words, Isaac was the living acknowledgement that Abraham mattered. Abraham’s life had purpose, meaning and significance – all represented in this boy. It wasn’t just a long journey through the desert, waiting to die.

Now God was asking Abraham to take all of that and throw it aside. Even worse, to destroy it by his own hand. That’s exactly where I seem to be. God is asking, “Do you trust me? If you do, I want you to take all that you think really makes you who you are and destroy it by your own hand. Put it on my altar and sacrifice it.”

Now I know for certain that it is not about the money. It is about my life-long pursuit of being someone. My greatest fear is to be a nobody, just another human animal slogging through life, just one more person trying to survive long enough to die. I don’t want to become one of those millions and millions who fade immediately into insignificance. I want to feel as though I mattered. I want someone to say, “You really are good enough,” and mean it. I want someone to say, “I love you,” and not follow up with a list of things I need to change about myself in order to keep being loved.

Please don’t misunderstand me. I don’t need to be famous. I don’t want to be on the evening news or have my face commemorated on a postage stamp. I don’t care about that kind of importance. I just want to feel like my life made a difference while I am alive. I want to know that there is a purpose to all this, and I don’t want to have to wait until I am dead to find out what it was. My identity is woven into the idea that I am doing something that matters and that others recognize this. But God seems to have something else in mind. The sovereign Lord seems to be stripping away all of my attachments to symbols of importance, including the ones that I use to bolster my injured ego when I start to feel as though I just don’t count. It looks like God wants to reduce me to nothing, and that is very frightening indeed. I know a little about the emotions of Abraham because, just like Abraham on the day of the hill climb, I don’t know the end of the story.

Abraham put Isaac on the altar. I can hardly imagine that! He took the last thing that told him that he mattered, the last thing that give him purpose and meaning, and raised the slaughtering knife. In the end, Abraham held nothing back. He was ready to give away what was left of his soul in order to obey. In the end, Abraham’s action is even more significant than Job’s cry, “Though He slay me, yet I will worship Him.” Abraham did more than utter words. He was sacrificing himself – his deepest hope and identity. God was slaying him, right there on that pile of stones. But it was a death far worse than the one Job proclaimed, for if Abraham kills Isaac, Abraham remains alive while all of his purpose and meaning dies. Abraham didn’t know what would happen. He only knew that God was asking. That’s exactly where I am.

So, what do I do? Do I really trust Him? I feel as though during the last five years I have been stripped of significance. I have survived (God is good) but I have lost who I am. In order to compensate, I have recreated a character that attempts to find meaning and value in places isolated from hurt and pain. But I am not a fantasy or a dream. Every day, I still have to wake up in the world where I don’t seem to matter. And God is gently prodding, “Please, take your self, your only self, an offer it in a place I will show you.”

I’m afraid. I don’t want to die – not like this, anyway. I wouldn’t mind dying, physically. I am so tired of fighting that physical death would be a welcome relief. But I am still here, so obviously (since God is sovereign), I am still being asked to climb up that mountain and build an altar. That’s a death I do not want. What will happen to me if I really do sacrifice all that I have left of my own symbols of purpose and value? (“Do you trust me?”) Will God reduce me to a nobody, good for nothing, just to clear away this craving for significance? My future is just as dark as it was for Abraham. There is nothing on the other side of this grave. Abraham knew that the moment his knife entered the heart of Isaac, he would spend the rest of his days alone in ways he had never experienced emptiness before. He knew that at that very instant his life would count for nothing. Everything he hoped for would be undone. That’s exactly where I am. The second I plunge the blade into what little I have been holding on to in order to have some value, in that very second, my life will be reduced to nothing. My hope will be dashed on the stones. If I hold just this one little thing back, there is a place where I can run away from the growing specter of insignificance. But if I let it go, if I cut it to pieces, then I have nothing left. All of my escape routes will be gone. No one will care because there will be nothing in me to care for. I will have to face the hard reality. I really don’t matter after all.

My nice, neat intellectual theology tells me that God loves me and has a plan for my life. It all sounds good, but it doesn’t seem to work out that way. If God has a plan, it certainly isn’t obvious. Maybe it would be more correct to say that if He has a plan, it seems to be filled with all kinds of sorrow, stress and pain. I can’t live in those neat, clean theological categories. I need a place to cry about what has happened – and know that God actually cares that I am crying.

In the end, Abraham’s life came down to one simple requirement: obedience. Would Abraham obey, even if it meant throwing away who he believed himself to be? Abraham was, thankfully, a man of principle. He looked out on the horizon of empty life, on the plains of meaninglessness, and he raised the blade. Better to be true to the principle than sacrifice integrity for a hold-back hope.

Wait! I don’t know if I can do this. Abraham was one in a trillion. Maybe that’s why God called him. I don’t know if I can truly deny myself, sacrifice my ego, my hope, my worth and my identity. I know I can give up my body but I am not sure if I can give up my emotions. If I pick up the knife, then everything else must be up to God. I will have nothing left. If I am going to be rescued, He will have to do it because I can’t. And what if He doesn’t? Do I really trust Him?

Now I need to pay very close attention. You see, it would be very easy for me to conclude that Abraham was a man of principle, that he was willing to sacrifice Isaac on the basis of the principle of obedience. But that would be a terrible mistake. When I convert relationship to principle, I covert love to legalism. Abraham was not willing to sacrifice Isaac on the basis of the principle of obedience. The principle of obedience had nothing to do with it. Abraham was willing to sacrifice Isaac because Abraham loved God more than he loved himself. It was the relationship of love between Abraham and God that allowed Abraham to slaughter his hopes and dreams. Abraham loved God – and as a result of that love, he was willing to obey.

I have to be rescued from obedience as a principle of life. Obedience is not what I love. I love the person God. Obedience is how I show my love for Him. I can sacrifice who I am only because I love Him more than I love me. And that is precisely what Jesus asks me to do – to love Him more than I love myself. Unless I am first and foremost committed to a primary love relationship with Jesus, I can never raise the knife. I can’t sacrifice myself out of principle. That leaves me with nothing at all. But I can sacrifice myself out of love, for that leaves me with the honor of showing Him that He is first.

What I know is this: The entire biblical record attempts to show us that God is faithful. Every page communicates that God is reliable. The living Word is there so that we can know that God has a vital interest in us and longs to have us surrender ourselves to His care. The Bible certainly tells me that God has my best interests in mind, even when the pathway He chooses is dreadfully difficult. The Bible also says that He will listen to the hearts of those who sincerely seek Him and that He promises to comfort those who face personal extinction in pursuit of the Kingdom.

But it’s all just words until you raise the knife. When the blade goes up, you are betting your life on the promise of God. Abraham did that without having a single word of Scripture to read. I have all the words, and I am still afraid. Why? It comes down to a simple issue. I am afraid to let go of the life I know because I have no confidence that God will really take care of these emotional needs I feel. I am afraid that He will let me cast away my protection and then leave me. The Book says He won’t, but it’s just words. How do I know that the Book is true? Everything in me wants assurances, which is just another way of saying that I want to know the end of the story before I plunge the knife. And, of course, sacrifice doesn’t work that way. Even Jesus had to rely on the words when he took the cross. God did not rush in to rescue Him. He died – with only the words to bring Him back.

So, the corollary of my question, “Do I really trust Him?” is this: Am I willing to stake who I am on the words alone? Will I really believe – which means to act upon – those words that claim to be from the mouth of God? Am I ready to actually throw away the self that I know and protect in order to be obedient – not in order to gain something else because I do not know what else there is? All I know is that in front of me is an altar and on it is the person who represents what I think I am. I have a knife in my hand.

Obedience is the effect, not the cause. The cause is love. My question, “Do I really trust Him?” is really a deeper question: Do I love Him? If I love Him more than I love me, I will raise the knife to demonstrate how much He matters. If I cannot raise the knife, then I have not yet settled the matter of first love.

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Battleground

Thursday, December 25th, 2008 | Author: Skip Moen

Preserve me, O God, for I take refuge in You. Psalm 16: 2 (in the Hebrew text)

Take Refuge – God is the ultimate refuge for His children.  No place on earth, no alliance with men, no surrounding army can offer the safety and security that God offers.  We all know this, but until we take into account the author of these words, we may not truly appreciate it.

David was Israel’s greatest king.  When he ruled, Israel’s borders were enlarged beyond any previous or subsequent monarch.  David was a fearsome warrior and he conquered wherever he went.  This was a man of great power and prestige.  Certainly, he had nothing to fear.  But David wrote these words.  That should remind us of the desperate helplessness of the human condition.  If the most powerful man in Israel recognizes that only God can offer him real refuge, how much more must we acknowledge our utter dependency?  We need to pay attention to the author and the author’s status if we are going to appreciate the enormous impact of these words.  In the end, there is no safety except in the Lord.

The verb here is chasah.  It paints a picture of the battlefield.  In hills and caves, soldiers found shelter.  Perhaps that’s why this verb is associated with words like stronghold, secure height, strong rock and place of escape.  When the battle turns against you, you better have a place to run to.  David found that place in his trust in God.  God becomes the strong Rock, the safe height and the place of escape.  The verb emphasizes the essential insecurity of life and points us toward our only true stronghold.  Safety isn’t found in numbers (as David learned).  It is found in the one true God.  When He shelters us, nothing can harm us.

David’s insight is easy to assert but often difficult to apply.  Certainly, in times of desperation, we run to God.  Acutely aware of our vulnerability, we seek refuge in Him.  But applying this insight in good times is really the key to divine security.  The trick of the enemy is to lull us into a false sense of security by providing tangible distractions to our true condition.  We pile up wealth, health and friendships, imagining that somehow these will protect us in a storm.  Of course, they won’t, but that doesn’t prevent us from acting as though they will.  There is nothing wrong with securing these resources, as long as we recognize that they are nothing more than God’s gifts for Kingdom purposes.  It’s easy to forget how fragile life really is if we become distracted by these substitutes for refuge.  In fact, if the distractions begin to occupy our attention, God sometimes needs to remove them in order for us to see the truth.  David and I share personal experiences in this corrective process.  It’s a wake-up call that I sincerely hope you will not need.

Most of the battles in the enemy’s territory begin right here – knowing our vulnerability and God’s reliability.  The enemy wants all of us to think we are generals.  The truth is that we are all just foot soldiers, slogging it out trying not to get shot.  When we start thinking that we are secure at headquarters, the enemy has won a great victory.  Refuse his ploy!  Look at your feet.  They are covered with the dust of battle as you follow in the footsteps of the Messiah.  You are preserved by His reliability – and nothing else.

Topical Index:  Trust

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Sarah – A Life of Discontent

Sunday, March 04th, 2007 | Author: Skip Moen

“God has made a joke of me”  Genesis 21:6

I don’t think we know the people of the Bible very well.  We are the victims of years of watered-down teaching.  The stories of the lives of our spiritual ancestors have been “sanctified”.  We know the triumphs of their faith, but we have little appreciation for the times of humility, disobedience and failure.  Of course, there are notable exceptions.  We have heard of David’s adultery and Samson’s seduction.  But most of the time, our attention is focused on the heroic acts, even if they come about as a result of sin.

This myopia damages our identification with these people.  We see them as something special, living beyond our meager spiritual capabilities.  But if we really look at the stories of their lives, we will discover something amazing.  The Bible never glosses over the failures of people.  It never avoids describing their disobedience.  It never paints them as anything but completely human.  There is a good reason for this.  The Bible is not a book about past spiritual heroes.  It is a book about God’s faithfulness to His promises in spite of the human beings whom He chose as the messengers of His grace.  The Bible is God’s story, not ours.  So, there is very little room for hero worship, saints on pedestals or spiritual supermen.  The story of Sarah is a perfect example.

We know very little about Sarai, the wife of Abram.  When the story opens, we are only told that she was married to Abram and accompanied him when he left home to follow God’s call.  As the story unfolds, we discover that she is the half sister of Abram, but other than that, we know nothing of her lineage.  However, we soon find out quite a bit about her temperament.

Marriage to Abram was not exactly the epitome of bliss.  Sarai dutifully obeys Abram as he determines to leave behind family and possessions, but she soon discovers that Abram is not quite as protective of her position as most wives would like.  After a journey from Haran to Negeb, they settle into a life of nomadic existence.  Since Abram travels with his nephew and all their possessions, we can be fairly certain that life for Sarai was probably a routine Bedouin existence.  The first sign of marital discontent comes after Abram decides to do the commonsense thing in the face of a famine.  We find the story in Genesis 12:10-20.

Abram is called by Yahweh to go to a place Yahweh will show him.  Yahweh promises that He will make Abram a great nation, that Abram will be famous and that anyone abusing Abram will fall under Yahweh’s curse (Genesis 12:1-3).  This promise is not conditional.  It is comprehensive in its scope.  It does not depend on Abram’s circumstances or obedience.  It is God’s doing.  But soon after Abram responds to this call and accepts the promise, he runs into a challenging situation.  The land is not able to provide food for his group.  So, he determines to take matters into his own hands and do the commonsense thing – go to Egypt. After all, what good is a promise from God if Abram dies from starvation.  Apparently, Abram did not consider the fact that Yahweh’s promise implied provision of life in spite of circumstances.  Abram does the commonsense thing.  What we discover is that usually the commonsense thing leads us into problems.  Abram’s story is no different.

As Abram approaches Egypt, he fears a potential threat.  His wife is beautiful and alluring.  He reasons that if Pharaoh should decide that such a woman is worth having in the harem, Pharaoh may conclude that the only way to have Sarai is to dispose of Abram.  So, Abram propagates a lie – Sarai is not his wife but his sister.  This lie enables Pharaoh to enjoy sexual intimacy with Sarai without any risk to Abram.  In fact, Abram is rewarded for arranging Sarai availability.  Everyone benefits – except Sarai.  Pharaoh gets what he wants – a new woman in bed.  Abram gets what he wants – protection and financial gain.  But all of this is at the expense of Sarai who is asked to provide sexual intimacy to Pharaoh under the guise that she is a free woman.

It is important to note that this deception not only abuses Sarai but also abuses God.  While the commandant “Thou shall not commit adultery” has not been given, Abram had every reason to believe that God’s protection certainly extended to his temporary domicile in Egypt.  In fact, Abram summarily ignored God’s direct promise when he decided to take the journey to Egypt.  He overturned God’s direction – “to a land that I will show you”, in favor of his own choice based on his reasonable assessment of the situation.  As it turned out, it was the beginning of a long and difficult marital disaster.

This was a disaster of Abram’s making.  Abram put an impossible moral dilemma on Sarai’s shoulders: lie for me or I might be killed – sleep with Pharaoh and pretend that you are my sister or you might lose your husband and become Pharaoh’s property anyway.  So, Sarai went along with the deception.  Both men seemed content with the arrangement.  But God was not so pleased.  The entire episode results in plagues and distress for Pharaoh.  Once Pharaoh perceives that God is inflicting punishment on him, he takes steps to expose the lie and then to expel Abram and his entire following.  Nothing is mentioned about Sarai’s feelings regarding this event, but it takes little imagination to see that the bond between husband and wife was traumatically damaged.  Sarai could no longer trust Abram as her protector.  Her life of discontent began with her husband’s disobedience.

Two intervening stories occur before we return to the saga of Sarai.  In the first interlude, Abram takes a very different posture with his nephew Lot.  He permits Lot’s choice over a dispute about grazing rights, in spite of the fact that custom favored Abram’s priority rights.  Lot heads in the direction of Sodom, a choice that eventually leads him to destruction and humiliation.  In the second interlude, Abram rescues Lot from captivity and returns a hero, only to acknowledge God’s sovereignty in an encounter with Melchidezek.  It appears that Abram has had a change of heart.  Immediately following these two events, God visits Abram and establishes the covenant with Abram, a covenant that becomes the foundation of God’s interaction with His elect race (Genesis 15).  Abram’s destiny is guaranteed by direct divine proclamation.

But Abram’s turmoil is not finished.  Sarai returns to the storyline.  And now we see a different kind of woman.  Sarai is no longer in the background, dutifully fulfilling the requests of her husband, even if those requests put her in the bed of another man.  This time Sarai makes her will very clear.  Having lost faith in Abram’s commitment to her, she feels no constraint in front of him.  She decides that if life is going to give her what she wants, she must take charge.  Sarai knows that God has promised a long line of descendents who will be powerful, influential and very important.  She is more than anxious to see this promised fulfilled.  But she has no children.  One day she conceives a plan to produce the required offspring even if it means using another woman.

Sarai says to Abram, “Look, Yahweh has restrained me from bearing children”.  Sarai’s discontent is laid at the feet of God.  She considers it God’s fault that she is unhappy with this unfruitful marriage.  He has prevented her from conceiving, so she plans another conception to circumvent this problem.  Sarai is following the footsteps of her husband.  He protected his self-interest by offering her as sexual exchange to Pharaoh.  Now she will achieve her self-interest by offering her maidservant as sexual barter for children.  She instructs Abram to have intercourse with Hagar.  The text says that Abram “listened to the voice of Sarai”.  This phrase is reminiscent of the same wording in the Garden when Eve listened to the voice of the serpent.  It is pure unadulterated temptation, coming from the mouth of one who was forced to commit adultery.  Perhaps Sarai reasoned that if her husband willingly sent her into sexual union with another man, he was not the sort of man who would stand up for fidelity when she pushed him into the bed of another woman.  No matter what the psychological reasoning, Abram follows in the footsteps of Adam.  He concurs that this fruit (Hagar) is pleasing to the eye and good for consumption.  He willingly impregnates Hagar.  The woman who was abused now becomes the abuser.  The man who perpetrated the abuse is now used to foster another abuse.  A family pattern emerges.  Sex is used to accomplish selfish ends.

We must notice that in spite of God’s sacred covenant with Abram, a covenant that Sarai surely knew, Abram does not protest this arrangement.  He does not insist that obedience outweighs desire and practical commonsense.  Sarai wants a child.  Abram wants a child.  The arrangement seems logical – and desirable.  The text indicates Abram did more than ploddingly acquiesce.  He engages himself (literally and figuratively) in this plan.  Once again, human beings reason that sex will solve their problems.  But it never does.

Unfortunately, Sarai’s attempt to usurp God’s plan has the same consequences as Eve’s enticement.  Her life becomes much worse.  Instead of fulfilling her desires for happiness, Hagar’s pregnancy brings humiliation, envy and anger.  Now she must live with a servant whose body shows everyone her husband’s lack of moral integrity.  We see her anger in her confrontation with Abram – “Look at the violence you have done to me!  It’s your fault”.  Sarai tells Abram that she has lost face in this arrangement.  Hagar now thinks herself better than Sarai because she carried Abram’s child.  Her plan has backfired.  Instead of a life of fulfilled promise, she has inherited as life of shame.  No one can doubt Abram’s potency.  And now it is public knowledge that Sarai is infertile, a devastating position for a woman who is to be the mother of a great nation.  The secret is out.  Public and private humiliation follows.

We need to pay close attention to the text here.  Notice that Sarai acknowledges that it was her plan to provide Hagar as a surrogate mother (“I myself gave my maidservant to you”) but that does not relieve her discontent.  Hagar’s pregnancy conceived Sarai’s shame.  Sarai makes it very clear that the situation and its consequences are quite serious.  She says to Abram, “May Yahweh decide between you and me!”

It’s not obvious what this means.  Peterson translates it “May God decide which of us is right”, but that doesn’t help much.  Right about what?  The context of Sarai’s statement is her complaint about humiliation.  She is angry with Abram.  In her opinion, he has not safeguarded her status.  Abram has let Hagar’s pregnancy affect his emotional attachment.  Sarai sees that Abram is pleased that a child will be born to him even though it is not Sarai’s child.  This is humiliation beyond enduring.  So, she says to her husband, “God will decide if I am right (that I should have been cared for) or if you are right (that you showed favor toward Hagar)”.  Sarai’s obvious implication is that there is no question who should come first – she should – and God will judge Abram for his misplaced devotion.

Once more sexual involvement backfires on the family of Abram.  Abram’s pattern, repeated by Sarai, is now the source of severe stress and deep emotional conflict.  Sarai fares no better as perpetrator of the plan.  She still ends up the victim.  We must notice that the drama that started out about a child has suddenly turned into a soap opera about the misguided plans of the woman.  The child fades completely from the scene.  The real story is about Sarai’s self-identity.  In her mind, even though she got what she wanted, she lost what was important.[1] She has been disgraced.  The Hebrew word she uses to describe the “violence” done to her is hamas.  This is the only time in the Old Testament that this word describes an action done by a woman.  Sarai has been humiliated by her own gender, and worse, by her own slave.  The humiliation is not about the child; it is about the change in two relationships.  First, her husband is no longer hers alone. And secondly, her status as the mother of the promised progeny is in doubt.  She loses her present and her future.

Sarai appeals to justice.  Actually, she wants revenge.  But Abram refuses it.  After all, it was her plan and it is now his child.  Feeling even more slighted, she says that God will decide, throwing the judgment of Yahweh on Abram’s refusal to act on her wishes.  When Sarai offered Abram sex with Hagar, he was only too happy to comply.  Now that the circumstances have turned against her, Sarai finds that Abram is not so compliant.   Nothing seems to be going her way.

Abram is a man caught in the middle.  Not standing up for God’s promise in the first place has now landed him on ground filled with rage on one side and affiliation on the other.  But Abram knows the power of a woman’s wrath.  So, he takes the easy way out.  “Do what you want with her”, he tells Sarai.  In essence, Abram concedes to another demand from his wife.  If it didn’t turn out right the first time, there is no sense trying to make it right now.  Just let the chips fall where they may.  Sarai can abuse Hagar with his blessing.

Imagine any contemporary history that wished to portray the lives of the founding family of one of the world’s greatest movements.  Do you suppose that the lack of moral character, the indiscretions, the sexual barter and abuse of others would be included?  Do you think such actions would be the highlights of the story?  Yet, here it is.  The Bible glosses over nothing.  Abram shows the weakest moral fiber, swayed by the ranting of an angry wife.  Sarai displays a woman of fluctuating emotions, a pendulum swinging between manipulation and revenge.  Sarai’s abuse at the hands of her passive husband is now turned toward vengeance.  She knows that the passive Abram will not resist her demands.

So Sarai inflicts her anger on Hagar.  Hagar flees, determined to run as far as possible from a mistress who is as unpredictable as an evil wind.  But God intervenes, sending Hagar back into the storm.  In fact, Hagar is the only person who shows obedience to God in this entire debacle.  The Angel of the Lord says to Hagar, “Return to your mistress and accept ill treatment from her hand”.  And Hagar complies.  What a testimony to obedience she is.  Unlike the mother and father of the faith, Hagar shows what undeserved suffering at the command of the Lord really means.

Ishmael is born.  And for thirteen years, God does not visit Abram.  There is a lot said in this silence.  For thirteen years Abram and Sarai must face the consequences of their lack of trust in the promise of God.  For thirteen years they watch a child grow who is a constant reminder of their failure.  And for thirteen years, Hagar serves God by committing herself to submission under a hateful mistress.

Sarai’s next encounter with God reveals another fatal flaw.  God visits Abram and renews His covenant promise.  To mark the occasion, God changes the names of both Abram and Sarai.  Abraham and Sarah now carry God’s name in their new names.  They are known by a new identity – an identity that comes directly from God Himself.  God leaves another permanent mark of His covenant – circumcision.  This mark is private and intimate.  It consecrates the male of the tribe into God’s promise.  It cannot be mistaken or reversed.  Abraham obediently follows God’s command.

Sarah re-enters the story during God’s next encounter with Abraham.   Accompanied by two angels who will soon rescue Lot from the destruction of Sodom, God accepts the hospitality of Abraham and eats a meal near Abraham’s tent.  God tell Abraham that he will return in one year and at that time Sarah will have already had a son.  Sarah has been listening to the conversation, hidden within the tent.  The account (Genesis 18) tells us that when Sarah heard this, she said silently to herself, “Now that I am worn out, shall I experience pleasure even though my husband is old”.[2] The sense of this statement revolves around sexual pleasure.  It is not only that her disbelief that she will have a child.  This disbelief is contained in the word bala (“worn out”) – a reference to her inability to conceive due to age.  Sarah also says that she doubts she will experience “pleasure”.  Here the word is edna.  This word is directly linked to Eden, the garden of delight, and has strong overtones of sexual pleasure.  Sarah reasons that she is too old to conceive and no longer able to have sexual enjoyment with Abraham.  Interestingly, she associates the word edna with the fact that Abraham is old.  Perhaps Abraham is not so virile either.  Her life has once more failed her.  She sees nothing wonderful in her future.

As Sarah contemplates this in her mind, she laughs about her impossible situation.  God (for who else can hear someone laugh silently) questions her on this disbelief.  Sarah responds with a lie, “I did not laugh”.  Consider how ludicrous her attempt to cover her disbelief really is.  If this stranger can actually hear her thoughts, then it is fairly obvious that he will know when she is not telling the truth.  The lie that she utters is not only disobedient, it is impossibly disrespectful.  In this middle of this dialogue is one of the most powerful verses in Scripture, uttered as a direct result of Sarah’s disbelief.  The visitor says, “Is anything too difficult for Yahweh?”  Given the circumstances surrounding this rhetorical question, we could conclude that a change in perspective about life might be evident in both Abraham and Sarah.  But old patterns die hard.[3]

Abraham’s household journeys to Gerar.  Once again he faces a king who might consider Sarah a prize.  Abraham does not wait to measure the morality of the king.  He retreats to a strategy that worked in the past.  He pawns Sarah off as his sister.  This time God intervenes before there is a sexual liaison. God gets the king’s full attention by announcing in a dream that Sarah is the wife of another man and sleeping with her brings the death sentence on the king.  In this encounter, the king is the only one who appears to have any moral integrity.  He immediately takes action, demanding the truth from Abraham (which he never gets), vindicating Sarah and establishing a weary peace with this foreigner.  While the story focuses on the king and Abraham, we should notice that in this case Sarah is also implicated in the lie.  The king says to God, “Didn’t she herself say ‘He is my brother’”?  Sarah has learned that lying about sexual bonds is an acceptable practice in the household of Abraham.  God’s intervention and the king’s reaction overturn the threat and the deception.  But at a cost.  Both Sarah and Abraham are not to be trusted.

Since Sarah has just received a promise that she will have a son, perhaps she thinks that if she and Abraham cannot produce this child, maybe she and the king can.  There may be more to her comment that she expects no pleasure from old Abraham.  She has given no credence to God’s ability to do whatever He wishes.  God’s intervention prior to sexual union makes it clear that Sarah is to have a child only by Abraham and that the sexual condition of both of these parents has no bearing on the outcome.  [If we jump ahead through the centuries, we will find that sometime during this period Sarah actually comes to the point of believing God’s promise, but this fact is not revealed in the story thus far.]

Our last view of Sarah occurs after the birth of Isaac.  It is notable that the long awaited birth of the heir of the promise occupies only two short verses, barely mentioning Sarah.

But after the circumcision, when the covenant promise to Isaac is complete, Sarah has this to say:

“God has made a joke of me; whoever hears will laugh at me”.

This is not the usual translation.[4] Most renderings of this verse suggest that Sarah is rejoicing in the birth of Isaac.  But this Hebrew word, sahaq, is used in 17:17 and 18:12-15 in the sense of sarcasm (Abraham in 17 and Sarah in 18 both “laugh” at God’s claim that they will have a child).  Furthermore, the same root word is used in the final story of Sarah when she observes Ishmael “playing” [“mocking”?] Isaac.  Since Sarah’s reaction to Ishmael’s action is anything but joyful, the sense of this word can hardly be one of pleasure.

There is also a pun here in Hebrew.  The name Isaac comes from the same root word.  So in one sense Sarah is saying that everyone who hears about this incredible tale will “Isaac” at her – will mock the claim that Isaac came from her.

Aside from the etymological data, there is another reason to believe that this word does not express happiness for Sarah.  The reason is found in Sarah’s long history of discontent.  One of the surprising results of discontent is that an attitude of discontent infects life even when life appears to finally give reason for contentment.  Sarah has waited all of her life for this event.  And all of her life she has been abused, victimized and humiliated in her relationship with the man attached to her and to the promise.  She has been unhappy for a very long time, so unhappy that even when God Himself tells her that the life-long desire for a child will come to pass, her inner personality rejects God’s truth.  After all these years of discontent, what could possibly make her believe that her life would be fulfilled?  She rejects the thought that she will once again enjoy sex with the hope of conception.  She sees herself as a worn out set of clothes.

Then the event arrives.  Isaac is born.  But instead of praise for the faithfulness of God, Sarah turns toward her humiliation.  She complains that even in the fulfillment of the promise, her life has not improved.  No one outside the camp is going to believe that this is her son.  She will look like a dotting grandmother, not a proud parent.  People will see the worn out set of clothes she wears as her body and mock her claims to have borne this baby.  Discontentment robs Sarah of joy in God’s triumph.  Her victory is still a defeat.  She is focused on her identity issues rather than God’s comic purposes.[5]

All of this discontentment waits for the right opportunity to show itself.  That moment arrives a few years later.  The final extended story regarding Sarah is the account of the culmination of her long hatred for Hagar.  It comes in Genesis 21.

Sarah observes Ishmael “playing” with Isaac.  The exact sense of this word is difficult to determine.  There is some reason to believe that the word connotes sexual abuse[6] but it could mean something as innocent as showing off or mocking.  Since Sarah is in no mood (for many years) to have her son become the object of any ridicule by the son of a slave, even if it is only the showing off behavior of a teenager, she explodes with wrath.  Notice the carefully chosen language Sarah employs:

“Drive out that slave woman with her son!  No son of this slave woman is going to share the inheritance with my son, with Isaac!”

Observe that Sarah will not refer to either Hagar or Ishmael by name.  She uses nothing but derogatory titles to describe these two human beings.  Put yourself in the camp of Abraham when this occurs.  Sarah storms into the presence of her husband.  Her eyes are wide and fiery.  Her hands are clenched.  Anger seethes from her.

“You!” She points an accusing finger at Abraham.  “Get rid to that slave woman and her son right now.  I won’t tolerate a single minute longer with her in my house.  I can’t stand the sight of her or her wretched offspring.  I’ve made up my mind.  She has to go.  I’m not going to risk any issues about inheritance with Isaac.  Get her out of here!”

The text reveals a hidden motive.  Sarah uses the excuse of the “playing” to press a matter that has been on her mind ever since the birth of Isaac.  It is the issue of inheritance.  No matter what the promise of God, Ishmael is still the first-born son of Abraham.  There is a legal problem.  We can see her consternation over the inheritance issue by noticing a shift in the word used to describe the status of Hagar.  In chapter 16, Hagar is referred to as a “maid” (sipha), but here Sarah uses the term ama.  Hagar’s status has progressed from slave-girl to second wife, even if she is still Sarah’s slave.  This change in status represents a real threat to Sarah because it calls into question the right of inheritance.  Ancient legal codes confirm that the sons of slave women had legal status in the matter of inheritance.  Sarah wants nothing to interfere with the inheritance of Isaac (and consequently, with her own status).  So, she uses this opportunity to rid herself of the problem.

The word she uses for “drive out” is the same word that is used to describe the expulsion of Adam and Eve from the Garden.  This is not a passive or friendly dismissal.  It is a permanent and forceful ejection.  In the environment where Sarah lives, it is as good as a death penalty.  That, of course, is exactly what she has in mind.  Sarah is protecting her son’s interest by insisting that the potential threat be eliminated.

But Abraham is not nearly as compliant this time.  Ishmael is still his son.  Abraham has had at least fourteen years of enjoyment with Ishmael.  The bond is not easily broken.  Abraham resists.  He has been in this situation before.  The last time he gave passive approval of the abuse of Hagar.  But God intervened and Hagar returned from her flight to accept Sarah’s wrath.  Now Sarah will not be appeased.  Abraham knows he will lose Ishmael.  The text tells us that God told Abraham to accept this situation and follow Sarah’s wishes.  With heavy heart, Abraham sends Hagar and Ishmael into the desert.  In it interesting to notice that Hagar does not know that God has promised protection and prosperity to her and to Ishmael.  Apparently, Abraham did not tell her that God would be with her.  She believes quite legitimately that she and her son will die.  Even in his compassion, Abraham omits a significant piece of information that would have offered Hagar hope.

We have reached the end of our stories about Sarah.  The only remaining mention of her is a short account of her death (she is the only woman in the Bible whose age at death is mentioned, a practice that is otherwise exclusively patriarchal).  However, there are two New Testament references that shed light on this woman.  The first is 1 Peter 3:6, a verse that proclaims Sarah an example of submission to a husband.  Peter calls such women “holy women of former ages who hoped in God”.  Here is an insight that is not obvious in the Genesis accounts.  We do not see Sarah portrayed as holy and a woman of hope, but Peter certainly considers her to be both.  This theme is repeated in Hebrews 11:11 – “By faith even Sarah herself received ability to conceive, even beyond the proper time of life, since she considered Him faithful who had promised”.  Here is a different Sarah, a woman who trusted in God’s promise.  Three characteristics emerge about Sarah.  First, she is obedient.  Secondly, she is holy.  And thirdly, she trusts God’ promise.

We can certainly find the first of these attributes in her relationship to Abraham.  She follows him obediently into the desert to a land God will show them.  She obeys Abraham even when it requires her to submit her body to another man (twice).  In fact, we see a lifetime of obedience punctuated with moment of independent action and demands.

“Holy” is a bit more difficult.  Peter uses the word hagios, a word that derives its meaning from the context of ritual purity and ceremonial observance.   In Peter’s context, it means “morally upright” or “consecrated”.  The problem is that the stories surrounding Sarah do not seem to fit this condition.  Peter amplifies his description of “holy women” by adding “who hoped in God”.  Here is the connection to Sarah.  Obedience and hope.  Peter is arguing that a wife with a disobedient husband must take a new approach to revealing God’s truth.  She must submit to her husband in a spirit of holiness and hope in God.  In this way, the witness of her character will bring the truth of God’s redemption to bear on her husband.  Peter uses Sarah as his example because she did submit to unjustified suffering at the hand of her husband during a time when he was being disobedient.  On both occasions when Abraham told her to offer sexual relationship with a potential threat, she did so.  The results were disastrous, but that does not discredit the obedience.  In fact, the only way that Pharaoh knew his action was displeasing to God must have come from the mouth of Sarah.  She did not trust her husband’s protection, but she did not stop trusting God’s.  In the midst of a very difficult situation, she still proclaimed the authority of Yahweh (even over Pharaoh).  Perhaps obedience and hope were not so far from her character after all.

Finally, Hebrews tells us that Sarah demonstrated “faith” since she considered God faithful to the promise.  Given our story about her laughter, this may seem hard to reconcile.  The Greek word “faith” in this verse is pistei, a derivative of pistis.  It means, “a firm conviction or belief in the truth”.  In order to understand the example of Sarah, we must see that Hebrews 11:1 focuses our attention on the idea that faith is firm hope in the reality of things not present in observable evidence.  The definite article is absent before the word pistis, indicating that this is the general idea of faith, not necessarily the New Testament particular concept of faith.  So, the author of Hebrews is telling us what characteristics accompany the broadest definition of faith and those are simply, hope in unseen realities.

In this regard, the author gives Sarah as an example.  First, he makes it clear that Sarah herself exemplified hope in unseen reality.  The inclusion of the pronoun (herself) emphasizes that this woman who previously did not exemplify faith (the story of her laughter) nevertheless came to the place of putting trust in God.  The exact verb is hegeomai, a word that means “to regard, to esteem or to count as”.  She put trust in God in that she regarded God’s promise as truth even when the observable evidence seemed contrary.  In fact, this must have been the case.  Sarah became pregnant.  She must have committed herself to the actions required to achieve pregnancy even though she formally said that she was worn out and that her husband was too old.  She obeyed the implications of her commitment to hope in God’s promise.

These two New Testament references to Sarah help us see the full picture of this woman.  Sarah was a woman of trials.  She lived with a man who disappointed her trust in serious breeches of fidelity.  She learned to adapt but that adaptation confirmed her to the pattern of abuse rather than release.  Her bitterness brought revenge rather than repentance.  Sarah’s life displayed the results of discontentment.  Even her victorious moment gave her pause for humiliation.  If Sarah shows us anything, she shows us how destructive the disobedience of one spouse can be to the other.

But this is not the end of Sarah’s story because the story is Sarah is not really about Sarah at all.  It is about God.  Sarah is the instrument of God.  She is the vehicle through whom God fulfills His covenant plans.  If this were not clear enough from the stories, the author of Hebrews presses us to this conclusion when he says, “By faith even Sarah herself received ability to conceive”.  The Greek can be read in the sense that her body divinely received the needed ability to accept the deposited sperm – literally “into the throwing down of sperm”.   This is the Old Testament story of Mary.  A woman who cannot conceive because it is physically impossible for her to become pregnant is empowered by God so that her body becomes fertile.  It is God’s work through her.  In fact, God deliberately waits so that there is no human claim possible.  Sarah’s discontent is directly connected to God’s deliberate intention.  This is the reason that the author of Hebrews makes it clear that “even Sarah herself” finally sees God’s prior restraint is divine deliberation.

Sarah is vindicated.  But not in the way she hoped.  Her life has shaped her into a woman who cannot see the impossible glory of God’s unexpected surprises.  The story of Sarah is the story of God working in spite of us.  In the end, Sarah can only acknowledge the truth sarcastically, “God has made a joke of me”.  God’s joke is the triumph of His faithfulness regardless of human complaint.  God’s joke is the announcement of El Shaddai – is anything too difficult for me.  God’s joke is verdict that God’s wisdom seems foolishness to us.

Sarah is the foil of God.[7] It is Sarah’s life that shows God’s triumph, not Abraham’s.  Abraham is a man on the journey to obedience, a man who must eventually sacrifice his own hopes and dreams for those of His Lord, a man who realizes that there is only one life-giver, El Shaddai.  Abraham is the recipient of life’s object lessons, played out in vivid detail in the lives of his wives and his son.  Abraham is the beneficiary of Sarah’s sacrifice for it is Sarah who throws her life up against the wages of discontent and despair in order that God may show Abraham that life comes from what cannot be done.

In the end, perhaps it is Sarah who truly fulfills the meaning of “wife” from the Hebrew word ezer (Genesis 2:18).  This is a masculine word used to describe a female who is equal (alongside) the male.  Moreover, it is the word used to describe Yahweh’s relationship to His chose people, a word of considerable status.  The meaning behind this word is “to save from danger” and “to deliver from death”.  This is the Sarah we know.  Her obedience, even in infidelity, is a saving sacrifice for Abraham and her acceptance of God’s empowered fertility is a deliverance from the death of Abraham’s line.  Sarah may have been unaware that her life of discontent became the very ground God used to plant a tree of deliverance.

The end of Sarah’s life is almost unnoticed in the text.  But there is one phrase that we should not overlook.  Genesis 23:2 tells us something about Sarah that completes the picture.  “Abraham went in to mourn for Sarah and to weep for her”.  The word for “mourn” is misped.  It is the customary grief shown for the dead and we would expect it here.  But the text adds, “and to weep for her”.  Here is the word baka, a word that shows particularly strong emotions.  Most interestingly, this word has five different senses in the Old Testament from weeping for joy to weeping over distress and sorrow.  But one sense is unique only to the Old Testament.  It is the weeping of repentance.  Are we allowed in these circumstances to suggest such a meaning?  Abraham has spent his entire life with this woman.  She has seen him through struggle and triumph, through disobedience and submission, through loss and gain.  She has endured his duplicity and his passivity.  She has protected his legacy and provided his heir.  And in the end, Abraham may have seen his tragic denial of a woman whose discontent came from his own disobedience to his God.

Sarah lived 127 years on this earth, the mother of children of obedience.  When I finally meet her in His kingdom, I will humbly present myself before her and ask her to tell me the secrets she learned at God’s hand so that we can both laugh.  God made a joke of me so that His purposes would prevail.  That is my life too.  I serve a God who turns my expectations into jokes of independence in order that I might become a person of faith.


[1] Although Jesus makes no reference to this story, it is certainly a Biblical example of his remark, “The one who seeks to save his life shall lose it”.

[2] Translated by Victor P. Hamilton, The Book of Genesis: Chapters 18-50, Eerdmans, 1995, p. 4.

[3] Contrast this reaction with the response of Mary when she is told that something impossible will happen to her body.  Sarah’s response produces a future of anxiety and humiliation.  Mary’s response produces obedience and blessing.  Both women stand at a crossroads in their lives when they confront El Shaddai but the difference in their reactions demonstrates the results of two opposite choices.

[4] NASB renders the phrase, “God has made laughter for me, everyone who hear will laugh with me”.

[5] Once again we are reminded of the polar opposite see in Mary.  Her humble obedience sets the stage for the greatest act of faith a woman has ever shown.  She is focused on the purposes of her Lord, not on the consequences to her social status.  Her obedience in spite of social humiliation leads directly to victorious triumph.  Do you suppose that Mary remember the story of Sarah and saw Sarah’s mistake?

[6] cf. Hamilton, p. 78.

[7] Sarah is also the foil of Mary.  There are many examples of Old Testament figures whose lives are counterbalances to New Testament people.  Consider Pharaoh in Exodus and Paul.  One refuses God’s command, the other obeys.  Both choices change history.

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