As Righteousness

As Righteousness
September 1, 2011 5:30 AM -0500
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Sarai was right. And now, as he stared at where she had been moments before storming back out into the evening cool, the funny thing was that Abram was unsure whether he was more angry about that or the fact that he must, therefore, be wrong.

Replaying the conversation - if you could really call two people yelling at the top of their lungs a conversation - only made things worse. It had all started with a simple observation: Sarai missed her sister. But Abram had been in the middle of fixing the sheers, and without thinking had muttered something about he didn’t. Funny. He didn’t even remember exactly what he had said. But the whole thing had spiraled - well, exploded, really - from there.

She said her family was important to her, but he had never really appreciated any of them.

He said that was ridiculous.

She said it was not, and the fact that he had packed up her and everything they owned and followed his dad to Harran, and then on to Canaan, proved it.

He said she was hormonal.

In hindsight, he decided that was the point where the conversation had really turned for the worse. For some reason, even though such statements had never helped things in the fifty-plus years they had been married, he continued to think that such a statement should compel her to step back, re-examine her position, and come back rational.

Abram made a mental note that such a comment may not be helpful at all. More research was definitely warranted.

But Sarai was right about one thing. She said that he followed followed God for the promise that they would have children. And now, nine years had passed, and what did they have to show for their obedience? They had walked - no, wandered - well over two thousand miles, much of it wandering in either mountain passes or the very fringe of the desert. They had nearly starved when famine came, forcing them to move on to Egypt for a time. Lot and his family had been kidnapped and nearly killed. They still had no land to call their own.

And worst of all, their tent was utterly devoid of sound or sign of child.

Because there was no child.

And now, as Abram sat alone in the tent, the doubt began to creep in. What if God wasn’t really going to give them a child? I mean, the pagans’ gods were always playing tricks on them. What if God couldn’t really give them a child? Abram was, after all, eighty-five years old, and his wife was well into her seventies. What if God was lying? What if God was impotent?

What if God didn’t really exist?Abram cringed at the thought that all those times he had heard and felt the Lord, the encounter he had had when they first arrived at Shechem, and everything had been mere figments of his imagination. And yet, like a serpent slithering about his feet, now up his leg, and presently coiling about his heart, doubt crept in. What if?

“Yes,” a voice answered the unspoken question from the shadows. “What if I don’t exist?”

Abram grunted, irritated, and returned to his work, sharpening the sheers. The stone scraped along the blade with a slow, grinding sound which rose so slightly at the end. He turned the blade, but before he touched it to the stone again, he set both down and turned to confront this “god” who had called him so far from home with such grand promises only to...

“Only to leave them unfulfilled?” the voice wondered.

Abram snapped, “Stop doing that!”

“Finishing your thoughts?” God paused before continuing, “I know you even better than that, Abram.”

The voice came from behind him again, and he wheeled about to confront it. “What is that supposed to mean?”

God allowed the question to hang in the tent for a long moment which seemed to span eternity before his voice echoed through every fiber of Abram’s being. “I knit you together in your mother’s womb, Abram. I know your words before they ever reach your tongue, your thoughts even before you. I see your heart. You’re afraid that you’ve been wrong to trust Me and all this has been for nothing.”

Abram cried, “If you’re so amazing, why haven’t you done any of the things you promised me?”

Again, God did not respond immediately, but as Abram stood there, waiting, suddenly, seconds passed into minutes, into hours, into days. Years. Centuries, even. In the blink of an eye, the man knew that millennia had passed and then somehow recoiled, leaving him once more exactly where - no, when - he had been. “You still don’t understand,” the voice of the Most High echoed, this time within his head. The tone was curious because, rather than taunting or belittling Abram, it was as though God was actually saddened. Then, as he continued, it seemed that the words actually caused Him pain. “For me, a day is the same as a thousand years, and a thousand years the same as a day. I am the kaf and the lamed, all at the same time. You have not yet seen the promises fulfilled, but I have fulfilled them. I am fulfilling them.”

Abram stood in awe for a long while before the doubt renewed its attack. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he glowered.

“No,” God admitted with profound sadness, “I don’t suppose it does. Yet.” He paused again, and Abram found himself, in an instant, on a frozen battlefield. All around him now, men were locked in battle, spears brandished, swords flashing, arrows flying. And as his eyes moved from one twisted face to another, Abram realized that he knew where he was. It had been two years since Abram’s nephew Lot was kidnapped by the armies following Chedorlaomer. Two years since Abram and his men had chased those armies into the Valley of Siddim. And as he turned slowly about in the midst of the eerie stillness, he realized abruptly that there was a man barreling toward him with a battle axe high over his head.

Suddenly, the battle raged, and the man with the axe charged forward, screaming ferociously. The axe swung down, but just before it landed a devastating blow to Abram - a blow he had never seen coming the first time - it was as though an invisible wrecking ball - if Abram could even know what that was - slammed into him, hurling him out into the rest of the battle, where he eventually fell to the ground, lifeless, along with three of his comrades.

“Abram,” God said as the man found himself once more in the middle of the tent, “don’t be afraid. I am your shield, and your reward will be very great.”

Confronted with the power, love, and faithfulness of his God, Abram started sobbing. “Lord God,” he asked, meaning it with every bit of himself. God had called him, provided for him, and saved him. How could Abram doubt? How could Abram not own Him as Lord? “I know, You’ve said that before. But I don’t have any kids, and I’m almost ninety years old. I mean, You’ve done amazing things for me... You’ve blessed me beyond measure, but what does any of that matter without a family to share it with? Everything that I have - everything that I am - will pass to Eliezer.”

There was a long silence before Abram suddenly felt something incredible. It was as though someone were wrapping their arms around him, but not around his shoulders, as one would expect. No, it was like God was wrapping His arms around Abram’s heart, directly, pulling him in, and holding him tight. Then, the voice whispered in his heart, “No, not Eliezer, my son. You will have a son. I have promised it, and it will be so. And more than that...” Suddenly, Abram was standing in the middle of a vast plain over which stretched the full night sky in all its glory. And God continued, “Look at the sky and count the stars if you can. Your offspring will be that numerous.”

Abram stared up at the stars as his heart soared for what could have been hours before, at last, he closed his eyes and breathed a prayer of thanks. For God’s faithfulness. For His provision. For His protection. For His grace.

Oh, how Abram knew he needed grace. As he continued in prayer, basking in the warm embrace of the God who had chosen him, Abram knew again that this God was holy. And he, the mere man, was not worthy. All on his own, it was true, but just moments earlier, he had entertained the most grievous thoughts about God. In fact, truth be told, he had been ready to pack it all in and head back for Harran - maybe even Ur - once again. Now, though, He just knew...

When he opened his eyes again, just as quickly as they had appeared, the stars were gone again, and he found himself lying, prostrate, in the middle of his tent once more. The vision, he knew instinctively, was over. But somehow, it still felt as though God’s arms were wrapped in a powerful embrace about his heart, warming him, encouraging him, challenging him.

He knew what he had to do.

And in the next instant, as Sarai came through the flap of the tent once more, he resolved to do it. “Sarai,” he said with the joy that came from newfound conviction, newfound faith, “we’re going to have a baby.”

And as Abram started making the preparations - slowly but surely lengthening the ropes and strengthening the poles and stakes of his tent, adding panels for the new nursery, and building a crib - God credited it to him as righteousness.

Thesis: If we will actively trust in God’s faithfulness to fulfill promises, He will grant us the righteousness we can’t achieve on our own.
Objective: Call people to believe in such a manner that they respond with faith that God will accomplish all He says He will and obedience to the call which God has placed on their lives.
  1. God is faithful (1).
    1. He demonstrates His power (“Do not be afraid, Abram. I am your shield” (1 HCSB); At the root of Abram’s issue was the fear that he had been wrong and everything for which he had worked would disappear with him. God reminded him of everything that He had been doing, and in our moments of doubt and despair, He reminds us of the same.).
    2. He renews promises (“your reward will be very great” (1 HCSB); God had promised Abraham back in chapter 12 that he would have offspring. In the culture, wealth was one thing, but children were everything. Now, nearly 10 years have passed, and he still remained childless. But God said again that he would be blessed greatly. That meant kids. God’s promises are not always fulfilled in a day, or even a year. But that doesn’t mean that He’s not going to fulfill them.).
  2. God is patient (2-5).
    1. We doubt (“what can You give me, since I am childless?” (2 HCSB); “You have given me no offspring” (3 HCSB); We have a natural tendency to grow impatient and doubt when things don’t happen immediately. Abram held on to faith for nearly ten years before doubt crept in. That was extraordinary! But eventually, even he doubted.).
    2. God gets it (“This one will not be your heir” (4 HCSB); Rather than condemning Abram for his doubt and fear, God welcomed it and responded directly to it. When we have doubt, fear, anger, etc., with God for whatever reason, if we will bring it to him sincerely, He will understand and respond.).
  3. God is gracious (6).
    1. God expects us to believe (“Abram believed the Lord” (HCSB); Our proper response to God is always to believe. This means that acknowledge with our heads, but also with our hands and feet. Our belief must compel us to do something.).
    2. God credits faith as righteousness (“[God] credited it to him as righteousness” (HCSB); Even though we doubt and fear and fail and more, if we will respond to God with faith, God will consider that faith the same thing as righteousness.).

Sarai was right. And now, as he stared at where she had been moments before storming back out into the evening cool, the funny thing was that Abram was unsure whether he was more angry about that or the fact that he must, therefore, be wrong.

Replaying the conversation - if you could really call two people yelling at the top of their lungs a conversation - only made things worse. It had all started with a simple observation: Sarai missed her sister. But Abram had been in the middle of fixing the sheers, and without thinking had muttered something about he didn’t. Funny. He didn’t even remember exactly what he had said. But the whole thing had spiraled - well, exploded, really - from there.

She said her family was important to her, but he had never really appreciated any of them.

He said that was ridiculous.

She said it was not, and the fact that he had packed up her and everything they owned and followed his dad to Harran, and then on to Canaan, proved it.

He said she was hormonal.

In hindsight, he decided that was the point where the conversation had really turned for the worse. For some reason, even though such statements had never helped things in the fifty-plus years they had been married, he continued to think that such a statement should compel her to step back, re-examine her position, and come back rational.

Abram made a mental note that such a comment may not be helpful at all. More research was definitely warranted.

But Sarai was right about one thing. She said that he followed followed God for the promise that they would have children. And now, nine years had passed, and what did they have to show for their obedience? They had walked - no, wandered - well over two thousand miles, much of it wandering in either mountain passes or the very fringe of the desert. They had nearly starved when famine came, forcing them to move on to Egypt for a time. Lot and his family had been kidnapped and nearly killed. They still had no land to call their own.

And worst of all, their tent was utterly devoid of sound or sign of child.

Because there was no child.

And now, as Abram sat alone in the tent, the doubt began to creep in. What if God wasn’t really going to give them a child? I mean, the pagans’ gods were always playing tricks on them. What if God couldn’t really give them a child? Abram was, after all, eighty-five years old, and his wife was well into her seventies. What if God was lying? What if God was impotent?

What if God didn’t really exist?Abram cringed at the thought that all those times he had heard and felt the Lord, the encounter he had had when they first arrived at Shechem, and everything had been mere figments of his imagination. And yet, like a serpent slithering about his feet, now up his leg, and presently coiling about his heart, doubt crept in. What if?

“Yes,” a voice answered the unspoken question from the shadows. “What if I don’t exist?”

Abram grunted, irritated, and returned to his work, sharpening the sheers. The stone scraped along the blade with a slow, grinding sound which rose so slightly at the end. He turned the blade, but before he touched it to the stone again, he set both down and turned to confront this “god” who had called him so far from home with such grand promises only to...

“Only to leave them unfulfilled?” the voice wondered.

Abram snapped, “Stop doing that!”

“Finishing your thoughts?” God paused before continuing, “I know you even better than that, Abram.”

The voice came from behind him again, and he wheeled about to confront it. “What is that supposed to mean?”

God allowed the question to hang in the tent for a long moment which seemed to span eternity before his voice echoed through every fiber of Abram’s being. “I knit you together in your mother’s womb, Abram. I know your words before they ever reach your tongue, your thoughts even before you. I see your heart. You’re afraid that you’ve been wrong to trust Me and all this has been for nothing.”

Abram cried, “If you’re so amazing, why haven’t you done any of the things you promised me?”

Again, God did not respond immediately, but as Abram stood there, waiting, suddenly, seconds passed into minutes, into hours, into days. Years. Centuries, even. In the blink of an eye, the man knew that millennia had passed and then somehow recoiled, leaving him once more exactly where - no, when - he had been. “You still don’t understand,” the voice of the Most High echoed, this time within his head. The tone was curious because, rather than taunting or belittling Abram, it was as though God was actually saddened. Then, as he continued, it seemed that the words actually caused Him pain. “For me, a day is the same as a thousand years, and a thousand years the same as a day. I am the kaf and the lamed, all at the same time. You have not yet seen the promises fulfilled, but I have fulfilled them. I am fulfilling them.”

Abram stood in awe for a long while before the doubt renewed its attack. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he glowered.

“No,” God admitted with profound sadness, “I don’t suppose it does. Yet.” He paused again, and Abram found himself, in an instant, on a frozen battlefield. All around him now, men were locked in battle, spears brandished, swords flashing, arrows flying. And as his eyes moved from one twisted face to another, Abram realized that he knew where he was. It had been two years since Abram’s nephew Lot was kidnapped by the armies following Chedorlaomer. Two years since Abram and his men had chased those armies into the Valley of Siddim. And as he turned slowly about in the midst of the eerie stillness, he realized abruptly that there was a man barreling toward him with a battle axe high over his head.

Suddenly, the battle raged, and the man with the axe charged forward, screaming ferociously. The axe swung down, but just before it landed a devastating blow to Abram - a blow he had never seen coming the first time - it was as though an invisible wrecking ball - if Abram could even know what that was - slammed into him, hurling him out into the rest of the battle, where he eventually fell to the ground, lifeless, along with three of his comrades.

“Abram,” God said as the man found himself once more in the middle of the tent, “don’t be afraid. I am your shield, and your reward will be very great.”

Confronted with the power, love, and faithfulness of his God, Abram started sobbing. “Lord God,” he asked, meaning it with every bit of himself. God had called him, provided for him, and saved him. How could Abram doubt? How could Abram not own Him as Lord? “I know, You’ve said that before. But I don’t have any kids, and I’m almost ninety years old. I mean, You’ve done amazing things for me... You’ve blessed me beyond measure, but what does any of that matter without a family to share it with? Everything that I have - everything that I am - will pass to Eliezer.”

There was a long silence before Abram suddenly felt something incredible. It was as though someone were wrapping their arms around him, but not around his shoulders, as one would expect. No, it was like God was wrapping His arms around Abram’s heart, directly, pulling him in, and holding him tight. Then, the voice whispered in his heart, “No, not Eliezer, my son. You will have a son. I have promised it, and it will be so. And more than that...” Suddenly, Abram was standing in the middle of a vast plain over which stretched the full night sky in all its glory. And God continued, “Look at the sky and count the stars if you can. Your offspring will be that numerous.”

Abram stared up at the stars as his heart soared for what could have been hours before, at last, he closed his eyes and breathed a prayer of thanks. For God’s faithfulness. For His provision. For His protection. For His grace.

Oh, how Abram knew he needed grace. As he continued in prayer, basking in the warm embrace of the God who had chosen him, Abram knew again that this God was holy. And he, the mere man, was not worthy. All on his own, it was true, but just moments earlier, he had entertained the most grievous thoughts about God. In fact, truth be told, he had been ready to pack it all in and head back for Harran - maybe even Ur - once again. Now, though, He just knew...

When he opened his eyes again, just as quickly as they had appeared, the stars were gone again, and he found himself lying, prostrate, in the middle of his tent once more. The vision, he knew instinctively, was over. But somehow, it still felt as though God’s arms were wrapped in a powerful embrace about his heart, warming him, encouraging him, challenging him.

He knew what he had to do.

And in the next instant, as Sarai came through the flap of the tent once more, he resolved to do it. “Sarai,” he said with the joy that came from newfound conviction, newfound faith, “we’re going to have a baby.”

And as Abram started making the preparations - slowly but surely lengthening the ropes and strengthening the poles and stakes of his tent, adding panels for the new nursery, and building a crib - God credited it to him as righteousness.

Sarai was right. And now, as he stared at where she had been moments before storming back out into the evening cool, the funny thing was that Abram was unsure whether he was more angry about that or the fact that he must, therefore, be wrong.

Replaying the conversation - if you could really call two people yelling at the top of their lungs a conversation - only made things worse. It had all started with a simple observation: Sarai missed her sister. But Abram had been in the middle of fixing the sheers, and without thinking had muttered something about he didn’t. Funny. He didn’t even remember exactly what he had said. But the whole thing had spiraled - well, exploded, really - from there.

She said her family was important to her, but he had never really appreciated any of them.

He said that was ridiculous.

She said it was not, and the fact that he had packed up her and everything they owned and followed his dad to Harran, and then on to Canaan, proved it.

He said she was hormonal.

In hindsight, he decided that was the point where the conversation had really turned for the worse. For some reason, even though such statements had never helped things in the fifty-plus years they had been married, he continued to think that such a statement should compel her to step back, re-examine her position, and come back rational.

Abram made a mental note that such a comment may not be helpful at all. More research was definitely warranted.

But Sarai was right about one thing. She said that he followed followed God for the promise that they would have children. And now, nine years had passed, and what did they have to show for their obedience? They had walked - no, wandered - well over two thousand miles, much of it wandering in either mountain passes or the very fringe of the desert. They had nearly starved when famine came, forcing them to move on to Egypt for a time. Lot and his family had been kidnapped and nearly killed. They still had no land to call their own.

And worst of all, their tent was utterly devoid of sound or sign of child.

Because there was no child.

And now, as Abram sat alone in the tent, the doubt began to creep in. What if God wasn’t really going to give them a child? I mean, the pagans’ gods were always playing tricks on them. What if God couldn’t really give them a child? Abram was, after all, eighty-five years old, and his wife was well into her seventies. What if God was lying? What if God was impotent?

What if God didn’t really exist?Abram cringed at the thought that all those times he had heard and felt the Lord, the encounter he had had when they first arrived at Shechem, and everything had been mere figments of his imagination. And yet, like a serpent slithering about his feet, now up his leg, and presently coiling about his heart, doubt crept in. What if?

“Yes,” a voice answered the unspoken question from the shadows. “What if I don’t exist?”

Abram grunted, irritated, and returned to his work, sharpening the sheers. The stone scraped along the blade with a slow, grinding sound which rose so slightly at the end. He turned the blade, but before he touched it to the stone again, he set both down and turned to confront this “god” who had called him so far from home with such grand promises only to...

“Only to leave them unfulfilled?” the voice wondered.

Abram snapped, “Stop doing that!”

“Finishing your thoughts?” God paused before continuing, “I know you even better than that, Abram.”

The voice came from behind him again, and he wheeled about to confront it. “What is that supposed to mean?”

God allowed the question to hang in the tent for a long moment which seemed to span eternity before his voice echoed through every fiber of Abram’s being. “I knit you together in your mother’s womb, Abram. I know your words before they ever reach your tongue, your thoughts even before you. I see your heart. You’re afraid that you’ve been wrong to trust Me and all this has been for nothing.”

Abram cried, “If you’re so amazing, why haven’t you done any of the things you promised me?”

Again, God did not respond immediately, but as Abram stood there, waiting, suddenly, seconds passed into minutes, into hours, into days. Years. Centuries, even. In the blink of an eye, the man knew that millennia had passed and then somehow recoiled, leaving him once more exactly where - no, when - he had been. “You still don’t understand,” the voice of the Most High echoed, this time within his head. The tone was curious because, rather than taunting or belittling Abram, it was as though God was actually saddened. Then, as he continued, it seemed that the words actually caused Him pain. “For me, a day is the same as a thousand years, and a thousand years the same as a day. I am the kaf and the lamed, all at the same time. You have not yet seen the promises fulfilled, but I have fulfilled them. I am fulfilling them.”

Abram stood in awe for a long while before the doubt renewed its attack. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he glowered.

“No,” God admitted with profound sadness, “I don’t suppose it does. Yet.” He paused again, and Abram found himself, in an instant, on a frozen battlefield. All around him now, men were locked in battle, spears brandished, swords flashing, arrows flying. And as his eyes moved from one twisted face to another, Abram realized that he knew where he was. It had been two years since Abram’s nephew Lot was kidnapped by the armies following Chedorlaomer. Two years since Abram and his men had chased those armies into the Valley of Siddim. And as he turned slowly about in the midst of the eerie stillness, he realized abruptly that there was a man barreling toward him with a battle axe high over his head.

Suddenly, the battle raged, and the man with the axe charged forward, screaming ferociously. The axe swung down, but just before it landed a devastating blow to Abram - a blow he had never seen coming the first time - it was as though an invisible wrecking ball - if Abram could even know what that was - slammed into him, hurling him out into the rest of the battle, where he eventually fell to the ground, lifeless, along with three of his comrades.

“Abram,” God said as the man found himself once more in the middle of the tent, “don’t be afraid. I am your shield, and your reward will be very great.”

Confronted with the power, love, and faithfulness of his God, Abram started sobbing. “Lord God,” he asked, meaning it with every bit of himself. God had called him, provided for him, and saved him. How could Abram doubt? How could Abram not own Him as Lord? “I know, You’ve said that before. But I don’t have any kids, and I’m almost ninety years old. I mean, You’ve done amazing things for me... You’ve blessed me beyond measure, but what does any of that matter without a family to share it with? Everything that I have - everything that I am - will pass to Eliezer.”

There was a long silence before Abram suddenly felt something incredible. It was as though someone were wrapping their arms around him, but not around his shoulders, as one would expect. No, it was like God was wrapping His arms around Abram’s heart, directly, pulling him in, and holding him tight. Then, the voice whispered in his heart, “No, not Eliezer, my son. You will have a son. I have promised it, and it will be so. And more than that...” Suddenly, Abram was standing in the middle of a vast plain over which stretched the full night sky in all its glory. And God continued, “Look at the sky and count the stars if you can. Your offspring will be that numerous.”

Abram stared up at the stars as his heart soared for what could have been hours before, at last, he closed his eyes and breathed a prayer of thanks. For God’s faithfulness. For His provision. For His protection. For His grace.

Oh, how Abram knew he needed grace. As he continued in prayer, basking in the warm embrace of the God who had chosen him, Abram knew again that this God was holy. And he, the mere man, was not worthy. All on his own, it was true, but just moments earlier, he had entertained the most grievous thoughts about God. In fact, truth be told, he had been ready to pack it all in and head back for Harran - maybe even Ur - once again. Now, though, He just knew...

When he opened his eyes again, just as quickly as they had appeared, the stars were gone again, and he found himself lying, prostrate, in the middle of his tent once more. The vision, he knew instinctively, was over. But somehow, it still felt as though God’s arms were wrapped in a powerful embrace about his heart, warming him, encouraging him, challenging him.

He knew what he had to do.

And in the next instant, as Sarai came through the flap of the tent once more, he resolved to do it. “Sarai,” he said with the joy that came from newfound conviction, newfound faith, “we’re going to have a baby.”

And as Abram started making the preparations - slowly but surely lengthening the ropes and strengthening the poles and stakes of his tent, adding panels for the new nursery, and building a crib - God credited it to him as righteousness.

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