A Covenant Written on Our Hearts--Jeremiah 31: 31 - 34

            When I was a child, my Aunt Evelyn and Uncle Karl took me to see a Broadway musical.  It was a very special occasion.  We got all dressed up and drove to downtown Houston.  We walked into a huge auditorium and were directed to our seats—pretty far back.  I could see the stage and hear the music, but I could not see details until Uncle Karl handed me a pair of “opera glasses.”  Looking through them, I could see the expressions on the actors’ faces.  Experiencing the players as close to me, I was more engaged with the show.

            Opera glasses, binoculars, and the zoom lens on our digital cameras help bring the object of our view closer to us, so that we can inspect it and maybe understand it better.

            As we have read and pondered the Old Testament scriptures about 3 covenants these Sundays of Lent, I have had this sense of a zoom lens focused on God.  With each covenant we studied, the magnification has increased.  Four Sundays ago we heard God tell Noah that never again would God destroy the earth.  God seemed distant—loving us and creation but removed from us and somewhat intangible—like the rainbow sign of the covenant up there in the sky, the rainbow which we cannot touch and which we can see only from a certain angle.  The next Sunday we heard God call Abraham out of his homeland, and lead him on a long journey westward. We heard God promise Abraham and Sarah a child of their own and a continued, long-lasting God/follower relationship between God and Abraham’s descendents for generations to come.  Not as far-away as up-there-in-the-sky, but still somewhat distant—like a scout blazing a trail for the rest of the group, God seemed to come closer in that covenant.  The next Sunday, we heard God offer the covenant of the law to the newly-freed Hebrew slaves. The stone tablets with the law—the 10 commandments—engraved on them were brought down to the people. Placed in the special Ark of the Covenant, the law traveled with the people as they wandered in the wilderness and crossed over into the Promised Land.  With that scripture it was as if we zoomed in a little more—God was no longer way up there or even out in front, but God was among the people.

            Today’s text was spoken to God’s people 650 years after the exodus.  Much has happened since then.  Over the generations, prophets bring indictments against a succession of Hebrew kings, wealthy artisans, and priests.  Those in power forget God’s law.  They worship other gods and do not take care of the poor, the orphans, or the widows.  The priests conduct worship as if it is God who is kept in the “Ark of the Covenant” rather than the stone tablets containing God’s law. 

             “The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will make a new covenant . . .  It will not be like the covenant that I made with their ancestors when I took them by the hand to bring them out of the land of Egypt—a covenant that they broke.” When I took them by the hand—That phrase reminds me . . .  When I was a little girl, my Daddy would hold my hand wherever we went.  I liked that, and I often initiated the hand-holding—grasping my big, strong, loving Daddy’s hand, connecting with him.  But there came a time when I no longer wanted to hold his hand—when I wriggled and squirmed and managed to wrest free from his grip. And what did I do?  I saw someone or something familiar across the street, and I stepped off the curb without even looking.  I wonder, does this verse reflect God remembering the people as young and uncomprehending children who needed protection.  Breaking the law, they wrest free from God’s hand—and forget to look both ways—to look out for their relationship with God and to look out for their relationship with one another.  I wonder—do we do that, too?

            Jeremiah speaks a prophetic word to a people in despair, a people exiled in Babylon.  They are cut off—cut off from their land and cut off from their God.  Jeremiah offers words of hope.  “Despite all the ways the people have broken faith with God—God will not break faith with them.  Instead of  . . .  judgment, the people receive a lavish promise, unexpected good news.  God will bring newness out of destruction . . . God will bring life out of death.  God will make a way there is no way.[1]”  Prophetic words that ring true to our ears especially now as we draw closer to Holy Week and remember Christ’s Passion.

            “The days are surely coming” . . . when God will make a new covenant.  I wonder—does a new covenant imply the previous covenants were mistakes?  “I will be their God, and they shall be my people.” We’ve heard God speak this phrase before—to Abraham—referring to his descendents; to Moses— referring to the newly-freed Hebrew slaves.  I wonder—does the repetition of this phrase suggest a new way of offering the covenant.  Regardless of the emphasis—new covenant or new way of being in covenant—does new mean the previous were failures?  And does a possible failure imply God is vulnerable—

vulnerable to the destruction of the relationship between creator and created—vulnerable to destruction caused by the created?  If so, is God’s vulnerability necessarily a weakness?  Is it possible that a vulnerable God is a God with whom we can and will want to draw nearer?

            “The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will make a new covenant . . . I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts.”  Is that good news?  Wouldn’t God’s inscribing the law on our hearts negate our free will?  Wouldn’t putting the law within us inhibit our freedom?  Maybe not.  Perhaps having the “law of love firmly engraved in [our] hearts is an adventure in freedom[2]” giving us permission to act spontaneously.  Our actions, after all, reflect what fills our heart.  Perhaps having God’s law inscribed in our hearts would give us the freedom to be who we truly are, and to know that is most pleasing to God.[3] 

            These words from God, through the prophet Jeremiah, are words of hope—not only for 6^th century BC exiled Jews but also for us today. “The days are surely coming”... when God will make a new covenant—a covenant of grace.  How do we experience that covenant?  Through God’s pouring out his love in the life, ministry, death, and resurrection of God’s son—Jesus the Christ. How do we experience that covenant of grace?  Through God’s writing his law of love on our hearts—drawing us so near as to be within us and we to be within God’s loving embrace.  How do we experience that covenant of grace?  Through God forgiving us of all the things we do and say that separate us from God and from one another.  Through God forgiving us of all the things we leave unsaid and undone that separate us from God and from one another.  Through God forgiving and forgetting. “The days are surely coming” . . . when God will make a new covenant.  We, like the exiled Jews, are invited “to stand in grateful awe before the miracle of forgiveness, to receive it, and to take from it a new, regenerated life.[4]”

            “The days are surely coming, says the Lord” . . . God has made the new covenant—

the covenant of grace through Jesus the Christ.  It is already done. “The days are surely coming, says the Lord . . . No longer shall they teach one another, or say to each other, ‘Know the Lord,’ for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest.”  Ahhh, but this is yet to be.  For we continue to teach one another—hopefully not in a hierarchical “I know and you don’t” sort of way; hopefully not in a “I am right and you ar wrong” sort of way; hopefully not in a “This is what you should accept and believe and do” sort of way.  We continue to teach one another.  We worship and read and discuss the Bible together.  We share our experiences and reflect on them together.  We hold onto one another when we are overcome by darkness and despair.  We stay together.  We continue to teach one another in these ways. “The days are surely coming, says the Lord”.  There is an already and there is a not yet. 

            This text is like a pair of opera glasses, zooming in on God.  God is not far away but very close to us.  We can experience an intimate relationship with God.  Holding our hands, God will connect with us—heart to heart.  We can experience never-ending forgiveness.  God makes us new and uses our whole lifetime to transform us.  So we are a work in progress. The days are surely coming says the Lord . . . God’s promise gives us hope—hope for now and hope for the future. 

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[1] Richard Floyd.  “Jeremiah 31: 31 – 34:  Pastoral Perspective.”  Feasting on the Word, Year B.  volume 2.  Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008.  p. 124.)

[2] Woody Bartlett. “Jeremiah 31: 31 – 34:  Homiletical Perspective.”  Feasting on the Word, Year B.  Vol. 2.  Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008.  p. 125.)

[3] Bartlett, 125.

[4] Walter Brueggeman, To Build and To Plant: a commentary on Jeremiah 26 – 52.  Grand Rapids:  Wm B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1991. p. 73.

Covenant of Grace--John 3: 14 - 21

           Kevin and I have been married for 30 years, and we are familiar with each other’s interests, concerns, and eccentricities.  When I was in seminary, I often spent the entire evening—the time Kevin was home from work—in the school library, reading for classes, studying for tests, writing papers.  At 10 o’clock, as the library doors were being locked, Kevin would meet me and walk me back to our apartment, on the other side of the campus.  Sometimes, that 15 minutes was the only time we spent together, fully engaged with each other.  Perhaps we thought this comfortable, familiar relationship of ours did not need our tending. 

            Now that Kevin is in Clinton for several days a week, we are more intentional about spending time together—together in conversation on the phone each night, together exploring this part of Kansas on Thursdays—our Sabbath—and together at mealtimes when he his here.  We now realize that which is familiar and comfortable still needs our attention.

            "For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.”  (John 3:16 NRSV)  How many of you have memorized this verse?  This verse is so familiar, it may be tempting not to tend to it.  This verse is so familiar, it may be tempting not to scrutinize it, not to consider it in light of the verses around it, not to consider it in light of the entire gospel of John.

            This gospel was written to a particular community of Jewish Christians near the end of the 1^st century. They found themselves in open, direct conflict with the synagogue authorities in their town.  John’s audience had been ex-communicated—kicked out—of their synagogue.  They were experiencing the loss of all connections with their family and friends and with the religious center of their upbringing.  This gospel was intended to encourage the members of this community of faith during this conflict.  It was written to inspire them to hold onto their belief that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God.

            While the other three gospels might be considered narratives, John’s gospel is a composite of long discourses by Jesus.  John uses metaphors.  This is not a gospel to read and interpret literally.  In order to understand this gospel, we have to tend to it.  We have to dig deep into the entire book.  We have to ask questions.

            For example, why does John talk about condemnation and judgment immediately after spelling out God’s loving and generous gift of God’s only son?  Perhaps it’s John’s dig at the Jews who have refused to believe that Jesus is the Messiah.  They are the unenlightened ones relishing the dark rather than seeking the light.  Perhaps it’s a jab at the Jewish religious authorities who have slammed the doors shut on members of John’s community of faith.  They are condemned, to not enjoy eternal life.

            And what does John mean by “eternal life?”  It is one of one of the dominant themes in his gospel.  Eternal life is not so much about quantity—living forever.  Nor is it something that will occur later—in the believer’s future.  Eternal life is about quality of life.  Eternal life begins here and now. It is “life as lived in the unending presence of God.[1]”  Having eternal life means being transformed.

            And what about “believe”? Every time I read a portion of this gospel, I encounter the word “believe.” We hear it in verses 15 and 16 and 3 more times in verse 18.   So what does “believe” mean in this gospel?  Does it mean to accept a set of propositions?  Is “believing” all in your head—an intellectual exercise?  Not for the gospel writer John. For him, “believe is an action verb.  It is something you do.”[2]  Believing means trusting and acting on that trust.

            Trusting:  we’ve seen examples of trusting in each of the covenants we’ve looked at the last 3 Sundays.  God promises Noah that never again will God destroy the earth with a flood, and Noah trusts God.  Noah and his family leave the ark.  They set the animals free.  They till the ground and tend to the livestock and build a home.  They start life over because they trust God’s covenant, God’s promise.

            God tells Abraham to leave his home and his family of origin in Ur and to journey where God will lead him.  God promises Abraham a new homeland and after arriving there, descendents that will number as the stars in the sky.  So Abraham and Sarah pack up their belongings and herd their sheep, setting off to—they do not where.  They journey for years in lands unknown to them—trusting God to guide them from one oasis to another, trusting God to keep them safe among foreigners, trusting God to ultimately give them a child of their own.  Abraham and Sarah trust God’s covenant, God’s promise.

            God promises to make the newly-freed Hebrew slaves into a single, united, holy people.  God offers them the covenant of the law which will guide their living together and their worship of God.  The covenant of the law will form them into the people set apart for God’s divine purpose.  Trusting God, Moses leads the people—upholding the law and relying on God’s provision as they wander in the wilderness.  Moses and the people trust God’s covenant; they trust God’s promise.  Trusting:  we’ve encountered examples of trusting these Sundays in Lent. 

            For the evangelist, John, believing means trusting.  Believing is proclaiming Jesus is God’s Son, the Messiah even when it means being thrown out of the synagogue.  For John’s readers, believing means trusting—trusting that even when all previous ties are severed—ties with their family, ties with their friends and ties with their religious community, they are living in the unending presence of God.  John writes his gospel to encourage his community of faith to trust God’s covenant of grace—that through Jesus we are saved for eternal life. 

            Trusting—in what ways are we called to trust, to act our faith?  Could praying be an act of faith?  Can we pray for God to guide this congregation into the mission God has planned for us, trusting our prayers will be answered?  Can we work and play and live in this community with eyes and ears and hearts open to needs.  Can we offer them in prayer expecting God to help us know which are the needs God empowers us to meet—both as individuals and as a congregation?

            Could encouraging be an act of faith? Can we encourage people to share their gifts—teaching, gardening, reading, leading, coordinating, singing?  Can we encourage those who teach, care for our grounds, lead our worship, guide our committees, plan our activities—trusting that we can look outside of ourselves and gratefully acknowledge another person’s gift? 

            Could volunteering be an act of faith?  Can we volunteer to sort clothes in the Thrift Shop, to prepare a meal for someone on our prayer list, to transport donated food to the PACA food bank, to teach Vacation Bible School? Could joining be an act of faith?  Can we join a study, join a workday crew, join a committee, join our worship team? Could volunteering and joining be acts of faith—trusting that it will be okay to try something out—just for a little while, trusting that if we volunteer for this now, we can still say “no” later.  Trusting that even if we’re tired, working and playing and visiting and serving with our 1^st Presby friends—may be an energy boost rather than a drain? 

            Could making ourselves vulnerable be an act of faith?  Can we share with one another when we are lonely and need a visit, when we are sick and need some tender loving care, when we are sad and need a shoulder to cry on?  Can we be vulnerable with one another, trusting that here, in this faith community, we will be held in loving non-judgment—trusting that our feelings and our words will be held in confidence.  Trusting that here we will find friendship?

            Could talking with and listening to one another be an act of faith?  Can we communicate respectfully, directly, and openly with each other—trusting that our feelings will be valued, our words will be heard, and we will still be accepted and loved?

            Trusting—stepping out into the unknown of a new program, a new project, a new relationship, a new opportunity—trusting is an act of faith. 

            "For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.”(John 3: 16 – 17 NRSV) God’s immeasurable love demands response. Will we trust—acting out our grateful response?  If we do, we will enjoy life in the unending presence of God—eternal, abundant life that begins now.  In other words, we will be transformed.  And perhaps we will also help transform the world.

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[1] Gail R. O’Day, “The Gospel of John,” in  The New Interpreters Bible: a Commentary in Twelve Volumes.  Vol. XI. Nashville:  Abingdon Press, 1995. p. 552

[2] W. Hulitt Gloer, “John 3: 14 – 21:  Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, volume 2.  Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008. p. 119

Covenant of the Law: Exodus 19: 3-8; Exodus 20: 1-17

          How far back can you trace your roots?  5, 10 generations?  How about 30 generations?  How far back do your family stories go?  50 years, 100 years?  How about 700 years?  I can trace my roots back 4 generations and the family stories I can share go back only 120 years. Because I cannot follow the threads of my family tapestry back very far, I do not know or claim a particular inheritance from some great, great 30 times removed grandfather and grandmother.  I do not know and cannot claim a particular bond or single purpose with others descended from this same couple. 

            And so it was for the people in today’s text.  They share common ancestors 30  generations back—Abraham and Sarah.  But they do not realize it.  They do not see themselves as a family or a clan and probably not even as a tribe.  This shared ancestry has been lost over the years.  They share life circumstances—this they do acknowledge, for they have been living as slaves in Egypt for many generations.  They claim a shared misery, but they do not claim a shared identity, and certainly not a shared divine destiny as a chosen people. When we meet them in the 1^st text today, they are a fearful, tired, haphazardly brought together group of runaway slaves. 

            Following Moses, an adopted prince of Egypt, a man with kinship ties to them, they have fled Egypt.  Moses leads them towards the Sinai wilderness.  Halted by the Red Sea, with the Egyptian army in hot pursuit, it seems as if the Hebrews will be destroyed.  They fear for their lives.  But the waters of the Red Sea are parted long enough for them to cross to safety.  Then those waters pour back over the Egyptian army, drowning them.  The Hebrews are saved.  Trekking through the wilderness, the Hebrews grow desperately hungry.  They fear for their lives.  Food rains down from the heavens, and they are saved.  Journeying through the desert, the Hebrews grow thirsty.  They fear for their lives.  Fresh water gushes from a rock, and they are saved.  They arrive now at a sacred mountain. Moses has brought them here to worship the God who called him to lead them out of slavery.  Here they encounter this God in booming thunder, shaking earth, and fiery smoke.  They fear for their lives, and Moses brings them this message from God:  “If you will obey God and stay true to God’s covenant, you will become God’s most treasured possession among all peoples of the earth.  You will be become a priestly kingdom, a holy nation.”  A nation, they will become a people united by a common cause.  Holy—they will be set apart. A priestly kingdom—they will be an earthly people with a divine purpose. “The people all responded with one voice: ‘Everything that the LORD has said we will do.’” (Exodus 19:8)

      They are brought to the mountain to worship God. Through obedience to the conditional covenant God offers them here, they will be formed into a single people—a people with a shared story—the story of their delivery out of Egypt—the story they are living.  They will become a single people—a people with a shared identity—God’s treasured possession.  They will become a single people, a people with a shared purpose—the ones through whom God will bless all families of the earth.

            And what are the conditions of this covenant?  The people promise to hear—to receive—the words spoken by God in our 2^nd reading today.  Better known to us as the 10 commandments, these words shape the people and their lives, and consequently their worship.      

            In the 1^st 3 commandments, God identifies God’s self and demands all reverence saying:  I am the God who brought you out of slavery in Egypt.  I am the God who has brought you safely here.  I am the God who has saved you each time you feared for your lives. Worship only me.  Worship no one and nothing else. I am the Almighty, all-powerful, all-knowing God.  Do not try to limit me, to box me in, to contain me in images or metaphors that make me less than what I am.  Worship only me.

I am who I am.  I will be who I will be. Do not misuse my name.  Worship only me.  These first 3 commandments are all about God and worshiping God.

            The 4^th commandment offers re-creation, our own re-creation. Observe the Sabbath.  Human life is not meant to be a series of frantic activities—working and acquiring.  Human life needs ebb and flow—activity and rest.  Just as God rested from God’s creative activity in the beginning of the world, so must God’s covenant people rest—one day each week.  All the people need this rest—not just the patriarch.  Everyone in each household, even the servants need this rest.  All humans need this rest—not just the covenant people but also the immigrant to their community and the visitor to the households.  Observing the Sabbath acknowledges God’s control over our activity.  Observing the Sabbath creates a check and balance—helping us to recognize the world does not depend on us, on our work, on our efforts.  Observing the Sabbath balances our perception of our own self-importance with our dependence upon God. The 4^th commandment is ultimately about trust, for observing the Sabbath is an act of trust—trust that God will provide even when we rest.

            The 5^th – 10^th commandments call for respect.  Respect all generations in the community— honoring the parents and caring for the children.  Respect human life; respect marital relationships; respect the reputations of others as well as their property.   Respect your place, your role in the community—being content with what you have rather than obsessing over the livelihoods, possessions, or relationships others might enjoy.  The 5^th – 10^th commandments sum up living in community. 

R-E-S-P-E-C-T.  Respect. 

            The people are brought to the mountain to worship God.  They are invited into a covenant with God—a covenant in which their part is to worship God with their whole lives, to worship God in their relationships with one another.  If they hear, receive, and obey these 10 commandments, then their very lives will be worship of God.  Worshipping God:  that will define who they are and form them as a people.

            We, too, are brought to a place to worship God.  Right now, we find ourselves in this physical worship place.  During this season of Lent, we may find ourselves in a spiritual place of worship.  We may find ourselves reflecting, praying, reading, and studying—actively seeking the presence of God.  During this season of Lent, we may be examining our lives, asking ourselves this question:  Is my life an act of worship to God? 

            We, too are invited into covenant with God.  Rather than Moses, it is Jesus who leads us to this spiritual place where we hope to engage with God.  Jesus leads us out of slavery—slavery to sin and death.  Jesus leads us to a holy place where we are in the presence of our awesome God.  We may not hear thunder, see smoke, or feel the earth tremble beneath our feet—but still, Jesus leads us into the presence of the God who creates us, who loves us, who wants to make us a holy people—not holy as in holier than thou.  But holy as in set apart for God’s special purpose. Jesus leads us into the presence of the God who invites us into a divine destiny. 

            The covenant offered us is not conditional on our obedience but on our accepting the gift of God’s grace.  We hear not 10 commandments but 2.  They come from Jesus.  And they are not meant to be responsibilities that we are ordered to do.  Instead they are meant to be our grateful response to God’s grace.  Two commandments from Jesus:  Love God with all your heart and soul and mind and strength.  And love your neighbor as you love yourself.  Love. We are commanded to love.  Love:  it goes beyond respect.  Love. Love.  It is a covenant of love that we are offered.

            Just as the Hebrew slaves were called to worship God in all that they did—in how they lived their lives, we are called to worship God in how we live our lives. That’s what it means to be a follower of Christ, a disciple of Jesus.  Just as the Hebrews were formed into a united people with a divine purpose, we—the church universal—are called to a divine purpose.  We are called to share the good news of Jesus the Christ.  And we, the members of this congregation are called to be a single people with a divine purpose.  God is calling this congregation to a particular mission in this community—a specific way to share the good news.  It is our shared identity.  Responding to this call—engaging in this mission will be our shared story.  Your Session is prayerfully discerning what that mission is.  As we all continue our Lenten journeys, may we pray for God to reveal to us our collective divine destiny.  May God to give us the courage and the energy to live into that destiny with all that we are.

What's in a Name? Maybe Your Destiny --Genesis 17: 1 - 7, 15 - 16

      Names—we all have one or two or three or more.  Ken,   Jo Anne,    James Blaine McIntire,   Mary Ann Desher Grimes.  Names—we all have at least one.  What’s behind your name?  a story.  How many of you know the story behind your name—why your parents chose that name?  Were you named for someone in your extended family?  For a friend?  Someone your parents loved, admired, or hoped you would be like?  Or were your parents caught up in the name of the time?  Okay, so some of you didn’t raise your hands.  If you’re a parent, how many of you can tell the story behind the names you gave your children?  I thought so.  Even if you don’t know the story behind your own name, there is a story behind the name you chose for your child.  We attach story and meaning to every name.

            Names—Shakespeare’s character, Juliet says,  “What’s in a name?  That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet.”  Johnny Cash sings about being teased and bullied because he is “A Boy Named Sue.” Seeking vengeance, he searches for the man who deserted him after naming him.  Once found, that father says because I knew I wouldn’t be around, I gave you that name to make you tough. Whose perspective do you share—Juliet’s or Johnny Cash’s?  Are we who we are regardless of our name?  Or does our name define us—blessing or cursing our life?

            Names—have you ever wished for another one? Did you ever want to tweak your name a little bit?  Becoming Elizabeth rather than Betty?  Bill rather than William?  Have you ever wished for a different name—thinking that if your name changed so would your story?  The son of a friend of mine took a new name.  Teased by the other elementary-aged boys because of his name, when the family moved to another town, he told his parents he wanted to go by his middle name.  They saw a change in him corresponding to the change in his name.  No longer bullied, he grew confident and self-assured.  His new name did indeed reflect a new life story.

            Names—Each of the characters in today’s text gets a new name.  Their name change does not reflect a change in their personality or in their character, but it does mark a new stage in their identity.  In today’s 1^st verse, God reveals God’s self using a new name—“El Shaddai.”  God has not changed here, but Abram’s understanding of God is changing.  This God who called him away from his family of origin and out of his homeland of Ur,

this God who has led him on a 24-year sojourn toward a new land of promise—this God is not a God just of Abram’s kindred or just of Abram’s homeland.  El Shaddai—translates as God Almighty.  This God is the God “who created the heavens and the earth. This God is the God of the highest mountains and the lowest valleys,[1]” whether they be geographical land forms or emotional experiences “in the lives of God’s people.”[2] 

            God not only reveals a new name for God’s self but also for Abram and Sarai. In the Old Testament, names reflect the character and destiny of the person.  Abram means exalted ancestor—which could refer to a highly revered yet childless uncle.  But through the covenant God is making with him, Abram will have children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and so on.  So God changes his name to Abraham which means “father of a multitude of nations.”  The new name reflects a new destiny offered by God through the covenant. It’s only the ending of Sarai’s name that changes.  In Hebrew—as in some other languages—the endings often reflect a pronoun being used.  The ending on Sarai—that “i” might mean “my” indicating she is a possession.  What happens to her is only as a result of her relationship with Abram.  But the ending on Sarah—the “ah” reflects the pronoun “her.”  It indicates Sarah is separate from Abram.  It grants this woman some independence—if you will—in a culture that traditionally bound women to men.  Sarah has her own part in this covenant.  She will be the mother of nations.  Abraham and Sarah’s destinies are guaranteed because their names are divinely given.  “In the twilight of their lives, God will do in them the impossible[3]” making them “ancestors of many nations, their heirs more numerous than the stars in the sky.”[4]

            In today’s text, God says, “My covenant is with you . . . and your descendants after you in every generation.  [It is] an enduring covenant. I will be your God and your descendants’ God after you. (Gen 17: 4, 7) In our scripture last week, we encountered God making a first covenant—speaking it to Noah after the flood.  It, too is enduring. It is a covenant between God and all of creation. Unilaterally and unconditionally, God promises never again to destroy the earth.  No matter how much humans rebel against God, God will show mercy to all life in creation.  In today’s text, it’s as if this God who is almighty, all-powerful, and all-knowing draws a little closer to humans. 

God makes this covenant, not with all creation but with Abraham and Sarah and their descendents.  In this covenant—offered, defined, explained, and reiterated in over 12 chapters in Genesis, God promises to lead Abraham to a new homeland; God promises to be the God of Abraham and his descendents; and God promises to bless all peoples of the earth through the loving relationship God is initiating with Abraham and will continue to nurture with his descendents.  

            In this covenant, not only Abraham and Sarah, but we, too, begin to identify, to recognize, to understand God.  “God is in fact far above us yet with us, distant yet near, mysterious yet familiar, powerful yet loving.[5]” As we consider God’s covenant with Noah and all creation—the covenant we explored last Sunday—and God’s covenant with Abraham and Sarah and their descendents, we begin to know what God’s love is like.  God’s love is universal—not just for a select few.  God’s love is unconditional—we don’t have to do anything in order to receive it.  God’s love is faithful—God never takes back the promise to love us.  God’s love is helping and renewing—empowering us to become different people.[6]

            Different yet not different.  We are the same persons, but God’s love effects a change in us.  We are transformed.  It’s as if God’s love gives us a title.  We see ourselves differently and others view us differently as well.  A title like officer, doctor, judge—Officer Livengood, Doctor Grimes, Judge Montgomery.   We live into the title.  Different yet not different. We are the same persons, but God’s love effects a change in us—helping us to love like God loves, opening us to the possibilities of reconciled relationships.   We are transformed.

            Have you ever wished for a different name?  Have you ever wanted to be like Sarah and Abraham—divinely named—entrusted with a destiny from God?  You are.  You have been given a new name—when these words were said—child of the covenant, I baptize you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.   “In our baptism, we [are] given a new name, ‘disciple of Jesus.’ It tells us everything we need to know about ourselves and everything we need to know about God. Through the extravagant grace of God, the life of the church, and the waters of baptism, the covenant established with Abraham and Sarah is opened to us.[7]” God Almighty is our God—loving us unconditionally, drawing us into reconciliation both with God and with one another, and empowering us to continue Christ’s work on earth.  And what is Christ’s work on earth?  Proclaiming the good news that God’s power can break through forces of death and systems of destruction.  What is Christ’s work on earth? Acting out that proclamation by feeding those who are hungry, providing access to clean water to those who are thirsty, visiting those who are imprisoned by loneliness and disease, offering ministries of healing to those who suffer from pain or illness, and providing relief to those devastated by disaster.  Our new name—disciple of Jesus—is an outward-looking name, centering us in the lives of others. Since our place with God is secure, the work we do focuses on others.  Our new name—disciple of Jesus—involves us in mission. 

            We are spiritual descendents of Abraham and Sarah. God’s covenant with them is God’s covenant with us.  Just as God’s covenant with them was their destiny, it is our destiny, too.  Divinely named—child of the covenant, disciple of Jesus, Christian—how will you live into your destiny?  

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[1] Craig Kocher, “Genesis 17: 1 – 7, 15 – 16:  Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, vol. 2, Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008, p. 52.

[2] Craig Kocher, p. 52.

[3] Craig Kocher, p. 52.

[4] Craig Kocher, p. 52.

[5] Shirley Guthrie, Christian Doctrine. Revised Edition.  Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 1994. p. 101.

[6] Shirley Guthrie, p. 105.

[7] Craig Kocher, p. 50.