Sacrificial love
Commentary
The sacrificial love of God is the dominant theme for today's texts, providing a focal point for all three lessons. The first reading portrays God entering into a covenant with Abram in a way that involves what strikes us as bizarre animal sacrifices. God essentially pledges to become like these animals, if need be, to fulfill the covenant. This pledge comes closer to fulfillment in the Gospel text when Jesus speaks of his impending fate and uses another startling image of animals to describe his sacrificial love for the people of Jerusalem. Finally, Paul responds to this sacrifice by telling us the implications of the cross for his life and ministry.
Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18
This lesson presents a vision of Abram in which God initiates a covenant with him, promising twin blessings: land and descendants. It may be compared to the similar though less dramatic report of this promise in Genesis 12:4-8.
The text presents difficulties for the modern day: slavery, brutality of animal sacrifice, despising of adoption (the "tragedy" of having an heir not of one's own issue), even the promise that a particular piece of land will belong to a particular group of people forever. It is not politically correct. I once heard Robert Kysar describe the promise of descendants and land in modern idiom: a future and a place. I like that. It helps. To be without descendants was to be without a future. To be without land was to be homeless, to have no place in this world.
Most of us probably know Paul's commentary on this text better than the text itself. In Romans 4, Paul says that Abraham "believed God and it was reckoned to him as righteousness" (Romans 4:3, 9). This is true (Genesis 15:6), but one of the most intriguing facets of this text is that Abram does not start out believing God. In fact, he doubts both of the two promises -- that of descendants (v. 2) and that of land (v. 7). One question the text raises, then, is the pastoral one: What should we do when we don't believe? The answer is: Tell God you don't believe! Abram did, and God responded with exhortation ("Look at the stars") and action (the covenant ceremony) intended to encourage faith. Abram, we note, did not ask God for signs or put God to the test. He just honestly confessed his doubt, and God responded appropriately. There is a paradoxical relationship here between faith and promise. The promise comes first -- indeed the promise evokes faith, and yet it assumes the very faith that it evokes. Thus, reward (v. 1) is gift.
In verse 5, we see God's first response to Abram's hopelessness: "Look toward the heavens and count the stars -- if you are able." God's radical grace is seen in that Abram is promised not just one descendant, but as many as the stars. God is able to do abundantly beyond what we ask. But the invitation to "look toward the stars" carries another meaning also. Abram is invited to look to the heavens, to consider his problems from God's point of view. There is symbolic drama here: first, Abram thinks that all is hopeless; then, he looks to the heavens; and then, he believes God's promise.
The strange covenant ceremony itself, which is at the heart of this text, offers an amazing image of God's grace and humility. Such ceremonies were common in the Ancient Near East when a lesser party would bind itself to a greater one (a servant to a king). The idea of splitting the animals in half and then walking between them conveyed a gruesome pledge that "such should happen to me if I am unfaithful to you." Don't be too hard on the Ancient Near East. In modern America, children still swear oaths with words like "cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye...."
What is amazing -- indeed unheard of -- here is that God, not Abram, passes between the sundered corpses pledging faithful service to Abram. God voluntarily assumes the role of the lesser party -- the servant! Not a strange image for readers of the New Testament, perhaps, but no less incredible. It is, indeed, an image of "amazing grace."
Philippians 3:17--4:1
Paul warns the Philippians not against enemies of Christ, but against enemies of the cross of Christ. These enemies of the cross are people who seek glory (v. 19), which Paul says is ironically shameful. In the Mediterranean world, the cultural evaluation of honor and shame was and still is very strong. If, as Paul suggests, being overly concerned with one's honor is itself shameful, then the whole cultural system will deconstruct. People can only earn honor by not seeking it.
In verse 19 Paul describes these enemies of the cross further by saying that "their god is their belly." He does not necessarily mean that they are overweight or gluttons. He is not being that specific. Rather, they are concerned with their own needs and desires, which is a parallel thought to seeking honor (being concerned with what others think of them). In either case, the problem is putting self ahead of others.
Paul asks the community to join in imitating him. He is not now violating his own precept -- he is not concerned that they honor him. Rather, he wants them to imitate him precisely in this respect, as one who puts others first and does not seek glory. In his culture, people taught primarily by example. Paul is articulating what he hopes they will learn from his lifestyle. For instance, he has preached the gospel to them free of charge. This, he wants them to know, was an "acted parable." Now -- in case they didn't get it -- he tells them what it meant.
The text, then, presents the classic distinction in Lutheran theology between the "theology of the cross" and the "theology of glory." Paul sets out two ways. Both are promoted and modeled by leaders in the church:
1) Some people promote faith as a guarantor of success. They no doubt say, "Look at me! See where my faith has gotten me!"
2) Paul promotes faith as the way of the cross. Almost tongue in cheek, he wants to say, "Look at me! See where my faith has gotten me!" He writes, of course, from prison, awaiting execution.
Our citizenship, Paul says, is in heaven. There, we will be transformed (even our bodies). There, we will be glorified. Last week, we heard that Paul speaks of salvation as a future reality. Now we see that he speaks of glory that way also. This should not be surprising, for both are realized in a transformed life with God.
There is an echo here of God's words to Abram. God told Abram to look to the heavens when he was in despair. Paul says, yes, look, but realize you're not there yet.
Luke 13:31-35
Why does Jesus call Herod a "fox"? In our day, the word can have various meanings. Sexist males may use it for a woman whom they find alluring. More generically, the term is applied to someone who is sly or cunning ("crazy like a fox"). I doubt that Jesus meant to comment on Herod's sex appeal or his wit. Nor is Herod presented in Luke (or elsewhere) as clever.
Recently a fine scholar named John Darr at Boston University produced a rather extensive study of how foxes were regarded in Jesus' world. (The paper is not in print, but it is assumed in his analysis of this passage in his book, On Character Building, from Westminster/John Knox.) A primary characteristic ascribed to foxes was "ruthlessness." Foxes were despised as animals given to senseless violence. Most creatures will kill for food but foxes -- it was believed -- kill out of delight. People were amazed that a fox could get into a chicken coop and run amok killing as many birds as possible, then run out with but a single animal in its jaws. Why would any creature do such a thing?
Why indeed? The same question was asked of Herod and other Romans, who were perceived by the Jews as bloodthirsty. In Luke's Gospel, particularly, Herod is presented as just such a madman. There is no justification here for his murder of John the Baptist -- compare the brief reference in 9:7-9 to the long story in Mark 7. Mark tells us that Herod was coerced into killing the Baptist, motivated by fear of breaking an oath and of being humiliated in front of his guests. In Luke, Herod simply says, "John? Oh, I beheaded him!" No reason. Just did it. Those of us who live in relative security can scarcely imagine what it is like to be subject to the whims of such a tyrant. It is not part of our daily experience to imagine that we or our loved ones can be disposed of in so cavalier and horrible a fashion. But people in Luke's world knew what it was like, and many, many people in our world still know what it is like.
Darr's study unexpectedly turned up one other little tidbit -- foxes were considered to be prime destroyers of chickens. Often, chickens are described as their hapless and helpless prey. Isn't it interesting, then, that immediately after calling Herod a "fox," Jesus describes himself as a mother hen trying to gather her chicks to protect them from the destruction about to fall. The image is decidedly sacrificial. A mother hen will literally sit on her babies as opposed to fleeing so that, when she is killed, her body will protect and hide them from the enemy.
This biblical image of Jesus as a mother hen should be set alongside the church's traditional image of God the father. In the hymn "Children of the Heavenly Father" we sing, "In his mighty arms he bears them, from all evil things he spares them." We naturally prefer this image, for it allows God to protect and save us at no great cost to himself. The image of Mother Jesus is different. Her only strength is her weakness; her offer is sacrifice. We know that she can save us too, but only by suffering the abuse intended for us. It is no wonder that, given the option, we would prefer to "safely gather" in the bosom of the strong father. But Luke does not offer the option, at least not here. With the fox on the loose, for these little chicks, it's Mother Jesus or nothing.
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
By Elizabeth Achtemeier
Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18
The preacher who confronts the three stated texts for this Sunday once again faces the confusing situation of wondering how on earth the three lessons are related. Perhaps several answers are possible, but to my mind, all three of them have to do with living by a promise.
In the context of our Genesis text, Abraham and Sarah and their households have obeyed the command of God and left Ur of the Chaldees (v. 7; cf. 11:31), settled temporarily at Haran in Mesopotamia, and then journeyed on to Canaan, the land that God showed them. They were promised that the land would be theirs, and that they would become the forebears of a great nation (Genesis 12:1-7).
Now, however, Abraham and his company simply wander through the land that still belongs to the Canaanites. Both Abraham and his wife Sarah are old, past the age of childbearing, and the promises that the Lord gave them in the past seem impossible of fulfillment. The future that God previously laid out before them was apparently nothing but a dream and an empty assurance that had caused them to leave everything familiar and to become pilgrims and wanderers in a foreign country. It is in that situation, without hope for the future, that our text begins.
A mysterious and hidden God appears to Abraham in this passage. His Word comes to the aged man, first in a vision (v. 1), and then in a dream (v. 12), and his presence is indicated by the strange symbols at night of a smoking fire pot and flaming torch (v. 17). Nevertheless, his words are spoken to Abraham.
The first Word is that Abraham will have many posterity: "Your reward will be very great" (v. 1), and Abraham simply does not believe that Word. In fact, in response to the promise that he will have many descendants, Abraham blasphemously replies in so many words, "No, I won't. I have no son of my own, and the only heir to be found in my house is the son of my slave-woman, who will inherit all my property, as is the custom in these parts" (vv. 2-3). This father of our faith was no model of unshakable trust in the Lord.
God has a way of never giving up on the recipients of his promises, however, so he takes Abraham outside to look at the stars and to count them, if Abraham is able. And at that point, the Lord renews his promise: "That's how many descendants you will have." More, the Lord inspires in Abraham faith in the promise. "Abraham believed the Lord," reads our text, "and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness" (v. 15:6).
This is the first account of righteousness by faith that we find in the scriptures. The Christian Church has always confessed that we are counted righteous or justified in God's sight by faith alone. Here, our father Abraham becomes the pioneer in that faith.
We should note carefully, however, what faith consists in, for this story also characterizes the faith we are to have. Abraham's faith in the Lord consists in the fact that he believes God's promise, despite all appearances to the contrary, and so Abraham will act from now on as if that promise will come true. God has now opened the future to him and assured him that he will have a son, from whom will spring those many descendants that the Lord has said he will have. Abraham has simply to wait for the promise to be fulfilled.
The same is true in the remainder of the stated lesson. In the mysterious and awesome dream of sacrifice that Abraham undergoes, God promises that he will also give to Abraham's descendants the land on which Abraham is sleeping, from the border of the Nile to the Euphrates in the North. (The borders are those of the davidic empire.) More than that, in the strange symbolism of passing through the cut pieces of the sacrifice, God -- God himself -- promises that he himself will be destroyed, like the cut animals, if he does not keep his Word! Once again, Abraham is called upon simply to wait for the promise's fulfillment, despite all the evidence against it.
Our life with God is very much like father Abraham's, for we too have been given lots of promises by our Lord. "Lo, I am with you always, to the close of the age" (Matthew 28:20). "Whoever would save his life will lose it; and whoever loses his life for my sake and the gospel's will save it" (Mark 8:35). "Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom" (Luke 12:32). "I will not leave you desolate; I will come to you" (John 14:18). "He who believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and whoever lives and believes in me shall never die" (John 11:25-26).
Faith, therefore, consists in believing those promises and acting as if they will come true. To be sure, the evidence seems often against the fulfillment of Christ's words. When we are beset by trouble on every side, or when pain is our daily fare; when every circumstance seems to go against us and there seems to be no hope for the future; when we sacrifice for the sake of the gospel and find no peace or reward whatsoever; when we stand beside the grave of a loved one, and sorrow washes over us, do Christ's promises of his presence, of his peace and joy and abundant life, of his eternal life in the kingdom, do away with the empty desolation and give us a future full of hope? Often all the evidence seems to point in the opposite direction, and we are like those of whom Paul speaks in our epistle lesson, with our minds dominated only by the terrible nature of earthly things.
Surely that could have been true also of our Lord as he journeyed toward that cross in Jerusalem. Some kindly Pharisees advised him to flee from his task and to save his own life, according to our gospel lesson. What future was there for anyone who died a torturous death? But our Lord's reply was steadfast in his faith that God owned his future. "I finish my course," he replied.... "I must go on my way today and tomorrow and the day following; for it cannot be that a prophet should perish away from Jerusalem."
Faith trusts God's promises, despite all the evidence to the contrary. Faith simply waits for God to fulfill those promises, and knows that he will do so. So faith acts in that sure knowledge that the Word of God will come to pass. And it goes on its way today and tomorrow and the day following, and it finishes its course.
We have lots of evidence to show that it is true. God kept his promises of descendants and land to Abraham. And God kept his promise to our Lord that on the third day he would rise from the dead. So faith is holding fast to the promises of God, no matter what else happens, for God always keeps his Word. We can count on it.
Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18
This lesson presents a vision of Abram in which God initiates a covenant with him, promising twin blessings: land and descendants. It may be compared to the similar though less dramatic report of this promise in Genesis 12:4-8.
The text presents difficulties for the modern day: slavery, brutality of animal sacrifice, despising of adoption (the "tragedy" of having an heir not of one's own issue), even the promise that a particular piece of land will belong to a particular group of people forever. It is not politically correct. I once heard Robert Kysar describe the promise of descendants and land in modern idiom: a future and a place. I like that. It helps. To be without descendants was to be without a future. To be without land was to be homeless, to have no place in this world.
Most of us probably know Paul's commentary on this text better than the text itself. In Romans 4, Paul says that Abraham "believed God and it was reckoned to him as righteousness" (Romans 4:3, 9). This is true (Genesis 15:6), but one of the most intriguing facets of this text is that Abram does not start out believing God. In fact, he doubts both of the two promises -- that of descendants (v. 2) and that of land (v. 7). One question the text raises, then, is the pastoral one: What should we do when we don't believe? The answer is: Tell God you don't believe! Abram did, and God responded with exhortation ("Look at the stars") and action (the covenant ceremony) intended to encourage faith. Abram, we note, did not ask God for signs or put God to the test. He just honestly confessed his doubt, and God responded appropriately. There is a paradoxical relationship here between faith and promise. The promise comes first -- indeed the promise evokes faith, and yet it assumes the very faith that it evokes. Thus, reward (v. 1) is gift.
In verse 5, we see God's first response to Abram's hopelessness: "Look toward the heavens and count the stars -- if you are able." God's radical grace is seen in that Abram is promised not just one descendant, but as many as the stars. God is able to do abundantly beyond what we ask. But the invitation to "look toward the stars" carries another meaning also. Abram is invited to look to the heavens, to consider his problems from God's point of view. There is symbolic drama here: first, Abram thinks that all is hopeless; then, he looks to the heavens; and then, he believes God's promise.
The strange covenant ceremony itself, which is at the heart of this text, offers an amazing image of God's grace and humility. Such ceremonies were common in the Ancient Near East when a lesser party would bind itself to a greater one (a servant to a king). The idea of splitting the animals in half and then walking between them conveyed a gruesome pledge that "such should happen to me if I am unfaithful to you." Don't be too hard on the Ancient Near East. In modern America, children still swear oaths with words like "cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye...."
What is amazing -- indeed unheard of -- here is that God, not Abram, passes between the sundered corpses pledging faithful service to Abram. God voluntarily assumes the role of the lesser party -- the servant! Not a strange image for readers of the New Testament, perhaps, but no less incredible. It is, indeed, an image of "amazing grace."
Philippians 3:17--4:1
Paul warns the Philippians not against enemies of Christ, but against enemies of the cross of Christ. These enemies of the cross are people who seek glory (v. 19), which Paul says is ironically shameful. In the Mediterranean world, the cultural evaluation of honor and shame was and still is very strong. If, as Paul suggests, being overly concerned with one's honor is itself shameful, then the whole cultural system will deconstruct. People can only earn honor by not seeking it.
In verse 19 Paul describes these enemies of the cross further by saying that "their god is their belly." He does not necessarily mean that they are overweight or gluttons. He is not being that specific. Rather, they are concerned with their own needs and desires, which is a parallel thought to seeking honor (being concerned with what others think of them). In either case, the problem is putting self ahead of others.
Paul asks the community to join in imitating him. He is not now violating his own precept -- he is not concerned that they honor him. Rather, he wants them to imitate him precisely in this respect, as one who puts others first and does not seek glory. In his culture, people taught primarily by example. Paul is articulating what he hopes they will learn from his lifestyle. For instance, he has preached the gospel to them free of charge. This, he wants them to know, was an "acted parable." Now -- in case they didn't get it -- he tells them what it meant.
The text, then, presents the classic distinction in Lutheran theology between the "theology of the cross" and the "theology of glory." Paul sets out two ways. Both are promoted and modeled by leaders in the church:
1) Some people promote faith as a guarantor of success. They no doubt say, "Look at me! See where my faith has gotten me!"
2) Paul promotes faith as the way of the cross. Almost tongue in cheek, he wants to say, "Look at me! See where my faith has gotten me!" He writes, of course, from prison, awaiting execution.
Our citizenship, Paul says, is in heaven. There, we will be transformed (even our bodies). There, we will be glorified. Last week, we heard that Paul speaks of salvation as a future reality. Now we see that he speaks of glory that way also. This should not be surprising, for both are realized in a transformed life with God.
There is an echo here of God's words to Abram. God told Abram to look to the heavens when he was in despair. Paul says, yes, look, but realize you're not there yet.
Luke 13:31-35
Why does Jesus call Herod a "fox"? In our day, the word can have various meanings. Sexist males may use it for a woman whom they find alluring. More generically, the term is applied to someone who is sly or cunning ("crazy like a fox"). I doubt that Jesus meant to comment on Herod's sex appeal or his wit. Nor is Herod presented in Luke (or elsewhere) as clever.
Recently a fine scholar named John Darr at Boston University produced a rather extensive study of how foxes were regarded in Jesus' world. (The paper is not in print, but it is assumed in his analysis of this passage in his book, On Character Building, from Westminster/John Knox.) A primary characteristic ascribed to foxes was "ruthlessness." Foxes were despised as animals given to senseless violence. Most creatures will kill for food but foxes -- it was believed -- kill out of delight. People were amazed that a fox could get into a chicken coop and run amok killing as many birds as possible, then run out with but a single animal in its jaws. Why would any creature do such a thing?
Why indeed? The same question was asked of Herod and other Romans, who were perceived by the Jews as bloodthirsty. In Luke's Gospel, particularly, Herod is presented as just such a madman. There is no justification here for his murder of John the Baptist -- compare the brief reference in 9:7-9 to the long story in Mark 7. Mark tells us that Herod was coerced into killing the Baptist, motivated by fear of breaking an oath and of being humiliated in front of his guests. In Luke, Herod simply says, "John? Oh, I beheaded him!" No reason. Just did it. Those of us who live in relative security can scarcely imagine what it is like to be subject to the whims of such a tyrant. It is not part of our daily experience to imagine that we or our loved ones can be disposed of in so cavalier and horrible a fashion. But people in Luke's world knew what it was like, and many, many people in our world still know what it is like.
Darr's study unexpectedly turned up one other little tidbit -- foxes were considered to be prime destroyers of chickens. Often, chickens are described as their hapless and helpless prey. Isn't it interesting, then, that immediately after calling Herod a "fox," Jesus describes himself as a mother hen trying to gather her chicks to protect them from the destruction about to fall. The image is decidedly sacrificial. A mother hen will literally sit on her babies as opposed to fleeing so that, when she is killed, her body will protect and hide them from the enemy.
This biblical image of Jesus as a mother hen should be set alongside the church's traditional image of God the father. In the hymn "Children of the Heavenly Father" we sing, "In his mighty arms he bears them, from all evil things he spares them." We naturally prefer this image, for it allows God to protect and save us at no great cost to himself. The image of Mother Jesus is different. Her only strength is her weakness; her offer is sacrifice. We know that she can save us too, but only by suffering the abuse intended for us. It is no wonder that, given the option, we would prefer to "safely gather" in the bosom of the strong father. But Luke does not offer the option, at least not here. With the fox on the loose, for these little chicks, it's Mother Jesus or nothing.
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
By Elizabeth Achtemeier
Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18
The preacher who confronts the three stated texts for this Sunday once again faces the confusing situation of wondering how on earth the three lessons are related. Perhaps several answers are possible, but to my mind, all three of them have to do with living by a promise.
In the context of our Genesis text, Abraham and Sarah and their households have obeyed the command of God and left Ur of the Chaldees (v. 7; cf. 11:31), settled temporarily at Haran in Mesopotamia, and then journeyed on to Canaan, the land that God showed them. They were promised that the land would be theirs, and that they would become the forebears of a great nation (Genesis 12:1-7).
Now, however, Abraham and his company simply wander through the land that still belongs to the Canaanites. Both Abraham and his wife Sarah are old, past the age of childbearing, and the promises that the Lord gave them in the past seem impossible of fulfillment. The future that God previously laid out before them was apparently nothing but a dream and an empty assurance that had caused them to leave everything familiar and to become pilgrims and wanderers in a foreign country. It is in that situation, without hope for the future, that our text begins.
A mysterious and hidden God appears to Abraham in this passage. His Word comes to the aged man, first in a vision (v. 1), and then in a dream (v. 12), and his presence is indicated by the strange symbols at night of a smoking fire pot and flaming torch (v. 17). Nevertheless, his words are spoken to Abraham.
The first Word is that Abraham will have many posterity: "Your reward will be very great" (v. 1), and Abraham simply does not believe that Word. In fact, in response to the promise that he will have many descendants, Abraham blasphemously replies in so many words, "No, I won't. I have no son of my own, and the only heir to be found in my house is the son of my slave-woman, who will inherit all my property, as is the custom in these parts" (vv. 2-3). This father of our faith was no model of unshakable trust in the Lord.
God has a way of never giving up on the recipients of his promises, however, so he takes Abraham outside to look at the stars and to count them, if Abraham is able. And at that point, the Lord renews his promise: "That's how many descendants you will have." More, the Lord inspires in Abraham faith in the promise. "Abraham believed the Lord," reads our text, "and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness" (v. 15:6).
This is the first account of righteousness by faith that we find in the scriptures. The Christian Church has always confessed that we are counted righteous or justified in God's sight by faith alone. Here, our father Abraham becomes the pioneer in that faith.
We should note carefully, however, what faith consists in, for this story also characterizes the faith we are to have. Abraham's faith in the Lord consists in the fact that he believes God's promise, despite all appearances to the contrary, and so Abraham will act from now on as if that promise will come true. God has now opened the future to him and assured him that he will have a son, from whom will spring those many descendants that the Lord has said he will have. Abraham has simply to wait for the promise to be fulfilled.
The same is true in the remainder of the stated lesson. In the mysterious and awesome dream of sacrifice that Abraham undergoes, God promises that he will also give to Abraham's descendants the land on which Abraham is sleeping, from the border of the Nile to the Euphrates in the North. (The borders are those of the davidic empire.) More than that, in the strange symbolism of passing through the cut pieces of the sacrifice, God -- God himself -- promises that he himself will be destroyed, like the cut animals, if he does not keep his Word! Once again, Abraham is called upon simply to wait for the promise's fulfillment, despite all the evidence against it.
Our life with God is very much like father Abraham's, for we too have been given lots of promises by our Lord. "Lo, I am with you always, to the close of the age" (Matthew 28:20). "Whoever would save his life will lose it; and whoever loses his life for my sake and the gospel's will save it" (Mark 8:35). "Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom" (Luke 12:32). "I will not leave you desolate; I will come to you" (John 14:18). "He who believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and whoever lives and believes in me shall never die" (John 11:25-26).
Faith, therefore, consists in believing those promises and acting as if they will come true. To be sure, the evidence seems often against the fulfillment of Christ's words. When we are beset by trouble on every side, or when pain is our daily fare; when every circumstance seems to go against us and there seems to be no hope for the future; when we sacrifice for the sake of the gospel and find no peace or reward whatsoever; when we stand beside the grave of a loved one, and sorrow washes over us, do Christ's promises of his presence, of his peace and joy and abundant life, of his eternal life in the kingdom, do away with the empty desolation and give us a future full of hope? Often all the evidence seems to point in the opposite direction, and we are like those of whom Paul speaks in our epistle lesson, with our minds dominated only by the terrible nature of earthly things.
Surely that could have been true also of our Lord as he journeyed toward that cross in Jerusalem. Some kindly Pharisees advised him to flee from his task and to save his own life, according to our gospel lesson. What future was there for anyone who died a torturous death? But our Lord's reply was steadfast in his faith that God owned his future. "I finish my course," he replied.... "I must go on my way today and tomorrow and the day following; for it cannot be that a prophet should perish away from Jerusalem."
Faith trusts God's promises, despite all the evidence to the contrary. Faith simply waits for God to fulfill those promises, and knows that he will do so. So faith acts in that sure knowledge that the Word of God will come to pass. And it goes on its way today and tomorrow and the day following, and it finishes its course.
We have lots of evidence to show that it is true. God kept his promises of descendants and land to Abraham. And God kept his promise to our Lord that on the third day he would rise from the dead. So faith is holding fast to the promises of God, no matter what else happens, for God always keeps his Word. We can count on it.
