SURPRISED BY GOD

Before going to bed on Friday night, I let my dog, Faith, out – as I usually do – to use the bathroom. When it is cold, Faith does not stay outside for very long. But, for some reason, she decided to take her time that night. She frolicked in the snow, barked into the unknown, and ignored my assorted efforts to invite, entice, or order her to come inside. Standing in the doorway, peering into the darkness, I waited and waited. . . and, as I waited, I became more and more in touch with my powerless side.

Most of us feel powerless at one time or another.
Perhaps it’s our inability to monitor what goes into our mouths, or what comes out of our mouths;
Or our inability to say “no” to worry when we wake up in the middle of the night,
Or our inability to make a relative – or pet – see things our way, agree with us, or behave as we would like.

So many of us understand how Abram may be feeling. Exacerbating his sense of powerlessness is the fact that Abram has just done two very powerful things –
rescued his nephew Lot and his family from the kings who had captured them, and
refused to indebt himself to the King of Sodom by taking a reward from him.

What’s it like to be powerful – to effect change – in some areas of our lives while being frustratingly helpless – maybe even stuck – in others?

Abram understands. Here he stands, able to win battles against powerful kings, but unable to produce an heir or settle in one place. So when God comes to him in a vision, promising to reward his faithfulness, Abram immediately reminds God of God’s earlier, still unfulfilled promise:

“O Lord God, what will you give me, for I continue childless . . .?”

What’s the point of getting anything else if I don’t have the thing that I most want? Abram wants a son of his own – but all he can see is the way things currently are – imagining that that’s the way they’ll always be – that he and Sarai will have no children of their own, so, in the end, his servant Eliezer will become his heir.

But God has other plans. Taking Abram outside, God shows him the stars, asks him to count them, and tells him that’s how numerous his descendants will be.

But that’s not all. There’s another promise – the promise of land – all the land from the river of Egypt to the great river, the river Euphrates. But Abram again questions God:
“O Lord God, how am I to know that I shall possess it?” Give me a sign – something to hold on to, something to help me hang in there with you.

God again responds by reassuring Abram. In an ancient ritual designed to seal a covenant, God – through the symbols of a smoking fire pot and a flaming torch – not only reassures Abram but makes a unilateral promise. By passing through the split animal carcasses, God, in effect, says to Abram, “May what has happened to these animals happen to me if I fail to keep my promises to you!”

What kind of God makes God’s self vulnerable to human beings?
What kind of God would rather die than deny God’s word?
What kind of God is prepared to give more than we can ask or imagine?

All Abram wants is a son – someone to carry on his name. So what are we to make of God’s response? Descendants as numerous as the stars! Compare Abram’s request with God’s response – and wonder:

Do I, like Abram, tend to equate delay with denial?
Do I, like Abram, find it less painful to expect less of God?
Do I, like Abram, feel comfortable enough in our relationship to ask God for reassurance?

In a reflection entitled, “Paying Attention,” in her book, A Wing and a Prayer: A Message of Hope and Faith, Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori asks, “When was the last time you let God surprise you?”

She then adds, “The ability to surprise us may be the most telling characteristic of the divine. If we really believe that God is more than we can imagine, then of course we should expect to be surprised!” (p. 132).

But allowing ourselves to be surprised usually requires a willingness to listen to God. As Schori reminds us, “listening is an attitude that requires openness and vulnerability. If we’re really paying attention, it means we’re willing to hear something other than what we expect.”

Abram heard more than he expected.
Are there times when God is asking us to listen – to hear, not less, but more than we expect?

Abram listened to God, heard what God said, and trusted God’s word. He believed the Lord, and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness – his response reveals that he is standing in right relationship with God – God is God, and Abram is Abram. Not the other way around.

Abram trusts God – he doesn’t know how, or when or where God will keep God’s word, but he knows God – and he knows God’s character. Knowing God – not just in our heads, but also in our hearts – requires time – time to get to know God – time to develop a history with God.

It’s not something that another human being can give us – not parents, not priests, not spiritual gurus.
It’s not something we can get outside of solitude – outside of accepting the responsibility of spending time, like Abram, alone with God – spending time nurturing that relationship.

But it is something each of us can develop over time –
when we listen enough to discover, but not be afraid of, our own powerlessness,
when we listen enough to discover just how powerful the creator of the heaven and earth really
is,
when we listen enough to discover just how willing the God of the son, moon and stars is to be
vulnerable with us.

And that’s surprising news for many of us. A little too surprising for some! So, as we continue our Lenten journey, you and I may want to spend some time with God pondering the question:

“How open am I to being surprised by God?”