Inertia

“So Abram went, as the LORD had told him; …” [Genesis 12:4a]

Early on Monday, as I reviewed the Lectionary selections appointed for the upcoming second Sunday in Lent (Year A), and noted that the OT reading was the familiar passage often referred to as, “Abraham’s Call” (Genesis 12:1-4), I couldn’t help but wonder, “Is Yahweh calling out to Abram, or is Yahweh reaching out to you and me?” The answer, of course, is “Yes.”

To be sure, Yahweh likely isn’t repeating to you or me the promise He made to Abram, that from our essence great nations will spring. Yet, while I can’t speak for you, I do seem to hear the not-so-subtle command in the first part of this scripture passage, the part that could easily be inverted into a question offered by Yahweh to Abram and, therefore, to you and me: “Will you respond to My call, or will you heed instead the siren of that lesser god, Inertia?”

Ah, sweet Inertia — she is not necessarily a beautiful god, but she is nevertheless alluring, for she always offers apparent safety and security. She’s the god of familiarity. I’m sure she called out to Abram so long ago. Put yourself in Abram’s sandals for just a second. He’s seventy-five. His existence in Haran is relatively comfortable. He’s well respected, an elder to whom others look for advice and counsel. To be sure, he and Sara have no children, a grave curse in those days, but he’s nevertheless surrounded by many friends and an extended family with whom he has close and cordial contact. Inertia’s call to Abram is seductive and soothing. It’s rational and safe. Moreover, it’s sensible. For Heaven’s sake, aren’t we always to be sensible?

And yet, Abram (and Sara) respond. They do what doesn’t make sense. They turn away from the status quo. They shun the lesser god, Inertia, and head into a new world where nothing is guaranteed, where everything is at risk, where they will travel as contingent strangers, all the while trusting in a God who promises the impossible: to make a nation from an old, childless couple.

The Genesis 12 text is thought by many OT scholars to be a fulcrum of sorts, a pivoting point between the story of the original Creation and the establishment of the tribes of Israel in the promised land. Just as the original Creation was crafted out of a promise — a promise that was violated by the choices made by humanity — so this new nation, indeed all other nations, will be blessed in a new creation through the Divine promise made to Abram and Sara, and fulfilled through their affirmative response. Our Lord inquires, “Do you trust Me to do outlandish things with you? Will you worship Me and not the lesser god, Inertia?”

Lent is all about trajectory. Its central purpose is to alter our path. The season of Lent is a time to pivot in at least two fashions. First, it’s a time to turn away from the standards and suggestions of the world, a time to place our trust instead in the promises made to us by the loving Yahweh who offers sanctity and wholeness for each of us. Second, it’s a time to turn our eyes toward the Cross, to observe and take to heart the tremendous cost borne by our Master who bears our sin though he knows no sin.

Ah, but the lesser god, Inertia, whispers seductively, “Stay in your lane. Stick with what you’re currently doing, and doing well. Be practical and sensible, above all things.”

It all comes down to trust, does it not? The issue before Abram was — before us, is — do we trust God enough to step away from the familiar, to turn from the comfortable, to believe in the Impossible?

For many years now, at least from the time that Jane and I moved from our own Haran to Canaan (i.e., from Gaston County to Durham, back in 1986), I have been staggered by one aspect of Abram’s bravely uttered, “Yes.” He said yes to a promise that he knew would never, indeed, could never be fulfilled within his lifetime. In a world of instant gratification, Abram and Sara said “Yes” to a promise they’d never see fulfilled. That, my friends, is trust.

In a true sense, doesn’t the pilgrimage story of Abram and Sara become a perfect metaphor for the Christian life? Even as we say “Yes” to Yahweh’s promise to us, abandoning the soothing, seductive voice of Inertia, we set out on a sojourn that always — not sometimes, but always — falls short of true fulfillment within each of our lifetimes. Ah, but our Lord and Savior has conquered Death as well.