In Our Waiting

At the end of the day, I’m an Ecclesiastes guy.

When I was first introduced to the book as a former punk rock cynic turned newly baptized follower of Christ it was like reading my own testimony. The “preacher” had tried everything under the sun, and found none of it ultimately satisfied. Gosh, I get that.

Against that background, I found myself pondering anew Abram’s words in Genesis 15:

“Lord God, what can you give me, since I am childless and the heir of my house is Eliezer of Damascus?” (15:2)

Abram had reached the ancient equivalent of Elon Musk levels of success. But as a man in his seventies without any children, he found himself pondering, “what does it even matter?” He has an audience with the creator of the universe and his response is basically: “there’s not much you can give me at this point.” Or is it?

Behind the question, as there often is, there’s pain.

What were the decades leading into his seventies like? Those early years of marriage, full of life, praying for a baby in your twenties and not getting one. The anxiety increasing as you head into your thirties, reaching fever pitch in your forties. Prayers diminish but you think, “unlikely, but not impossible in our fifties.” By the time Sarai is in her sixties, it’s a bitter subject, you tiptoe around it but don’t dare utter the possibility. The remaining embers of hope have grown cold. She is barren.

Even now I tear up writing those words. I’ve not personally experienced that reality, but I’ve pastored those who have.

Heartache has a way of shaping us and age has a way of refining our longings. Late stage Abram had built an empire, but soon, with no heir, it would be—to quote the lyrics of Trent Reznor made famous by Johnny Cash—“an empire of dirt.” He gets an audience with God and he’s reflected long and hard about the meaning of life: you can’t give me anything I haven’t already acquired, and the one thing I want you can’t give me!

Don’t tell God what he can’t do. God starts making promises, and, man, will he deliver.

Ultimately, God would give them a son, the heir that Abram longed for. But there’d be a whole lot more waiting and doubting between the promise and the fulfillment. Which contains a whole lot of good news for us, a modern people in waiting.

What can God do with your frustrations, doubts, and discouragements? Dare I say, even your despair?

In Jesus he’s promised us more than we can hope or ask for (Rom. 8:32). Yet, when we’re honest, it’s easy to throw up our hands and say, “is this it?” Is this all there is to life? What can you, oh creator of the world, give to me that I haven’t already obtained?

And he answers, as he did Abram: myself of course.

For Abram, a deep sleep comes over him after God “cuts” a covenant with him. God would give himself to him. We now see even more clearly, God would give his very son to us (John 3:16). The new covenant, cut not out of animals, but the very blood of the god-man, Jesus Christ. In him, we find God would do all it would take to bring us back to him. And even in my waiting, I think that’s good news.