“A Rescue Undeserved”
(Genesis 14:10-16)

Corinth Reformed Church
150 Sixteenth Avenue NW
Hickory, North Carolina 28601

Robert M. Thompson, Pastor
July 26, 2009

 (© 2009 by Robert M. Thompson.  Unless otherwise indicated, Scriptures quoted are from The Holy Bible,
New International Version, Copyright 1978 by New York International Bible Society.)

The preacher’s complaint

If you have been coming to church the last few weeks or reading my weekly e-mails and columns in the newsletter, you know that I have been reflecting on the 500^th anniversary of the birth of John Calvin, the sixteenth century Reformer.

Calvin was born in France, but he is best known for his twenty-five years of pastoral ministry in Geneva, Switzerland.  He had by then broken away from the Catholic Church.   He was invited by the City Council of Geneva, already a Protestant city before he came, to be the spiritual leader.  Although some resented him because he was a foreigner, he was only able to stay there for a quarter of a century because the people and their political leaders wanted him there.

Among many insights into Calvin’s life that I have gained the last few weeks, here’s an interesting tidbit.  Calvin complained all through his ministry that people didn’t listen when he preached.   Calvin preached more than I do (an average of 5-6 one hour sermons a week), but he thought people didn’t pay attention.  Funny we’re still talking about his teaching and writing five centuries later!

He said people would come for a baptism and ignore the Lord’s Supper and the sermon.  They just came to greet the baptized baby.   He compared his congregation to pigs who peek around the corner and then turn around and walk away.  He said the gospel was being preached in Geneva, “but of what use is that when no one does anything with it?”  The people “leave just as they came in.”

He said they treated his sermons like fairytales.  They are like farm animals who come to the feeding trough and when they get there, can’t remember why they came.  They were, he said, “close to church, far from God.”  They just didn’t get it.

You may think that’s a bit harsh, and maybe it is, but I’ll almost guarantee every preacher you know feels the same way sometimes if not often, yours truly included.  There are moments when I feel that coming to church and listening to a sermon are fairly low on people’s priority lists.  That people in the pew are looking to see if I can deliver something entertaining rather than listening for the voice of God.  That maybe it’s me – maybe I’m just not getting through.

The question Calvin’s biography stirred in me was this: what is it that I want people in the pew to “get”?  What is it that I think goes in one ear and out the other?   I’ve been pastor here for sixteen years.  I only have three more years and I’ll be as old as Calvin was when he died (55).  If I stay here until the normal retirement age, I’m over half way there.  Is there one central message I want to stay on your mind and burn in your heart when I’m gone?

There is, and I think I can summarize it in one word.  I’ll tell you the word at the end of the sermon, but let me give you a few hints.

It has something to do with the doctrine of predestination.  We started our series on Abraham’s life two weeks ago with that subject.  It means that we don’t choose God.  God chooses us.

It has something to do with the doctrine of depravity.  We talked about that last week.  Abram’s white lie illustrates the rationalization and self-deception in which we all live.

It also has something to do with this week’s segment of Abraham’s story.  Actually, this week, we’re going to talk mostly not about Abraham, but about his nephew, Lot.  Let me tell you his story.

A lot like Lot

We are all a lot like Lot.  We begin life with a mixed bag of blessings and wounds (Genesis 11:27-32).

We know little about Lot’s early life, but we know he was an orphan who was adopted by his grandfather and later his uncle.  So he knew grief and loss and uncertainty, but he also had family members who loved him, cared for him, and provided for him.

The older I am, the more I am aware that every one of us grows up with both good and bad. Some only remember the good, and others spend a lifetime assigning blame for the bad.  But most of us carry both warm memories and deep wounds.

We are all a lot like Lot.  We know less about where we’re going than who’s along for the ride (Genesis 12:4-5).

When Lot’s grandfather moved the clan from Ur to Haran, and again when Lot’s uncle Abram moved from Haran to Canaan, Lot just went along.  Same thing when they later moved to Egypt for a while.  We don’t know how old he was for any of these transitions, but we know he was not the decision-maker.  He didn’t know where he would end up, because those with him didn’t know either.  But he knew those who were going with him.

Have you ever felt like that?  We probably all have, at certain points in our lives.  Linda and I did when we left Bible College, married, and started ministry in a UCC church that neither of us knew much about.  We felt that way when we went to seminary, when we served our first church, and when we came here.  We didn’t know what was around the next corner, but we knew we would be traveling down the road together.

We are all a lot like Lot.  We learn most of our life lessons by observation (Genesis 12:10-20).

Last week in our study of Abraham’s life we arrived at the rather puzzling event when Abram took the whole clan down to Egypt during a famine.  Lot’s name doesn’t appear in that story, but he was almost certainly there, observing.  The story included fear and deception and public humiliation.  Lot had little to do with any of it, but he watched.

Where did you learn your own lessons about integrity, about how to handle anxiety, about what to do when you’re embarrassed?  These lessons are rarely taught in classrooms.  They are caught in life experiences.  What works and doesn’t work?  What’s OK and what isn’t?  What do you only reveal about yourself and your family if you have to?  We shape those values just by observing.

We are all a lot like Lot.  We experience our most challenging conflicts with those we love the most (Genesis 13:1-7). 

Like his descendants several hundred years later, Abram left Egypt much more prosperous than he entered it.  He was “very wealthy in livestock and in silver and gold” (13:2) when he returned to Canaan and continued moving about.  Lot apparently had shared in this increase as well, and tension arose between Abram’s shepherds and Lot’s shepherds.  Both had responsibilities to care for large herds and both were accountable to their respective masters.

It’s hard to believe this conflict is only between shepherds.  There is something under the surface, an attempt by Lot to get out from underneath Abram’s shadow.  Although he was almost certainly chronologically older, Lot acts like an adolescent in this story.  He needs to establish his own identity, make his own mark, get some space. 

And we’ve all been there.  We are both drawn to and repelled by those who love us the most, like porcupines trying to get close and hurting each other when we do. 

We are all a lot like Lot.  We make the choices we believe will bring the most prosperity and happiness (Genesis 13:8-12).

Abram is amazingly full of grace and of faith.  The two men stand looking out over the land, and Abram says, “OK, it’s time to go our separate ways.  But you choose first.  Whichever direction you want to go, I’ll go the other way.”  The options at this point are not unlimited; some of the land is occupied.  But there are also vast expanses of available property, and Abram lets Lot make his choice.

Lot looks around and chooses the place that seems most promising.  Wouldn’t you?  His crops will grow on the plain of Sodom.  His animals will be well fed.  The water supply will be stable.  Lot is young and immature, but he doesn’t say, “Abram, I’m not sure what’s best here.  Can you give me some counsel?”  He thinks he has it figured out on his own.  He doesn’t need any help.  He wants to pursue happiness as he understands it.  He doesn’t understand much.

We are all a lot like Lot.  We are often blinded to the real consequences of our choices (Genesis 13:13).

There is a catch to Lot’s choice.  Yes, the land is good, but the Bible says, “The men of Sodom were wicked and were sinning greatly against the LORD.”  How much of this Lot knew, we’re not told.  Maybe we shouldn’t blame him, because he didn’t know. 

A lot of times that happens when we fail to dig deeply enough.  The mate we choose only because of looks or money.  The investments we make because it looks like a quick return.  The job we take because we’re desperate.  We choose on the surface and live with what was hidden at the time we made our choice.  John Calvin says the lesson from this verse is that “our eyes cannot be trusted.”

We are all a lot like Lot.  We find ourselves in the crossfire of wars we did not start (Genesis 14:10-12).

The first part of chapter 14 introduces an ancient warrior king named Kedorlaomer.  Think Alexander the Great, only on a smaller scale.  He would subdue small cities and, in exchange for sparing their lives, demand ongoing payment.

For twelve years, the kings of these small cities in the plain of Sodom paid their dues, but then they had enough.  They got together and rebelled.  So Kedorlaomer brought his army back through their cities and drove their kings into the tar pits or into the hills.  They also made off with possessions, food, livestock, women, and other survivors.  Including Lot.

Lot really had little to do with this war.  He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Whether he should have been there or not is a different issue, but he really was an innocent victim. You and I can probably think of similar events in our lives.  We didn’t start the conflict, but we’re caught up in it, maybe even imprisoned by it.

We are all a lot like Lot.  We need rescue from our self-inflicted messes (Genesis 14:13-16). 

So now Abram has a choice.  An escapee reports to Lot’s uncle what happened.  Abram certainly could have said to himself, “The kid got what he deserved.  He needs to live with the consequences.  He went his own way, and now maybe he’ll learn a lesson.”

But that’s not what Abram says.  He calls “the 318 trained men born in his household” (14:14) and goes after Lot.  Much is packed in that phrase.  We learn that Abram is a warrior and a trainer of warriors.  We learn how large his clan has grown.  If there were 318 fighting men who had been born into his service, he’s the lord of a rather significant city-state himself.  With older men, women and children, his tent city could have been well over 1,000 strong.  That would have been comparable to most other city-states.

Abram leads the attack himself, and proves to be quite the military strategist.  He divides his men to attack from two sides, and also plans his assault at night.  He’s successful, and brings back not only Lot but all the “stuff” Kedorlaomer had taken.

(What follows is a most remarkable exchange with yet another king, the king of righteousness, Melchizedek.  The Psalms and the book of Hebrews make much of this exchange, and we can see seeds of Holy Communion, tithing, and the Messiah in this exchange.)

But back to Lot.  What’s significant for our study is Lot’s helplessness and Abram’s decision to rescue him even though he didn’t deserve it.  Abram just does it because Lot is family.  Imagine all that Abram risked in not only planning but participating in this war.  He himself could easily have been killed and the whole story as we know it cut short.

We are all a lot like Lot.  We refuse to give up on our investments  (Genesis 19:1-38).

The next time we meet Lot, he is still in Sodom.  I’m skipping over several chapters here, stories of Abram that do not directly concern Lot.  Some of them we will cover in the weeks to come. 

What is remarkable to me is that Lot goes right back to Sodom.  Whatever physical or spiritual danger he felt there did not deter his return.  He may have gone there the first time unaware of the insecurity or wickedness, but he has no excuse when he goes back there to live.  It turns out to be a horrible place, a place so bad that even today, 4,000 years later, Webster’s dictionary equates “Sodom” with judgment and “sodomy” with abnormal sexual conduct.

But having been rescued by Abram, Lot goes back there to live.  Why?  Alexander Whyte says it’s because “he had invested in Sodom.”  He had invested money, relationships, dreams, himself.  As Jesus said, where your treasure is, there your heart is.  Jesus didn’t say, “Where your heart is, that’s where you’ll try to accumulate treasure.”  No, “Where your treasure is, that’s where your heart is.” 

We are all a lot like Lot.  We expand family, make friends, build homes, accumulate stuff, start a business, lead a ministry, craft a vision – and that’s where our hearts wind up. 

I’m reminded of a chapter in a new book I read this week by George Barna.  He divides America into seven “faith tribes,” the largest of which is what he calls “casual Christians.”  Casuals, as he calls them, prize their spiritual independence.  They consider themselves Christian, but they take a cafeteria approach to the Bible and Christian teaching, attend church when it’s convenient, pray when it’s comfortable, and generally use God rather than seek God.  (They also become quickly frustrated when God doesn’t come through for them.)  Barna is somewhat judgmental and narrow in this chapter, but his overall point is well-taken. 

Like Lot, we want to have one foot planted with God and God’s people, and the other foot in the world.  We would rather be “casual” because it’s comfortable.  We compromise our faith and values if it’s convenient. 

We are all a lot like Lot.  We are frustrated by our surroundings, but we choose to stay there (2 Peter 2:6-8).

We’re never told that he participated in anything wrong when he lived in Sodom.  He just lived there.  A fascinating description of his life appears in 2 Peter.  Peter says that Lot was “a righteous man” who daily lived among wicked people and “was tormented in his righteous soul by the lawless deeds he saw and heard.”

And I want to say, “Well, OK, then, get out of there.”  Which he didn’t do.  He stayed there, because Lot is a lot like all of us.  Given the choice between the anxiety of the familiar and the uncertainty of choosing a different path, we still stay where we are.

One word

So let me come back to where I started.  What is it that as a preacher I want you to “get”?

For most of my ministry, I have assumed a greater proportion of the responsibility for whether people “get it” or not depends on me.  The older I get, the less I’m inclined to think that’s true.  You can come to church and meet God and hear him speak to you even if I do a lousy job.  And I can be a terrific preacher, as world-renowned as John Calvin, and still God’s word can penetrate no deeper than water on a duck’s back.  (Calvin liked those unflattering animal analogies for people who listen to sermons!)

But at the least, I should make clear what it is I want you to “get.”  So when I’ve preached my last sermon here – whether this one or a sermon twenty years from now – if you want to remember the one word that I hoped you would take with you from my preaching ministry, go back to the sermon I preached on July 26, 2009.

What is the word?  It’s the same word that Calvin made a centerpiece of his ministry.  It’s the opposite of what Calvin believed is the most fundamental sin.  The Latin word for this root sin is superbia.  In English, arrogance.  The virtue that was at the heart of his ministry was humilitas. 

In English, the word I want to leave with you is humility.  We often read the story of a biblical character like Lot, or of a historical figure, or a current celebrity or politician, or whoever, and we think, “What a jerk.  What a rotten person.”

It’s humility that allows us to say, “We all are a lot like Lot.”  It’s humility that allows us to say, “God had to choose me; there’s no way I could choose him.”  It’s humility that allows us to say, “I’m a sinner to the core.  I’m tired of trying to defend and justify myself.”  It’s humility that allows us to say, “I’m a prisoner in need of rescue.  I couldn’t go find God.  Like Abram, he had to come save me.”

It’s humility that makes me realize only the unconditional, passionate, determined love of God would have chosen me, come after me, and died on the cross for me.  It’s humility that releases my self-effort to be worthy of him and accepts the gift of his rescue.  It’s humility that causes me to give my life fully to him.

One of my life goals – and a goal I have for you – is to out-Calvin Calvin.  John Calvin and his followers have not always been very humble.  Calvin preached it, but he didn’t always live it. 

It’s humility that enables me to admit that my “system” doesn’t have a corner on the truth.  It’s humility that admits I have a lot to learn.  It’s humility that keeps me reading and listening and learning.  It’s humility that causes me to say that my little church or denomination or Sunday School class or Bible study group isn’t the center of biblical wisdom and balance. 

It’s humility that frees me to say when asked a difficult question, “I don’t know.”  It’s humility that changes how I see my own trials and difficulties.  I don’t have to figure out “why.”  It’s humility that allows for a sense of mystery and awe about God. 

It’s humility that causes me to give others the benefit of the doubt.  It’s humility that enables me to forgive those who have wounded me.  It’s humility that keeps me from needing to manipulate others or control them.  It’s humility that causes me to say when others fall away from faith or grace, “That could just as easily be me.  Let’s struggle together.”  It’s humility that keeps me from assuming your sins are more offensive to God than mine. 

It’s humility that brings me into Christian community.  I’m not here because it meets my needs or it’s entertaining or it’s what I like – in other words, here only until I find church unfulfilling or find another church more to my liking.  It’s humility that has be looking for what I can give instead of just what I can get at church.  It’s humility that makes me want to submit to you, to wash your feet, to visit you in your need, to serve you a cup of cold water in his name.

It’s humility that stops me as a preacher from judging those who I think don’t listen to the sermon.  It’s humility that keeps me from calling them pigs and wild beasts and “close to church, far from God.”  How do I know where your heart is?  That’s between you and God.

So all I ask is that you ask, “What does it look like to walk humbly with your God?”  (Micah 6:8)  That’s what I pray you’ll take from this message and from my ministry to you.  Amen.