This past Sunday was our Immersion Experience. We've been looking at the lives of men and women of faith mentioned in Hebrews chapter 11, and asking God to stretch our own faith in order to better follow him. I don't always post them here, but I really enjoyed the written piece for this week's experience, so I'm going to share it now, with hopes that it will serve to inspire your faith as it did mine:
The sands are running swiftly through his
fingers, winding their way back towards the desert floor that lies cooling
underneath the dark canvas of night. The
stars are out, spread across the sky as if an unseen hand has flung them out
with all its strength. Some of them
cluster together in milky clouds, while others stand apart, stark and brilliant
in their solitude. The sand is so
present, so tangible. The stars are
distant, ethereal. They both speak to
his ancient heart.
The last grains of trickling sand stick to
his still-sweating hands. He speaks
aloud to no one in particular, asking, “What will his name be, this son of
promise, this bodily evidence of God’s grace and provision to his servant
Abraham? How can this be, since I am
old, and my body’s strength is nearly spent? Who is this one grain of sand who will be the beginning of the avalanche
of descendants who will spread out like the sands on the shore of the sea?”
Yet, in his questions, he reminds himself
that he has learned to trust these words; the words of God that come to him and
speak words of impossible promise and blessing filled with visions of the
future. He has learned that a single
grain of sand in his hands yielded to the hand of God can be so much more than
it appears. Sand, and stars, and
sons. It is enough to make him laugh
aloud even as he speaks and weeps with hope in this most foolish of dreams….
He’s alone again, sent out of the tent
several hours before by the midwives who have gathered for the delivery of this
son born to these dusty parents. He
waits for them to return and to dance and sing and celebrate with him as they
rejoice in the birth of this child. But
he also knows that it would not be unheard of for the child to die in the
labor, or even for the strain of this to have drained the last bit of life from
his precious Sarah. The carrying of the
child has already taxed her body beyond what it seemed reasonable for her to
bear.
And so, with his face and hands buried again in the desert sands he hopes and prays to hear at last the good news – a son is born! Those same tiny grains of sand cling to his forehead, grating against his skin, each pebble a piercing, painful reminder of the promise of many sons to match the grains of sand. Sand, and stars, and sons.
They are coming. Their footsteps shake the earth, and each
grain of sand seems to vibrate with their approach. They are running. The sand is falling through his fingertips as
he raises his face to see their faces. How beautiful in the sand are the dusty feet of those who bring this
best of news – a son is born! He laughs. Again. “He shall be called ‘Isaac’, because we laughed at the promise, but God
has made us to laugh with joy at his coming!”
“Father, where is the sacrifice?”
“I do not know, my son, the star to my
aging, darkening eyes. But God will
provide. He has promised.”
They arrive on the mountain, and the old man binds Laughter to the altar. He works the ropes while the sand kicks up into his eyes, nearly blinding him with tears. He turns away from his son, who seems silent with shock and fear. He bows to cover his face. He bows to pray and beg the God of promise to provide deliverance. He sweats and weeps into the sand, hoping for an answer, but none comes.
He turns to face his son, the son of
promise, the son who would bear his name and his blessing into the world. With terrifying swiftness he reaches for the
knife in his belt, and then, like the light from the evening star comes the
glint of a ram caught in the thicket. There’s a voice like thunder on the mountain – the promise renewed. Sand, and stars, and sons.
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