Abraham and Sarah (27 page)

“How strange!” Abram said. “I had thought I was the only one left who believed in the one supreme God.”

Melchizedek sat and listened to all that had happened to Abram from the time he had first believed and had destroyed his father’s idols to the promises that had not been fulfilled. The wise old man listened and advised him to be patient. “Some things take time, but be assured that the promises made by Elohim, the Creator God, will come to pass.”

He then rose and called for his priestly robes. When he was ready, he turned to Abram and told him to kneel. Then placing his hand on Abram’s head, he said, “The blessing of the supreme God, Creator of heaven and earth, be upon you, Abram, and blessed be God, who has delivered your enemies over to you.”

Abram rose slowly, his face radiant with joy. “It is true,” he said, “without Elohim’s guidance and help, I would never have been victorious. You have indeed encouraged me.”

He ordered his men to give Melchizedek a tenth of all the spoils. As that was being done the king of Sodom with his retainers appeared. He ignored Melchizedek and strode over to Abram. “Just give me back my people,” he said with an arrogant toss of his head. “Keep for yourself the booty stolen from my city.”

Abram realized he had been one of the kings trapped in the bitumen pits
and had not been taken captive with the others. “I have promised Elohim, the supreme God, Creator of heaven and earth,” he said. “I will not take so much as a single thread from you, lest you boast that I am rich because of you.”

Abram finally did agree to accept food for his men and agreed that a share of the booty should be given to Aner, Eshcol, and Mamre, his allies.

As the king of Sodom prepared to leave, he turned to Lot. “Are you not returning with us?” he asked.

Lot hesitated only a moment before responding, “I have had enough of city life for a time. I have decided to stay with my uncle.”

It had been five days since the men marched out on their dangerous mission. As they approached the outskirts of Hebron, a joyful band of women and children, singing and dancing, met them. Leading the group was a creature of such exuberance and charm that all eyes were drawn to her. She had tucked up her skirt so her bare legs were visible, taken off her sandals, setting her feet free to stomp and tap in time to the music. Her jeweled ankle bracelets tinkled in a fascinating way while her hair fell wild and free, now covering part of her face, then spilling over her one bare shoulder. Partially holding the hair in place was a garland of golden grapes.

When Abram first saw her, he was stunned by her beauty and grace. It was only as the dancers came closer that he recognized her as Hagar, the Egyptian handmaiden to Sarai.

He stopped and looked past Hagar and the other women, hoping to see his spunky little wife, but she was nowhere to be seen. He briefly wondered if she even knew of his victory and moment of triumph. Was she still angry that he had gone against her advice? He wanted more than anything to see Sarai smile again with love and approval.

The procession stopped a moment while Hagar impulsively removed her garland of golden grapes and placed it on Abram’s head. He was pleased but embarrassed. “Where is Sarai?” he asked. He was surprised when Hagar didn’t answer but tossed her head, lifted her chin, and with a look of arrogant pride elbowed her way through the crowd and disappeared.

Abram thought little of it until later, much later. Then he realized that Hagar had done what Sarai should have done. The wives and children of all the other men had come out to welcome them home. Only Sarai had stayed
behind, tending to some weaving she wanted to finish before sundown. “She’s a good wife,” he told Lot. “She’s always busy. She’s up with the sun and bakes the best ash cakes.”

Later, when Abram and Sarai were alone together, Sarai asked about Lot. “I suppose he’ll be going back to Sodom,” she said testily.

“No, he’s not going back,” Abram said. “It seems he’s had enough of such places. He’s learned his lesson.”

Sarai laughed. “Lot will go back. You’ll see, he’ll find it dull here after Sodom.”

Abram disagreed. He had seen Lot. Lot had suffered more than most. Abram knew he was a changed man. “No, Sarai,” Abram said, “Lot has had his fill of Sodom and so has Urim. Neither one will go back.”

Sarai reached out, patted his arm, and said softly but confidently, “We’ll see.”

I
n the end it was as Sarai had predicted. Lot was no longer happy away from the excitement of the city. At first he made furtive visits to his old friends. Then he began to spend some time sitting with the elders at Sodom’s gate. The final break came when Mara begged him to go back, saying that she missed the niceties of her stone house on the wall. Many of her fine furnishings had been taken in the raid, but she was determined to replace them as soon as possible. “I can never leave my house,” she insisted.

When that approach failed to have the desired effect, she produced another more impressive argument. “Have you forgotten,” she chided, “our daughters were to have married those two young men from wealthy families. If we linger here any longer, we may miss this chance for fine marriages.”

When Lot came to tell Abram he had decided to move back to his old home, he found his uncle sitting before a small fire of dung patties at the door of his tent. Abram was not pleased. “I don’t think the men of Sodom will make very good husbands,” he said finally.

“On the contrary,” Lot said, “they have land and houses. They are wealthy.”

“And how do they come by their wealth? Certainly not by herding animals.”

Lot smirked and twisted the fringes on his linen kirtle. “They have land and raise fine barley for beer. The pleasure groves are always ordering their beer. My daughters will never want for anything. Anyway, they are still too young. They are only being promised to them now.”

Abram studied Lot for a moment. He noticed the eyes that were suddenly shifty, the weak chin and the nose that had somehow taken over his face since he had lost his teeth. He obviously had no conscience. “Do you not find it difficult,” he said finally, “to live among people who think only of their stomachs and sexual games? Have you totally forgotten the God who brought us out of Ur and promised us blessings?”

Lot moved uneasily on the goat hair rug and nervously twisted his riding prod. “Of course I’ve not forgotten,” he said, turning to look at Abram directly, “but where are these promises? We came to the land, and it was barren and ugly with drought. Sarai is just as barren. Can’t you see there are men, evil men, who have their houses full of children and their fields rich with the harvest? Elohim’s promises are worthless.”

Abram was stunned. What Lot said was true. He had seen the worshipers of idols with children like olive shoots around their knees and their granaries full to bursting. He had no answer for Lot, and in the end he merely bade him a sad farewell.

That night when he sat with Sarai eating some large, fresh dates folded in grape leaves, he told her all that had happened. Sarai flared up in defense of Lot. “Lot has cause to think the way he does,” she said, brushing the damp hair back from her face and readjusting her mantle. “I agree with him. What has your God ever done for you? How many of the promises have been fulfilled? Just think, Abram, how much time you’ve wasted thinking about this God and His promises.”

“Sarai, Sarai,” Abram sighed. “Remember it was our God who brought us safely out of Ur, rescued you from Pharaoh’s harem, and Lot and his family from slavery.”

“I would say you were the one who rescued Lot. Without you, Elohim could do nothing.”

Abram looked at Sarai and shook his head. “I can see you don’t understand,” he said.

“Oh, but I do understand. What about the promises of land and a child, blessings, where are they? I’ve been patient. I’ve waited. I’ve gotten old waiting and nothing has happened.”

For the first time Abram saw lines of bitterness around Sarai’s mouth and hard accusation in her eyes. Her hair was no longer braided in the small shoulder-length braids, and instead of the golden headband she wore a fringed mantle like the Chaldeans. Her vitality and girlish slimness, the way she tossed her head or lowered it in a flirting sort of way and looked out sideways at him, the way she walked, so straight and proud with a hint of arrogance—all that gave the illusion of youth. Now Abram was seeing her as angry, resentful, and suddenly old.

It hurt him to think that he with his love of Elohim and his desire to rid
himself of all the temptations and evils of the cities had brought his beloved Sarai to this.

For the first time he was angry with his God. He felt tricked, cheated, even a bit foolish. Without a word he got up and made his way out of the tent. Sarai did not call him to come back, and he stumbled on blindly until he was out of sight of the campfires and out of range of the voices. Finally, coming to a great rock, he sank down and buried his face in his hands.

He felt numb. All that he had believed, hoped, and trusted seemed to have given way. He was sure of nothing. If he had really heard his God speaking to him, why were there no results to show? How could he expect Sarai and Lot and all the others to trust if there was no proof? Ten years had passed and though he was a rich man, he had none of the things his God had promised him. Even more frightening was the realization that Sarai could no longer conceive a child.

He sat very still and looked at his hands in the moonlight. They were strong, capable hands. They were the hands of a merchant, not a herdsman. They were hands that could be depended on to accomplish any humanly possible task. For his needs that were beyond his power, he had depended on his God. Most of the people around him depended on the moon god Sin for crops and cattle and on charms, potions, or magical incantations for desired success in any venture.

Gradually the moon rose overhead and even the crickets were silent. He was about to rise and return to his tent when he had a fearful thought. What if he had offended Elohim in some way? Perhaps he had not offered his sacrifice properly. Was it possible he had not offered the right sacrifice? He thought of the men and women in every country who regularly offered even their children to placate their gods of clay and stone. He searched his heart to see if he would ever be able to sacrifice any child Elohim might deign to give him.

With this thought he leaned back against the rock. It was still warm from the afternoon sun. It felt solid and comforting. Somewhere a donkey brayed and in the distance a dog barked.

Suddenly there was a gentle stirring of the leaves on the myrtle shrub at his side. The subtle movement made him attentive, listening for he knew not what. He became conscious of a sweet fragrance and then a deep, profound silence. He held his breath, waiting. The silence was almost palpable. Then slowly out of the midst of the silence, a voice whispered, “Do not be fearful,
Abram. I will defend you and give you great blessings.”

Abram sat upright and stared out into the darkness. If it was indeed the Elohim, he had questions to ask. “Where is the son You promised me? If I have no son, someone else will inherit all my wealth.”

The voice continued, more distinct and with an unmistakable note of authority, “No one else will be your heir, for you will have a son.” The word “will” came with special emphasis. Abram covered his face with his hands and wept. He was surprised at his own emotion. The deep need and yearning for a son had been with him day and night for so long. He wanted to believe, but it was so hard. Why did it have to take so long? Why was it so easy for other men to have their wishes granted only for him to face so much disappointment?

“Come,” the voice said, “stand on your feet and look at the heavens. Now count the stars if you can. Your descendants will be like that … too many to count.”

Abram struggled to believe, but some instinct within him yearned for something more tangible. “How can I be sure?” he asked.

“I am the God who brought you out of Ur to give you this land forever.”

Abram hesitated. “Oh Lord, my God, how can I be sure that You will really give these wonderful blessings?”

There was a long silence. Abram could hear his heart beat, and his breath stopped in his throat. Everything was still. For a moment he thought he heard someone sigh, and then the voice began to speak again. “Abram,” the voice said, “take a three-year-old heifer, a three-year-old female goat, a three-year-old ram, a turtledove, and a young pigeon. Slay them and cut them apart down the middle to separate the halves but don’t divide the birds. Offer these on the altar.”