(This is the second installment in a series of five Advent readings. At the end of the post is a link to an illustration for children to color while they listen.)
Abraham stands under a tree, watching three men eating lunch on the grass. They’re his guests, but he doesn’t know their names. He doesn’t know where they came from or where they’re going. But as they eat the meat and bread his wife just prepared, Abraham knows something is wrong with these men. He knows they’re not ordinary men. He knows they’re not really men at all.
Abraham leans back against the tree, trying to relax, but his muscles and his mind have been wound up tight since the three men arrived only an hour or two earlier. Abraham watches them put food into their mouths with their fingers just like anyone else, and yet he knows — he knew from the moment he first saw them walking toward his camp — that these men are from Heaven. That they’re angels. That perhaps one of them, the one sitting in the middle and whispering to the others, is even God himself, the Lᴏʀᴅ. The one who made Adam and Eve with his own bare hands. Those hands right there, grabbing bits of meat and cheese curds from a platter on the grass. Those hands lifting the pitcher of milk to fill a cup. Those hands made Adam. Those hands made Adam’s clothes in the Garden of Eden. And those hands locked the gates on the way out.
Abraham can hardly breath. He fiddles with his own hands as he watches the Lᴏʀᴅ and the two angels whispering to each other between bites, cleaning up the last bits of food as if they haven’t eaten in days.
Suddenly, the Lᴏʀᴅ, the man sitting between the angels wearing clothes dusty with travel, looks up at Abraham, as if he knows Abraham is trying to listen. Abraham stiffens.
“Where is your wife?” the Lᴏʀᴅ asks.
It’s the same voice that spoke the world and set it spinning in space. The same voice that told Adam and Eve not to eat the fruit from the one tree. It’s the same voice that took away the beauty of the snake. The same voice that told the snake that one day one of Eve’s children would crush him.
One day.
It takes Abraham a moment to find his own voice. “Sarah is in the tent,” he says, pointing to his tent a short distance away. The tent flap shifts in the breeze, and Abraham can see Sarah watching from just inside, too far away for him to see what she might be thinking.
“I promise you,” says the Lᴏʀᴅ, “that in about one year I will come back. And when I do, Sarah will have a baby boy.”
Abraham almost falls over and catches himself on the rough bark of the tree. He knows God promised him children — more than all the stars in the sky. He knows that one day one of those children will bring freedom and joy to the entire world. He knows it. And yet, it’s hard to really know. Down in his bones. His old, old, old bones. But here is the Lᴏʀᴅ himself, with two angels sitting next to him, telling it to him plainly. This isn’t just a figure of speech, or a dream that means something no one can understand. No, Abraham will have a child in a year. A boy.
Suddenly the Lᴏʀᴅ turns and looks toward the tent, where Sarah tries to watch and hide at the same time. He then looks back at Abraham and says, “Why did Sarah laugh when I said you’d have a boy in a year? Is there anything in the whole world that is too hard for the Lᴏʀᴅ to do? In one year I will come back, and Sarah will have a son.”
Sarah slowly pushes the tent flap aside and takes a step forward, but she’s still too far away for Abraham to hear her with his old man’s ears.
“No,” the Lᴏʀᴅ says to her, “you definitely laughed. I heard you.”
After a moment the three men stand, brushing crumbs from their clothes. The empty platter sits on the grass, and Abraham knows it’s time for the men to leave. He joins them as they walk away from Abraham’s camp. He follows them toward the brow of the hill, where he and the three men can see the entire plain of the Jordan river stretching away to the horizon. And there, in the middle of the plain, sits the city of Sodom. It’s the city where Abraham’s nephew, Lot, has settled with his family. It’s a city Abraham stays away from because it’s a city where money can buy you anything. Where survival matters more than everything. Where the snake has whispered his lies, waiting for men and women to come to him for protection. For some kind of happiness without God. Abraham stays away because he knows there is no happiness without God. He knows the snake lives in Sodom, in the hearts of its people.
And Abraham wonders, as he does everyday, Why does Lot want to live there? Why doesn’t he leave?
The three men stop at the brow of the hill and look out over the plain. Abraham stops with them, ready to say goodbye and return to Sarah. But before he can speak, Abraham hears the Lᴏʀᴅ say something to the angels standing with him, barely above a whisper, and even though his ears are old, Abraham hears it clearly:
“Should I hide this from Abraham? What I’m about to do? He’s not just a man, but the beginning of the greatest family the world will ever know. I chose him. He will make sure his children keep my ways, and I will do what I have promised for him.”
The two angels turn and look at the Lᴏʀᴅ, and the three of them are silent for a moment, as if sharing their thoughts with only the looks on their faces. And then the Lᴏʀᴅ turns and steps closer to Abraham, looking him in the eyes.
“Sodom is a horrible place,” says the Lᴏʀᴅ. “It is a place where all the lies of the dragon are believed. Of all the cities in the world, Sodom hates God the most. All those who love God have prayed and prayed about how terrible and ugly and hateful Sodom is. They’ve asked God to do something. To bring an end to all the suffering and hatred and ugliness. To make them stop hurting everyone around them. The snake uses Sodom to spread his lies throughout the whole country, even the whole world. And now I must go down there and see for myself how bad it really is. And then I will know.”
The two angels turn and walk down the hill, following a dusty road that cuts across the plain and leads straight to the city of Sodom, a few hours walk. But the Lᴏʀᴅ stays at the top of the hill, watching. Waiting. Abraham doesn’t know what to do. Does the Lᴏʀᴅ want him to say something? Abraham is one of those people who prays everyday that the evils of Sodom will end. The Lᴏʀᴅ has come to see Sodom himself because people like Abraham have asked him to. And yet, now that it’s happening, Abraham realizes just how powerful and dangerous prayer can be. Because he knows what will happen if the Lᴏʀᴅ goes to Sodom and learns that it is just as horrible and frightening and evil as everyone says. Abraham knows that the Lᴏʀᴅ will destroy Sodom and everything in it.
And Lot lives there.
Abraham takes a step closer to the Lᴏʀᴅ, close enough to see into his eyes and hear him breathing. So much like an ordinary man, and yet so clearly a Son of God, even God himself. Abraham opens his mouth to speak, trying to make himself brave. The Lᴏʀᴅ turns to him, ready to listen.
“Will you destroy all the good people along with the bad people?” Abraham begins. “What if not everyone in the city is evil? What if some of them have done nothing wrong? There aren’t very many, but is it right to destroy them, too? What if there are fifty people who love God in Sodom? Should they be destroyed? God would never do that! You would never kill fifty people who love God just because everyone else doesn’t!”
Abraham holds his breath. He didn’t mean to shout at the Lᴏʀᴅ. He begins to shake as he watches the Lᴏʀᴅ think.
After a moment, the Lᴏʀᴅ looks Abraham in the eye and quietly says, “If there really are fifty people who love God in Sodom, I will not destroy the city.”
Abraham remembers to breath. A wave of joy and excitement washes over him. He just did the hardest thing he has ever done in his life — look the Lᴏʀᴅ himself in the eye and tell him not to do something — and he’s still standing, still breathing. And not only that, but the city of Sodom is saved. Lot is saved. Surely Lot, who does love God — or at least tries as hard as he can to love God — surely he has shown others how to love God, too. Surely Lot has helped at least fifty people in Sodom to love God.
But what if he hasn’t? Abraham thinks. What if he tried so hard, but he didn’t save fifty people? What if it’s less?
“Since I’ve already asked you,” says Abraham, “even though you are the Lord, and I’m nothing but dust and ashes, what if it’s less? What if it’s only five people less? Would you still destroy the city because of five people?”
The Lᴏʀᴅ looks Abraham in the eye once more, and it’s almost as if he’s smiling at Abraham. As if he knew Abraham would ask.
“If there are only forty-five people who love God in Sodom, I will not destroy the city.”
Now Abraham is feeling stronger. He knows the Lᴏʀᴅ is listening to him. He knows the Lᴏʀᴅ wants to save the people of Sodom, if only they’re willing. He stands a little taller and asks again:
“What if there are only forty?”
“Then I will not destroy it,” says the Lᴏʀᴅ.
“What about thirty?” Abraham asks.
“Then I still will not destroy it,” says the Lᴏʀᴅ.
“Since you’re allowing me to ask,” says Abraham, “what if there are only twenty people who love God in Sodom?”
“If I really find twenty,” says the Lᴏʀᴅ, “then I will not destroy Sodom.”
And now Abraham wonders. Just how hard is it to love God in Sodom? What if it’s too hard? What if Lot has tried and tried, but he’s heard too many of the snake’s lies, lived too long in a world where nothing happens without money and swords, were weak people have to get out of the way so that strong people can become stronger? What if Lot hasn’t saved anyone but his own family?
“Please don’t be angry with me,” Abraham says, “but let me ask only one more time. What if only ten can be found there?”
The Lᴏʀᴅ looks at Abraham with a strange mix of love and sadness. It’s a look of someone who knows the future, and loves those who want to change it even though they can’t.
“I will look hard for ten people who love God,” says the Lᴏʀᴅ. “And if I find them, I will not destroy the city.”
And after taking a deep breath and sharing one more moment of silence with his friend, the Lᴏʀᴅ turns and begins his walk down the hill, across the plain, and toward the waiting city of Sodom.
Abraham watches for a moment, seeing the two angels farther ahead and the Lᴏʀᴅ following behind, all of them still hours away from their destination. The sun is getting low in the sky, and they’ll barely make it to the city before nightfall. And Abraham knows he has done all he can for his nephew, Lot. What more can anyone do than ask the Lᴏʀᴅ himself for help?
With a strange mix of fear and peace in his heart, Abraham turns away from the plain of Sodom and begins the walk back to his tent. To Sarah. To the promise of a child in one year’s time. To the promise that one day one of his children will crush the snake once and for all. To the promise that someday there will be no more cities like Sodom, where the snake rules supreme and his lies are believed by everyone. Where all that matters is survival.
A small part of Abraham knows that when the three men finally arrive at Sodom later that evening, it will be as evil as everyone says. That there may not even be ten people who love God. That Lot himself might be the only one. And soon, after supper, when sun sets on the plain, Abraham will leave his tent and walk to the brow of the hill to watch and see what happens to Sodom. He will shield his eyes against the fire that falls from Heaven, smashing the city to pieces, crushing the snake for a time, though he’ll quickly rise again, moving to the next great city, and the next. Abraham will pray for Lot, knowing that somehow he’ll escape the city even if the angels have to pick him up and carry him. And he’ll think again of the promised child, a reminder that one day a new Adam will come to fight against the snake.
And the snake will lose.
RNM
https://drive.google.com/file/d/1vLYR69yg1w3QB-OQYW-Iw3oFjfTBbXuM/view?usp=drivesdk
The Brow of the Hill 