GOD'S COVENANT WITH ABRAM
by Alexander Maclaren
'And He brought him forth abroad, and said, Look
now
toward heaven, and tell the stars, if thou be
able to
number them: and He said unto him, So shall thy
seed be.
And he believed in the Lord; and He counted it
to him
for righteousness. And He said unto him, I am
the Lord
that brought thee out of Ur of the Chaldees, to
give
thee this land to inherit it. And he said, Lord
God,
whereby shall I know that I shall inherit it?
And He
said unto him, Take me an heifer of three years
old, and
a she goat of three years old, and a ram of
three years
old, and a turtledove, and a young pigeon. And
he took
unto him all these, and divided them in the
midst, and
laid each piece one against another: but the
birds
divided he not. And when the fowls came down
upon the
carcases, Abram drove them away. And when the
sun was
going down, a deep sleep fell upon Abram; and,
lo, an
horror of great darkness fell upon him. And he
said unto
Abram, Know of a surety that thy seed shall be a
stranger
in a land that is not theirs, and shall serve
them; and
they shall afflict them four hundred years; And
also
that nation, whom they shall serve, will I
judge: and
afterward shall they come out with great
substance. And
thou shalt go to thy fathers in peace; thou
shalt be
buried in a good old age. But in the fourth
generation
they shall come hither again: for the iniquity
of the
Amorites is not yet full. And it came to pass,
that,
when the sun went down, and it was dark, behold
a smoking
furnace, and a burning lamp that passed between
those
pieces. In the same day the Lord made a covenant
with
Abram, saying, Unto thy seed have I given this
land,
from the river of Egypt unto the great river,
the river
Euphrates.'-- GENESIS xv. 5-18.
1. Abram had exposed himself to dangerous reprisals
by his victory
over the confederate Eastern raiders. In the
reaction following the
excitement of battle, dread and despondency seem to
have shadowed
his soul. Therefore the assurance with which this
chapter opens came
to him. It was new, and came in a new form. He is
cast into a state
of spiritual ecstasy, and a mighty 'word' sounds,
audible to his
inward ear. The form which it takes--'I am thy
shield'--suggests
the thought that God shapes His revelation according
to the moment's
need. The unwarlike Abram might well dread the
return of the
marauders in force, to avenge their defeat.
Therefore God speaks to
his fears and present want. Just as to Jacob the
angels appeared as
a heavenly camp guarding his undefended tents and
helpless women;
so, here and always, God is to us what we most need
at the moment,
whether it be comfort, or wisdom, or guidance, or
strength. The
manna tasted to each man, as the rabbis say, what he
most desired.
God's gifts take the shape of man's necessity.
Abram had just exercised singular generosity in
absolutely refusing
to enrich himself from the spoil. God reveals
Himself as 'his
exceeding great reward.' He gives Himself as
recompense for all
sacrifices. Whatever is given up at His bidding,
'the Lord is able
to give thee much more than this.' Not outward
things, nor even an
outward heaven, is the guerdon of the soul; but a
larger possession
of Him who alone fills the heart, and fills the
heart alone. Other
riches may be counted, but this is 'exceeding
great,' passing
comprehension, and ever unexhausted, and having
something over after
all experience. Both these aspects of God's
preciousness are true
for earth; but we need a shield only while exposed
to attack. In the
land of peace, He is only our reward.
2. Mark the triumphant faith which wings to meet the
divine promise.
The first effect of that great assurance is to
deepen Abram's
consciousness of the strange contradiction to it
apparently given by
his childlessness. It is not distrust that answers
the promise with
a question, but it is eagerness to accept the
assurance and
ingenuous utterance of difficulties in the hope of
their removal.
God is too wise a father not to know the difference
between the
tones of confidence and unbelief, however alike they
may sound; and
He is too patient to be angry if we cannot take in
all His promise
at once. He breaks it into bits not too large for
our lips, as He
does here. The frequent reiterations of the same
promises in Abram's
life are not vain. They are a specimen of the
unwearied repetition
of our lessons, 'Here a little, there a little,'
which our teacher
gives His slow scholars. So, once more, Abram gets
the promise of
posterity in still more glorious form. Before, it
was likened to the
dust of the earth; now it is as the innumerable
stars shining in the
clear Eastern heaven. As he gazes up into the solemn
depths, the
immensity and peace of the steadfast sky seems to
help him to rise
above the narrow limits and changefulness of earth,
and a great
trust floods his soul. Abram had lived by faith ever
since he left
Haran; but the historian, usually so silent about
the thoughts of
his characters, breaks through his usual manner of
narrative to
insert the all-important words which mark an epoch
in revelation,
and are, in some aspects, the most significant in
the Old Testament.
Abram 'believed in the Lord; and He counted it to
him for
righteousness.'
Observe the teaching as to the nature and object of
faith in that
first clause. The word rendered 'believed' literally
means to steady
oneself by leaning on something. So it gives in a
vivid picture more
instructive than many a long treatise what faith is,
and what it
does for us. As a man leans his trembling hand on a
staff, so we lay
our weak and changeful selves on God's strength; and
as the most
mutable thing is steadied by being fastened to a
fixed point, so we,
though in ourselves light as thistledown, may be
steadfast as rock,
if we are bound to the rock of ages by the living
band of faith. The
metaphor makes it plain that faith cannot be merely
an intellectual
act of assent, but must include a moral act, that of
confidence.
Belief as credence is mainly an affair of the head,
but belief as
trust is an act of the will and the affections.
The object of faith is set in sunlight clearness by
these words,--the
first in which Scripture speaks of faith. Abram
leaned on 'the Lord.'
It was not the promise, but the promiser, that was
truly the object
of Abram's trust. He believed the former, because he
trusted Him who
made it. Many confusions in Christian teaching would
have been avoided
if it had been always seen that faith grasps a
person, not a doctrine,
and that even when the person is revealed by
doctrine, it is him, and
not only it, which faith lays hold of. Whether God
speaks promises,
teachings of truth, or commandments, faith accepts
them, because it
trusts Him. Christ is revealed to us for our faith
by the doctrinal
statements of the New Testament. But we must grasp
Himself, as so
revealed, if we are to have faith which saves the
soul. This same
thought of the true object of faith as personal
helps us to understand
the substantial identity of faith in all ages and
stages of revelation,
however different the substance of the creeds. Abram
knew very little
of God, as compared with our knowledge. But it was
the same God whom
Abram trusted, and whom we trust as made known in
His Son. Hence we
can stretch out our hands across the ages, and clasp
his as partaker
of 'like precious faith.' We walk in the light of
the same sun,--he
in its morning beams, we in its noonday glory. There
has never been
but one road to God, and that is the road which
Abram trod, when 'he
believed in the Lord.'
3. Mark the full-orbed gospel truth as to the
righteousness of faith
which is embedded in this record of early
revelation, 'He counted it
to him for righteousness.' A geologist would be
astonished if he
came on remains in some of the primary strata which
indicated the
existence, in these remote epochs, of species
supposed to be of much
more recent date. So here we are startled at finding
the peculiarly
New Testament teaching away back in this dim
distance. No wonder
that Paul fastened on this verse, which so
remarkably breaks the
flow of the narrative, as proof that his great
principle of
justification by faith was really the one only law
by which, in all
ages, men had found acceptance with God. Long before
law or
circumcision, faith had been counted for
righteousness. The whole
Mosaic system was a parenthesis; and even in it,
whoever had been
accepted had been so because of his trust, not
because of his works.
The whole of the subsequent divine dealings with
Israel rested on
this act of faith, and on the relation to God into
which, through
it, Abram entered. He was not a perfectly righteous
man, as some
passages of his life show; but he rose here to the
height of loving
and yearning trust in God, and God took that trust
in lieu of
perfect conformity to His will. He treated and
regarded him as
righteous, as is proved by the covenant which
follows. The gospel
takes up this principle, gives us a fuller
revelation, presents the
perfect righteousness of Christ as capable of
becoming ours by
faith, and so unveils the ground on which Abram and
the latest
generations are equally 'accepted in the beloved.'
This reckoning of
righteousness to the unrighteous, on condition of
their faith, is
not because of any merit in faith. It does not come
about in reward
of, but by means of, their faith, which is nothing
in itself, but is
the channel only of the blessing. Nor is it a mere
arbitrary act of
God's, or an unreal imputing of what is not. But
faith unites with
Christ; and 'he that is joined to the Lord is one
spirit,' so as
that 'in Him we have redemption.' His righteousness
becomes ours.
Faith grafts us into the living Vine, and we are no
longer regarded
in our poor sinful individual personality, but as
members of Christ.
Faith builds us into the rock; but He is a living
Stone, and we are
living stones, and the life of the foundation rises
up through all
the courses of the great temple. Faith unites sinful
men to God in
Christ; therefore it makes them partakers of the
'blessedness of the
man, ... to whom the Lord will not impute sin,' and
of the
blessedness of the man to whom the Lord reckons his
faith for
righteousness. That same faith which thus clothes us
with the white
robe of Christ's righteousness, in lieu of our own
tattered raiment,
also is the condition of our becoming righteous by
the actual
working out in our character of all things lovely
and of good
report. It opens the heart to the entrance of that
divine Christ,
who is first made _for_ us, and then, by daily
appropriation of
the law of the spirit of life, is made _in_ us,
'righteousness
and sanctification, and redemption.' May all who
read these lines
'be found in Him,' having 'that which is through the
faith of
Christ, the righteousness which is of God by faith!'
4. Consider the covenant which is the consequence of
Abram's faith,
and the proof of his acceptance.
It is important to observe that the whole remainder
of this chapter
is regarded by the writer as the result of Abram's
believing God.
The way in which verse 7 and the rest are bolted on,
as it were, to
verse 6, clearly shows this. The nearer lesson from
this fact is,
that all the Old Testament revelation from this
point onward rests
on the foundation of faith. The further lesson, for
all times, is
that faith is ever rewarded by more intimate and
loving
manifestations of God's friendship, and by fuller
disclosure of His
purposes. The covenant is not only God's binding
Himself anew by
solemn acts to fulfil His promises already made, but
it is His
entering into far sweeter and nearer alliance with
Abram than even
He had hitherto had. That name, 'the friend of God,'
by which he is
still known over all the Mohammedan world, contains
the very essence
of the covenant. In old days men were wont to
conclude a bond of
closest amity by cutting their flesh and
interchanging the flowing
blood. Henceforth they had, as it were, one life. We
have not here
the shedding of Abram's blood, as in the covenant of
circumcision.
Still, the slain animals represent the parties to
the covenant, and
the notion of a resulting unity of the closest order
as between God
and Abram is the very heart of the whole incident.
The particulars as to the rite by which the covenant
was established
are profoundly illuminative. The significant
division of the animals
into two shows that they were regarded as
representing the
contracting parties, and the passing between them
symbolised the
taking up of the obligations of the covenant. This
strange rite,
which was widely spread, derives importance from the
use of it
probably made in Hebrews ix 16, 17. The new
covenant, bringing still
closer friendship and higher blessings, is sealed by
the blood of
Christ. He represents both God and man. In His
death, may we not say
that the manhood and the Godhead are parted, and we,
standing as it
were between them, encompassed by that awful
sacrifice, and enclosed
in its mysterious depths, enter into covenant with
God, and become
His friends?
We need not to dwell upon the detailed promises, of
which the
covenant was the seal. They are simply the fuller
expansion of those
already made, but now confirmed by more solemn
guarantees. The new
relation of familiar friendship, established by the
covenant itself,
is the main thing. It was fitting that God's friend
should be in the
secret of His purposes. 'The servant knoweth not
what his lord
doeth,' but the friend does. And so we have here the
assurance that
faith will pierce to the discernment of much of the
mind of God,
which is hid from sense and the wisdom of this
world. If we would
know, we must believe. We may be 'men of God's
counsel,' and see
deeply into the realities of the present, and far
ahead into what
will then become the certainties of the future, if
only we live by
faith in the secret place of the Most High, and,
like John, lean so
close on the Master's bosom that we can hear His
lowest whisper.
Notice, too, the lessons of the smoking furnace and
the blazing
torch. They are like the pillar of fire and cloud.
Darkness and
light; a heart of fire and a wrapping of
darkness,--these are not
symbols of Israel and its checkered fate, as Dean
Stanley thinks,
but of the divine presence: they proclaim the double
aspect of all
divine manifestations, the double element in the
divine nature. He
can never be completely known; He is never
completely hid. Ever does
the lamp flame; ever around it the smoke wreathes.
In all His self-
revelation is 'the hiding of His power'; after all
revelation He
dwelleth 'in the thick darkness.' Only the smoke is
itself fire, but
not illumined to our vision. The darkness is light
inaccessible.
Much that was 'smoke' to Abram has caught fire, and
is 'light' to
us. But these two elements will ever remain; and
throughout eternity
God will be unknown, and yet well known, pouring
Himself in ever-
growing radiance on our eyes, and yet 'the King
invisible.'
Nor is this all the teaching of the symbol. It
speaks of that
twofold aspect of the divine nature, by which to
hearts that love He
is gladsome light, and to unloving ones He is
threatening darkness.
As to the Israelites the pillar was light, and to
the Egyptians
darkness and terror; so the same God is joy to some,
and dread to
others. 'What maketh heaven, that maketh hell.'
Light itself can
become the source of pain the most exquisite, if the
eye is
diseased. God Himself cannot but be a torment to men
who love
darkness rather than light. Love and wrath, life and
death, a God
who pities and who cannot but judge, are solemnly
proclaimed by that
ancient symbol, and are plainly declared to us in
the perfect
revelation in Christ Jesus.
Observe, too, the manner of the ratification of the
covenant. The
symbol of the Divine presence passed between the
pieces. No mention
is made of Abram's doing so. Why this one-sided
covenant? Because
God's gracious dealings with men are one-sided. He
seeks no oaths
from us; He does not exchange blessings for our
gifts. His covenant
is the free result of His unmotived love, and is
ratified by a
solemn sacrifice, which we do not offer. We have
nothing to do but
to take what He gives. All ideas of barter and
bargain are far from
Him. Our part is but to embrace His covenant, which
is complete and
ratified whether we embrace it or not. What a
wonderful thought that
is of a covenant-making and a covenant-keeping God!
We do not hear
so much of it as our fathers did. The more is the
pity. It means
that God has, as it were, buoyed out across the
boundless ocean of
His possible modes of action a plain course, which
He binds Himself
to keep; that He has frankly let us into the very
secret of His
doings; that He has stooped to use human forms of
assurance to make
it easier to trust Him; that He has confirmed His
promise by a
mighty sacrifice. Therefore we may enter into
closest friendship
with Him, and take for our own the exultant
swan-song of Abram's
royal son: 'Although my house be not so with God
[although my life
be stained, and my righteousness unfit to be offered
to His pure
eyes]; yet He hath made with me an everlasting
covenant, ordered in
all things, and sure: for this is all my salvation,
and all my
desire.'
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