Sermon Tone Analysis

An Unexpected Party

This passage reminds me very much of my favorite book from childhood, The Hobbit.

J.R.R. Tolkien’s first book in the tales of Middle Earth begins with Bilbo Baggins minding his own business, enjoying a nice sunny day in his peaceful little home in the Shire.

Suddenly, out of the blue, he hears a knock at the door.

He opens it to find a dwarf standing on his doorstep.

Without missing a beat, the dwarf walks right in and makes himself at home.

And, just like that, Bilbo finds himself running hither and thither trying to make his guest feel at home: setting the table, making tea, and grabbing cakes from the larder.

Before he knew it, Bilbo had 13 unexpected visitors in his home: 12 dwarves and a Wizard to boot!

He became so busy with the pleasantries, making drinks and grabbing tea cakes, that he was never able to stop and ask his guests why they were there.

He became so entangled with being a good host, attending to the needs of his guests, that he forgot to attend to the people themselves.

The Promises of God

As it turns out, these guests had come to pose a life-changing question to Bilbo: they wanted him to go on an adventure.

Bilbo was, of course, a very ordinary Hobbit who was quite comfortable in his quaint little home and had no intention of adventuring.

Yet, something about the presence of the dwarves spoke deeply to Bilbo.

He felt a great fear and existential dread because of them, and soon he began rethinking all the things he used to think he knew so well.

He would have been very comfortable ignoring the question, but it was a question that quite simply could not be ignored.

It demanded an answer.

Like Bilbo, Abraham suddenly finds himself scurrying about, trying to make his unexpected guests feel at home.

And yet, in the business of life and pleasantries, Abraham seems to miss the gravity of the situation.

Nevertheless, Here is Abraham, getting milk and cheese, never slowing down to recognize he’s in the presence of God, and never stopping to reflect on the what it might mean for the creator of the whole world to show up on his doorstep.

The hustle and bustle of the narrative comes to a screeching halt as God announces precisely why he’d come to this tent out by the oaks of Mamre.

God had come because of his promise, a promise that implied a question, a question that demanded an answer.

Raising the Question

Once again we see God reiterate his promise to Abraham, only now he gives a timeline: one year from now.

Suddenly the promise seems a lot more concrete.

It’s not “one day you’ll have children,” but “ this time next year you will have children.”

And Sarah, overhearing all of this, couldn’t help but laugh!

How could someone like her have children?

Someone so old?

Someone who had “ceased to be after the manner of women”?

Sarah didn’t say it out loud, but inwardly she had really been responding to The Question.

The promise of God had raised this question, the same question that has been raised over and over again for Abraham and Sarah up to this point, but a question that could no longer remain unanswered:

“Is anything too wonderful for the Lord?”

Is there anything God cannot do?

Is God Almighty, or isn’t he?

It’s worth noting that God does leave it at a question.

This is not a statement, nor is it a prediction or a command.

God asks the question, and he gives no answer to it.

Because the answer is *for* Sarha, and thus must come from Sarah.

If she answers, “Yes, some things are impossible for God,” as she seems to want to in her laughter, then God is not confessed as God.

He is not almighty, he is not creator and sustainer of all things.

God is not, in fact, free to do as he wills.

And, in answering this way, Sarah consigns herself to a rather hopeless world.

A world where God is not able to save, to bring life from death, to uphold his promises.

This is a hopeless world, but it is a safe, reliable, and stable world.

It’s a world where Sarah has no reason to speculate about what happens next.

Women like Sarah don’t become mothers.

They never have and they never will because they simply can’t.

That’s the way it is, that’s the way it’ll always be because nothing, not even God, can change the way things are.

But if Sarah answers, “No! Nothing is impossible for God,” then she concedes radical freedom to God.

If nothing is impossible for God, then God is master of reality.

This assertion of God’s radical freedom shatters our worldview, challenges all of our assumptions, and utterly and completely changes how we must view reality.

Sarah seems to want to dismiss with the question.

She first answers in the negative.

She laughs, as if to say, “Of course this is impossible!

No one could fulfill this promise to me!”

But when God confronts her with the promise yet again, Sarah suddenly becomes grounded in deep fear, and she denies that she ever answered at all.

Why? It’s easy to think that maybe Sarah was afraid because she was speaking to, well, God.

But surely there’s more.

Sarah, having been confronted with the promise of God, began to understand the implications of the Question.

Maybe she realized that all of our reality hangs on our answer to the Question.

The impossibility or radical freedom of God has frightening consequences for our future either way.

What lies in store for tomorrow?

If She consigns impossibility to God, then tomorrow is predictable, yet horrifying, for there is no hope.

If she consigns freedom to God, then tomorrow is unpredictable, anything could happen.

And while this answer provides some hope, it can be a very unsettling thing to recognize the unpredictability, and thus the *powerlessness* of our lives.

Are All things Possible?

The story leaves us there, with Sarah fearful and afraid of the question put before her.

Yet, Genesis doesn’t seem to want to drop the question.

Instead, he is directing that very same question at *us*.

“Is anything too wonderful for the World?”

Is anything impossible for God?

Is God Almighty, or isn’t he?

Our Lord Jesus calls us to grapple with this question, putting it before his disciples.

When they were tasked with casting out demons by Jesus, they found that they were simply not capable of doing it.

““Why could we not cast it out?”

He said to them, “Because of your little faith.

For truly I tell you, if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move; and nothing will be impossible for you.”

Likewise, Paul, writing to the church in Philippi, tells them with confidence, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

Time and time again, scripture challenges us to acknowledge the radical freedom of God, to proclaim that for God, *all things* are possible.

Yet, if this were so, we might ask, why is the world the way it is?

If God can do all things, why then hasn’t Sarah already recieved her son?

If Paul can do all things through Christ, then why does he tell us,

“I know what it is to have little, and I know what it is to have plenty.

In any and all circumstances I have learned the secret of being well-fed and of going hungry, of having plenty and of being in need.”

And:

“ Five times I have received from the Jews the forty lashes minus one.

25 Three times I was beaten with rods.

Once I received a stoning.

Three times I was shipwrecked; for a night and a day I was adrift at sea; 26 on frequent journeys, in danger from rivers, danger from bandits, danger from my own people, danger from Gentiles, danger in the city, danger in the wilderness, danger at sea, danger from false brothers and sisters; 27 in toil and hardship, through many a sleepless night, hungry and thirsty, often without food, cold and naked.”

For God all things are possible, yet that begs the question: why then do we suffer?

Why do we still grow old and die?

Why then, as Sarah must have thought, haven’t we recieved the promise yet?

Jesus surely must have been wrestling with these very questions as he prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane, according to Mark:

““Abba, Father, for you all things are possible; remove this cup from me; yet, not what I want, but what you want.”

Oddly, both Luke and Matthew’s Gospel records this line a little differently:

Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me

[Luke] Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me...

[Matt.]

My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me...