Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

Abraham is minding his own business (and tent!) when the image of three men appear on the horizon. It is in the middle of the day, when it’s so hot, you don’t want to be caught dead outside—so . . . you stay in or near your tent. Abraham’s tent is a reminder of the true definition of faith in Genesis—faith is not belief in the existence of God but the belief that in the journey, God has new worlds, new lands, new people, and new possibilities for you.

Abraham then looks up. He sees the men coming. He looks again. Abraham teaches us an important lesson: seeing is not the same thing as perceiving; looking is not the same as comprehending what’s taking place. What’s his immediate inner-thought? Robbers? Young teens selling steaks out of the back of their old truck? Abraham meets the men as they approach and recognizes there is something “other” about them; something worthy of prostration. Abraham does what a good ancient Near-Easterner would do . . . he offers them food, drink, rest, and most importantly, shade. Like the Godfather, Abraham makes and offer these visitors can’t refuse. The Big Three accept his offer and this sends Abraham into frenzy. His idea has consequences for those who are still in the tent.

Sarah is inside the tent minding her own business. Switching between the weather channel and Oprah (o.k. . . . Dr. Phil), Sara hears Abraham run inside, breathing heavily. “Sarah, we have guests. We have guests.” Sara thinks to herself “another great idea from my husband to be carried out by me. Lovely. Just lovely.” “Make bread, lots of it,” Abraham declares!

Just as fast as he’s entered, Abraham leaves. A cloud of dust where he used to stand . . . Abraham is outside preparing the main course—beef: it truly is what’s for dinner. Once the meal is ready, the father of Jewish and Christian faith “set it before them (the Big Three); and he stood by them under the tree while they ate.” Just as Ugandans and Hondurans did for me when I stayed in their home/hut . . . people of generosity love to watch their guest eat—it gives them great joy. They are so concerned with your well-being; the thought of eating never crosses their mind.

Things are just now heating up in the story.

The Big Three turn and ask Abraham a rather odd question, “Where is your wife Sarah?” Uh-oh. Is Abraham going to sell her out again? Surely he won’t tell them too that Sara “is not my wife . . . you thought Sara was my wife . . . ha . . . no she’s my sister.” Not that again.

Apparently Abraham has learned his lesson. Three weeks on the couch will teach a fella. “My wife is in the tent.” What Abraham is told next will forever change his life and life on planet earth. “Sara’s going to have a son” says one of the men. “Yep, when the time is right. You heard me. She’s going to have a boy.” Sarah is eavesdropping at this point (Oprah is on commercial break). The narrator pauses to let you know an important detail: THIS IS CRAZY. Abraham is old. Sarah is old. Two old people do not cancel out “old” . . . it just makes you really old. This is exactly what Sarah’s thinking (the story-teller is no longer interested in Abraham). After all, she’s so far past menopause; it might as well be the name of a foreign country. Sara does what we all do in the face of ludicrous information—she laughs. Hard. Intense. Pointed laughter. Sara can’t stop laughing. It’s the kind of laughing that happens in church at the worst possible moment (during a prayer, in the middle of a funeral) and the harder you try and stop, the worse it gets.

Just when Sarah catches her breath she laughs again at the thought of the claim. Pay attention to the details of the story for Sarah laughs mostly not at the notion of being 90 and pregnant (material enough for beginning comedians) but at the notion of what it would take for someone her age to get pregnant in the first place. In verse twelve, the text reads, “After I have grown old . . . shall I have pleasure?” The word for pleasure is “ednah” which denotes sexual gratification. Sara is laughing because she literally can’t remember the last time she had sex with Abraham. Or . . . she can remember and quite honestly she doesn’t think she’s up for it . . . not in her currently physical condition, anyway. Conceiving a child usually requires that you increase your sexual activity. For an older woman, the prospects are humorous. That ship has sailed baby. No way. Now how. More laughter . . .

God asks Abraham why Sarah is laughing (as if God doesn’t know). And he asks the question that runs all the way through the drama of Jewish and Christian scriptures “Is anything too wonderful for the Lord?” It’s the same idea Jesus captured when he told his disciples that anything is possible with God (Mt. 17:20). It’s the question the young parent asks when she finds out their daughter has Down Syndrome. It’s the question the young man asks as he buries his 45 year-old wife who’s just died of cancer? It’s the question the Old War Vet asks as he stares into his 12^th beer of the night as he sits alone at the bar in a run-down part of town.

“Is anything too wonderful for the Lord?”

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That was, of course, a retelling of Gen. 18:1-15 and the Hospitality Story.