He started down the path to his tent, his feet taking off in a happy, shuffling jig. He felt young and spirited. He was going to be a father again, and Sarah was to be a mother at last. Suddenly he paused. “Isaac, laughter,” he repeated. “He doesn’t want me to ever forget that He is the El Shaddai who can do anything. Wait until I tell Sarah.”
With mention of Sarah he paused. Perhaps, he thought, I should wait to tell Sarah. She will surely think I dreamed it all. She will never believe she can become a mother at her age.
Then as he continued on his way back to the camp, another thought crowded out all other considerations. “I must also tell Sarah and Hagar that Ishmael must be circumcised with the rest of the men,” he muttered. “They will think thirteen is too young and beg and plead. If he is to be part of the covenant, then he, too, must be circumcised. I must not linger about it. I’ll have the flint knives sharpened, and we’ll do it tomorrow before anyone thinks up excuses.”
Abraham, as he now insisted on being called, did not tell Sarah about anything but the necessity for circumcision. As he had feared, he found her opposed to having Ishmael circumcised with the men. “He’s but a child,” she insisted.
“In the future,” Abraham told her, “every child born in our camp will be circumcised by the eighth day.”
“If that’s true,” Sarah sputtered, “it’s well that I’m childless.”
Abraham saw how disturbed she was and decided there was no need to tell her of the promise. It would give her more reason to be upset. He would wait and see what came of the promise. After all, years had passed since the first promise was made.
Hagar accepted the necessity for the circumcision better than Sarah did. “The priests of Egypt have this mark on them,” she said. “For them it is a sign of dedication and honor.”
The circumcision took place without Lot. He gave the excuse that he would come later. He was busy with important matters. His businesses were prospering and his daughters were getting married.
When they came to circumcising Abraham’s menservants, Urim appeared. He had hurried up from Sodom to be part of the ritual. “I have always considered myself to be one of your servants,” he said, “and if they are to be circumcised, I don’t want to be left out.”
Ishmael surprised everyone by being braver than most, even proud to be considered old enough to be included.
It was on a hot day in early summer, near the oak grove at Mamre where Abraham was temporarily camped, that he was again reminded of the promise. It was a day much like any other. The huge sprawling oaks gave shade but little relief from the heat. The tent flaps were up, and Abraham sat in the opening hoping for a cool breeze. The air was still and dry with dust blowing in spirals. The grass was brown and brittle.
Looking toward the north, Abraham saw three men coming down the road. He could tell they had come a long way because they wore garments of a simple but curious make. As they came closer he noticed their sandals were worn and their feet covered with dust. He was immediately concerned. Being noted for his hospitality, he hurried out to welcome them and urge them to come into the shade for rest and refreshment.
They glanced at each other and then, smiling, accepted his invitation. He quickly ordered cushions to be brought, carpets to be laid, and basins of water for washing their feet.
While the servants were making them comfortable, he hurried back to the tent and called for Sarah. “We have strangers,” he said. “We’ll need the cakes you make with your best flour.”
Sarah was careful with her flour. It took twice as long to grind, and she used it only on special occasions. “Who are these men?” she asked with a frown.
“I don’t know who they are or where they have come from, but they are strangers as we also are strangers here.”
Sarah shrugged and hurried off to make the cakes with her own hands. She was flattered that no one else made cakes as delicate and fragrant and that Abraham always bragged about them.
While Sarah was busy mixing the good flour with oil and spices, Abraham was hurrying out to where his flocks were grazing. He selected one of the fattest calves and ordered a servant to butcher and roast it.
Then, when everything was ready, he added some cheese Urim had brought him and had the whole feast carried out and set before the men.
When they had finished, they turned to him, and one of them asked, “Where is Sarah, your wife?”
Abraham was astounded that the man knew Sarah’s name. “She’s in the tent,” he said, motioning to one side where the tent stretched out seemingly dark and empty.
The stranger busied himself with wiping his hands on the damp towel one of the servants had brought. “Next year at this time,” he said, “you and Sarah will have a son.”
Abraham’s eyes grew large with wonder and surprise. He glanced toward the tent, sure that Sarah, though hidden from view, would be listening.
The guest glanced toward the tent and then at Abraham. “Why,” he asked, “did Sarah laugh?”
Abraham had heard nothing, but he was sure that Sarah, if she heard, would laugh. Even he found it hard to believe that Sarah, as old as she was, could have a child.
“You know,” the guest continued, “Sarah did laugh. And furthermore she said to herself, ‘Can an old woman like me have a baby?’”
Abraham was speechless. That was exactly what Sarah would say. Who was this guest who knew even the thoughts of someone like Sarah?
The guest stood up and motioned to the others that it was time to leave. “Abraham,” he said, “is anything too hard for the Lord? Next year, just as I told you, Sarah shall have a son.”
Abraham knew that Sarah had heard. He wondered what she would think of these ordinary-looking men making such promises. Furthermore, he wondered what she would think of their knowing so much about her, even that she had laughed.
As was the polite thing for any host, Abraham walked with the guests until they came to the edge of his encampment and he saw that they were going toward Sodom. Two of the men went on, and the other lingered for a while with Abraham.
Later when Abraham returned to the tent he found Sarah waiting for him. He was so disturbed by what the stranger had told him about Sodom that he had forgotten all else. She plied him with questions but found him strangely quiet. He said he could eat nothing and kept walking out to where he could look down the road leading to Sodom. She had expected him to discuss the visit of the men and their prediction but instead he sat with his head in his hands and seemed not to be aware of her presence.
That night Abraham stayed up late sitting by the fire, saying very little, but with an air of alertness even his men noticed. From time to time he stirred the fire with a stick and watched the sparks fly up and disappear. He didn’t listen to their usual banter but seemed to be waiting for something or listening expectantly.
He had been sitting like that for some time when they all heard the sound of people approaching on the road. Abraham immediately stood up, as though he had been expecting someone, and they noticed that he was disappointed when it turned out to be Urim with his whole family.
When they reached the fire, Urim jumped from his donkey and came and fell at Abraham’s feet. He was badly shaken, and it took some coaxing to get him to rise and tell what had happened.
“My lord,” he said, “I have much to tell you of Sodom and Lot.” When Abraham heard these words, he turned pale and pulled Urim to one side to question him.
The story Urim told was frightening. He had been at the gate when the two men arrived and had seen Lot take them home with him. Urim had gone around to the back of Lot’s house to see if he could help in the entertainment. He was quickly sent off to bring his best cheese.
When he returned, he could not get near the house because there was such a riot. The men of Sodom had noticed the visitors and wanted Lot to bring them out so they could enjoy them. Urim hesitated; he was too embarrassed to go on. Finally he said, “You understand the sort of enjoyment the men of Sodom h
ad in mind.”
“Yes, yes,” Abraham said. “I understand, though I would not have thought it would have gone so far.”
“Oh, my lord,” Urim said, “the men of Sodom have no shame.”
“And …” Abraham said “what has happened to Lot and the men?”
“Well, Lot came out and pleaded with the men. He even offered to give them his two virgin daughters!”
“He offered his daughters?” Abraham was shocked.
“Don’t worry. It was just a gesture. The men didn’t want his daughters and Lot knew it.”
“Oh Lot,” Abraham whispered. “Can this be true?”
Urim grabbed his sleeve. “You haven’t heard the worst. Before I knew what was happening, those men lunged at Lot and were going to take him. ‘Who do you think you are?’ they said. ‘We let you settle here and now you want to tell us what to do. We’ll do far worse with you now than what we intended to do with those other men.’”
“What happened to him?” Abraham turned away to hide his anxiety.
“Don’t worry,” Urim said in distress at Abraham’s concern. “The two strangers saved him. They opened the door a crack and pulled him in just as the men grabbed at him. Then a strange thing happened. If I hadn’t seen it, I wouldn’t have believed it. Those men of Sodom seemed to lose their sight. They couldn’t see a thing, and that is how I escaped.”
Then Urim told Abraham how he had heard the two men warn Lot that the city would be destroyed. Urim told how Lot had made excuses and his wife had refused to leave her house and all her fine belongings when there seemed to be no danger. “I don’t know what Lot will do, but I hurried home, packed up my family, and here I am. I believed those men.”
Abraham was so disturbed, he didn’t sleep that night but paced back and forth until Sarah came and urged him to go to bed and get some sleep. He didn’t seem to notice her or hear what she was saying until at last she clung to him and begged him to tell her what was the matter. All he could say over and over again was “I’m afraid Lot will be destroyed with Sodom.”
When she asked what made him think that Sodom would be destroyed, he grew thoughtful. “I’m afraid those men couldn’t find even ten righteous people in all of Sodom.”
“Ten people? Ten righteous people? What does that have to do with Sodom?”
Abraham didn’t hear her but bowed himself to the ground and wept.
The next morning dawned with a brilliant sunrise, but there was an ominous stillness in the air. No birds sang, no wind blew, and the sky was clear and cloudless. The quiet made everyone in Abraham’s camp uneasy.
Birds of every variety flew by as though it were the season for migration. Sparrows, mourning doves, hawks, and vultures raced overhead with urgency. Wild animals on the horizon ran as though instinctively sensing some danger.
Without warning a great shaking made their tents buckle and fold, followed by a blast, rolls of thunder, and flashes of light that cut across the sky. In minutes the sun was blotted out by towering black clouds that boiled and rumbled up out of the distant Jordan rift. The women screamed and hid their faces, and the children cried. Abraham stood looking toward Sodom and grieved for Lot.
Abraham assumed that Lot was dead. He blamed himself for not going with the strangers to warn him. “I could have forced Lot to leave,” he said.
“If those men couldn’t convince Lot, you wouldn’t have succeeded either.” Sarah was badly shaken by what had happened, but she had also grown impatient. Abraham was so concerned with Sodom, he hadn’t even mentioned the prediction the men had made about a child. He was sitting alone on his side of the tent, and she knew he was grieving. It wouldn’t do to rush in and ask for explanations. She would have to be more subtle. In the end she brought him a wooden bowl filled with some sweet dates and plump figs. Abraham knew very well what she wanted, so he said rather abruptly, “You did laugh, didn’t you?”
Sarah backed off in confusion. “Well, imagine someone saying I would have a child. Imagine it at my age.”
“And you not only laughed but you thought just as the man said, ‘Can an old woman like me have a baby?’”
“What if I did?” she said defiantly.
“You have to admit he knew you laughed. He even knew what you were thinking. That’s astonishing.”
“I was embarrassed.”
“But you were also excited when you started to think about it. Did you also hear him say, ‘Is anything too hard for the Lord?’”
“I heard him, but what does it mean?”
“Some time ago, before the circumcision, Elohim came and spoke to me. He told me the same thing. He even gave me a new name. I’m to be called Abraham, father of many nations. He said your name was to be changed, too.”
“My name?”
“Yes, you are now to be called Sarah, ‘princess.’”
“Father of many nations and princess?” Sarah was curious, if not still skeptical.
“He also has a new name, El Shaddai, the almighty God. He is no longer just Elohim, the Creator God, or El Elyon, the Most High, but He is almighty. He can do anything.”
“If I were to have this child,” she said, cupping her breasts in her hands, “I would need milk for him too. How could these sagging old breasts ever be plump again?” Her eyes challenged him to answer.
“I already have the child’s name,” Abraham said.
“You know his name?” Sarah was instantly alert. She sank down beside him. “You even know the child’s name?”
“Of course. It was given by El Shaddai himself. He’s to be called Isaac, ‘laughter.’”
Sarah’s hand flew to her mouth. “Because I laughed.”
“No Sarah,” Abraham said, “because I laughed.”
At that Sarah broke into peals of laughter. “You laughed too?”
“I couldn’t help it,” Abraham said, breaking into uncontrolled laughter. “It did seem too ridiculous,” he said when he could stop laughing long enough to talk.
Sarah was suddenly serious. “Was it the same men who warned you about Sodom?”
“Yes, both times it was the Lord.”
“And Sodom was destroyed?”
“No one has been able to get close enough to see anything, but I’m sure Sodom no longer exists.”
“Then if he was right about that …” Sarah hesitated, afraid to believe something that seemed so impossible, even ridiculous. “Of course,” she added, “if I should really have a child, it would prove that Elohim or El Shaddai must be stronger than the old earth goddess and her curse. How strange!”
“We don’t have long to wait,” he said. “Next year at this time, they said. We’ll see what happens.”
Abraham questioned numerous shepherds and various people fleeing from the devastation around the Sea of Salt. Some had been outside Jericho; others on the far side of the Jordan. All of them reported that anyone in or near the two destroyed cities could not have survived. The stench and fumes of fires that still burned made it impossible to go near the cities.
Though Abraham found it hard to believe that Lot was dead, he finally had to admit that Lot and his whole family seemed to have disappeared. No amount of questioning or searching turned up any news. Eventually Abraham gave up all hope of ever finding them alive.
Sarah grieved for Mara and the girls. She was constantly remembering things out of the past. How young they had been when they left Ur. How strange their new life had seemed. Most of all she wondered why such a terrible thing had to happen to such good people. “Mara was greedy,” she said sadly, “but she didn’t deserve this. I wanted to go to Sodom,” she added, “it could have been me.”
Hagar and Sarah’s maidservants did not expect to see such grief. “She doesn’t know how Mara envied and criticized her,” they whispered.
In the days that followed it became evident that Abraham and his people would have to move. The sky was so overcast, they could no longer see the sun. Only a dull orange light let them know that another day had
dawned. At night the moon and stars had vanished, and man and beast suffered from a choking, coughing reaction to the small particles in the hot blasts of air.
It was a difficult decision. The area to the north was too settled, and the vast, relatively empty area to the south was barren desert—not rolling sandy desert but a desert of low thornbushes, tamarisk, acacia, and some scrub oak. It was rough, lonely country, often mountainous, with such high places as Mount Paran and Jebel Magharar.
During the rainy season there were flowers, wild grasses, and gushing wadis that rushed in torrents from the high, rocky ledges. However, when the rains stopped, only the most tenacious shrubs survived.
Going from the villages above Mamre, where Abraham was camped, was a track called the Way of Shur. It led south. Abraham proposed to travel along that track. Followed to its final destination, the Way of Shur led down to Egypt. The route was not as popular as the Way of the Sea, but it was often used by people wanting to go down to Egypt from the cities such as Hebron, Bethlehem, and Jericho.
As soon as possible Abraham contacted the ruling dignitaries, asking permission to camp and let his animals graze on the open areas. He sent gifts and offered various favors. The most favorable reply came from the king of Gerar, named Abimelech. He held his position by the authority of the pharaoh of Egypt.
Reluctantly Abraham and his people gathered up their belongings and drove their cattle south to the desert lands of the Negev between Kadesh and Shur. Though the grazing there was good during the rainy season, it was now midsummer. They found nothing green except in places beside a brook or farther south along the River of Egypt. Abraham’s herders traveled over a wide, open area of desert just to find food for their animals.
Urim found the city of Gerar quite pleasing. It was situated between the Way of the Sea and the Way of Shur, so it enjoyed many distinguished guests from Egypt and had the benefit of news and goods from important places. It sat at the mouth of the Wadi Besor—a rushing stream in the rainy season, but now in early summer, it was almost dry.
Abraham and Sarah Page 24