The Abrahamic Covenant, pt. 1
Picture this: it’s the middle of the night in the desert. The stars are out, the wind’s blowing, and there’s a row of slaughtered animals lying in two halves. And then something wild happens. A smoking fire pot and a flaming torch appear. Then they start moving, slowly, between the pieces.
An old man watches, stunned. He knows what this means. In his world, when someone walks between split animals like this, it’s a way of saying, “May this happen to me if I break my word.” And here, unbelievably, it’s God doing the walking. God is saying, “If I don’t keep My promise to you, may I be torn apart like these animals.”
That moment - that strange, eerie covenant ceremony happened about 4,000 years ago. But its shockwaves are still hitting us today. Because on that night, the Creator of the universe did something nobody expected: He made Himself vulnerable for the sake of a promise. And that promise wasn’t just for the old man.
It was for you.
I’m not spiritualizing it. I mean that the promise God made to an elderly, childless nomad named Abram in the middle of nowhere was literally about you, if you have faith in Jesus Christ.
And today, we’re going to walk through that story. We’re going to see how a covenant cut in blood became the foundation for every spiritual blessing you’ve ever been given. But I’ll tell you up front — this story might mess with some of your assumptions about how God works. Because here’s how it starts: not with a righteous man, not with a religious leader, not even with someone looking for God. It starts with a guy named Abram — an old man from a city known for worshiping the moon, married to a woman who can’t have kids. No special qualifications. No standout resume. Just a promise from God, and a choice: stay where it’s safe, or follow this strange voice into the unknown.
And maybe that’s exactly the kind of person God loves to start with.
Welcome Back
Today we're continuing our journey through the biblical covenants with week three of our twelve-week series. If you're just joining us, we've been exploring how God relates to humanity through covenants—these binding, relational promises that shape the entire story of Scripture. Last week, we looked at the Noahic Covenant and God's commitment to preserve creation. But today? Today we're stepping into something revolutionary. We're examining the Abrahamic Covenant—the moment when God's rescue plan for humanity shifts from universal to particular, from all nations to one man who would become the conduit of blessing for all nations.
And here's what I love about this story: it's not a story about a perfect hero of faith who never doubts or struggles. It's about a real person—someone who believes God's promises but also asks hard questions when those promises seem impossible. Someone who takes radical steps of faith but also makes spectacular mistakes. In other words, someone a lot like us. So whether you're someone who's walked with God for decades or you're just curious about these ancient stories, I think you'll find Abraham's journey both challenging and deeply encouraging.
Introduction – The Context and the Challenge
Before we dive into Genesis 12, we need to understand the world Abram lived in and why God's call was so radical. Picture this: it's roughly 2000 BC. The great flood is a distant memory, maybe 350 years in the past. The Tower of Babel incident has scattered humanity into different language groups. And if you're keeping score, humanity's track record since Eden has been... well, let's just say we wouldn't be winning any "Species of the Year" awards.
If you've been reading through Genesis from the beginning, by the time you reach chapter 11, you might be feeling a bit discouraged. We've seen the Fall in Eden, Cain murdering Abel, the flood judgment, and the Tower of Babel—it's been a steady progression of human rebellion and divine judgment. In fact, if you count them up, the word "curse" appears five times in Genesis 3-11. Five times! It's like humanity keeps finding new and creative ways to mess things up. We're like that friend who keeps dating the wrong people and you're like, "Maybe try something different?"
But then something shifts. In Genesis 12, God essentially hits the reset button, but not by wiping everything out again—He promised not to do that, remember? Instead, He narrows His focus to one man and his family as a new strategy for blessing the world. It's as if God says, "I'm going to work through particular people to reach all people." It's like God decides to start a grassroots movement instead of a top-down revolution.
And the man He chooses? Abram from Ur of the Chaldeans, currently living in Haran with his wife Sarai.
Now, let me paint you a picture of Ur. This isn't some backwater village—Ur was like the New York City of ancient Mesopotamia. Archaeological excavations have revealed it was a sophisticated urban center with advanced architecture, a complex legal system, and thriving commerce. They had indoor plumbing, you guys! Well, sort of. The point is, Abram wasn't some primitive nomad. He was likely a successful, urban professional.
And religiously? Ur was devoted to the moon god Nanna. Joshua 24:2 actually tells us that Abram's family "served other gods." So when God calls Abram, He's not calling some super-spiritual prayer warrior. He's calling a pagan from a pagan family in a pagan city.
This should encourage every one of us who thinks we're too messed up for God to use. God specializes in choosing people with questionable backgrounds and impossible situations.
Now, what else do we know about Abram at this point? Not much, and that's probably intentional. He's not introduced as particularly righteous or special. We don't get a list of his accomplishments or qualifications. In fact, we know one crucial detail that would have seemed to disqualify him from God's purposes: Sarai, his wife, is barren (Gen. 11:30).
Can we sit with that for a moment? In the ancient world, childlessness wasn't just disappointing—it was devastating. Children were your social security, your legacy, your proof of divine blessing. A barren woman was often seen as cursed by the gods. Imagine the years of trying, the monthly disappointments, the well-meaning relatives asking, "Any news yet?" The shame, the gossip, the questioning of "What did we do wrong?"
Yet this is the couple God chooses to build a great nation. A barren woman and her frustrated husband. God loves to work through impossibilities, doesn't He? It's like He looks for the situations that have "IMPOSSIBLE" stamped across them in red letters and says, "Perfect. Now everyone will know this was Me."
Part I: The Call and Promise (Genesis 12:1-9)
The Radical Call (v. 1)
Let's read the opening words of Genesis 12: "Now the LORD said to Abram, 'Go from your country and your kindred and your father's house to the land that I will show you'" (Gen. 12:1).
Okay, stop right there. "Now the LORD said to Abram..." How? Was it an audible voice? A vision? A dream? An internal conviction? The text doesn't tell us, which I find fascinating. Maybe because the how isn't as important as the what. God spoke, and Abram knew it was God.
Have you ever had that experience? Where something happens—maybe you're reading Scripture, maybe you're in prayer, maybe you're just driving to work—and suddenly you know God is speaking to you? Not audibly, necessarily, but unmistakably. That's what's happening here.
Now, can we pause and feel the weight of this command? In the ancient Near Eastern world, your family and homeland weren't just where you lived—they were everything. There was no LinkedIn to network with strangers. No Indeed.com to find a new job. No Zillow to scope out real estate in your destination city. Your family was your identity, your security, your entire social safety net. Your father's house determined your status, your occupation, often even your marriage prospects.
Think about it: no social security, no insurance policies, no government assistance programs, no 401k to roll over. Your family WAS your safety net. They were your health insurance when you got sick, your retirement plan when you got old, your life insurance for your widow if you died. And God is asking Abram to leave all of it behind.
The Hebrew here is emphatic: לֶךְ־לְךָ (lekh-lekha), literally "go for yourself" or "go to yourself." Jewish commentators have had a field day with this phrase for centuries. It's an intensified command that suggests both urgency and personal transformation. Some rabbis translate it as "go to find yourself" or "go for your own benefit." It's like God is saying, "This journey isn't just about changing your address—it's about discovering who you really are, who I created you to be."
And notice what God doesn't tell him—the destination! "To the land that I will show you." That's future tense, folks. Abram has to start walking before he knows where he's going. There's no GPS coordinates, no address to plug into Google Maps, no Airbnb reservation waiting.
Can you imagine explaining this to your spouse? "Honey, we're moving!" "Great, where?" "I don't know yet." "When will you know?" "God will tell us when we get there." "Get where?" "Wherever we're going." Yeah, that would go over well in my house!
I think about this when I face uncertainty in my own life. We want God to show us the whole map before we take the first step, don't we? We want the entire business plan, the five-year projection, the guaranteed outcome. But faith often means taking the next step when you can't see the whole staircase.
It reminds me of that scene in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade—you know, where Indy has to step out onto an invisible bridge? He can't see it, but when he takes that step of faith, the bridge appears under his feet. That's Abram here. God is asking him to step out into nothing, trusting that the path will appear.
Hebrews 11:8 captures this beautifully: "By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to go out to a place that he was to receive as an inheritance. And he went out, not knowing where he was going." The writer of Hebrews marvels at this. It's like, "Can you believe this guy? He just went! No destination, no plan, just trust!"
The Sevenfold Promise (vv. 2-3)
But God doesn't just give a command—He gives an incredible promise. Actually, He gives seven promises, and the structure here is fascinating. If you're a Bible nerd like me, you're already excited because seven is the number of completeness in Scripture. God is giving Abram a complete package deal.
Let me break this down because every word matters:
"And I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and him who dishonors you I will curse, and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed" (Gen. 12:2-3).
First, before we dive into the specific promises, notice the repetition of "bless" and "blessing." The word בָּרַךְ (barak) appears five times in these two verses. Five times! Now, if you're thinking, "So what? God likes the word blessing," you're missing the literary genius here.
Remember what I said about the word "curse" appearing five times in Genesis 3-11? This is intentional. God is literally reversing the curse through Abraham. Where humanity brought five curses, God is unleashing five blessings. It's like God is saying, "You know all that cursing that's been going on? I'm flipping the script. It's blessing time now!"
The tide is turning from judgment to grace. God isn't giving up on humanity; He's launching "Operation Blessing," and Abram is ground zero.
Now let's look at each promise, and I want you to notice how they build on each other:
1. "I will make of you a great nation" (גּוֹי גָּדוֹל, goy gadol)
Pause. Sarai is barren. Abram is 75 years old. In ancient terms, that's not just senior citizen territory—that's like being 95 today. Yet God promises not just a child, not just a few kids, but an entire nation.
The word גּוֹי (goy) typically refers to a politically organized people with land, laws, and identity. God isn't just promising Abram some descendants; He's promising that this childless nomad will become the patriarch of an entire civilization. That's like telling someone who can't have kids, "You're going to be the ancestor of a nation that will last thousands of years." The audacity!
And by the way, this promise has been literally fulfilled. Today, the Jewish people trace their ancestry to Abraham. That's over 3,500 years of continuous identity as a people. Name another people group that's maintained their identity that long through exile, persecution, and dispersion. I'll wait.
2. "I will bless you"
This is personal. It's not just about what Abram will produce or accomplish—God's favor, protection, and provision will rest on Abram personally. God is saying, "This isn't just a business arrangement, Abram. I'm going to be good to you personally."
And if you read Abraham's story, you see this played out. Yes, he faces challenges, but he also becomes wealthy, respected, and influential. Kings make treaties with him. He lives to see his promised son and grandsons. God was good to Abraham personally.
3. "I will make your name great"
Oh, this is beautiful! This directly contrasts with Babel, where humanity tried to "make a name for ourselves" (Gen. 11:4) through prideful self-assertion. They built a tower to reach heaven and make themselves famous. How did that work out? God confused their languages and scattered them. Epic fail.
But now God says He will make Abram's name great as a gift of grace. Abram doesn't have to build a tower or conquer nations or write his name in the stars. God will do it for him.
And hasn't He? Four thousand years later, over half the world's population—Christians, Jews, and Muslims, that's about 4 billion people—revere the name of Abraham! Walk into any church, synagogue, or mosque anywhere in the world and mention Abraham, and people know exactly who you're talking about. That's a great name!
You know what this tells me? Stop trying to make a name for yourself. Stop building your tower of Babel on Instagram or LinkedIn. Let God make your name great in His way, in His time, for His purposes.
4. "You will be a blessing"
This is the hinge. Everything turns on this. The grammatical construction changes here—the first three promises are things God will do TO Abram, but this one is about what Abram will BE.
The purpose of God's blessing is not accumulation but distribution. Abram isn't blessed just to be blessed—he's blessed to be a conduit of blessing. It's like God is saying, "I'm not making you a reservoir, Abram. I'm making you a river."
This is missional from the start. God's blessings are never meant to terminate on us. They're meant to flow through us. You've been blessed with resources? That's so you can bless others. You've been blessed with talents? That's so you can serve others. You've been blessed with the gospel? That's so you can share it with others.
If your blessings are only blessing you, you're missing the point.
5. "I will bless those who bless you"
Now God gets protective. He's saying, "Abram, anyone who's good to you, I'll be good to them." God personally identifies with Abram's cause. To honor Abram is to honor God; to oppose Abram is to oppose God.
This is covenant solidarity. It's like when someone marries into a family and the family says, "You're one of us now. Anyone who messes with you messes with all of us." God is saying, "You're family now, Abram. I've got your back."
And we see this played out in Scripture. Pharaoh takes Sarai into his harem (thinking she's Abram's sister), and God strikes his household with plagues. Abimelech does something similar, and God warns him in a dream. Those who blessed Abraham—like Melchizedek—were blessed. Those who cursed him faced judgment.
6. "Him who dishonors you I will curse"
The word for "dishonor" here (קָלַל, qalal) means to treat lightly, to consider insignificant, to treat with contempt. It's not just about active persecution; it's about dismissive attitudes. God is saying, "Anyone who treats you as insignificant will find out how significant you are to Me."
This is personal for God. It's like when someone insults your kid—it's not just about them anymore; now it's about you. God takes it personally when people mistreat His covenant partners.
7. "In you all the families of the earth shall be blessed"
This is the climax, the mic drop moment. The Hebrew can be translated either as "in you" or "through you," and both are theologically significant. All the families (מִשְׁפָּחוֹת, mishpachot) of the earth—not just some, not just the religious ones, not just the moral ones—ALL families will find blessing through Abraham's line.
Do you see what's happening here? God is announcing His plan to fix the world, and it's going to happen through this one elderly, childless couple. It's like God is saying, "You know how everything got messed up through one couple in a garden? I'm going to fix everything through another couple, starting right here, right now."
Paul tells us in Galatians 3:8 that this was the gospel preached in advance: "And the Scripture, foreseeing that God would justify the Gentiles by faith, preached the gospel beforehand to Abraham, saying, 'In you shall all the nations be blessed.'"
This single verse is essentially the mission statement for the rest of the Bible. God choosing one family to bless all families. And if you're a follower of Jesus, you're living in the fulfillment of this promise. You're blessed because God kept His word to Abraham.
The Response of Faith (vv. 4-9)
So how does Abram respond to this incredible call and promise? Does he ask for a sign? Does he negotiate for better terms? Does he ask for a written contract?
Genesis 12:4 tells us with beautiful simplicity: "So Abram went, as the LORD had told him."
That's it. No questions. No negotiations. No "let me pray about it for a few months." No "I need to talk to my financial advisor first." At 75 years old, when most people are thinking about retirement communities and early bird specials, Abram packs up everything and heads into the unknown.
The Hebrew is simple and decisive: וַיֵּלֶךְ אַבְרָם (vayelekh Avram)—"And Abram went." There's something powerful about that simplicity. When God speaks, Abram moves. Period.
Now, verse 4 also mentions that Lot, his nephew, went with him. That's interesting because God didn't mention Lot. God said leave your family, but Abram brings family anyway. It's like he mostly obeyed but kept a little safety net. Ever done that? "I'll trust you God, but I'm keeping my backup plan just in case." We'll see later that Lot becomes more of a burden than a blessing, but God works with Abram's incomplete obedience.
Verse 5 tells us that Abram took Sarai, Lot, all their possessions, and all the people they had acquired in Haran. This wasn't a small operation. Ancient sources suggest a wealthy household might include dozens or even hundreds of people—servants, workers, their families. Abram is basically relocating an entire company.
Now watch what Abram does as he travels through the land. Verse 6 tells us he traveled to Shechem, to the oak of Moreh. Shechem is right in the heart of Canaan, about 30 miles north of Jerusalem. The oak of Moreh was probably a sacred tree where the Canaanites worshiped their gods. Abram is walking right into the center of pagan worship.
The text adds this ominous note: "At that time the Canaanites were in the land." This isn't empty territory waiting for Abram—it's already inhabited by established peoples with their own gods, their own cultures, their own armies. Abram is an immigrant in a foreign land, vastly outnumbered, with no legal claim to anything.
Can you imagine how Abram felt? He's left everything familiar, traveled hundreds of miles, and now he's standing in a land full of people who don't know his God, don't speak his language, and definitely don't care about his divine promises.
Yet verse 7 tells us something remarkable: "Then the LORD appeared to Abram and said, 'To your offspring I will give this land.'"
This is the first time God specifically mentions the land as part of the promise. It's like God waits until Abram is actually standing in the land, surrounded by Canaanites, probably wondering "What have I gotten myself into?" and then says, "By the way, all of this is going to belong to your descendants."
The audacity! It's like taking someone to Times Square and saying, "Your kids are going to own all of this." Abram doesn't own a single square foot of this land, but God says it's his children's inheritance.
And how does Abram respond? "So he built there an altar to the LORD, who had appeared to him."
This becomes Abram's pattern throughout his journey. In verse 8, he moves to the hills between Bethel and Ai, and again "there he built an altar to the LORD and called upon the name of the LORD." Then verse 9 says he "journeyed on, still going toward the Negeb"—that's the southern desert region.
These altars are more than worship sites—they're faith monuments, territorial markers that declare, "The LORD is God in this place." In a land full of pagan altars to Baal and Asherah and other Canaanite deities, Abram is planting flags for Yahweh.
Think about the courage this required. Abram is surrounded by Canaanite cities with their own religious systems, and he's publicly building altars to a God they've never heard of. Every altar is an act of faith and defiance, declaring God's lordship over lands he doesn't yet possess.
It's like moving to a completely secular city and putting up a giant cross in your yard. Or starting every business meeting with prayer. Or refusing to compromise your values even when it costs you promotions. Abram is essentially saying, "I don't care if I'm the only one here who worships Yahweh. This is His land, and I'm going to act like it."
I find this incredibly instructive for how we live as people of faith in a world that doesn't acknowledge God. We're called to plant "altars"—visible markers of faith—in our workplaces, neighborhoods, and communities. Not in an obnoxious or aggressive way, but through consistent worship and witness that declares, "God is Lord here too."
Interlude: When Faith Falters
Now, if we kept reading past verse 9, we'd see something interesting. There's a famine in the land, and Abram goes down to Egypt. And what does our great man of faith do? He lies about his wife, telling Pharaoh she's his sister because he's afraid they'll kill him to take her.
Not exactly a shining moment. The guy who just left everything to follow God is now lying to save his own skin. But here's what I love—God protects them anyway. He strikes Pharaoh's house with plagues until Pharaoh figures out the truth and sends them away with even more wealth.
Why do I mention this? Because it shows us that Abram's faith was real but not perfect. He had moments of incredible trust and moments of fear-driven failure. Sound familiar? That's every one of us. We have our mountain-top faith moments and our valley-of-fear failures. And God works with both.
Part II: Covenant Confirmed and Cut (Genesis 15:1-21)
Divine Reassurance (v. 1)
Now we jump forward to Genesis 15. Some time has passed—we're not told exactly how long, but probably a few years. Enough that Abram is starting to feel the weight of waiting. He's had some adventures (which we're skipping for time)—he's rescued Lot from enemy kings, he's refused reward from the king of Sodom, he's had some close calls.
Perhaps Abram is now worried about retaliation from those kings he defeated, or maybe he's just feeling the cost of following God's call. You know that feeling when the initial excitement wears off and reality sets in? When the honeymoon phase of faith gives way to the daily grind of trust? That's where Abram is.
Whatever the reason, God comes to him with reassurance: "After these things the word of the LORD came to Abram in a vision: 'Fear not, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great'" (Gen. 15:1).
I love the tenderness here. God doesn't rebuke Abram for fear—He addresses it. "Fear not" (אַל־תִּירָא, al-tira) is one of the most frequent divine commands in Scripture, appearing over 100 times. You know what that tells me? God knows we're prone to fear, and He's not mad about it. He just keeps saying, "Don't be afraid. I've got you."
And God gives two reasons not to fear: "I am your shield" (מָגֵן, magen)—your protection, and "your reward shall be very great"—literally, "your reward is exceedingly abundant."
God is saying, "Abram, you haven't missed out by following Me. I Myself am your protection and your reward." It's not just that God gives rewards—He IS the reward. It's like God is saying, "You thought you were giving up everything to follow Me? Actually, you traded up. You traded earthly security for divine protection, temporary wealth for eternal reward."
The Dialogue of Faith (vv. 2-6)
But Abram's response reveals the deep ache in his heart. For the first time, we hear him really pour out his struggle. And I mean REALLY pour it out:
"O Lord GOD, what will you give me, for I continue childless, and the heir of my house is Eliezer of Damascus?" (Gen. 15:2).
The Hebrew here conveys deep emotion. Abram addresses God as אֲדֹנָי יְהוִה (Adonai Yahweh)—"Sovereign LORD." It's like he's saying, "God, I know you're in charge, but..." And his complaint is pointed: "I am walking childless" (הוֹלֵךְ עֲרִירִי, holekh ariri). The word עֲרִירִי means stripped, bare, childless—it's a word of desolation.
Feel the pain in these words. Abram has been walking by faith for years now, and still no baby. Every month that passes, Sarai gets older. Every year that goes by, the promise seems more impossible. They've probably tried everything—special diets, fertility rituals, prayers to... well, just prayers now. Nothing.
Abram continues in verse 3: "Behold, you have given me no offspring, and a member of my household will be my heir."
According to ancient Near Eastern custom, if a man died childless, his estate could pass to a trusted servant. Abram is essentially saying, "God, did I misunderstand? Is Eliezer the promised 'seed'? Because I don't see any other option here. Sarai and I aren't getting any younger. Is this servant from Damascus the 'great nation' you were talking about?"
This is such an honest prayer. Abram isn't doubting God's existence or power—he's struggling to reconcile God's promise with present reality. How many of us have been there?
"God, you said you would provide, but my bank account is empty." "God, you said you had plans for me, but I feel stuck." "God, you promised peace, but my life is chaos." "God, you said you'd give me the desires of my heart, but I'm still single." "God, you said children are a blessing, but my womb is empty."
This is the prayer of someone who believes God but can't figure out how God's going to pull it off. It's not the prayer of an atheist; it's the prayer of a believer in pain.
God's response is immediate and emphatic: "This man shall not be your heir; your very own son shall be your heir" (Gen. 15:4).
The Hebrew is literally "one who comes from your own bowels/inward parts" (מֵעֶיךָ, me'eka). God is being absolutely clear—no adoption, no servant arrangement, no work-around. The promised heir will be Abram's biological child. Period.
Then comes one of the most beautiful moments in Scripture. God takes Abram outside. Picture this: Abram's been inside his tent, probably pacing, worrying, maybe arguing with God. God says, "Come on, let's go outside. I want to show you something."
"Look toward heaven, and number the stars, if you are able to number them... So shall your offspring be" (Gen. 15:5).
Picture this scene. It's nighttime in the ancient Near East—no light pollution, no urban glow, no streetlights, no planes blinking overhead. The desert sky is absolutely ablaze with stars. Scientists estimate you can see about 3,000 stars with the naked eye in perfect conditions, but it feels like millions. The Milky Way is a river of light across the sky.
God is giving Abram a visual promise. "You see all those stars? Count them. Go ahead, try. Can't do it, can you? That's how many descendants you're going to have."
Every time Abram looks up at night (which, living in tents, would be often), he'll remember God's promise. The stars become a perpetual sermon, preaching God's faithfulness. Every nighttime bathroom break becomes a reminder of God's promise. Can't sleep? Look up—God's promise is still there, written in lights across the sky.
And then verse 6—one of the most important verses in the entire Bible: "And he believed the LORD, and he counted it to him as righteousness."
Let's slow down here because this verse changes everything. The Hebrew word for "believed" is וְהֶאֱמִן (vehe'emin), from the root אָמַן ('aman), which means to be firm, to trust, to lean your weight on something. This is where we get the word "Amen"—it means "truly" or "firm" or "so be it."
Abram's faith wasn't just intellectual agreement—"Yeah, God, I guess you could do that if you wanted." It was trust that bore his full weight. It's like the difference between believing a chair can hold you and actually sitting down in it. Abram sat down. He put his full weight on God's promise.
And God "counted it" (חָשַׁב, chashav) to him as righteousness. The word is an accounting term—to reckon, impute, or credit to an account. It's like God opened Abram's spiritual bank account and deposited "RIGHTEOUS" in huge letters. Not because of any work Abram did—the guy is literally just standing there looking at stars—but simply because he trusted God's promise.
Paul builds his entire theology of justification on this verse. In Romans 4:3, he quotes it directly. He spends a whole chapter unpacking it, arguing that we too are justified by faith, not works. In Galatians 3:6-9, he says those who have faith are children of Abraham.
And here's what's crucial: this happens before Abram does any religious ritual. Circumcision doesn't come until Genesis 17—that's at least 13 years later! The Law won't be given for another 400+ years. Abram hasn't been baptized, hasn't taken communion, hasn't joined a church, hasn't tithed (well, except that one time to Melchizedek). He's just believed God, and boom—righteous.
This is the gospel, folks. Right here in Genesis 15:6. You want to be right with God? Believe His promise. Trust His word. Put your weight on what He says. That's it. That's the whole thing.
The Covenant Ceremony (vv. 7-21)
Setting Up the Ritual (vv. 7-11)
After this pinnacle moment of faith, God continues the conversation. He reminds Abram of His track record: "I am the LORD who brought you out from Ur of the Chaldeans to give you this land to possess" (Gen. 15:7).
God identifies Himself by His past faithfulness as a guarantee of future faithfulness. It's like He's saying, "Remember how I got you out of Ur? Remember how I've protected you so far? That same God is making you this promise."
Abram responds with a very reasonable question: "O Lord GOD, how am I to know that I shall possess it?" (Gen. 15:8).
Now, some people read this as doubt, but I don't think so. Abram just believed God about the offspring. Now he's asking for assurance about the land. He's not doubting—he's seeking confirmation. In our terms, he's asking for something concrete to hold onto. It's like saying, "God, I believe you, but could you give me something tangible to help me when doubts creep in?"
What follows would seem absolutely bizarre to us but was deeply meaningful in the ancient world. God tells Abram to bring:
A three-year-old heifer
A three-year-old female goat
A three-year-old ram
A turtledove
A young pigeon
Why three years old? That's when these animals are in their prime, their most valuable. God isn't asking for the leftovers; He wants the best. And notice it's five animals—five being the number of grace in Scripture. Even the ceremony itself preaches grace.
Abram takes these animals and cuts them in half (except the birds), laying the halves opposite each other, creating a path between them. If you're thinking, "This is gruesome and weird," you're not wrong—but stay with me because this is powerful.
This was a standard covenant-making ceremony in the ancient Near East. The Hebrew phrase for "making a covenant" is literally כָּרַת בְּרִית (karat berit)—"to cut a covenant." When two parties made a covenant, they would slaughter animals and both walk between the pieces.
As they walked through this path of blood and death, they were essentially saying, "May I become like these animals—cut in pieces, dead and bloody—if I break this covenant." It was a visual curse they were calling down on themselves. No take-backs, no escape clauses, no "I had my fingers crossed." This was serious, life-and-death commitment.
Jeremiah 34:18-19 confirms this practice: "And the men who transgressed my covenant and did not keep the terms of the covenant that they made before me, I will make them like the calf that they cut in two and passed between its parts." See? The animals represent what happens to covenant-breakers.
So Abram prepares everything and waits. He's expecting God to show up—maybe as a visible manifestation—and for both of them to walk through together, binding themselves to this covenant.
Verse 11 tells us that birds of prey came down on the carcasses, but Abram drove them away. Can you picture this? Abram is sitting there with dead animals all around him, the desert sun beating down, vultures circling, and he's fighting them off. "Get away! Shoo! This is holy ground!"
He's protecting the covenant sacrifice, waiting for God to show up and complete the ceremony. Hours pass. The sun is moving across the sky. The blood is drying. The smell is... well, let's not think about the smell. But Abram keeps waiting, keeps protecting, keeps believing.
There's a sermon in that. Sometimes we have to protect God's promises from the vultures that want to devour them—doubts, discouragements, delays. We stand guard over what God has said until He shows up to confirm it.
The Prophetic Vision (vv. 12-16)
As the sun is going down, "a deep sleep fell on Abram" (Gen. 15:12). The word is תַּרְדֵּמָה (tardemah)—the same word used when God put Adam into deep sleep to create Eve (Gen. 2:21). This isn't natural exhaustion; this is divinely induced unconsciousness. God is putting Abram under, like divine anesthesia.
And with it comes "a dreadful and great darkness." The Hebrew here is intense—"terror, great darkness fell upon him." This isn't peaceful sleep; this is an encounter with the mysterious, awesome presence of God.
In this state, God speaks a sobering prophecy. And honestly, it's not what you'd expect after all these promises of blessing:
"Know for certain that your offspring will be sojourners in a land that is not theirs and will be servants there, and they will be afflicted for four hundred years" (Gen. 15:13).
Wait, what? God just promised Abram countless descendants and a land, and now He's saying those descendants are going to be slaves? For 400 years? That's longer than America has existed as a nation!
This is remarkable. God is telling Abram that the promise includes suffering. His descendants will go to Egypt (though God doesn't name it here) and be enslaved for four centuries. Can you imagine getting this news? "Hey, your kids are going to be slaves." "For how long?" "Oh, just 400 years." "WHAT?!"
But God also promises deliverance: "But I will bring judgment on the nation that they serve, and afterward they shall come out with great possessions" (Gen. 15:14).
This is the Exodus in advance. God is telling Abram about the plagues on Egypt, about the Israelites plundering the Egyptians, about the great deliverance—all of it, centuries before it happens.
Even the timing is specified: "And they shall come back here in the fourth generation, for the iniquity of the Amorites is not yet complete" (Gen. 15:16).
This is fascinating. God is saying He won't dispossess the current inhabitants of Canaan until their wickedness reaches its full measure. He's being patient even with the pagan nations. It's like God has a "sin meter" and He's waiting for it to reach the red zone before He acts in judgment. He's giving the Amorites 400 more years to repent!
This shows us something about God's character—He's not quick to judge. He's patient, even with those who don't know Him. 2 Peter 3:9 says, "The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance."
For Abram personally, God promises: "As for you, you shall go to your fathers in peace; you shall be buried in a good old age" (Gen. 15:15).
Abram will die peacefully before these troubles begin. He'll live to be 175 years old, see his promised son Isaac grow up, even see grandchildren. He won't experience the Egyptian slavery. That's mercy.
This prophetic interlude shows us that God's promises don't guarantee easy paths. The covenant includes both slavery and freedom, both suffering and deliverance. God doesn't hide the hard parts—He's honest that faith includes valleys as well as mountaintops.
It reminds me of Jesus telling His disciples, "In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world" (John 16:33). God doesn't promise us a trouble-free life; He promises to be with us through the trouble and bring us out on the other side.
The Divine Oath (vv. 17-21)
Now comes the climax of the ceremony. The sun has fully set. It's dark—not just getting dark, but that deep darkness of ancient nights with no artificial light. Abram is still in this supernatural sleep, but somehow aware of what's happening.
And then verse 17: "Behold, a smoking fire pot and a flaming torch passed between these pieces."
Let's unpack the symbolism because this is loaded. The smoking fire pot (תַּנּוּר עָשָׁן, tannur ashan)—that's a portable clay oven, like what they used for baking bread. It's smoking, producing this cloud of smoke. The flaming torch (לַפִּיד אֵשׁ, lappid esh) is a blazing fire, bright and consuming.
These represent God's presence. Throughout Scripture, God manifests as fire and smoke:
The burning bush where God called Moses (Ex. 3:2)
The pillar of cloud by day and fire by night that led Israel (Ex. 13:21)
Mount Sinai covered in smoke when God descended (Ex. 19:18)
The glory cloud that filled the temple (1 Kings 8:10-11)
Fire and smoke are God's calling cards. When you see them together in Scripture, God is showing up in power.
But here's the shocking part—and I mean SHOCKING: only God passes between the pieces. Abram never walks through. He's asleep! Out cold! Unconscious!
In a normal covenant ceremony, both parties would pass through, binding themselves to the agreement. Both would accept the curse for breaking the covenant. But Abram is asleep! He contributes nothing to this covenant-making moment. Zero. Nada. Zilch.
Do you understand what's happening here? God is taking upon Himself the entire obligation of the covenant. Both sides! He's essentially saying, "If this covenant is broken—whether by Me or by you, Abram—I'll bear the curse. Let Me be torn apart like these animals if this covenant fails."
The theological implications are staggering. God is making Himself vulnerable to the curse of a broken covenant. The immortal is accepting mortality's terms. The infinite is binding Himself to the finite. It's like God is writing a check He knows He'll have to cash.
From our New Testament perspective, we can't help but see the cross foreshadowed here. God did indeed take upon Himself the curse of broken covenant when Christ was "torn" on the cross, His body broken and blood shed to maintain God's covenant promise despite human unfaithfulness.
Paul says it explicitly in Galatians 3:13: "Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us—for it is written, 'Cursed is everyone who is hanged on a tree.'" The smoking fire pot and torch passing between the pieces was a preview of Calvary. God was showing Abram, "I'm so committed to this promise that I'll die to keep it."
This makes the Abrahamic covenant unconditional and unilateral. It's success doesn't depend on Abram's performance but on God's faithfulness. It's not a contract—"I'll do this if you do that." It's a grant—"I'm doing this, period."
After this dramatic divine oath, verse 18 states simply: "On that day the LORD made a covenant with Abram."
The Hebrew is literally "cut a covenant" (כָּרַת בְּרִית, karat berit), referencing the cut animals. The covenant is now officially in effect. Signed, sealed, and delivered—in blood.
Then God specifies the land promise: "To your offspring I give this land, from the river of Egypt to the great river, the river Euphrates" (Gen. 15:18).
The boundaries are vast—from the Nile (or possibly the Wadi of Egypt on the border of the Sinai) to the Euphrates. We're talking about modern-day Israel, Palestine, Lebanon, Syria, Jordan, and parts of Egypt, Saudi Arabia, and Iraq. That's a massive territory.
Verses 19-21 list ten people groups currently occupying this territory: Kenites, Kenizzites, Kadmonites, Hittites, Perizzites, Rephaim, Amorites, Canaanites, Girgashites, and Jebusites. The land isn't empty—it's fully inhabited. Yet God declares it belongs to Abram's descendants.
Historically, Israel only controlled this full territory briefly under David and Solomon. Many believe the complete fulfillment is still future, in the millennial kingdom. But the point is clear: God has designated this land for Abram's offspring.
Theological Reflection: Grace, Faith, and Mission
As we reflect on these two monumental chapters, several crucial theological themes emerge that shape the entire rest of Scripture:
1. The Priority of Grace
Look at the sequence: God calls, God promises, God commits—all before Abram does anything particularly righteous. In fact, if we're honest, Abram hasn't done anything except believe and walk to where God told him. That's it. No Ten Commandments to keep, no religious rituals to perform, no moral perfection to achieve.
The smoking fire pot and torch passing through the pieces while Abram sleeps is perhaps the most perfect picture of salvation by grace in the entire Old Testament. We contribute nothing while God does everything. We're unconscious—dead in our sins, as Paul would say—while God acts on our behalf.
This doesn't mean Abram is passive in his relationship with God—he responds with faith and obedience. But the covenant depends on God's faithfulness, not Abram's performance. That's why even when Abram fails (like when he lies about Sarai being his sister in Gen. 12:10-20, or when he sleeps with Hagar in Gen. 16), the covenant remains intact.
It's like God says, "I knew you'd mess up, Abram. I factored that in. That's why I walked through the pieces alone. Your failures can't derail My promises because My promises don't depend on your perfection."
Church, do you hear this? Your relationship with God doesn't depend on your performance. Yes, obedience matters. Yes, holiness matters. Yes, growth matters. But your security in Christ rests on God's faithfulness, not yours. He walked through the pieces alone—and then He walked to Calvary alone—to ensure that nothing could separate you from His love.
2. The Nature of Faith
Genesis 15:6 shows us that biblical faith isn't mere intellectual assent—"Yeah, I believe God exists." It's trust that bears our full weight. The root אָמַן ('aman) conveys firmness, reliability, faithfulness. When we say "Amen," we're using this same root, declaring "This is firm, this is trustworthy, I'm banking on this."
And notice when Abram believes—it's before he sees any fulfillment. He's still childless, still landless, still a nomad. Faith trusts God's word before seeing God's work.
In fact, that's the definition of faith given in Hebrews 11:1: "Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen." Abram had assurance about things he hoped for (a son, a land, a nation) and conviction about things he couldn't see (God's invisible promise becoming visible reality).
But here's what's crucial: Abram's faith wasn't perfect. Just a chapter later (Genesis 16), he'll try to help God out by sleeping with Hagar. Later, he'll lie about Sarah being his sister—again! (Genesis 20). His faith wobbles, wavers, and sometimes fails.
Yet God never says, "That's it, Abram! You doubted! Covenant's off!" Why? Because the covenant doesn't depend on the perfection of Abram's faith but on the perfection of God's faithfulness.
This should encourage every one of us who struggles with doubt. Your faith doesn't have to be perfect; it just has to be real. A little faith in a big God goes a lot further than big faith in a little god.
3. The Missional Purpose
From the very beginning, God's choice of Abraham is missional—"all the families of the earth shall be blessed" through him. God isn't choosing Abraham instead of the nations but for the nations. Israel was never meant to be the exclusive recipient of God's blessing but the channel through which blessing flows to all nations.
This is crucial to understand. Election in the Bible is never just about privilege—it's about purpose. God doesn't choose people just to bless them but to make them a blessing. If you're chosen, you're chosen for something, not just for comfort.
This finds its ultimate fulfillment in Christ. Galatians 3:16 says, "Now the promises were made to Abraham and to his offspring. It does not say, 'And to offsprings,' referring to many, but referring to one, 'And to your offspring,' who is Christ."
Through Jesus, Abraham's ultimate descendant, the blessing of salvation has indeed gone to all nations. Every person who trusts in Christ becomes a child of Abraham, an heir of the promise. The covenant made with one man in the Middle Eastern desert 4,000 years ago includes you!
4. The Already/Not Yet Tension
Abram receives the promise but not the full fulfillment. He'll have Isaac, but not the nation. He'll buy a burial plot (the cave of Machpelah in Genesis 23), but not possess the land. He'll see the beginning, but not the completion.
Hebrews 11:13 says it beautifully: "These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar." Abram saw the promise like looking at a city skyline from a distance—real, visible, but not yet reached.
This "already/not yet" tension characterizes all of covenant life. We live in this same tension:
We have salvation but await glorification
We have the Spirit as down payment but await the full inheritance
We have Christ's first coming but await His second
We have spiritual blessings but await new heavens and earth
We have eternal life but still live in dying bodies
Like Abraham, we're called to live by faith in the gap between promise and fulfillment. We're pregnant with promises that haven't been born yet. And that's okay—that's the life of faith.
Practical Application: Living as Children of Abraham
So what does all this mean for us today? How do we live in light of the Abrahamic covenant? Let me give you some practical takeaways:
1. Embrace Radical Obedience
When God calls, we go—even when we don't have all the details. This doesn't mean being reckless or ignoring wisdom, but it does mean being willing to step out in faith when God makes His will clear.
Maybe God is calling you to:
Start that ministry you've been thinking about
Have that conversation you've been avoiding
Make that sacrifice you've been resisting
Take that step you've been postponing
Leave that comfort zone you've been clinging to
Abraham shows us that faith looks like obedience even when we can't see the whole path. You don't need to see step 10 to take step 1. As Martin Luther King Jr. said, "Faith is taking the first step even when you can't see the whole staircase."
2. Trust God's Timeline
Abraham waited 25 years between promise and fulfillment. Twenty-five years! That's a long time to hold onto a promise. Some of you have been waiting for:
A spouse who loves Jesus
A child to fill your empty arms
A prodigal to come home
A healing that hasn't come
A breakthrough in your career
A ministry to bear fruit
Our instant-gratification culture says if it doesn't happen immediately, it's not happening. But God's promises often unfold over decades, even generations. That business you're building, that ministry you're developing, that child you're raising, that neighbor you're witnessing to—the fruit may not come quickly. But God's promises are worth the wait.
The question isn't "Is God going to keep His promise?" but "Am I going to keep trusting while I wait?"
3. Build Altars Along the Way
As Abraham traveled, he built altars—visible markers of worship and faith. What are your altars? How do you mark God's faithfulness in your journey?
Here are some ideas:
Keep a journal of answered prayers
Create a "remembrance wall" with photos and scriptures
Share testimonies regularly at family dinners
Celebrate spiritual birthdays and baptism anniversaries
Take communion regularly, remembering God's ultimate promise-keeping
Set up memorial stones (literally or figuratively) when God does something significant
Build altars that remind you and others that God is faithful. When doubt comes (and it will), you can point back to these altars and say, "Look what God did here. He was faithful then; He'll be faithful now."
4. Live as Channels of Blessing
God blessed Abraham to be a blessing. The same is true for us. Every resource, every opportunity, every relationship is given not just for our enjoyment but for others' benefit.
Ask yourself: How can I be a blessing today? How can God's grace flow through me to others?
This might mean:
Using your professional skills to serve those who can't afford them
Opening your home for hospitality
Mentoring someone younger in the faith
Supporting missionaries taking the gospel to unreached peoples
Being present and available to those who are hurting
Sharing your story of God's faithfulness
Giving generously even when it costs you
Remember: you're not a reservoir meant to collect blessings. You're a river meant to channel them. If God's blessings are only blessing you, you're missing the point.
5. Rest in Unconditional Grace
That image of God alone passing between the pieces while Abram sleeps should be tattooed on our hearts (metaphorically, unless you're into that). Our relationship with God doesn't depend on our performance but on His promise.
Yes, genuine faith produces obedience. Yes, we should pursue holiness. Yes, we should grow in grace. But our security rests in God's faithfulness, not ours.
When you fail (and you will), remember that God has bound Himself to you with an unconditional promise. In Christ, He has walked through the pieces alone, bearing the curse of covenant-breaking so that you could receive the blessing of covenant-keeping.
You can't out-sin God's grace. You can't out-fail His faithfulness. You can't out-run His love. He made the covenant while you were sleeping, and He'll keep it even when you're stumbling.
Looking Ahead: What's Coming in Part 2
Next week, we'll continue Abraham's story in Genesis 17, where God gives the covenant sign of circumcision and changes Abram's name to Abraham ("father of many nations"). We'll see:
How God expands and clarifies the covenant
Why Sarai becomes Sarah
What circumcision means theologically
How Ishmael fits into the story
The promise of Isaac's birth
We'll also peek ahead to Genesis 22, where Abraham's faith faces its ultimate test on Mount Moriah, and see how God swears by Himself to guarantee the covenant promises. The story only gets richer and more profound.
Conclusion: The God Who Cuts Covenant
As we close today, I want you to picture that scene from Genesis 15 one more time. It's dark—the kind of darkness you can feel. The divided animals are laid out, blood pooling in the dirt. And through the blood path walks God alone, in fire and smoke, binding Himself to promises that seem impossible.
An old, childless couple will become a great nation. A landless nomad will inherit vast territories. Through this one family, all families on earth will be blessed.
It's absurd by human standards. But that's exactly the point. God delights in impossibilities because they display His power and faithfulness most clearly. When there's no human explanation for the outcome, God alone gets the glory.
The same God who made covenant with Abraham has made covenant with you through Christ. The same God who kept His promise to give Abraham a son despite decades of barrenness will keep His promises to you. The same God who turned one man's faith into blessing for all nations can use your faith to bless those around you.
You might feel like Abram—caught between promise and fulfillment, trying to trust when you can't see the way forward. Maybe you're in year 5 of what feels like a 25-year wait. Maybe you're standing in your own Canaan, surrounded by enemies, building altars to a God others don't acknowledge, wondering if you heard God right.
Take heart. The God who walked through the pieces alone is the God who went to the cross alone. He has bound Himself to you with love that will not let you go. His covenant with you is signed in blood—not yours, but His.
So go ahead—leave your comfort zone like Abram did. Build some altars of worship. Look at the stars and remember God's promises. And rest in the knowledge that the covenant-keeping God who called Abraham is the same God who calls you today.
He who promised is faithful. And that's not just theology—that's your story, your hope, your future. Because in Christ, you are Abraham's offspring, heirs according to promise (Gal. 3:29). The blessing of Abraham has come to you through faith, and through you, it can flow to others.
That's the power of covenant. That's the beauty of grace. And that's why, four thousand years later, we're still talking about an elderly nomad who believed God and walked into the unknown.
May you have that same faith. May you walk in that same blessing. And may you be a channel of God's grace to all the families of the earth.
Until next time, this is Austin Duncan, reminding you that our God is a covenant-keeping God, and His promises are yes and amen in Christ Jesus.
