In my previous post, I wrote: We choose our destiny by the way we respond to God’s call. Terah heard the call and began the journey, but he stopped halfway. Abraham heard the same call, left everything behind, and continued the journey to its end.
But every time I read this story, I find myself asking another question.
What reward did Abraham receive for responding so unreservedly to God’s call?
After all, Abraham did something that very few of us would be able to do. He left behind his country, his family, his settled and familiar life, and followed God into the unknown. If ever there was a person who deserved some visible confirmation that he had made the right choice, surely it was Abraham.
And yet, if we look at the circumstances of his life after he arrived in the land God had promised him, we discover something deeply surprising. We find that Abraham’s rewards were, at least initially, almost entirely invisible.
Yes, God appeared to him and gave him a magnificent promise: “To your descendants I will give this land.” But what did Abraham actually possess? Nothing. He and his family continued to live in tents. They remained complete foreigners and newcomers in the very land that had been promised to them. Abraham had obeyed God and arrived at his destination, but all that he possessed was a promise.
How I love this interplay of the visible and the invisible in the Word of God! In many ways, the entire Bible is a book about the contrast between what can be seen and what can only be perceived by faith. Again and again, Scripture teaches us that visible reality is not necessarily the true reality.
In the invisible realm, Job is a righteous man, treasured and distinguished by God Himself; in the visible realm, he appears miserable, sick, and abandoned. In the invisible reality, Benjamin is dearly loved by his brother Joseph; in the visible reality, he stands accused of a crime he did not commit. In the invisible reality, the Messiah of Israel is God’s chosen one; in the visible reality, He appears rejected and defeated.
The story of Abraham is perhaps the first biblical story in which this contrast between the visible and the invisible becomes so striking. In the invisible realm, Abraham has been chosen by God for His covenant and His purposes. He will become the father of a nation and of nations. One day, this land will belong to his descendants. But in the visible realm, Abraham lives in tents, wanders through the land as a stranger, and possesses nothing.
And then, to make matters even worse, we read one of the most unexpected sentences in the entire narrative:
“And there was a famine in the land.”
A famine.
After leaving everything behind.
After obeying God.
After arriving in the Promised Land.
Humanly speaking, one would expect some reward for such extraordinary obedience. Perhaps Abraham himself expected one. Perhaps Sarah certainly did. With all due respect to the biblical matriarch, I can easily imagine her asking her husband more than once: “Please remind me again why we came here. Why did we leave our settled and comfortable life in Haran? Why did we come here to live in tents, wander from place to place, and now starve?”
After all, Abraham had experienced a personal revelation. He had heard God’s voice and received God’s promise. Sarah had not had the same experience. For her, these hardships must have seemed not merely difficult, but unreasonable and perhaps even unfair. One has to have a real relationship with God to be able to live by faith and be certain of things not seen. Before Sarah could live by faith, she would first have to discover God’s faithfulness for herself.
In fact, I have often wondered whether this is one of the reasons God allowed the painful and deeply disturbing Egyptian episode to become part of Abraham’s story. Perhaps, among other reasons, it was also for Sarah’s sake.
And so Abraham does what any sensible person in the ancient Near East would have done. He goes down to Egypt.
From a human perspective, this decision was entirely understandable. Egypt, nourished by the Nile, was famous throughout the ancient world as a place where food remained available even when famine devastated neighboring lands. But from the perspective of faith, one cannot help asking the question: should Abraham have gone?
The Hebrew name for Egypt is Mizraim (מצרים). We encounter this name long before the Exodus story begins. Historically, it was known throughout the ancient Near East in various forms. Yet a Hebrew listener could hardly avoid hearing another possible meaning hidden within the word itself.
The word Mizraim appears to be related to the Hebrew root metzar (מצר), meaning distress, trouble, or a narrow place. Moreover, the form itself resembles a dual form.
If so, Mizraim could be understood as “double distress.”
Or, perhaps more simply:
Double trouble.
Interestingly, in the book of Lamentations, the related word metzarim appears with the meaning of “distresses,” completely unrelated to the country of Egypt itself. For this reason, some scholars have suggested that a Hebrew audience might naturally hear Mizraim not merely as the name of a country, but also as a place associated with trouble and distress.
If this is correct, then the story suddenly acquires a fascinating additional layer of meaning.
Abraham was not merely going down to Egypt.
He was going down to Double Trouble.
And perhaps that is precisely why this story continues to speak to us so powerfully. We obey God. We leave behind what is familiar. We enter the place where we believe He has called us. And then, instead of visible blessing, certainty, and success, we encounter famine. And in our confusion, fear, and disappointment, we sometimes find ourselves doing exactly what Abraham did.
We go down to Double Trouble.
But the story does not end there.
After Abraham’s difficult experience in Egypt, Scripture tells us that he returned to a place between Beth-El and Ai. To most English readers, these are simply geographical names. In Hebrew, however, they reveal yet another profound spiritual reality.
Beth-El means “House of God.”
Ai means “Heap of Ruins.”
What a remarkable picture.
After leaving the Promised Land because of famine, after hiding the truth about Sarah, after discovering the painful consequences of fear and lack of trust, Abraham finds himself standing between the House of God and the Heap of Ruins.
Have you ever been there?
Between faith and failure.
Between obedience and regret.
Between God’s calling and the consequences of your own choices.
Should Abraham have gone down to Egypt? Humanly speaking, his decision was understandable. Perhaps God’s perfect will was that he trust Him completely and remain in the land. Scripture itself does not offer us a simple answer.
What it does show us, however, is something even more important.
God did not abandon Abraham in Egypt.
And He did not leave him among the ruins.
Instead, He brought him back and continued His work in his life.
Perhaps Abraham would never have become the man of extraordinary faith whom we admire today had he not first experienced his own Heap of Ruins. We tend to admire the Abraham who is willing to sacrifice Isaac, the Abraham whose faith does not waver. But before Abraham became the father of faith, he was also a man who knew fear, failure, disappointment, and regret.
And perhaps this is one of the most comforting truths hidden in the biblical text: our failures do not have the final word.
The Bible never hides the famine. It never omits Double Trouble. It never erases the Heap of Ruins.
And perhaps this is precisely why we can trust it to lead us toward the House of God.
If you like the posts on this blog, you might enjoy my books, you can find them here: books. As always, I would be happy to provide more information (also, a teacher’s discount for new students) regarding our wonderful courses (juliab@eteachergroup.com)
