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Genesis 15:6 – “Abram believed the Lord, and he credited it to him as righteousness.”

Have you ever had to sign one of those fine-print contracts? You know the kind—30 pages long, filled with clauses and footnotes, and right at the end, a dotted line to sign on.

Sometimes it’s a credit agreement, a phone plan, a mortgage. Whatever it is, the deal usually goes like this:

If you agree to the terms, then you get the benefit.

If you keep your side of the deal, then the company will do its part.

It’s conditional. Transactional. That’s how contracts work.

And if we’re honest, that’s often how we assume God works too.

If I’m faithful…
If I pray more…
If I believe hard enough…
If I clean up my act…
Then God will bless me.
Then I’ll be accepted.
Then I’ll be saved.

It’s so deeply ingrained in us that we hardly notice it. The “if… then” mindset seeps into how we think about faith, prayer, morality—even salvation. We may say we believe in grace, but some part of us still fears that God is waiting for us to meet the terms.

But Genesis 15 tells a different story.

It’s a story of blood, promises, and the radical grace of God.

In Genesis 15, God makes a covenant with Abram. But not in the way we’d expect. Not with paperwork or signatures, but with a ritual—something earthy, physical, and unforgettable.

God tells Abram to bring a cow, a goat, a ram, a dove, and a pigeon. Abram obeys. He sacrifices the animals, cuts them in two, and arranges the pieces.

In Abram’s culture, this is how a serious promise—a covenant—was sealed. Two people would walk between the pieces, declaring: “If I break this promise, may what happened to these animals happen to me.”

It was high-stakes accountability. You walked the path together.

But in Genesis 15, something strange—and beautiful—happens.

Abram doesn’t walk the path.

He doesn’t even stay awake.

As night falls, Abram slips into a deep sleep. A “thick and dreadful darkness” settles over him.

And then, in the stillness, a smoking firepot and a flaming torch—symbols of God’s presence—appear.

And they pass between the pieces.

God walks the path.

God seals the covenant.

Alone.

Abram contributes nothing. He doesn’t promise anything. It’s God who binds himself to the promise – by promising to pay the price.

This is grace. Pure grace.

God’s covenant with Abram is not a contract. It’s not an “if… then” agreement.

It’s a “because… therefore” relationship.

Because God has chosen Abram…
Because God is faithful…
Because God is merciful…
Therefore Abram is blessed.
Therefore the promise stands.

This is the heartbeat of the gospel.

And it finds its fulfillment in Jesus.

The ultimate covenant, fulfilled in Christ

When Jesus went to the cross, he walked the path of sacrifice for us.

He didn’t demand we walk with him first. He didn’t wait for us to prove ourselves.

While we were still sinners—still sleeping, still stumbling—Christ died for us.

He bore the curse. He fulfilled the promise. He finished the work.

And now the gospel declares:

Because of what Christ has done,
Therefore you are forgiven.
Because God has raised him from the dead,
Therefore you have new life.
Because God has bound himself to you in baptism,
Therefore you belong to him.

So why do we keep trying to walk the path ourselves?

There’s a strange thing that happens in the heart of every believer. Even after hearing the gospel—after knowing that Jesus has done it all—we still find ourselves wanting to add something.

We want to contribute.

We want some “skin in the game.”

We want to turn this gift into a two-way street, a proper contract. Because if we’ve contributed something—then maybe we’ve earned a bit of leverage, a little control.

We wouldn’t say it out loud, but something in us whispers: “I’ve done my part, God. Now you do yours.”

That’s not faith. That’s pride. That’s self-righteousness. It’s the old self, trying to resurrect itself and take some credit.

Or maybe it’s fear—not pride—that drives us.

We look at ourselves and wonder, Can God really accept me like this?
We doubt the sufficiency of Christ’s work. We worry that maybe grace isn’t quite enough. That maybe we still need to feel something more, do something more, be something more.

But the cross says otherwise.

Jesus cried out, “It is finished.” Not “almost finished” or “finished if you measure up.”

Finished.

Your sin—finished.
Your shame—finished.
Your striving—finished.

And the proof? Every time you come to the Lord’s table, God hands you that promise again—into your open, empty hands. A sliver of bread. A sip of wine. His body. His blood. Given and shed for you.

A word for the church

Right now, I sense that there’s a lot of fear about – in our culture generally and in our church sadly. Maybe you do too.

In our anxiety we may even be tempted to wonder if we’re still the “true church,” if we’ve got the “pure teaching,” if we’re doing it right, feeling it right, naming it right.

There’s this subtle pressure to prove that we’re real Christians. That we belong.

That’s just the enemy whispering an old lie.

It’s the same trick the devil has always used—to shift our eyes off Jesus and back onto ourselves.

And when that happens—when I listen to that voice—I notice something ugly in me.

I become judgy. Defensive. Self-righteous.

It’s the old self, rising up, trying to claim the spotlight.

But the gospel breaks through all of that noise.

And it says:

You don’t need to bargain with God.
You don’t need to prove yourself.
You don’t need to fix your eyes on the fervency of your faith, your track record, your credentials.

Fix your eyes on Jesus.

The one who walked the path alone.

The one who was pierced, not you.

The one who sealed the covenant in blood—not yours, but his.

So rest, like Abram did.

Rest in the presence of the God who has already done everything for you.

Be confident—not in your faithfulness, but in his.

Be cheerful—not because you’ve walked the path, but because Jesus did.

Be free—not to live by fear, but to live by faith in the Son of God, who loved you and gave himself for you.

God has signed on the bottom line for you – God has put his life on the line for you!

Because of Him…
Therefore you are His.

Amen.

The epistle reading for this coming Sunday (Pentecost 2, Year B) is from St. Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians. This is a follow-up letter from Paul, written shortly after 1 Corinthians.

In that earlier communication, he systematically addressed a series of serious, and sometimes scandalous problems that were seething through the congregation. Paul had pulled no punches in his first letter, rebuking the Corinthians for their sins and condemning behaviours and attitudes that did not flow from the gospel (for example 1 Corinthians 5:1-13; 1 Corinthians 6:9-20).

In 2 Corinthians, Paul’s tone is gentler. Luther says that Paul “pours oil into their wounds” and is “wonderfully kind to them.” What is happening, of course, is that in both letters the Holy Spirit is preaching Law and Gospel to them (and us) through Paul’s ministry, to build them up and make them (and us) more Christ-like and more effective in ministry and mission.

In 2 Corinthians, we learn that Paul is getting ready to again visit the congregation in person (2 Corinthians 12:14; 2 Corinthians 13:1). One of the tasks he is preparing them for is a planned collection for the church in Jerusalem (2 Corinthians 8:1-15).

He is raising their sights, getting them to think beyond themselves once again. As always, his ultimate motivation is the gospel, the good news of what Jesus has done for them (and us!) through the cross and resurrection. They’ve received so much! First and foremost, salvation from sin, and the life, hope, and peace that flow from that. They are part of a much bigger picture—they are ambassadors of reconciliation sent out on a mission that Jesus has initiated (2 Corinthians 5:17-21). How true this is for us also!

Another issue Paul addresses is a challenge to his personal integrity and authority as an Apostle of Jesus (2 Corinthians 10:7-11; 2 Corinthians 11:5-6). In responding to attacks on his credibility, he doesn’t avoid telling them about the realities of his own struggles.

In chapter 4, he makes a series of vivid contrasts, telling them: “We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body” (2 Corinthians 4:8-10).

What a testimony to the reality of affliction, struggle, and suffering in the Christian life, but much more, what a testimony to the sustaining power of God’s continued presence, power, grace and mercy. Although we face severe trials, God is always our companion and support—our ever-ready helper—and we receive His help through the sheer gift of faith!

At the present time our own little church is experiencing much pressure, perplexity, and disorientation, while also observing increased persecution from wider cultural shifts. Perhaps you’re feeling this very deeply.

May I encourage us all, like Paul, to acknowledge this reality, but also to draw strength from the gospel itself – the greater reality that we have been saved from ultimate destruction, abandonment, and the rejection that our sins surely earn.

God, in Jesus, by a Roman cross of suffering, has delivered us from all those things. Jesus took them on for us and in our place! He destroyed death and the devil and pours out forgiveness. May this good news raise our sights, and may we continue to share it with others outside our church.

To quote Paul again, he had told the Corinthians (and tells us!) that, “we preach… not ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your servants for Jesus’ sake. For God, who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of God’s glory displayed in the face of Christ. We have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us” (2 Corinthians 4:5-7).