Commentary on Genesis 17:1-7, 15-16

Cameron B.R. Howard

Last weeks Old Testament reading featured Gods covenant with Noah and all flesh.
This weeks reading looks at another iteration of covenant, this time Gods covenant with Abraham
(who is called Abram until v.5). Throughout Genesis 17, covenant (Hebrew berit) serves as
a Leitwort(leading word or catchword), appearing thirteen times in the chapter; that is, the word
covenant here is a literary device that emphasizes the theme of the chapter and links all of its
sections together.1 At first glance, God seems to establish this covenant with Abraham alone -between me and you (singular) (17:2). It becomes clear again, however, that Gods relationship
with the one becomes a blessing for the many, the family of Abraham: I will establish my covenant
between me and you, and your offspring after you throughout their generations, for an everlasting
covenant, to be God to you and to your offspring after you (17:7).
Gods covenant with Noah was clearly unconditional: a promise. However, Gods covenant with
Abraham as presented in Genesis 17 involves more action, though these commands appear to be
more like human responses than actual conditions.2 The first imperative occurs with Gods initial
address: I am El Shaddai; walk before me and be blameless. The vocabulary here -- walk
(Hebrew hithalek) and be blameless (Hebrew tamim) corresponds to the description of Noah at
Genesis 6:9, providing further connection between these two covenantal moments: Noah was a
righteous man, blameless in his generation; Noah walked with God.
The other human action mandated in Genesis 17 is circumcision, which seems to operate here as
both condition and sign: Abraham must do it, yet the doing of it is the sign of the covenant (17:11).
Though the language of remembering is not used here, a comparison with the rainbow, the sign of
the Noachic covenant, may be helpful. When God sees the rainbow, God remembers the covenant.
Creation is marked in a way that reminds God of Gods commitment to it. Similarly, Abrahams
family is marked to show its privileged relationship with God. God marked creation, while the men in
Abrahams family mark themselves; yet, no matter who makes the mark, the relationship with God
remains.
God promises Abraham two things: descendants and land. (Although the lectionary does not
include the promise of the land of Canaan [Genesis 17:8] in the appointed reading, I strongly
recommend preachers consider adding that verse; structurally, it clearly belongs to the speech-unit
that begins at v. 4, and in terms of content, it is a fundamental part of the promises to Abraham.)
This two-pronged promise, which is repeated in Genesis 12, 15, and 17, sets up all the narrative
drama that will follow until the Israelites enter the Promised Land.3 Over and over again the

descendants of Abraham will face obstacles to the realization of one or both parts of the promise:
barren women, the patriarchs migration out of Canaan, enslavement in Egypt, and desperation in
the wilderness. This pattern adds both literary interest and theological poignancy to the story: will
God -- can God -- keep these promises? It is a story that stretches not only across the Pentateuch,
but also across the Bible as a whole. When Israel finds itself in exile in Babylon, it will ask again:
has God kept these promises, or has God abandoned us?
Abraham and Sarahs own childlessness provides one of the first moments of anxiety over the
promise. They are old, and the prospect of parenthood for them is genuinely laughable. After God
tells Abraham that Sarai, now Sarah, will have a son, Abraham fell on his face and laughed. To fall
on ones face in the Hebrew Bible is to take a posture of obedience or worshipfulness, as at
Genesis 17:3, when Abrahams falling appears there to be a sign of assent to the covenant. In v.
17, the falling is joined with laughter, and obedience mixes with incredulity. 4 It is as if Abrahams
body knows what to do upon hearing this news, but his mind cant quite catch up.
Although v. 17 falls just outside of the appointed lectionary passage, I think it is an especially fitting
addition to the reading in the season of Lent. After all, the cross is, in the Christian narrative, the
ultimate obstacle to realizing the promises of God. God has promised a redeemer, a newly anointed
king of kings, a savior to deliver the nations from sin and suffering. But that redeemer will be
executed by the empire, and who could really be raised from the dead? The prospect is as
impossible as ninety-year-old woman having a child with a hundred-year-old man. When we hear
the promise of the resurrection, we know to fall on our faces in reverence: God is speaking to us!
Yet surely we must also laugh incredulously; this is a foolish promise.
Laughter may seem a little uncouth during Lent; after all, this is a season of spiritual practices, of
discipline, forty somber days in which we pack up our Alleluias and put them in storage. Even so,
we do well to remember every year that the promises of the Gospel are foolishness in the eyes of
the world. Fridays cross looms large over creation. Empires win every time, and no one ever comes
back from the dead. Who could think otherwise? So we laugh, even as we fall to our knees in
prayer and praise. We wait for Easter, when we witness the promises fulfilled, and our stubborn,
doubt-filled laughter turns to the laughter of joy.

Notes:
1

Claus Westermann, Genesis 12-36 (trans. John J. Scullion; CC; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), 256.

Cf. discussions in previous Working Preacher commentaries by Terence Fretheim and Elizabeth

Webb.

Walter Brueggemann and Tod Linafelt, An Introduction to the Old Testament: Canon and Christian

Imagination (2nd ed.; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2012), 65-73.

4

See Westermann, Genesis 12-36, 268.