You used to see bumper stickers around town that read, “Let go and let God.” One of my friends used to say, “Sure. But how come when I ‘let go and let God,’ there are always claw marks from where God has to pry it out of my hands?” I’ve always thought that “Let go and let God” was a way of describing faith. You know “faith”—where you not only believe that what God promises will come true, but you act as if following God’s directions for living will lead to a happy life. That’s where what my friend says about claw marks comes in. We may say that we have faith in God, but how do we act as if “trust” was what we meant?

A lot of folks say the Bible is where you’ll get the answers. Oh, like Abraham is going to be an example we can live by. In today’s story, Abraham doesn’t even get a speaking part. But he acts as if he has conversations with the Almighty on a regular basis. Even if we moderns can get past the part about wondering what God is saying to us, I’ve still gotta ask, “How?” How do we live as if we had trust in God?

The trick to using Abraham as a faith model is that neither today’s Genesis text nor the Romans text is really an Abraham story. This is really a God story. This is about what God does, and the sooner we realize that the better. Abraham’s story is the story of a God who gives life to things that do not exist, a God who starts the conversation, a God on whom alone all of salvation rests. Everything—salvation, the promises about baby and land—everything depends on God. God didn’t bless Abraham because of how good Abraham was, but because God could bless. Sure, Abraham believed—and that was good—but he believed God’s promise before he was officially one of the chosen people. God acted. All Abraham did was respond in faith. That is why Paul uses him as an example.

So, what are we supposed to learn from Abraham’s story? Or this God-story, as it were? This is where our Lenten questions come in handy: who we are by nature, who we are by God’s purpose, who we can become by divine grace.

It’s back to claw marks—or more to the point, not claw marks. If there is anything we can know about Abraham’s faith, it was that he “let go and let God”—without claw marks. Imagine a gardener who plants seeds, waits for the seedlings to come up, and just lets the plants grow to bloom and bear fruit. Sure, some thinning and watering and weeding, maybe even some judicious pruning. But not pawing through the dirt to see if the seeds are sprouting, not digging the seedlings up to make sure that the roots are going down. Trusting the seeds and plants to do what they are programmed to do.

That is so not like our situation. For one thing, God does not cooperate. Doesn’t it sometimes seem that God keeps a lot of the details secret? When are the seeds supposed to sprout? How will I recognize the good plants versus weeds? How long ‘til I can expect fruit? Where were the seeds even planted? Sometimes it seems as if we are walking in dark woods at night, with only a flashlight to see where we are going. If we aim the beam out ahead, all we can see is trees looming in the darkness. Which means we can’t see the trail, and we end up tripping over the roots and rocks. But, if we hold the flashlight beam at our feet, only a step or two or three at a time, we can follow the path and walk through the woods safely. Abraham, as far as we know, does not do a lot to make God’s promise to him come true. If he wanted to be the father of nations, he could have negotiated treaties and raised armies, but he took God’s promises God’s way—the slow way, one step at a time.

Sometimes God gives us clear instructions with an end goal and everything, but almost always we only get one step at a time. God knows we’d panic if we saw too far ahead! Take just one step as it is given, and let God take care of the subsequent steps. “Go from your country and your kindred.” At one point in my life, that one step was going to Al-Anon. Man, and did I resist that. Where are we going? Who will go with me? I needed to trust God and go as if there was something I could learn.

There are so many things in our lives that we do simply on faith. Many of our life decisions are such ordinary decisions that we might not realize what acts of faith they are. Having children or even growing up is an act of faith—as if there will be a future worth growing up to. Going to school—as if there will be a job and a way of paying off the loan when you get out. Moving to a new location to care for your parents or your grand-children—as if you will make new friends and can build a worthwhile life. Getting up and going to work in the morning—as if what you do makes a difference, as if your boss is not going to remove you from the tasks that make your job interesting, as if the budget will not be cut and you along with it. Living as if your death will have as much purpose and meaning as your life has had, dying as if it does not all end in nothingness.

If God had a purpose in creating humanity in the first place, then it is true that God had a purpose in creating each one of us. Last week, as we read the story of the first humans in the Garden of Eden, we discovered that God created humans with a purpose—to live in creation on God’s terms. The first humans grew anxious—perhaps at the urging of the serpent (more crafty than all the wild animals), who suggested that maybe God was not providing for them as adequately as they deserved. Despite our deepest fears, God does care for us. God is caring for us. God will care for us. God is dying to provide for each one of us. But even then, God’s providence does not depend on our faith, on whether we believe God will provide. It all depends on God’s faithfulness. And that never runs out. We just have to live into it.

Start small. Ask God’s help in something little, learn what it sounds like to hear God leading you. Try this: take ten minutes in the morning every day for prayer, bringing the one thing on your mind for the day (something you are worried about, some challenge, some question), name it before God, then sit quietly listening for God. After awhile, you might want to read one or two of the daily lectionary passages or some other Bible passage. You might ask if your concern is like anything the folks in the Bible experienced. Ask God whether you should try that, or whether you should try something different. Sit with it. Be quiet. Listen. Rest in God. See what feels comfortable. If something that comes to mind makes you nervous, ask God what that is about. Listen. Write it down. Think about it. Talk with God about the solution. It takes a little practice, but you should get the hang of it. You may not experience what Abraham did—the audible voice and conversation with the Almighty—but faithful listening is a response of faith. This God story is about God’s faithfulness. Our only part is faithful response, and God knows we need some practice.