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The Abraham Option: How Exiles Can Contend for the Faith
“By faith he went to live in the land of promise, as in a foreign land, living in tents with Isaac and Jacob, heirs with him of the same promise. For he was looking forward to the city that has foundations, whose designer and builder is God.” (Heb. 11:9–10)
We’ve reached a tipping point. Forces swirl at the cultural level; they dominate national and international affairs. Some of God’s people are fighting back. Some are swept away. Others have gone AWOL.
At the same time, we face extraordinary personal and spiritual temptations. We’re being seduced by sex, money, and power—and in unprecedented ways. It’s a tumultuous age, and it feels like things will only get worse, at least for the next century or four. In the face of these mounting pressures, we contend for the faith, we cling to God’s Word, and we wonder whatever happened to God’s promises for this land.
Welcome to the world of Genesis 14. We’ll consider what it looks like to contend for the faith as a small minority surrounded by tyranny and temptation. Abraham will show us how to engage the wars of the culture without capitulating to tribalism or withdrawing to quietism. “The Abraham Option,” as I’ll call it, is neither passive nor pugilistic; it’s priestly. And it’s much needed in our day.
Powerful and the Perverse
Genesis means “beginnings.” It offers the origin story, first of God’s world then of God’s people. The hinge point is in Genesis 11, where we turn from the global to the particular—from the nations to Israel. The Tower of Babel sums up all that’s gone before: humanity in its pride. The people seek to make a name for themselves. But God resists the proud and lifts the humble. He plucks Abraham from that same Babylonian region (and that same Babylonian mentality) to bring him west.
Abraham will show us how to engage the wars of the culture without capitulating to tribalism or withdrawing to quietism.
It’s God who will make Abraham’s name great, and in a completely different way. Abraham will not be like the city builders who raise themselves up through works of the flesh. He and his offspring will instead mediate the downward blessing of the Spirit: from the Lord, through the people, to the nations (Gen. 12:1–3, 7).
By the time we reach Genesis 14, we’re primed to see what happens when proud city dwellers collide. This is a chapter about war. But it’s also about a tent dweller—Abraham—and the surprising ways he navigates the wars of his culture. As we explore Genesis 14, his situation may sound familiar to us. It’s meant to. But first, let’s meet the key players in this drama.
Genesis 14 is the Bible’s first mention of “kings” and of “wars.” Those two realities are tightly linked. When there are kingdoms, there are clashes. First, we’re introduced to the four kings: those of Shinar, Ellasar, Elam, and Goiim. As the Bible unfolds, these are the places from which most of Israel’s trouble will come. The first three locations evoke the great Mesopotamian bogeymen of the Old Testament: Assyria, Babylon, and Persia. The fourth place, Goiim, simply means “nations.”
You get the idea. These four Mesopotamian kings do in Genesis 14 what such kings always do in the Bible: conquer and enslave. But the powerful aren’t the only threat to God’s people. In Genesis 14, we meet another threat: the perverse.
Canaan’s rulers are much less foreboding, at least militarily. They occupy no heights. They’re kings of the valley, little and low: “Valley of Siddim” (v. 3) means “Valley of the Plain”; “Valley of Shaveh” could be translated “Valley of the Levels” (v. 17). They’re places of tar pits where their men fall (v. 10). Before destruction rains from above in Genesis 19, an abyss already lies in their midst.
In Genesis 13, the lowness of these cities is placed side by side with their sinfulness (vv. 10–13). They will become bywords for judgment and disgrace (Deut. 29:23; Isa. 1:9; Hos. 11:8), and the names of their towns mean things like “Destruction” (Sodom), “Submersion” (Gomorrah), “Red Earth” (Admah), and “Little” (Zoar). These are the two blocs at war in Genesis 14: the powerful versus the perverse, the colonial versus the corrupt. But the winner—seemingly from nowhere—shocks everyone.
Priestly and Possessed
Abraham is the first person to be called a “Hebrew” in the Bible (v. 13). The word literally means “one from beyond.” Hebrews are those weirdos from across the river. It’s how non-Israelites would describe them (39:17), and it was a label they’d own for themselves (Josh. 24:2–15). They’re strangers. Not the norm. They don’t fit in. And if they try to (like Lot), it’s always tragic.
Abraham is the original “stranger in town.” As father of the Hebrew nation, he embodies all they’re meant to be. And he couldn’t be more different from the other nations. In a chapter about kings, it’s striking that Abraham is never called one (neither is Isaac, Jacob, Moses, Joshua, or the judges).
Abraham’s household was almost certainly larger than, for instance, little Zoar. The Zoarites have a king, but Abraham is uninterested in the title. His militia outfights the forces of mighty Chedorlaomer, king of Elam, but still Abraham dwells in tents. Given he can call on 318 soldiers, we could assume his household contains 2,000 people, maybe more. Nevertheless, Abraham isn’t, and never will be, a king. He’s a family man: father to a household and “brother” to a wayward nephew.
That wayward nephew is worth considering. In Genesis 13, Lot and Abraham separate. Whereas Abraham lives by faith, Lot lives by sight—following his eyes to an Eden-like land. He chooses to live among great sinners, pitching his tent near Sodom (vv. 10–13). The next we hear of Lot, he’s living in Sodom (14:12). This is the way of temptation. It always takes more from us than we intended to give. It draws us deeper than we were prepared to go.
Lot ends up not only possessed by the temptations of Sodom but possessed, literally, by the forces of Chedorlaomer and carried off. Lot may have been in Abraham’s family, but he remains a cautionary tale of what happens when Hebrews are not “ones from beyond.” If members of the household of faith aren’t distinctive, they become swallowed up by the perverse or the powerful, or both.
Thankfully for Lot’s family, this calamity spurs Abraham into action. Now is the time for Abraham to contend against the powers of his day. But he takes his time. When the four kings conquer the five (v. 2), Abraham remains in his tents, camped by the oaks of Mamre. He’s not battling the foe; he’s building the family. When for 12 long years those Mesopotamian tyrants subjugate the Canaanites (including Lot), Abraham doesn’t intervene. When the five Canaanite kings rebel in the 13th year, Abraham takes no part in it (v. 4). When the four kings fight back in the 14th year, Abraham is nowhere to be seen (vv. 5–10).
Only when Lot and his household are carried off does Abraham enter the fray. For the great majority of these 14 years of war and tyranny, Abraham is absent from the conflict. He’s truly one from beyond—a stranger, foreigner, and exile. As Hebrews puts it, “By faith he went to live in the land of promise, as in a foreign land, living in tents with Isaac and Jacob, heirs with him of the same promise. For he was looking forward to the city that has foundations, whose designer and builder is God” (Heb. 11:9–10).
The Greek word for “city” here is polis, from which we get the word “politics.” Abraham’s politics were out of this world. He doesn’t side with the four kings. This might have surprised his contemporaries since he too is from Mesopotamia and is a Shemite like Chedorlaomer. On the other hand, some may have thought he should side with the five kings—the Canaanites.
Certainly, Abraham’s defeat of the four kings helps Sodom and the others. But no sooner does Abraham win victory than he distances himself deliberately and publicly from the five kings whose lands he’s liberated (Gen. 14:21–24). His politics simply don’t fit the expectations of the age. And this is because he favors neither the powerful nor the perverse. He is priestly, and he leads people to the only righteous king, Melchizedek: the king of peace (vv. 17–20).
The story ends not with smoking ruins or victory marches but with a meal of bread and wine and a prayer of blessing. Abraham brings all things not to war but to worship. Genesis 14 is a strange and wonderful story. But it’s more than that. It’s our story.
Scripture Is Fractal
A fractal is a geometric shape that looks the same no matter the scale. When zoomed in or pulled back, the pattern remains. Perhaps search online for “fractal” or “Mandelbrot set” to see examples, because a fractal’s visual structure is like the Bible’s literary structure. You can zoom in on Scripture’s details to find patterns at the micro level that repeat at every level. The little stories echo bigger ones, and the bigger ones fit into even greater plotlines that share the same features. Take Genesis 14 as an example.
Abraham brings all things not to war but to worship.
Here we have Abraham, our Hebrew hero. He’s just come out of Egypt with great possessions and into the land promised to him (Gen. 12). He’s commanded to spy out his inheritance (Gen. 13). Then he makes conquest, defeating his enemies, running them off the land, and establishing true worship centered on the king of (Jeru)Salem (Gen. 14). The pattern is familiar, and it keeps repeating.
In the following chapter, Abraham is given this promise:
Then the Lord said to Abram, “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. But I will bring judgment on the nation that they serve, and afterward they shall come out with great possessions.” (15:13–14)
As it is with Abraham, so it will be with his offspring. They’ll be brought out of Egypt (Exodus), spy out their inheritance (Numbers–Deuteronomy), and conquer the land (Joshua), before establishing worship in Jerusalem (1 Samuel).
Zoom out further, and you see this is true of the definitive offspring of Abraham, Jesus (Gal. 3:16). Christ was brought from the hell of the cross to resurrection, and we await his coming again, when “the kingdom of the world [will] become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ” (Rev. 11:15).
Don’t stop there, though, because this pattern holds true for us as well. By faith, we’re the offspring of Abraham (Gal. 3:29). We too have been delivered from our spiritual slavery, and we too dwell in this age as strangers in the land. We’re heirs of the promise, waiting to inherit the earth.
Genesis 14 isn’t ancient history. It reveals the shape of true life: the life of Abraham, of his offspring, of Christ, and of us. We see here a pattern for how to live as exiles in the present, contending for the household of faith amid the powerful and the perverse. Perhaps we could call it “The Abraham Option.”
The Abraham Option
Abraham wasn’t a king, and he refused to prop up the power of kings. He wasn’t a Babel-like builder of the city, nor a Lot-like sucker for the city. His eyes were fixed on “the city that has foundations, whose designer and builder is God” (Heb. 11:10). And while in Canaan, he radically devoted himself to the family of faith, knowing that, by God’s promise, his offspring was the hope of the world.
Having said this, we shouldn’t think of Abraham as a mere quietist with no influence on his time and place. First of all, his devotion to the Lord attracted devotion from the nearby Amorites: Mamre, Eshcol, and Aner (Gen. 14:13, 24). Something about these strange Hebrews drew the locals who allied themselves with the household of faith.
Second, Abraham was clearly doing with his family what the Lord does with his people: he trains our hands for war (Ps. 18:34). For 14 years, Abraham kept out of the conflicts of his day. But in the meantime, he wasn’t raising pushovers or aimless wanderers. Abraham’s household of faith was dangerous. It could—and it would—make its indelible mark on the world. Indeed, it would conquer. But Abraham had the patience and prudence to know when to contend and how.
In New Testament times, of course, we’re commanded to put away our swords of steel and instead take up the sword of the Spirit, Scripture (Heb. 4:12). We’re to advance by persuasion and preaching, never by force or violence. Still, we’re to advance. And military language isn’t abandoned but rather repurposed: “For the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh but have divine power to destroy strongholds. We destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ” (2 Cor. 10:4–5).
As the offspring of Abraham, we still contend when the time is right. We patiently build the church, but at points we enter the fray of popular discourse when the household of faith is threatened. Our gospel confronts earthly powers, and at times we may be thought to “take a side” in this world’s battles. But Abraham wasn’t too much of a purist: sometimes he was entangled in his culture’s wars. And he wasn’t too much of a quietist: there came a point when he’d fight.
We too will fight. But we’ll fight in a spiritual way. There are times when we engage the public square to “destroy arguments” and take thoughts “captive.” Courage will be called for. In fact, more courage is required of a New Testament warrior, for we go to battle foreswearing all weapons and armor but clothed only in the Lord’s (Eph. 6:10–20).
We see a pattern for how to live as exiles in the present, contending for the household of faith amid the powerful and the perverse.
In the end, through sacrificial love, words of persuasion, and the cross of Christ, the victory is assured: “They have conquered [Satan] by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony, for they loved not their lives even unto death” (Rev. 12:11). In Genesis 14, we see in miniature and in shadow how to contend for the household of faith. Abraham waited long years. But when his family was threatened with destruction, he acted.
Lot’s household was a target for the seduction of the perverse and the tyranny of the powerful. Abraham’s household, on the other hand, was a quiver full of arrows, sharpened to make their mark (Ps. 127:4–5). In the public square (so to speak), the household of Abraham could “mix it with the best of them,” even if they did so in unexpected ways.
The victory of Abraham’s 318 soldiers should—if we think fractally—remind us of Judges 7, where the Lord gives Gideon victory—not with the 22,000 of worldly strength but with a paltry 300. In the West today, we might be daunted by the size of the missionary task and disheartened by our depleted numbers. But the Lord loves to give victory through weakness. And sometimes, as with Abraham or Gideon, he waits until the mismatch is overwhelming: like priestly trumpets versus the walls of Jericho; like Jael’s tent peg versus Sisera; like David’s slingshot versus Goliath; like Christ’s blood versus sin, death, and hell; like the Spirit’s Word versus Satan’s strongholds; like a witnessing church versus the gates of hell.
From a human perspective, it’s absurd. But with the 318 in mind, we regard things according to the Spirit and not the flesh.
Way to Victory
Genesis 14 climaxes not with battles but with bread, wine, and blessings (vv. 18–20). Where the warriors of the culture could think only in terms of triumph or tragedy, Abraham centered himself on a table. Here he found the one good king, Melchizedek: the King of Peace, the Priest of God Most High, and the Source of all blessing. In his blessing, Abraham is able to disentangle himself from the battles he’s fought.
For a time, Abraham picked a side in some earthly conflicts. He earned some powerful enemies, and he made common cause with some perverse allies. It was necessary to contend like this, and the Lord brought victory. But Abraham was last to warfare and first to worship. When the battle is done, he returns to the feast and to the family. There the Lord makes clear he is the One to build the household.
After the battle is done, we come to Genesis 15, where Abraham is a mere spectator and recipient. Here the promises of the Lord meet the fears of Abraham and his household.
Do we fear the reprisals of the powerful? Christ is our shield. Do we fear missing out on the spoils of the perverse? Christ is our very great reward (v. 1). Do we fear the collapse of the church? Christ has promised offspring as numerous as the stars (vv. 2–7). Do we wonder how on earth he can bring this all about? Through blood-earnest, covenant love, the Lord will do it all. He will bring us through intense suffering to an immense inheritance. Through great affliction, the Lord will fulfill his purposes (vv. 9–20).
This is the pattern in every age. It’s Egypt then promised land, exile then return, suffering then glory, cross then resurrection. The messianic people will triumph. But we triumph only and always in the way of the Messiah.
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