We’re going to talk about Scripture, theology, church history, and a slender thread upon which our lives hang. Are you ready for that?

Today, we encounter one line of text that carries much of the profound message that threads its way through the Bible, threads its way through history, and, if we’re willing, threads its way into our lives. One little line. One little thread.

Abram, whom we will later know as Abraham, was an old man with no descendants. He left one of the great cities of the world to head out into uncivilized territories because a God he’d never heard of promised him three things: "(1) I will give you land; (2) I will give you many descendants; and (3) I will make your descendants to be a ‘light to the nations,’ an inspiration to the rest of the world." They had an interesting relationship, marked by questioning, and doubting, and lots of bargaining.

By the time we encounter Abram this morning, he’s already threatened each of those promises by (1) leaving the land God gave him; (2) letting his wife sleep with Pharaoh, and (3) getting thrown out of Egypt in disgrace. (Gen. 12.) Interesting relationship. You wonder why God didn’t just say, "Next!"

But God didn’t. God says again to Abram, "Your reward will be great." And Abram, who isn’t shy, says, "Hey, talk is cheap. I’m an old man; my wife is old, and you promised I’d have heirs, but I don’t." You wonder why God didn’t just say, "Next!" but God didn’t. God said, "I’m going to give you as many descendants as there are stars in the sky."

And then something happens. There’s a sea change in this relationship between God and this skeptical, doubting, sabotaging, argumentative, bargaining Abram. It is the one line, the deceptively simple, one little line, that will thread its way through the Bible and history and into St. John’s this morning. After God has said, "Your descendants will number as the stars," we are told, "And Abram believed the Lord: and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness." "And he believed the Lord, and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness."

"Righteousness" means to be in a right relationship with God. To be in a right relationship with God means that you do everything God expects of you all the time. You love God with all your being all the time. And you love your neighbor as yourself all the time. And you love justice, and do mercy, and walk humbly with your God all the time. Anybody here do all that all the time? Neither did Abram, not by a long shot.

But God said, "Because you believe me, I’m going to "reckon" it to you as righteousness. The word for "reckon" is an accounting term. It means, "I’ll give you — you skeptical, doubting, sabotaging, argumentative, bargaining Abram — I’ll give you credit as if you were righteous. That’s the deal; I’m going to treat you as if you are righteous, even though you aren’t. Just because you believe me."

And that, my brothers and sisters, is one of the most significant, profound, statements in all of history. "Believe me, and I will reckon it to you as righteousness." That, my friends, is a free gift of undeserved love. That is grace, and that is amazing.

And that drives some people crazy. People (and, if we’re honest, probably a part of ourselves) who think we should earn it; people who think it shouldn’t be handed out just for believing. "You should have to be good," they say (we say), "follow the rules. Rules of decency, morality, civility." They’ve got it backwards. God doesn’t say, "You have to be good first." God says, "Believe, and I’ll treat you as if you’re good." Then, as we live lives of such profound gratitude for that amazing grace, we will want to be good, to do better, to make God proud.

This idea that God will reckon faith as righteousness has always been very upsetting. It so flies in the face of the hard-wired human assumption that "you get what you pay for," and that good things should not be given to bad people. Throughout history, this amazing grace has been compromised and turned into a commodity, a reward to the one who acts best, behaves well. "Be good, and you’ll go to heaven."

So we find the Apostle Paul confronting the young church which is saying, "God’s grace through Christ is only available to those who become Jews first, who adhere to the law first, because people who aren’t Jews are, well, lawless; they don’t follow the rules." Paul quotes them this one, simple, profound line. "What does the scripture say?" Paul asks in Romans. "It says, ‘Abraham believed God, and it was reckoned to him as righteousness.’ . . . Now," Paul explains, "the words ‘it was reckoned to him,’ were written not for his sake alone, but for ours also. Therefore, since we are justified [held to be righteous] by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ." (Rom. 4: 3; 23-5: 2.) Do you see the thread?

But this idea of free grace is hard to maintain. It’s so antithetical to so much we’re taught. So in the fifth century, St. Augustine had to debate a monk named Pelagius. Pelagius said that the path to salvation was through sanctification — being good, really good. And Augustine leaned hard on St. Paul and his letter to the Romans and argued for grace, amazing grace. Do you see why Augustine’s name has "Saint" in front of it, and Pelagius’s doesn’t? Do you see the thread?

But it’s hard to maintain this idea of free grace. About a thousand years later, the church was overrun with the theology of works-righteousness. You want to get to heaven, do good works. Earn it. And so, in 1517, Martin Luther nailed ninety-five theses on a church door challenging that notion, and the Protestant Reformation began. Luther was a monk. What kind of monk? An Augustinian monk. You see the thread?

But this idea of free grace is so hard to maintain. So a couple of hundred years later, an Anglican priest named John Wesley had a conversion experience that led him to preach the fire of grace to a frozen church. His conversion came as he was listening to the introduction to a commentary on a book of the Bible. What book? St. Paul’s Letter to the Romans. What commentary? Luther’s commentary. Do you see the thread?

And so, here we are, listening again to that ancient, explosive, upsetting, counterintuitive, greatest news in the universe: "He believed the Lord; and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness." And we hear, from the mouth of Jesus, how deeply God wants us to accept this gift: "Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!"

We are citizens of a spiritual Jerusalem. But can we do the hard work of maintaining the thread of grace? Can we believe, really, deep in our hearts, through our insecurities and inadequacies and fears, can we believe that God longs to gather us, sinful, flawed us, skeptical, doubting, sabotaging, argumentative, bargaining, us as a hen gathers her brood?

What a gift! What amazing grace! But, are you willing? In your own life, in our own time, can you see the thread?