Listening for God

Sermon — March 1, 2026
The Rev. Greg Johnston
Lectionary Readings

“The God of Abram praise, who reigns enthroned above;
Ancient of everlasting days, and God of love…”

I’ve heard of buildings being named after people, schools named after people, and even cities named after people; but I really have to ask: what do you have to do to get a whole God named after you? Seriously. Someone asks, “Which god should we praise?” and of all the choices for a name by which to identify God—the Holy Trinity; the Creator of the heavens and the earth; the God who raised Jesus from the dead—the Methodist preacher Thomas Olivers sat to write our opening hymn and chose to say: “the God of Abram praise.” But he didn’t come up with the idea. He was quoting Jesus, who identifies God as “the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob” (Mark 12:26; Matt. 22:32; Luke 20:37). And when Jesus says that, he himself is quoting that same God, who spoke to Moses from a burning bush, and said, “I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.” (Exod. 3:6) Abraham was apparently so great that God named Godself after him, which is really saying something.

For the apostle Paul, it’s the faith of Abraham that makes him so important. Paul builds an entire theology of faith and works on top of the single verse, “Abraham believed God, and it was reckoned to him as righteousness,” (Rom. 4:3; Gen. 15:6) and Abraham becomes the model for our faith, the spiritual ancestor of all “those who share the faith of Abraham.” (Rom. 4:16)

But what strikes in our first reading this morning, even more than Abram’s faith is his ability to listen for and listen to the voice of God.

The narrative is short and to the point: “Now the Lord said to Abram, ‘Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house…’” (Gen. 12:1) And, just a few lines later, “So Abram went.” (Gen. 12:4) He asks no questions. There’s no follow-up. God speaks and Abram hears and Abram goes.

Ordinarily, when something happens so abruptly, it’s useful to put it in context, to understand what’s happening in this story before God speaks. Perhaps it’s like the other stories of Abram, where God takes him out into the clear air of a desert night, and he looks up at the stars, and is overcome with awe; then God speaks. Or perhaps it’s like the time when God catches Moses’ attention with a bush that burns, but isn’t consumed. Moses turns aside to look; and then God speaks to him.

But when we turn back in our Bibles to look at the context of this story, to try to understand what’s been happening in the story of Abraham so far, the answer is: Nothing! Absolutely nothing. The preface to this story is just: “Now these are the descendants of Terah. Terah was the father of Abram, Nahor, and Haran; and Haran was the father of Lot. (etc.) … The days of Terah were two hundred five years; and Terah died in Haran. Now the Lord said to Abram, ‘Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house…’” (Gen. 11:27-12:1)

There is no context. It comes out of the blue. God speaks, and somehow, Abram is listening, and Abram responds. And that’s mind-boggling to me. Imagine what it must’ve been for him to hear that voice out of nowhere, after 75 years of life. Not everyone would have been ready to listen. Not everyone would’ve been able to understand. Because when God is speaking, it’s not necessarily easy to hear.

Even people who saw Jesus face to face, and heard his voice, and wanted to understand didn’t always get it, like poor Nicodemus in our Gospel story today. Nicodemus comes to Jesus because he wants to learn. “Rabbi,” he says to Jesus, “we know that you are a teacher who’s come from God.” (John 3:2) He has faith, like Abraham. He wants to listen and to hear.

So, Jesus begins to teach: “Truly I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.” (John 3:4) And Nicodemus is baffled. How can anyone be born a second time, he asks? There’s a bit wordplay here—the same Greek word could mean “again” or “from above,” so there’s a natural confusion. Jesus tries to expand on that point at length, and Nicodemus again listens carefully, and then he simply replies, “How can these things be?” (John 3:9) He wants to listen, he wants to learn. Jesus is standing right there with him, face to face, but even so, he simply cannot understand.

Jesus puts it perfectly: “The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes.” (John 3:8) This is another play on words. He doesn’t use the ordinary word here for “wind,” he uses a word that means “breath” or “spirit.” It’s the word he uses for “the Spirit” (with a capital S). In other words, he says to Nicodemus, who shares Abraham’s faith but lacks his listening skills: “The Spirit blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes.”

Listening for God is even harder for us. We don’t see Jesus have to face, or hear him speak to us directly. We have to try to listen for the Spirit as it blows through our world, and through our lives. And in our attempts to listen, we are inevitably distracted. There are many things that clamor for our attention, inside our own minds, and outside them, and it’s hard to listen with anything like the receptivity and attention that Abram must’ve had, with the inner quiet that allowed him to hear the voice of God speaking out of nowhere after 75 years.

But there are practices we can try and habits that we can form that can help us train ourselves to listen for that wind blowing through the world. During Lent, it’s been our practice to pause for a minute or so of silence, between the Sermon and the Creed, to quiet our minds and reflect before we continue with our prayers. And just for today, we’re going to go a step further. I’m going to stop talking now, and we’re going to listen together. During the rest of my usual sermon time, Jane is going to come up and lead us in just a few minutes of Centering Prayer, to offer each one of us a taste of what it’s like to sit in the quiet or the chaos of our own minds, listening like Abram for the voice and the Spirit of God.