Missions Paul

Many years ago, a Pastor I knew died far too young, despite lengthy prayers for his recovery from churches across the area. His congregation was devastated. During his illness, prophetic words declaring his healing had been placed around the church walls, alongside photographs of him—declarations of faith that God would restore him.

He wasn’t healed. He died.

Yet several months later, the prophecies and pictures remained on the walls. What had begun as declarations of faith had become a shrine—a monument to loss, to what could have been, to a future that never arrived. Though it was painful for everyone, the shrine had to be dismantled. Life had to go on.

The Pastor is remembered with honour. But the shrine is no more.

On my phone, I have many photos of dear family and friends who have died. I look at them often—sometimes laughing, sometimes crying at the memories they stir. But those photos don’t stop me from taking new ones. In fact, I have far more pictures of people who are alive than of the precious people no longer in my life.

That’s the difference. Memory allows room for the present. A shrine only has room for the past.

Let me continue with these verses.

“Sarah lived to be a hundred and twenty-seven years old. She died at Kiriath Arba (that is, Hebron) in the land of Canaan, and Abraham went to mourn for Sarah and to weep over her. Then Abraham rose from beside his dead wife and spoke to the Hittites. He said, “I am a foreigner and stranger among you. Sell me some property for a burial site here so I can bury my dead.” (Genesis 23 v 1-4)

Reading again v4 in the KJV, “I am a stranger and a sojourner with you: give me a possession of a burying place with you, that I may bury my dead out of my sight.”

Several years ago, I conducted a funeral for a certain church member. I remember the day we helped him get ready to move from his house to a flat. I had never been to his house before and was taken aback by its state. However, when I went into his bedroom, I realised why the years had not been kind to him and how he had let himself go, living with no purpose. Hanging outside the wardrobe was his wife’s dress; other clothes were gathering dust on a chair. His wife had died a few years previously, but it was clear he had never let her go. He could not move on. Grief had consumed him. He had stopped living life to the full. The past had become a prison, and he was wasting away inside it.

Sarah was Abraham’s failure: calling her his sister because of fear instead of trusting God.

Sarah was Abraham’s brokenness: he would be the father of many, but he couldn’t keep his own family together and had to say goodbye to Hagar and Ishmael.

Sarah was Abraham’s success: At 90, she bore him a son.

But now Sarah has died.

Abraham mourned for her.

He wept for her.

This was right. This was necessary. This was healthy.

Then Abraham stood up, declared she was dead and became determined to bury her out of his sight.

Notice the progression: mourn, weep, then rise and move forward. Abraham understood that while grief has its season, clinging to what is gone will drain the life from us. If we refuse to bury the past, it will bury us instead. We become like that church member—surrounded by what once was, unable to embrace what could be, slowly diminishing in the shadow of memory.

Let us not be locked up in the past, whether in failure, brokenness or even success.

Those times are gone now. They are dead.

We know how to mourn and weep. These are gifts that honour what we’ve lost.

But we must also learn how to bury things out of our sight. If we don’t, we cease to live genuinely. We become haunted by yesterday, unable to step into today. The past, left unburied, becomes a weight that crushes our purpose, our joy, and our future. God calls us not merely to survive in the grip of what was, but to live fully in what is and what is yet to come.

He is. Even when you cannot see it, He is working. This is His story, and He is writing it perfectly. Trust Him. He has got you.

In a short and unusual passage, we read a whole bunch of names. But there is something beautiful I want to show you.

“Some time later Abraham was told, “Milkah is also a mother; she has borne sons to your brother Nahor: ²¹ Uz the firstborn, Buz his brother, Kemuel (the father of Aram), ²² Kesed, Hazo, Pildash, Jidlaph and Bethuel.” ²³ Bethuel became the father of Rebekah. Milkah bore these eight sons to Abraham’s brother Nahor. ²⁴ His concubine, whose name was Reumah, also had sons: Tebah, Gaham, Tahash and Maakah.” (Genesis 22 v 20-24)

I emboldened it.

We have had Abraham being tested on the mountain, and now he is back in Beersheba, and we don’t really know what he is doing there.

Meanwhile.

What a beautiful word. We serve the God of the meanwhile. It means when you’re not looking or unaware, God is still working. Bethuel became the father of Rebekah.

Back home in Haran, Nahor, Abraham’s brother, has been growing a family. Through his wife, Milkah, eight sons have been born. One of them is Bethuel. This son grows and has a daughter called Rebekah. This is the Rebekah who will marry Isaac and be the mother of Jacob and Esau.

God is preparing the next chapter of His promise. Even before Isaac needed a wife, having been incredibly thankful for that ram caught in the thicket, God had made sure there was a bride ready for him. This wife will be from Abraham’s own family line and not a woman from the Canaanites.

God is working for the generations ahead.

Right now, where you are and in the situation you are in, God is working for you. You might not see it now. But if you simply hold on, trust Him, all things will work together for good.

We can ignore some passages and miss a wonderful treasure that encourages us all.

Something caught my eye yesterday when reading the passage of the story on the mountain.

“Then Abraham returned to his servants, and they set off together for Beersheba. And Abraham stayed in Beersheba.” (Genesis 22 v 19)

Looking over the whole story again. The father and son leave the servants at the bottom of the mountain, carrying the wood for the altar. The son asks his father where the lamb is for the sacrifice, the faith needed for building that altar, no ram in sight, the son is bound to the altar, and the knife is raised. God stepping in, the dialogue with heaven, and the provision of the ram. It is all quite intense.

Then they walk down the mountain, and we don’t read of any conversation between the two. They return to the servants, they go home, and Abraham stays there.

No celebration. No displays. Just return home and stay. Continue life.

There seems to be a silence in the story.

I know, and I’m sure you do, after a season of intense faith stretching and challenge, there comes a period not of a victory lap but of quietness.

Only two people saw this spectacular moment. The people in Beersheba didn’t, nor did the servants at the base of the mountain. People might see a change in you because of the mountain, but they won’t see or understand what happened to you on that mountain. They see you before and after, but there are times when you, perhaps one other person, and God know what you have actually gone through.

You are back in the same place, the same job, the same routine, everything has changed within you, and you now carry an altar in your heart, but you have returned to the ordinary again; except for you, everything has changed. There is nothing ordinary about you. This last experience of not withholding anything from God has changed you forever.

You stay. However, you have moved on in your faith, and your previous experience with God will now fuel your approach to life.

Even if you were to tell people what had happened to you, they would probably not understand. Some testimonies need to be carried quietly. Perhaps the most significant test of faith isn’t on the mountain after all; maybe it is when you have arrived off the mountain, and you are back home, carrying something new in your heart.

Return home. Stay. Your world does not necessarily need the story of the great acts of your faith, but it does need the change those acts brought about.

The passage we will read below is for everyone who knows what it is to walk with God with no provision and no sign of provision, just a raw and straightforward faith that God is in control of everything. All that may be in your hands right now is what you are being asked to give away. Your time, energy levels, finances, the pain and heartache of a situation, these are your experiences, and God is silent. The hope of provision only exists in your heart, and you now know that faith hurts, at times, it costs us everything.

“Abraham looked up, and there in a thicket he saw a ramcaught by its horns. He went over, took the ram, and sacrificed it as a burnt offering instead of his son. ¹⁴ So Abraham called that place The Lord Will Provide. And to this day it is said, “On the mountain of the Lord it will be provided.” ¹⁵ The angel of the Lord called to Abraham from heaven a second time ¹⁶ and said, “I swear by myself, declares the Lord, that because you have done this and have not withheld your son, your only son, ¹⁷ I will surely bless you and make your descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky and as the sand on the seashore. Your descendants will take possession of the cities of their enemies, ¹⁸ and through your offspringall nations on earth will be blessed,because you have obeyed me.” ¹⁹ Then Abraham returned to his servants, and they set off together for Beersheba. And Abraham stayed in Beersheba.” (Genesis 22 v 13-19)

There are times in our lives when we have to scale a mountain-sized experience that we have never travelled before. I could list several examples and then even miss the one you are experiencing right now; there are that many. The walk of faith is different for us all, but one thing is the same: it is a walk of difficulty.

Abraham and Isaac had walked three days carrying the wood. They had built the altar. Abraham had placed Isaac bound on the altar. The knife was raised.

Where was the ram? When had God provided the substitute?

Only after the knife was raised.

We can all scale mountains carrying the provisions of God with us. Anyone can do this. But there are moments in our lives when the ram doesn’t appear in the first chapter or the middle chapter, but in the end of the story, the final moment, when God steps in. It could be the final minute of the eleventh hour when we hear a call from heaven, look up and see the provision of God for our life.

If Jehovah Jireh had appeared at any time before this final second, Abraham would have been spared the time, energy, grief, confusion, and perhaps several emotions that we would totally understand. Faith has to travel through all those experiences to arrive at the provision.

Often, we want the provision without the mountain, and we certainly wish to have it as we journey on it.

The blessing to Abraham came after he was willing to sacrifice the promise of the blessing. Faith is sometimes not about venturing into a new season but letting go of what God has given you in the last season. Not withholding what is in your hand is faith, and this releases what is in God’s hand.

Faith is not always victoriously loud; it is sometimes quietly hurting you as you wait for God’s provision. But faith will see it if you remain confident in God. Hang in there!

Why would God ask such a thing? Even in a world where child sacrifice was taking place in the worship of Molech by the evil Canaanites. Is this a test? If so, surely this is just a horrible one?

“But the angel of the Lord called out to him from heaven, ‘Abraham! Abraham!” “Here I am,” he replied. ¹² “Do not lay a hand on the boy,” he said. “Do not do anything to him. Now I know that you fear God, because you have not withheld from me your son, your only son.” (Genesis 22 v 11-12)

For me, this story raises more questions than I am comfortable with. Yet embedded within it is a sense of deep faith and the power of testing.

The story is too brief. We don’t read of what was going through Abraham’s mind when he received the command to sacrifice his only son, the promised child, the miracle boy. We don’t hear of his angry exchange with God or a sleepless night beforehand. We don’t hear of him telling Sarah. We speculate about what the 3-day journey was like and what they discussed. When Abraham was tying his son to the altar with ropes so that he couldn’t move, our anger rises because it is just plain wrong not to be. The text doesn’t tell us anything. We make our own minds up about those things.

There are so many things that we cannot understand about God. If this story is real (I believe it is), then it is beyond our comprehension. Any form of child abuse is evil. Why would God test Abraham like this? Why would God ask to receive back what had initially been given to Abraham? Sometimes it isn’t easy to understand, never mind agree with, a friend’s testimony of what God is leading them into.

So what do we do with this?

Bearing in mind that this is the epitome of ‘Don’t play with fire or you might get burnt’, is this story about either or both of these two points?

a) God letting Abraham realise that He is not the God that the Canaanites worship – He does not accept or desire child sacrifice.

b) This foreshadows something greater when the horrible story is carried out in its fullest. God sent His Son, Jesus the Lamb, who was tied to an altar for the sins of the world; there was no substitute ram, which we will read of tomorrow.

So what am I pondering on in prayer this morning?

Here I am

It’s the first thing he said when God called to him at the beginning of this story. It’s a provocation for you and me today.

Here I am

Here I am. I’m here. I have many questions but I am here. You know my heart. You know my desires. You know my concerns. But I’m here God. I’m right here. I’m listening.

Here I am. In what seems to be the greatest testing challenge of my life. I am here willing to be obedient to you. I have many questions. But I am not the great I am. I am just here.

Here I am. I believe in you. I’ve been looking for a ram, a substitute, another way out, but I cannot see one, not yet. I am here fully engaged, reluctant, slow and not knowing if this is a test or not, but I’m here.

Here I am. Available. Listening. Ready to respond. Knowing you are faithful. Knowing you are a Holy God. Knowing you have given me promises for my life.

I am here. The words ‘Here I am’ are on the tip of my tongue waiting to speak them as soon as you speak first.

Here I am. These three words will remain with me for the rest of my life. A reminder of my faith in you, not to you, but to me.

Here I am. I withhold nothing. Here you can have my all but I am listening for my name.

‘Abraham! Abraham!” “Here I am”

His provision is sufficient. The test is over. He knew all along but I went this way for me to know, God is more precious to me than what God has given me.

Here I am.

This isn’t a comfortable story; it feels unpalatable and evil. However, within it lies an essential question from God: Can I have your Isaac?

Isaac was the promised child of Abraham and Sarah, given to them in their old age, against all hope. Isaac was the future destiny for a nation to be born, and now God asks for him back.

“Some time later God tested Abraham. He said to him, “Abraham!” “Here I am,” he replied. ² Then God said, “Take your son, your only son, whom you love—Isaac—and go to the region of Moriah. Sacrifice him there as a burnt offering on a mountain I will show you.” ³ Early the next morning Abraham got up and loaded his donkey. He took with him two of his servants and his son Isaac. When he had cut enough wood for the burnt offering, he set out for the place God had told him about. ⁴ On the third day Abraham looked up and saw the place in the distance. ⁵ He said to his servants, “Stay here with the donkey while I and the boy go over there. We will worship and then we will come back to you.” ⁶ Abraham took the wood for the burnt offering and placed it on his son Isaac, and he himself carried the fire and the knife. As the two of them went on together, ⁷ Isaac spoke up and said to his father Abraham, “Father?” “Yes, my son?” Abraham replied. “The fire and wood are here,” Isaac said, “but where is the lamb for the burnt offering?” ⁸ Abraham answered, “God himself will provide the lamb for the burnt offering, my son.” And the two of them went on together. ⁹ When they reached the place God had told him about, Abraham built an altar there and arranged the wood on it. He bound his son Isaac and laid him on the altar, on top of the wood. ¹⁰ Then he reached out his hand and took the knife to slay his son.” (Genesis 22 v 1-10)

Have you noticed, as you have read these verses, that there is little conversation from Abraham? He didn’t negotiate with God. He didn’t resist. We don’t know whether he spent the night wrestling with his thoughts. Early the next morning, he just got up and moved ahead with God’s plan. Then there are three days of walking towards Mount Moriah. Three days of talking with his son, presumably. Three days of looking at him. Three days of wondering what would happen.

Isaac thinks he knows what will happen. His father will build an altar and place a lamb on it as an act of worship to God. But where is the lamb? His father’s answer is either confidence or hope. “God will provide the lamb.”

God did (for we know the story), and God will, thousands of years later, in the sending of His Son (again, we see the story).

We have seen Abraham build his first altar at Shechem when he arrived in Canaan; then at Bethel and Ai at Hebron; and at the Mamre tree in Hebron. But this time the stones must have seemed heavier, for this is his Isaac.

This altar is as much a part of Abraham’s worship as the previous three. But more than this. If the altar is a place of worship, it is also a place of death. It is here that we know that everything we have is God’s. He is worthy of our everything.

The location of this altar of death is where King David purchased the ground to build an altar after a plague (2 Chronicles 3 v 1), and where his son, Solomon, would make what is now known as the Temple Mount, the centre of Israelite worship, and where generations have brought sacrifices. Though not the exact location, it is also the religious place that calls out to Golgotha, in the same region, the place where God the Father would see His Son sacrificed.

As with his father, Isaac has little conversation. He is roped down onto the altar, and he doesn’t say a word. Where is the lamb? Perhaps they are thinking the same thing at the same time. They both laid their agendas down. They both approach death. Of course, they are approaching their obedience, and their trust in God is being severely tested.

Whatever Isaac is for you, what do you do when God asks for it?

The knife is raised, and that’s where we stop reading.

We know what comes next, but father and son didn’t have that guarantee; they had faith.

The altar on Moriah stands as a testimony that God meets us in our impossible moments, that obedience paves the way for revelation, and that the willingness to lose everything often leads to discovering God’s provision.

Abraham hadn’t yet possessed the Promised Land. His son hadn’t yet begun developing the nations that had been promised to him. He had just finished negotiating a treaty with King Abimelek over water rights. He had concerns that were earthly and temporary, but water was needed, and people had tried to steal from him what was his.  What does he do next?

He plants a tree and, in prayer, he calls God by a name meaning “Eternal God”. The two are linked, and we will see why.

“After the treaty had been made at Beersheba, Abimelek and Phicol the commander of his forces returned to the land of the Philistines. ³³ Abraham planted a tamarisk tree in Beersheba, and there he called on the name of the Lord, the Eternal God. ³⁴ And Abraham stayed in the land of the Philistines for a long time.” (Genesis 21 v 32-34)

1. Abraham declared he was here to stay. Planting a tree was his declaration that he was not just passing through but that he was putting down roots. I will no longer be a nomad. Maybe someone today needs to hear that they, too, need to put down their roots. It doesn’t mean it is your forever place, the last verse says Abraham decided to stay in the land of the Philistines, which wasn’t the Promised land, but it was a place of commitment for him whilst he was waiting.

2. Abraham knew life was not about him alone. He did something that suggests the story is not centred on his own lifetime but on a longer-lasting one.The tamarisk tree would outlast him. They can apparently grow for up to 100 years. He was saying what we all need to say. “My life is not just about now, but it is about who and what comes after me.” It is a legacy building. What footprint are you leaving behind?

3. Abraham begins to pray but gives God the name, El Olam, the Eternal God. He decides that his life may be temporary and that he can be caught up with things that don’t last, like wells and water rights, but he worships God, who is not time-bound and will be faithful to the generations to come. Are we impatient over something? God is eternal; no need to hurry. His purposes will unfold in His time, not ours.

In closing, through the eyes of the Christian faith, of course, there’s another tree that casts its shadow on this tamarisk. The cross still speaks today of the Eternal God who sent His Son as the ultimate act of love.

One thing will happen this year that happened last year. You will find yourself in conflict with someone. Something will happen that will make you agitated. You will gain a complaint. There’s nothing you can do to stop it. But you can always get better at handling that complaint. Here’s a remarkable story between the father of the faith, Abraham, and a pagan king, Abimelek, that offers guidelines for improving when we are in conflict.

“Then Abraham complained to Abimelek about a well of water that Abimelek’s servants had seized. ²⁶ But Abimelek said, “I don’t know who has done this. You did not tell me, and I heard about it only today.” ²⁷ So Abraham brought sheep and cattle and gave them to Abimelek, and the two men made a treaty. ²⁸ Abraham set apart seven ewe lambs from the flock, ²⁹ and Abimelek asked Abraham, “What is the meaning of these seven ewe lambs you have set apart by themselves?” ³⁰ He replied, “Accept these seven lambs from my hand as a witness that I dug this well.” ³¹ So that place was called Beersheba, because the two men swore an oath there.” (Genesis 21 v 25-31)

1. Speak up to the right person. Instead of speaking to many about the complaint, go directly to the person who can really deal with it. Sometimes that can be the person who committed the offence or an authoritative figure who can best deal with it. You don’t need to start a campaign against who you think is responsible. Just speak up.

2. Listen to the complaint. It is okay to say you didn’t know about something. You are not omniscient. “I don’t know who did this …” is the proper response at times. It isn’t defensiveness; it is the truth. Listening is hugely important.

3. Conclude and, at best, agree. Don’t just hope everyone leaving a complaint meeting will remember all that has been said and, importantly, agreed upon. The seven lambs were a visible reminder of that agreement. Taking notes and then ensuring everyone agrees they are correct would be a cheaper option! Of course, the parties may not agree, but the conclusion is still essential.

4. Create something new out of the complaint. Resolution is more than just solving a complaint. It can be a commitment to celebrate covenant over conflict. The well of water where the initial complaint started is now named Beersheba (meaning the well of seven or the well of the oath). There can be a temptation to try to forget the complaint as quickly as possible. However, it is possible to memorialise the wound and the healing. So that generations to come will ask, ‘Where did they get the name Beersheba from?’ To be told that this came about because two men decided to address the complaint, find a resolution and then to celebrate that with an oath. A decision that said this complaint will not divide us but unite us.

Let’s hope 2026 has more of this.

I was reading someone’s social media feeds and noticed that a particular person hadn’t been appearing over the last few months. That person isn’t dead. But they don’t seem to be part of their life anymore. Then I read someone else’s summary of their year 2025, and they openly said they had ‘cut certain people out of their life.’ In both those posts, the world could see their story. Of course, there are many posts, especially at this time of the year. Posts of reflection like the ones I noticed, but also of thankfulness for all that has happened in our lives and those of family and friends. The majority of us lay bare a particular part of our lives to the world; for some, they reveal everything in a cathartic fashion. Whether or not you are a social media activist or follower, all of us are under scrutiny from those around us. George Orwell’s ‘Big Brother’ is understood far more now than in his 1949 published work of 1984, with increased government surveillance and corporate data collection, not to mention the loss of privacy in our digital world. Big Brother is watching you indeed. The world is watching you. This is all the lead-up to a revealing verse in this story of Abraham as a pagan king, and his army commander approaches him with his observation. He had been watching Abraham.

“At that time Abimelek and Phicol the commander of his forces said to Abraham, “God is with you in everything you do. ²³ Now swear to me here before God that you will not deal falsely with me or my children or my descendants. Show to me and the country where you now reside as a foreigner the same kindness I have shown to you.” ²⁴ Abraham said, “I swear it.” (Genesis 21 v 22-24)

Abraham’s life revealed the work of God, even though he had previously deceived Abimelek by claiming Sarah was his sister. You don’t have to be perfect for people to see the work of God in your life. This pagan king could see the hand of God’s blessing on Abraham’s life.

What will people say about us this year? Not about what we say, but about what they see in our actions, reactions, decisions, and character.

Abimelek wanted a covenant with Abraham because of God. He had this healthy respect for God because of seeing Him in Abraham’s life.

He asks for a reciprocal kindness. Not only for himself. He was asking about the future. He had somehow seen that Abraham’s descendants would be as blessed as Abraham was (he was so close to faith, wasn’t he?).

“God is with you in everything you do” wasn’t based on Abraham’s words but on Abraham’s life. May that be said of all of us in 2026.

This year, you will become exactly who you were created to be.

You may wake into a new year and know you are not in the place you chose to live. You may realise you are having to make decisions around things that were not initially of your making. It could be that you feel forgotten or left behind. However, these are just one set of feelings based on your circumstances. There are truths to hold on to.

God is with you.

These difficult days won’t destroy you.

You will grow through them.

This year, people will look at you and see not someone drowning in a sea of hopelessness but someone who God was with throughout the whole story.

We have come to the end of this particular chapter of Hagar and Ishmael’s story. In a couple of verses, we have the most profound truth. Let’s read.

“God was with the boy as he grew up. He lived in the desert and became an archer. ²¹ While he was living in the Desert of Paran, his mother got a wife for him from Egypt.” (Genesis 21 v 20-21)

Let these words fall upon your soul today.

It may be the end of a part of the story, but it is also a beginning. Mark that.

“God was with the boy as he grew up.”

God was with him.

In that desert. In those moments of wondering why his father had agreed for him to be sent away with his mother, God was with him. Rejection by people does not mean in the slightest that God has rejected you.

“He lived in the desert and became an archer.” The desert was the making of him. He became that way because of where he was living. His circumstances demanded that he adjust to life and become something he perhaps never thought he would.

Maybe what you thought was your enemy is your friend? What if the place you have been thrown into is actually a training ground for a whole new beginning that is far from banishment?

“While he was living in the Desert of Paran, his mother got a wife for him from Egypt.”

Hagar was a resilient woman. Even though she had gone through so much, she didn’t have a victim mentality. She went back to her roots, her homeland, and found a wife for her son. Her son would have an identity, heritage, and he would belong.

Your situation doesn’t have to be perfect; the desert of Paran wasn’t the Promised Land, but God meets you where you are.

As we begin this new year, no matter what life is like right now, know this: God is with you. Your difficulty doesn’t define you, but His presence does.