Abraham and the God Who Passes Through: When Divine Promises Cut Deeper Than Doubt

Abraham has been promised descendants as numerous as the stars, but he and Sarah remain childless. He's been told he'll inherit the land of Canaan, but he still lives in tents. When he asks God for some kind of assurance—"O Lord God, how am I to know that I shall possess it?" (Gen. 15:8)—God tells him to bring a heifer, a goat, a ram, a dove, and a pigeon.

Abraham cuts the larger animals in half and arranges the pieces with a path running between them. As the sun sets, supernatural sleep falls on him. Then a smoking fire pot and a flaming torch—symbols of God's presence—pass between the animal pieces while Abraham remains unconscious.

Abraham has asked for assurance. God's response is to perform a ritual that stakes His own existence on keeping His word.

But to understand why this moment matters so much, we need to see how it fits into the larger story that Genesis has been telling—a story that moves from universal problem to particular solution, from the corruption of all humanity to God's choice of one family through whom He will offer blessing to the world.

From Universal Problem to Particular Solution

Genesis doesn't begin with Abraham. It begins with the cosmos, with humanity, with the universal problem that makes Abraham's calling necessary in the first place.

The primeval history of Genesis 1-11 establishes the pattern: God creates a good world, humanity rebels, and sin escalates progressively through each generation. From Adam and Eve's disobedience in the garden to Cain's murder of Abel, from the corruption that leads to the flood to the pride that builds the tower of Babel—each episode shows sin's capacity to spread and intensify.

But Genesis also shows God's commitment to redemption. Even as He judges sin, He provides covering for Adam and Eve. He preserves Noah and his family through the flood. He scatters the nations at Babel not to destroy but to prevent total corruption. The primeval history establishes that sin is universal, judgment is inevitable, but grace provides hope.

This sets up the need for what comes next: God's decision to work through the particular to offer blessing to the universal. Instead of dealing with all humanity at once, He chooses one man, one family, one nation through whom the opportunity for blessing will be made available to all the families of the earth.

That's where Abraham enters the story—not as an individual seeking personal relationship with God, but as God's chosen instrument for addressing the universal problem of human rebellion and alienation. The call in Genesis 12:1-3 is both particular election and universal offer: "I will make you a great nation... and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed."

Abraham's Strategic Questioning

Before the ceremony, Abraham does something that should encourage anyone who's ever struggled with doubt. He questions God directly—not once, but repeatedly.

First, he challenges the whole premise: "O Lord God, what will you give me, for I continue childless, and the heir of my house is Eliezer of Damascus?" (Gen. 15:2). He's essentially saying: "You keep talking about descendants, but I don't have a single child. My servant is going to inherit everything."

God responds by clarifying that Abraham will have a biological heir, then shows him the stars: "So shall your offspring be" (Gen. 15:5). Abraham believes this promise—Genesis 15:6 tells us it was "counted to him as righteousness."

But then Abraham pushes further: "O Lord God, how am I to know that I shall possess it?" (Gen. 15:8). Even after believing God's promise about descendants, he wants assurance about the land promise. How can he be sure?

This isn't weak faith—it's strategic questioning. Abraham isn't rejecting God's promises; he's asking for tangible evidence of God's commitment to them. And remarkably, God doesn't rebuke him for this. Instead, He provides exactly the kind of assurance Abraham needs.

The Mechanics of Ancient Covenant-Making

To understand what follows, we need to know how binding promises worked in the ancient world. The most solemn form of covenant involved what scholars call a "cutting ceremony"—both parties would walk between the severed halves of sacrificial animals.

The symbolism was unmistakable: both parties were saying, "May I be torn apart like these animals if I break this covenant." Jeremiah 34:18-20 references this practice directly, showing it was familiar to biblical audiences.

The Hebrew phrase for making a covenant is literally "to cut a covenant" (kārat bĕrît). When God tells Abraham to "bring me a heifer three years old" (Gen. 15:9), He's initiating the most serious form of promise-making available in Abraham's cultural context.

But here's what makes Genesis 15 unprecedented: only God passes through.

The Ceremony That Changes Everything

What follows in Genesis 15:9-21 is one of the most extraordinary passages in Scripture. God tells Abraham to arrange the animals for a covenant ceremony. Abraham prepares everything correctly—this isn't his first encounter with such rituals. But then "a deep sleep fell upon Abram, and behold, dread and great darkness fell upon him" (Gen. 15:12).

The Hebrew word for this sleep (tardēmāh) appears only twice in the Pentateuch—when God puts Adam to sleep to create Eve (Gen. 2:21), and here. This isn't natural rest; it's supernatural unconsciousness.

While Abraham sleeps, God speaks to him about the future—four hundred years of slavery in Egypt, eventual deliverance, and return to the land "in the fourth generation" (Gen. 15:13-16). Then comes the climax: "When the sun had gone down and it was dark, behold, a smoking fire pot and a flaming torch passed between these pieces" (Gen. 15:17).

The smoking fire pot and flaming torch represent God's presence—similar imagery appears at Mount Sinai (Exod. 19:18) and with the pillar of fire in the wilderness (Exod. 13:21). When these symbols pass between the animal pieces, God is performing the covenant ritual—but He's performing it alone.

Abraham doesn't walk through. He doesn't take any oath. He doesn't bind himself to any performance standards. God alone passes between the pieces, effectively declaring: "May I be destroyed if I don't keep these promises."

The Radical Nature of Unilateral Covenant

What God does in Genesis 15 is unprecedented in the ancient world. Normal covenant ceremonies required mutual obligation—both parties walked through, both accepted consequences for failure, both bound themselves to the agreement's terms.

But the Abrahamic covenant is radically different. It's unilateral, unconditional, and depends entirely on God's faithfulness rather than Abraham's performance. This doesn't mean Abraham has no responsibilities, but the fundamental promises—descendants, land, and blessing to all nations—rest on God's commitment alone.

Paul understands this when he argues in Galatians 3:15-18 that the law given 430 years later cannot annul a covenant already confirmed by God. The promises to Abraham are based on divine commitment, not human performance.

Consider what this means: when Abraham lies about Sarah being his sister (twice!!), when he takes Hagar as a concubine, when he laughs at God's promise of Isaac's birth—none of these failures nullify the covenant. God has staked His own existence on keeping His word, regardless of Abraham's spiritual performance.

The Pattern That Echoes Through Scripture

Once we see what happens in Genesis 15, we start recognising this pattern throughout Scripture. The covenant doesn't end with Abraham—it continues through Isaac, Jacob, and Joseph, each generation showing how God's purposes advance through deeply flawed individuals while demonstrating that divine promises depend on God's character, not human performance.

Isaac's story shows covenant continuity despite human weakness. When famine comes, when Rebekah is barren, when family dynamics become complicated, God appears repeatedly to confirm the same promises made to Abraham (Gen. 26:2-5, 24).

Jacob's narrative pushes this even further. Here's a man whose very name means "deceiver," yet God wrestles with him at Peniel, changes his name to Israel, and confirms the covenant promises despite Jacob's moral failures (Gen. 32:22-32, 35:10-12).

Joseph's story demonstrates divine providence working through human actions—both wise and unwise—to preserve the covenant people. Joseph's declaration that "what you meant for evil, God meant for good" (Gen. 50:20) encapsulates how God's promises remain certain even when circumstances seem to threaten their fulfilment.

But the clearest echo comes in the New Testament. When Jesus is "cut off" on the cross, when divine wrath falls on the innocent, when the Father forsakes the Son—this is God ultimately keeping the covenant He cut with Abraham.

What This Means for Us

Genesis 15 teaches us that faith is compatible with honest questioning. Abraham's direct challenges to God's promises don't result in divine rebuke but in divine accommodation. When we bring our uncertainties directly to God rather than letting them fester in silence, we often discover that He's more patient with our questions than we expect.

More importantly, it shows us that our confidence doesn't rest on our ability to maintain perfect faith, but on God's demonstrated commitment to keep His promises regardless of our inconsistencies. The covenant ceremony reveals a God who would rather die than break His word—and in Jesus, we see that this is exactly what happened.

Consider the "impossible" promises God asks us to believe today. Perhaps it's restoration in broken relationships that show no signs of healing. Maybe it's provision when circumstances suggest scarcity. Or hope for renewal in churches, communities, or hearts when hope is all but lost.

Abraham's story reminds us that God's promises often seem to contradict present circumstances we face. But the covenant ceremony in Genesis 15 reveals that these promises never depended on favourable circumstances—they depend on God's unshakeable commitment.

The Smoking Fire Pot Today

The symbols that passed between the animal pieces in Abraham's day weren't just ancient theatre. They were materialised divine actions and previews of God's ultimate covenant faithfulness .though the incarnation

Every time we doubt whether God will keep His promises, every time we wonder if our faith is up to muster, every time we hold on to fears that our failures have disqualified us—we can remember that smoking fire pot and flaming torch passing through the pieces while Abraham slept. We can behold the God who keeps the covenant he cut through the marred man on the cross in Golgotha.

God has already taken the oath. God has already accepted the curse. God has already demonstrated on the cross that His promises rest on His character, not our performance.

Abraham died still waiting for most of these promises to be fulfilled. Isaac wasn't born until Genesis 21. The great nation didn't emerge for centuries. The blessing to all families came through Christ, millennia later. Yet Hebrews 11 tells us Abraham died in faith, "having seen the promises and greeted them from afar."

He learned to live in the tension between divine promise and present circumstance. But his confidence didn't rest on his ability to maintain perfect trust—it rested on the memory of that night when God alone passed through the pieces, staking His own existence on keeping His word.

The same God who wouldn't let Abraham's honest questions derail His purposes won't let ours derail them either. The covenant that began with an impossible promise to a childless old man culminates in Christ—and includes everyone who trusts in Him.

Our faith doesn't need to be perfect. It needs to rest in the God whose commitment already is.

Remember the smoking fire pot and flaming torch. Remember that God has already passed through the ultimate cutting ceremony. Remember that our confidence rests not on our ability to believe perfectly, but on God's demonstration that He would rather die than break His word.

And He did.