When God Comes Knocking

Have you ever wondered what you would do if God showed up at your doorstep unannounced? Would your home be ready? Would your heart be prepared? More importantly, would He find you hospitable or hostile to His presence?

The ancient story of Abraham and Sarah offers us a profound picture of what happens when the divine intersects with the ordinary rhythms of human life. It's a tale of two visits—one filled with promise and blessing, the other with judgment and destruction. Both reveal something essential about the character of God and the condition of the human heart.

Picture this: It's the heat of the day in ancient Mamre, near what we now know as Hebron. Abraham is sitting at the entrance of his tent under the shade of great terebinth trees—massive oaks that could live for a thousand years. Suddenly, three figures appear on the horizon.

Abraham doesn't hesitate. He doesn't check his calendar or make excuses about the mess inside his tent. Instead, he runs to meet them and bows low to the ground in worship. Something in his spirit recognizes that this is no ordinary visit.

What follows is a masterclass in hospitality. Abraham rushes to prepare the finest food—fresh bread made from choice flour, curds, milk, and a tender calf. He doesn't serve leftovers or whatever happens to be convenient. He gives his best, and he serves it with urgency and joy.

This wasn't just Middle Eastern cultural courtesy—it was a heart posture. Abraham was putting God first in his life, demonstrating through his actions that the Lord was welcome in every aspect of his existence.

As the visitors eat, they ask a simple question: "Where is your wife Sarah?"

Then comes the announcement that would change everything: "I will surely return to you about this time next year, and Sarah your wife will have a son."

Sarah, listening from inside the tent, does what any of us would do. She laughs. Not out loud, but internally—that silent, skeptical chuckle that says, "Yeah, right." After all, she's ninety years old. Abraham is ninety-nine. The biological clock didn't just stop ticking; it had been dismantled decades ago.

Her laughter reveals something we all struggle with: the gap between God's promises and our perceived reality. When circumstances seem impossible, when the odds are stacked against us, when we've waited so long that hope has withered—that's when doubt creeps in.

But then God asks the question that echoes through the ages: "Is anything too hard for the Lord?"

This isn't just a rhetorical question—it's an invitation to examine our faith. Do we really believe that the God who created everything from nothing can handle our impossible situations? The God who invented human reproduction in the first place—is it really that difficult for Him to enable a ninety-year-old woman to conceive?

When Sarah denies her laughter out of fear, God gently corrects her. Even our internal doubts are known to Him. We can't hide our skepticism behind a poker face. God sees the heart.

What's remarkable about this encounter is the relationship it reveals. Abraham isn't just called a servant of God—he's called the friend of God. This is an extraordinary privilege.

Before heading to Sodom and Gomorrah, God has a conversation with Himself (remember, the Trinity includes God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit in eternal communion). He asks, "Shall I hide from Abraham what I am about to do?"

Think about that. The sovereign Creator of the universe chooses to share His plans with a human being. Why? Because Abraham is His friend. And friends share what's on their hearts.

This is the kind of relationship God desires with each of us—not distant subjects cowering before an unapproachable monarch, but friends who walk closely with Him, who know His heart, who are entrusted with His purposes.

While Abraham receives God with hospitality and faith, another visit is about to unfold. God is heading to Sodom and Gomorrah, and the contrast couldn't be starker.

The outcry against these cities has reached heaven. Their sins are described as grievous—heavy, burdensome, a weight that cannot be ignored. Like blood crying out from the ground, like the cries of oppressed workers whose wages have been withheld, the injustice and wickedness of these cities demand divine attention.

God says, "I will go down and see if what they have done is as bad as the outcry that has reached me."

Does God need to investigate? Of course not—He's omniscient. But this language teaches us something crucial about divine justice: God doesn't judge based on hearsay. He examines the evidence. He gives every opportunity for repentance. His judgment is measured, deliberate, and just.

The stage is set for two very different outcomes—blessing for Abraham and Sarah, destruction for Sodom and Gomorrah.

This ancient narrative forces us to confront a contemporary question: When God shows up in our lives, what will He find?

Will He find hearts prepared to receive Him, like Abraham's? Or will He find wickedness that has reached a tipping point, like Sodom's?

Are we hospitable to God's presence in our marriages, our finances, our careers, our entertainment choices, our relationships? Do we give Him our best, or just the leftovers of our time and energy?

Do we believe His promises even when they seem impossible? Or do we laugh in secret skepticism while maintaining a religious exterior?

The choice between being a friend of God or facing Him as judge isn't determined by perfect behavior—it's determined by faith and repentance. Abraham and Sarah weren't flawless. They had schemed and doubted and made mistakes. But they kept returning to God, kept trusting Him, kept making Him welcome in their lives.

There's a sobering parallel to consider. Just as Sodom and Gomorrah faced judgment for their accumulated sins, nations too can reach a point where divine patience runs out. When righteousness is mocked, when innocent blood is shed without justice, when the most vulnerable are exploited—these things cry out to heaven.

We need revival. We need to return to God with humble hearts. We need to speak truth courageously and teach the next generation the ways of the Lord.

The good news is that God's visit can still be one of mercy rather than judgment. The gift of eternal life is freely offered through Jesus Christ. While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. The God who visited Abraham in human form eventually came permanently in the person of Jesus—Emmanuel, God with us.

The question remains: Is anything too hard for the Lord? Can He transform your impossible situation? Can He revive a dying marriage, heal a broken relationship, provide for overwhelming needs, conquer stubborn addictions?

The answer is the same today as it was for Sarah: Nothing is too hard for the Lord.

So prepare your heart. Make room for His presence. Welcome Him not as an unwanted inspector but as a cherished friend. And when He asks the impossible of you, remember Sarah's story—and dare to believe.