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Genesis 17 — Where God renames a childless man 'father of nations' and means it
9 min read
fresh.bible editorialTwenty-four years. That's how long had been holding onto a from God. Twenty-four years since God first told him to leave everything behind and head for a land he'd never seen. He was seventy-five then. Now he's ninety-nine. Still no son through . Still waiting.
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And then God showed up again. Not with a gentle nudge or a vague reassurance — with a declaration that would rewrite Abram's entire identity, rename his wife, and set the terms for a relationship between God and an entire nation that hasn't even been born yet.
When was ninety-nine, the Lord appeared to him. No fanfare, no buildup in the text — just God showing up. And the first words out of his mouth carried the weight of everything that was about to happen. God said:
"I am God Almighty. Walk before me, and be blameless — so that I may establish my Covenant between me and you, and multiply you beyond what you can count."
Two commands. Walk before me. Be blameless. That's it. Not "be perfect" — the word here means wholehearted, fully committed. God wasn't asking for flawless performance. He was asking for full devotion. Walk with me. Don't hold anything back. And in return? I'm about to do something extraordinary.
There's something disarming about how God opens this conversation. He doesn't lead with the promise. He leads with relationship. Before the blessings, before the name change, before the land — the foundation is this: who . Now walk with me.
dropped to the ground — face down. And God kept talking. What came next wasn't just a promise. It was a complete identity overhaul.
God told him:
"Here's my Covenant with you: you will be the father of a multitude of nations. Your name won't be Abram anymore — from now on, your name is Abraham. Because I've made you the father of a multitude of nations.
I will make you extraordinarily fruitful. Nations will come from you. Kings will come from you. And I will establish my Covenant between me and you and your descendants after you — through every generation — as an everlasting Covenant. I will be God to you and to your descendants after you.
I will give you and your descendants the land where you're living as a foreigner — all of Canaan — as a permanent possession. And I will be their God."
Think about this for a second. "Abram" meant "exalted ." "Abraham" means "father of a multitude." God changed a ninety-nine-year-old childless man's name to "father of nations." Every time someone called his name from that point forward, it was a reminder of what God had spoken over him — before there was a shred of evidence to back it up.
That's how God works. He names the thing before it exists. He speaks identity over you before the circumstances catch up. Abraham had to walk around being called "father of many" while having exactly zero children through . Every introduction was an act of .
Then God laid out side of the deal. Every has terms, and these were specific. God told Abraham:
"As for you — you and your descendants after you, through every generation, will keep my Covenant. Here are the terms: every male among you will be circumcised. You will be circumcised in the flesh, and it will be the sign of the Covenant between me and you.
Every male who is eight days old will be circumcised — every generation. Whether born in your household or purchased from a foreigner who isn't your descendant — everyone. My Covenant will be marked in your flesh as an everlasting Covenant.
Any uncircumcised male who refuses this sign will be cut off from his people. He has broken my Covenant."
This was physical. Permanent. Uncomfortable. And that was the point. God didn't want a Covenant that lived only in people's heads. He wanted it written on their bodies. Every generation would carry the mark — a constant, inescapable reminder that they belonged to someone.
(Quick context: would become one of the most defining markers of Jewish identity for thousands of years. It was the thing that set Abraham's descendants apart — literally and physically — from every other nation around them.)
We don't carry that specific sign today. But the principle underneath it is still there: real commitment to God isn't just something you feel. It costs you something. It changes something about how you live in a way that's hard to undo.
God wasn't done. He turned the conversation to . And just like with , it started with a name change. God said:
"As for Sarai your wife — you won't call her Sarai anymore. Her name is Sarah. I will bless her. I will give you a son through her. I will bless her, and she will become the mother of nations. Kings of peoples will come from her."
This is easy to skim past, but stop for a second. God didn't just promise Abraham a son. He promised Sarah a destiny. She wasn't a supporting character in Abraham's story — she had her own , her own new name, her own role in the plan. Nations and kings wouldn't just come from Abraham. They'd come from her.
In a culture where a woman's worth was often measured by whether she could bear children — and Sarah had spent decades in that painful silence — God spoke directly over her. Not as an afterthought. As a co-heir of the .
Here's where the chapter gets beautifully, honestly human. — face still on the ground — laughed. Not a polite chuckle. He laughed and thought to himself:
"Is a child really going to be born to a man who's a hundred years old? Is Sarah — who's ninety — actually going to have a baby?"
Then he said to God:
"What about Ishmael? Can't he be the one who lives in your blessing?"
There's so much packed into those two sentences. The laugh is honest — this was biologically absurd. But the suggestion about ? That's where it gets interesting. Abraham wasn't just cracking up. He was negotiating. He already had a son — Ishmael, born through . And Abraham loved him. So he was essentially saying: "God, I appreciate the vision, but can't we just work with what we've already got?"
We do this all the time. God promises something that seems impossible, and instead of holding onto it, we try to hand him our backup plan. The relationship we've already settled for. The career that's good enough. The version of the future we've already made with. "Can't you just bless this instead?"
God's response is an exceptionally gracious moment in . He didn't scold for laughing. He didn't him for suggesting . He just corrected the course — gently, clearly, and with a promise for both sons. God said:
"No — Sarah your wife is going to bear you a son, and you'll name him Isaac. I will establish my Covenant with him as an everlasting Covenant for his descendants after him.
As for Ishmael — I've heard you. I have blessed him. I will make him fruitful and multiply him enormously. He will father twelve princes, and I will make him into a great nation.
But my Covenant — that I will establish with Isaac, whom Sarah will bear to you by this time next year."
Then God finished speaking with Abraham and went up from him.
Two things at once. Ishmael is blessed — genuinely, abundantly, twelve princes and a great nation. But the line, the specific that started back in chapter 12, runs through . God didn't reject Ishmael. He blessed him generously. But he was clear: the Covenant has a specific path, and it goes through the son who hasn't been born yet. The impossible one.
And then there's that deadline: "this time next year." God put it on the calendar. This wasn't a vague "someday." It was specific, measurable, and — for a couple approaching triple digits — absolutely terrifying.
Here's the part that says everything about character. He didn't wait. He didn't sleep on it. He didn't form a committee to discuss the theological implications of . The text says:
Abraham took his son Ishmael and every male in his household — everyone born there or purchased — and he circumcised them that very day, exactly as God had told him. Abraham was ninety-nine years old. Ishmael was thirteen. That same day, both of them were circumcised. Every man in his household — born there or brought in from outside — was circumcised with him.
"That very day." Three times the text hammers that phrase. No delay. No excuses. Abraham had just laughed at the . He'd just tried to negotiate a different plan. But when God said "here's what I'm asking you to do" — he did it. Immediately. Completely. At ninety-nine years old.
doesn't mean you never doubt. Abraham literally fell on his face laughing. But Faith means that when the laughing stops, you still move. You still . You still do the hard, uncomfortable, costly thing — that very day. Not when it makes sense. Not when you feel ready. Now.