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HEAVEN'S LITTLE HELPERS #2

SISTER ACT III

It was a hugely important political moment, and an eagerly awaited press conference. For months the scandal had been brewing; accusations were in the air and all the tabloids about That Woman. But really, only one man's word could set the record straight. What actually was the extent of their relationship? And he was finally about to make a statement on the record.

But it was a disappointing moment when it finally happened. "What I said before," he asserted, looking from one to the other, "was legally accurate. I may not have been entirely forthright, or particularly helpful in my testimony, especially considering that I was dealing with people who were political enemies. But I never lied; I never instructed others to lie. And the statements that I personally made, while perhaps misleading to some, when weighed against the narrow definitions accepted in a court of law, do not constitute perjury." And that was it. He walked away from the reporters.

Well, friend, maybe you think you remember that moment. Maybe you're thinking about some recent event on television, and maybe the date August 17 sticks in your mind for some reason. But the press conference I just described actually happened way back in the ancient book of Genesis, chapter 12. And presidential advisor Paul Begala wasn't there to help adjust his boss's tie for the TV camera or give advice on what should be in the four-minute speech to a watching nation. No, in this case the boss's name was Abraham. The woman in the scandal was Sarah. The independent counsel was an Egyptian monarch named Pharaoh. And the "legally correct" statement from Abraham went something like this. "I want you all to know one thing. Now listen to me very carefully. That woman . . . is my sister."

Which, if you read the Starr report of that era, is legally a true statement. Abraham's father was a man named Terah; and apparently, Terah, by a second wife, had a daughter named Sarah. So she was a half-sister to Abraham. In fact, he allowed her to go on the NBC Today Show — or at least he instructed her to pass along this fuzzy half-truth — to important people. "I'm his sister." Not a lie — technically. Not perjurious — legally. Not impeachable — politically. But a long ways away from being "the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

And why? Our title for this series goes like this: HEAVEN'S LITTLE HELPERS. And Abraham was God's man. He was a believer, a patriarch, a pillar. Already in chapter 12, just a few verses earlier, the God of heaven had entered into a covenant with Abraham.

"I will make you into a great nation and I will bless you. I will make your name great, and you will be a blessing." Now notice these words of strength: "I will bless those who bless you, and whoever curses you I will curse."

"I'll take care of you," God says. "Don't worry. Your enemies will be my enemies." And yet, just nine verses later, when Abraham finds himself in the political crossfire, when he thinks enemies out there might kill him to get his wife, he comes up with this carefully crafted statement: "Oh, she's just my sister."

So many people have wondered in recent years why some leaders just never learn. The same shading of truth, the careful answer, the spin, the hair-splitting, the nuance that skates right up to the line of falsehood . . . it just keeps happening and happening and happening. "I never broke the laws of this country." "I didn't inhale." "I didn't really do this." "We were never really alone." There is no relationship."

But notice here in the book of Genesis that things are exactly the same back then. Chapter 12, worrying about the Egyptians and Pharaoh: "She's my sister." Then go to chapter 20, where Abraham and his clan move into the region of the Negev, where Abimelech, king of Gerar, is the ruler. And here's Abraham's new line: "She is my sister." Move on down in the transcript to chapter 26, where Abraham's son Isaac is camping in the land of another Abimelech, probably a son or grandson of Abraham's old friend. And what is the line that Isaac inherits from Dad? It's four words long: "She is my sister." Which, this time around, isn't even a half-truth because Rebekah was actually his cousin's daughter. And his wife too, of course.

It's almost amusing how Isaac gets caught by the grand jury of his day. He was standing by his line: "She's my sister." But what happens? Here's chapter 26, verse 8:

"When Isaac had been there a long time, Abimelech king of the Philistines looked down from a window and saw Isaac caressing his wife Rebekah."

And you really have to smile if you read this little story in the old King James, which you would expect to be even more sedate. But no — notice this:

"And it came to pass, when he had been there a long time, that Abimelech king of the Philistines looked out at a window, and saw, and behold, Isaac was sporting with Rebekah his wife."

So basically, what do we have here besides a three-round version of the same story? We have a father and a son who have God's sure promise of love and covenant protection. And yet, at the first sign of danger, what do they do? They become God's little helpers, not by lying — exactly — but by the same careful, devious, slippery, sneaky, stupid vocabulary games we're so used to today. "She's my sister. She's my wife too, but I won't mention that part."

It's very interesting, if you read these three little word-game stories, that the truth comes out each time. And what a tragic irony that in all three cases, the heathen people on the other side of the story have to protest: "Man, why did you lie to us? Why did you, the follower of the so-called ‘true God,' lie to those of us who don't even make a profession of faith?" Back in chapter 12, Pharaoh, a completely pagan man, really blasts Abraham.

"‘What have you done to me?' he said. ‘Why didn't you tell me she was your wife? Why did you say, "She is my sister," so that I took her to be my wife? Now then, here is your wife. Take her and go!'"

But notice something else. True, in Isaac's story, the king did peek out the window, see some kissing and cuddling going on, and figure out for himself that Rebekah was more than a sister. But in Abraham's two cases, the way the king finds out is through God's direct intervention. When Pharaoh tries to recruit Sarah into his royal harem, God moves in and brings a plague of disease on Pharaoh and his entire household. Then in chapter 18, God speaks directly to this heathen monarch, Abimelech, in a dream. Here's the Clear Word paraphrase:

"But during the night, God spoke to Abimelech in a dream and said, ‘If you so much as touch that woman, you'll die, because she is Abraham's wife."

Then down in verse 9, in the same version, Abimelech rips into Abraham as well. Notice the heat here:

"Then Abimelech called Abraham and said to him, ‘What have you done to us? And what have I personally done to you for you to almost bring a disaster on me, my family and my country? No one should ever do what you have done to me. Answer me! Why did you lie to me about your wife?'"

But the important point to notice is this. God was fully capable of handling this situation. He was Sarah's protector and Abraham's protector as well. And Isaac's. But in all three of these stories, God's little helpers, figuring that heaven's Secret Service wasn't up to the task, decided to save the day with their own pathetic Palestinian spin.

One of the Bible commentaries that explores this trilogy of stories makes a good point. Here it is:

"[Abraham] was to discover in Egypt that human cunning is worthless and that deliverance from fear and perplexity comes only from the Lord."

Really, in all three of these stories, the lies of Abraham and Son were completely useless and ineffective. Of course, if the Lord God in heaven decides to "out" you, expose your falsehood, there's really not a lot you can do. But you stack up these three "Little Sister" stories against the power, the instant protection that came in each case from just a word spoken by God, and it makes you wonder why any of us, from the President on down, would ever put our faith in a lie.

Because really, let's not pick on Abraham here. Or his son. Or Hillary Clinton's husband. How about me? How about you? When was the last time you stared at the unpleasant consequences of something you had done, and decided that even God couldn't see you through that hard moment? That even heaven couldn't sustain you through the upcoming time of embarrassment? So a careful statement came to mind. Was it a full lie? No. But was it the full truth either? Not by a long shot. And the press statement we issued was crafted, sharpened, designed to send people looking west, instead of to the east where our sin lay buried.

Maybe Louisa Stead should have retitled her wonderful old hymn: ‘Tis So SCARY to Trust in Jesus. But sweet too, when you see for yourself how He comes through.