At first glance, Abraham’s conversation with God in Genesis 18 may seem like one of the oddest stories in Scripture. Abraham haggling with God over the destruction of Sodom—and God negotiating the terms of judgment with a mere man? It’s a story I’d never have been bold enough to make up.
On reflection, however, I suggest this scene (like all Scripture) is profitable for training in righteousness, particularly in the area of prayer. I call it “prayer” because prayer is talking to God, and that’s what Abraham is doing (though unlike with most prayers, God is physically present for the conversation). Abraham’s prayer has at least four characteristics that ours could stand to include more of.
1. Specificity
Abraham could’ve prayed, “LORD, suppose there are several righteous people there. Perhaps a handful.” But no. He gives God exact numbers—“Suppose there are fifty . . . forty-five . . . forty . . . thirty . . . twenty . . . ten.”
He reminds me of George Müller, the 19th-century saint famous for running orphanages. Instead of vague requests like “Father, please provide for our needs,” Müller’s prayers tended to sound more like “Father, we need 110 loaves of bread and 75 pairs of shoes—by tomorrow morning.” One time he was sailing to America for a preaching crusade, and the ship was stuck in a dense fog, threatening to derail his entire preaching tour. According to the captain, Müller knelt and prayed, “O Lord, if it is consistent with Thy will, please remove this fog in five minutes.” He could’ve said, “Lord, please remove this fog as soon as possible.” But since he thought five minutes was perfectly possible for the Almighty, he figured he’d be specific. And why not?
I’m reluctant to pray that specifically because then it’d be clear if God didn’t answer—and I’d look like a loser in front of the ship’s captain, or else I’d be privately disappointed. It’s true that if we only pray hazy, fortune-cookie prayers, we’re much less likely to be disappointed. Then again, we’re also more likely to wonder whether what happened later was an answer to our prayer. The flip side of avoiding disappointment is that we also miss out on the encouragement Müller experienced when the fog did lift in five minutes (and it did).
Similarly, Sodom isn’t spared. But when it goes up in smoke, Abraham can at least conclude, “Unbelievable! There weren’t even 10 righteous people!” because his prayer had been that specific.
2. Compassion
We’re often ready to write off an otherwise good church or organization because of a few bad apples within it. But Abraham is the exact opposite—he asks God to spare an entire city of bad apples for the sake of a few good apples within it.
In this, Abraham’s heart is a reflection of God’s heart. Ours is a God who delays the day of judgment because he’s “not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance” (2 Pet. 3:9). He’s a God who says, “Have I any pleasure in the death of the wicked . . . and not rather that he should turn from his way and live? . . . I have no pleasure in the death of anyone, declares the Lord GOD; so turn, and live” (Ezek. 18:23, 32).
In praying like this, Abraham is loving his enemies and being kind to the unthankful and evil (Luke 6:35). It’s the kind of prayer we’re called to imitate as the salt of the earth. Perhaps the reason God hasn’t yet destroyed the United States is because, for all her faults, there are a lot more than 10 righteous people within her borders—people who pray like Abraham. If so, may our tribe increase.
3. Importunity
No, I didn’t misspell that. This is an old King James word that means “persistence, especially to the point of annoyance or intrusion.” I’m not suggesting the Lord actually was annoyed with Abraham. Still, it’s hard to read this interchange without thinking, Wow, this guy has some nerve. God says yes, and instead of being thankful or content, he takes it as an encouragement to keep on asking.
It almost feels irreverent—kind of like when Daniel prays, “O Lord, hear; O Lord, forgive. O Lord, pay attention and act” (Dan. 9:19). Or when the psalmist says, “O LORD, I am calling to you. Please hurry . . .” (Ps. 141:1, NLT).
Perhaps the reason God hasn’t yet destroyed the United States is because, for all her faults, there are a lot more than 10 righteous people within her borders—people who pray like Abraham.
If you heard someone praying those words (and you didn’t realize they were from the Bible), you’d be tempted to rebuke them. And yet these prayers are meant to serve as models for us.
It’s like that parable about the guy persistently knocking on his friend’s door late at night, asking him for three loaves. Jesus says that “because of [the knocker’s] importunity” (KJV; “impudence,” ESV) the friend will “rise and give him whatever he needs” (Luke 11:8; cf. 18:5). The difference is that while that guy refused to take no for an answer, Abraham refuses to take yes for answer.
And yet God isn’t offended. He wants us to “always pray and not lose heart” (18:1). Sometimes we have not because we ask not (James 4:2). Other times we have little because we give up too soon. If Abraham had stopped at 50 people, he would’ve walked away with a promise of 50. Instead, as Matthew Henry says, “He brought the terms as low as he could for shame . . .”
Perhaps the only thing more striking than Abraham’s shameless persistence is God’s willingness to keep granting his requests. As Henry puts it,
The importunity which believers use in their addresses to God is such that, if they were dealing with a man like themselves, they could not but fear that he would be angry with them. But he with whom we have to do is God and not man; and, [however] he may seem, [he] is not really angry with the prayers of the upright (Ps. 80:4), for they are his delight (Prov. 15:8), and he is pleased when he is wrestled with.
So let’s learn to wrestle.
4. Reverence
As bold-faced as this whole story sounds, you can’t miss Abraham’s humility. This isn’t him telling God, “If you destroy Sodom, I won’t be your friend anymore.” Instead, his whole speech is peppered with statements like “Behold, I have undertaken to speak to the Lord, I am but dust and ashes” (Gen. 18:27). Or again, “Oh let not the Lord be angry, and I will speak” (vv. 30, 32). It’s not that he thinks God is touchy—it’s that God is a great King, and Abraham knows he’s pushing the limits of familiarity.
We, too, must be cautious. If we’re going to ask God to “please hurry” like the psalmist did or to “pay attention” like Daniel did, we also need to remember who we are and who we’re talking to. We need to be bold enough to be specific and to keep pressing even when he says yes. But we also need to have the attitude that says something like this:
Lord, what do I know? I’m only dust and ashes. I’m not your counselor, and I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I’m telling you what I want because you invite me to bring my requests to you. Lord, you’re all-wise—what you ultimately decide to do with Sodom is your business—but if you’re asking me what I want, this is what I want.
So let’s not assume we always know what prayer has to sound like. Let’s allow passages like this to press into our hearts and push the boundaries of our current practice.
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We need one another. Yet we don’t always know how to develop deep relationships to help us grow in the Christian life. Younger believers benefit from the guidance and wisdom of more mature saints as their faith deepens. But too often, potential mentors lack clarity and training on how to engage in discipling those they can influence.
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