Genesis 12 explodes with good news. While Abram was still living in Mesopotamia (Acts 7:2) and part of a family of idol worshipers (Josh. 24:2), God came to him and promised a sevenfold blessing (Gen. 12:1-3). Abram would be a great nation, he would have a great name, and through him, all the families of the earth would be blessed.
But no sooner do we hear of God’s promised blessing to Abram than we find the promise threatened by famine in Egypt and (even worse) by Abram’s foolishness before Pharaoh. Fearing that his life will be in danger because of the beauty of his wife, Abram instructs Sarai to lie to the Egyptian king and say that she is his sister. This leads Pharaoh to shower Abram with riches and to take Sarai into his harem as his wife. Whether Pharaoh committed adultery with Sarai or not is unclear (I think not). What is clear is that when Abram is sent away by the king he leaves Egypt a much wealthier man than we he arrived.
The point of the story is not to moralize, good or bad, on Pharaoh or Abram or Sarai. It’s not wrong to draw lessons from Old Testament history (1 Cor. 10:6), but Genesis 12:10-20 is not mainly about the patriarchs. It is first of all about the invincibility of God’s promise.
Pharaoh’s house was cursed when it looked like Pharaoh would dishonor Sarai (cf. Gen. 12:3). And meanwhile, Abram was blessed—blessed beyond his wildest expectation and certainly blessed well beyond all deserving. This is the story we see over and over again in Genesis: God’s protection and God’s provision for the sake of God’s promise.
What did Abram do to deserve to leave Egypt a richer man than when he arrived? Nothing. Actually, less than nothing! And yet, Abram left with great wealth, because God is true to his promise. The promises of God are so sure, not even God’s people can ultimately mess them up.
Looking Back
There’s a connection between the story about Abram and Sarai in Egypt in chapter 12 and the story about Adam and Eve in the Garden in chapter 3.
Both stories center around a temptation caused by food. In the garden, it’s the fruit that looks good to eat and the temptation that arises from that, and in here it’s the temptation arising from the lack of food.
In both instances, we see the disastrous results of a husband’s poor leadership involving his wife.
We also see that both stories deal with deception. The serpent deceives the couple, and here the couple deceives Pharaoh. The result of both deceptions is this language, “they saw and they took.” The woman saw the fruit, she took and she ate. Pharaoh saw the woman and took her to be his wife.
In both stories, once the deception is found out, the ruler asks questions. God comes to Adam: “What have you done?” Pharaoh comes to Abram: “Why have you done this? Why didn’t you tell me?” In both cases the man’s excuse is to point to his wife: “Well, the wife that you gave me, she gave me the fruit.” “Well, the wife that I have, she’s simply too beautiful. I had to lie.”
And what’s the result in both stories? The couple is sent out. Adam and Eve are kicked out of Eden. Abram and Sarai are sent away from Egypt.
You could even look at the next passage to follow in each instance. After leaving the Garden there is family conflict between Cain and Abel. After leaving Egypt, there is family conflict between Abram and Lot. We are meant to see this episode in chapter 12 as another kind of fall from grace. The two stories track with each other in uncanny ways.
Except for this all-important detail. In Genesis Adam and Eve are kicked out of Eden, and they leave with cursing. In Genesis 12, Abram and Sarai are kicked out of Egypt, and they leave with blessing. They deserve cursing, just like Adam and Eve did in the garden, but here the promise of God is so operative that when they deserve the same cursing, instead they get what they don’t deserve, they get more blessing.
Looking Ahead
And there’s a connection with this story, not only going back to the garden, but looking forward to the Exodus. Remember, Moses is writing this story is writing it for the people when they are wandering in the wilderness, on the cusp of entering the Promised Land. Think about the parallels they would have seen between their story this story.
Abram migrates to Egypt because of a famine. Jacob’s family, at the end of Genesis, will go down to Egypt because of a famine.
When Abram and Sarai approach the land, they plan a speech for Pharaoh so that it might go well with them. When Israel’s family journeys to Egypt at the end of the book, they plan a speech for Pharaoh so that it might go well with them.
Sarai becomes a sort of slave to Pharaoh. The Israelites will become, for many centuries, slaves to another Pharaoh.
God then afflicts that Pharaoh with plagues, just as he afflicts the Pharaoh in Genesis 12 with plagues. In both cases, the plagues result in Pharaoh sending God’s people out of Egypt.
And what happens when they leave Egypt? Both times they leave with great wealth from the Egyptians. And in both cases, the next stop is to journey in the Negev and then later arrive back in the land.
This story in Genesis 12 was meant to be a comfort to God’s people wandering in the wilderness because of their sin. Parents would have been able to say to their children, “Remember what God did for Abram? He almost blew it. But God took care of him. God rescued him. God blessed him and brought him back to Canaan, all for the sake of his promise. Surely he will do the same for us.”
Looking at Ourselves
Obviously, the lesson from Abram and Sarai in Egypt is not that we should lie our way to wealth and prosperity. Abram’s conniving is a rebuke to all of us who think God’s plan needs help from the world’s ways.
But mostly, the story is a word of hope. It’s a firm reminder that nothing and no one can fully and finally derail the promises of God. You may look at your sin and stupidity and think that you’ve forfeited all of God’s blessing for you. But you haven’t. We may corporately look at the failures of God’s people—worldly compromise, theological error, fallen leaders, hypocrisy, duplicity, sin, and scandal—and wonder how the church will ever accomplish the purposes God has for her. But don’t forget: Jesus himself promises to build his church. This is not an excuse for us to be lazy, let alone to be disobedient, but it is reason for hope.
I don’t know what God is up to in your church, your city, your denomination, or your country, but we can be absolutely certain of this: Christ will be true to his word. The gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable (Rom. 11:29). Nothing can fully and finally derail or destroy the promises of God. Not the world, not the flesh, not the devil. Not even us. Jesus Christ will have his way. He will keep his promises. He will bless his people. He will build his church, and the gates of hell will not prevail against it.

Kevin DeYoung (PhD, University of Leicester) is senior pastor of Christ Covenant Church in Matthews, North Carolina, Council member of The Gospel Coalition, and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary (Charlotte). He has written numerous books, including Just Do Something. Kevin and his wife, Trisha, have nine children: Ian, Jacob, Elizabeth, Paul, Mary, Benjamin, Tabitha, Andrew, and Susannah.

At one point during her confirmation hearing, Amy Coney Barrett held up a blank notepad to show to the Senate Judiciary Committee all the notes she had taken with her to the world’s most stressful job interview. In the wake of this impressive feat, I noticed someone online posed a challenge to pastors that went something like this: Hey pastors, if she can talk for hours with nothing but a blank pad of paper, why can’t you preach without notes?
Immediately, I thought of several replies. (1) She was answering questions, not giving a lecture. (2) She probably didn’t want to be bogged down rifling through material when she needed to maintain eye contact and pay attention to the speaker. (3) She was being asked about material she had already taught, studied, or written about. (4) She’s super-duper smart.
But let’s set aside the unique spectacle that is a Senate confirmation hearing and think more directly about preaching.
There are three typical ways a preacher might preach: with a manuscript, with no notes, with some notes. Each approach has advantages and disadvantages.
Manuscript
Most of the well-known pastors I know preach from a full manuscript. I’ve often had the experience of speaking at a conference, and the organizer will say, “By the way, we are going to turn these messages into a book, so after you speak send me your manuscript.” More than once, I’ve been the only one who says, “Uh, I don’t use a manuscript, and it’s going to take a lot of work for me to turn my personal notes into something that can be published.”
The advantages to preaching from a full manuscript are many. You are able to plan for the well-placed rhetorical punch. You can enter the pulpit feeling more confident and less stressed about losing your way. After the message is spoken, you can share the sermon more easily in print—whether in a book, on your blog, on your church’s website. Most importantly, writing out a manuscript promotes greater clarity, concision, and theological fidelity. I always have our pastoral interns preach from a full manuscript. Even if they lose something in delivery, I want to make sure the content is as strong as possible.
Of course, there are dangers to manuscript preaching as well. The biggest drawback is the potential lack of energy and eye contact. There is a skill (and art) to writing your sermon for the ear and then reading from a manuscript in a way that doesn’t feel stilted. David Platt and John Piper stick closely to their full manuscript, but no one would accuse either of lacking passion or authenticity.
For my part, I wrote out sermon manuscripts for a couple of years early in my ministry. I love having those sermons written out now because it’s much more useful to return to a manuscript than to an outline or scattered bullet points. But I’ve never felt as comfortable preaching from a full manuscript. I feel less engaged with the congregation and less dynamic. Maybe it doesn’t seem any different to the audience, but I don’t enjoy preaching as much when I’m reading from a page. I’m just not sure I have a knack for it.
Thankfully, manuscript preaching is not the only way to preach.
No Notes
I was taught by Haddon Robinson at Gordon-Conwell to preach without notes, and for the first few years in ministry I stuck mainly to this approach. If you’ve never preached without notes, it’s worth trying out for a few months. It may be scary at first, but give it 10 sermons and see what you think (and see what others think). Haddon was a master at preaching without notes. He had a prodigious memory and was a gifted storyteller. He was also incredibly disciplined at gathering memorable illustrations, something I’ve never been good at.
I should clarify that preaching without notes is not the same as impromptu preaching. We are not talking about preaching on the fly. We are talking about diligent study throughout the week, maybe even writing out your sermon in full, and then going into the pulpit with just your Bible and your brain. Maybe you memorized the sermon word for word (as many preachers used to), or, more likely, you have the main points tucked away and the rest is ready to come out from a week’s worth of thinking and praying. In any event, we are talking about working hard through the week so that you can walk the high wire without a net on Sunday.
The advantages and disadvantages of preaching without notes are what you might think. On the plus side, it keeps you relentlessly engaged with the congregation. Unless you and the audience are looking at your Bibles, you are looking at each other. There is freedom in preaching with nothing but a Bible in your hand.
Preaching without notes also forces you to simplify your message. It’s no coincidence that the proponent of Big Idea preaching was a big proponent of preaching without notes. Complicated sermons with quotations and footnotes and the intricacies of Hebrew grammar don’t lend themselves to preaching without notes. But if you have one big idea, with three supporting ideas, plus five illustrations along the way, you can pull it off, and often with good effect.
On the other hand, preaching without notes can lead to some bad habits. If you aren’t writing out a manuscript ahead of time, it can leave you pulling things together on the fly as you preach. I remember one well-known preacher telling me, a few years ago, that he was tired of hearing these pastors who seemed to be finishing their sermon prep in the pulpit. “Don’t test out your sermon on me,” he said. “Work out your transitions and know how you are going to land the plane before you get into the pulpit.” Cutting corners in preparation is a danger.
Making your sermon too basic and too general is another pitfall, as is homiletical meandering. No one wants to listen to 15 minutes of content stretched into a 40-minute message. Haddon Robinson made it look easy. He delivered all his class lectures without notes, and I never remember a wasted word. But most of us will end up wasting a LOT of words unless we really labor to preach effectively without notes.
For me, the time spent in memorization was the biggest drawback to preaching without notes. I’m pretty good at memorizing things, but after a couple of years of preaching without notes, I couldn’t justify the time spent on stuffing outlines into my short-term memory. Maybe I needed to stick with it longer, but once I started preaching every week, and then twice on Sunday, I couldn’t make the time to cram all the information in my head. I was spending hours on Saturday evening and Sunday morning just trying to make sure I remembered my three points and didn’t forget the important stuff I needed to say. After a while I thought, “Why not just bring a few notes into the pulpit and stop all this cramming?”
Some Notes
So I started out preaching without notes. Then I tried preaching from a manuscript. And now, for most of my ministry, I’ve preached from an outline. At first, it was quite a full outline—six pages or more. Then I went down to five pages. Now I try to make sure I don’t go past four. Sometimes it’s a little more than three pages. I usually write out my opening prayer, write out particularly important sentences or paragraphs, write out quotations, and write out my major points. The rest of the outline may consist of sentences, phrases, Scripture passages I want to turn to, or simple prompts reminding me to tell “the Krispy Kreme doughnut story.”
Preaching from an outline works for me. I don’t have to memorize everything, but I don’t have to be tied to a manuscript either. I can plan for a few rhetorical flourishes, while still maintaining eye contact. I have the road map in front of me without sacrificing the freedom to speak more or less extemporaneously. I think I sound more conversational and more passionate when I’m not reading a manuscript. At the very least, I feel more comfortable.
Don’t get me wrong, there are still downsides to my approach. I often fear that I go too long, that my transitions were wobbly, and that my content was not as crisp as it should have been. Sometimes I get into the pulpit and realize the points that seemed clear in my mind, and looked good on paper, sound awfully muddy coming out of my mouth. I also find that it’s harder to preach from an outlined sermon months or years later.
If I could find the time, I think my ideal would be to write out a full manuscript (for clarity and for posterity) and then whittle that down to a half-page of notes that I could tuck in my Bible. In general, I know that my preaching errs on the side of too much information, so simplifying almost always helps my messages.
Honest Limitations
Here’s the bottom line: Be honest about your own limitations, but don’t give up on an approach until you’ve tried it. See what works best for you and your context. Don’t let someone else’s style or method determine how you can best communicate God’s Word.
And if you are in a rut, why not try one of the other approaches for a month or two and see how it feels? There are certain “rules” to preaching. It’s not anything goes. But there is flexibility too. In whatever approach they use, preachers should work hard to grow in the skill of preaching. Ultimately, we need the Spirit to blow, but the gifts and labors of the preacher are usually the kindling he uses to light a spark.

Kevin DeYoung (PhD, University of Leicester) is senior pastor of Christ Covenant Church in Matthews, North Carolina, Council member of The Gospel Coalition, and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary (Charlotte). He has written numerous books, including Just Do Something. Kevin and his wife, Trisha, have nine children: Ian, Jacob, Elizabeth, Paul, Mary, Benjamin, Tabitha, Andrew, and Susannah.

The church is divided as never before.
Okay, that may be an overstatement. But I think most Christians would agree that, from personal conversations and from social media scrolling, it certainly feels like the divisions are as bad as ever, and only getting worse. The church has been divided over doctrine before—sometimes for bad reasons, often for good reasons. That is to be expected. What seems new in our day is how Bible-believing Christians who share almost all the same doctrine on paper are massively and increasingly divided over non-doctrinal matters, torn apart by issues the Bible does not directly address.
Think of the three most contentious issues in the church over the past year: racial tensions, Covid restrictions, and the presidential election. On each of these matters, Christians have disagreed not just on interpretation or strategy or where the slopes are most slippery. We have fundamentally disagreed on the facts themselves, and because we disagree on the facts we disagree even more profoundly on the appropriate response.
Is America deeply and pervasively racist? Are people of color routinely and disproportionately in danger of being killed by police officers? Is virtually every aspect of our society hostile to the presence of black and brown bodies? If you answer yes to all these questions—that is, if you believe the facts warrant all these conclusions—then how can you not be engaged in (peaceful) protest? For the church to ignore injustice on this level is to be guilty of indifference at best and moral turpitude at worst. But if our society and our policing is not fundamentally racist, then much of the social justice movement is motivated by false premises.
What about Covid? If the facts tell us that this is a once-in-a-century pandemic, that we are facing 300,000 excess deaths, and that masks are a simple and effective way to limit the spread of the virus, then extreme care and caution are important ways we can love our neighbors as ourselves. If, on the other hand, coronavirus is hardly more dangerous than the seasonal flu, then the worldwide restrictions look rather onerous, if not outright nefarious.
And what about the election? Setting aside the question of whom to vote for, we are now divided over who people actually did vote for. If the election was stolen, perversely overriding the will of most Americans in an act of unconscionable thievery, then we should be marching (peacefully) until we are blue in the face. But if the facts do not support that conclusion, then we help no one by pretending that the loser of the election actually won.
In each set of issues, you can see why the stakes are so high and why the emotions run even higher. If things are as dire as some purport (on race, with Covid, and with a disputed election), then to do nothing displays a cowardly and colossal failure of nerve. But if, in each situation, things are much less dangerous and less insidious than the doomsdayers say, then taking a full-body chill pill would be the better part of valor.
So what are Christians to do?
First, let us be humble, understanding that few of us are experts on these issues. A little epistemic humility—in our hearts and toward others—can go a long way.
Second, let us be measured. This doesn’t mean our default has to be the status quo, but it does mean we should keep our passions in proportion. We should be religiously dogmatic about our religious dogma and not much else.
Third, let us reason together. It is the profound irony of our age: never has there been more information at our fingertips, and never has it been harder to know what information to trust. In most things, whether we realize it or not, we have no choice but to rely upon the expertise of others. We simply don’t have the time or ability to properly investigate every disputed claim. That means it is more important than ever before that we are discerning about the voices we listen to.
And how can we be discerning? 
Read widely—not just from different voices online but from different voices across the centuries. Reading Calvin or Augustine won’t tell you what to think about Covid, but they will help you think better.
Listen to those who know you best and love you most. Of course, parents and pastors and friends can be wrong too, but there is something unhealthy about putting ourselves under the influence of distant personalities while neglecting those who will have to give an account for their care over us.
Where possible, look at the fruit of someone’s life. To be sure, bad people can make good arguments. But in general, if you are honest with other people, honest with yourself, and honest with God, you tend to be honest with facts and ideas. The opposite is also true.
Run through a series of diagnostic questions in your mind. Questions like:

Does the argument I’m reading deal in trade-offs or only in the categories of all-good/all-evil?
Are the terms and definitions clearly defined?
Can the person fairly state the argument he is arguing against? 
Is he willing to acknowledge any fair points on the other side? 
Does the person I’m listening to seem unhinged and unstable?
Is the argument full of emotive reasoning and ad hominem attack?
Does the force of the argument rely on hard words and high passions or on rational arguments and sound evidence?
Does this person have a track record of being fair, accurate, and well-researched?
Does this person have any credentials or experience that would make him worth listening to?
Does the argument make sweeping claims based on personal anecdotes?
Does the argument require me to believe what is non-falsifiable?
Does the argument require a level of highly elaborate clandestine scheming such that only the most disciplined, organized, and intelligent people in the world could pull it off?
Does the argument confuse correlation with causation?
Is the person a jerk on Twitter, constantly self-congratulatory on Twitter, seeking victim status on Twitter, or otherwise living online in a way that seems imbalanced?

Are these questions a magic elixir that will solve all our disagreements? Of course not. But perhaps they can nudge us in the right direction. I’m sure I’m getting things wrong. In fact, I hope on these non-biblical matters in particular that I’m always open to being corrected and learning something new.
For my part, while I believe there are many ways that the relationship between African Americans and police officers can improve, I don’t think the evidence suggests that racist cops are disproportionately killing unarmed black people. I don’t think Covid is deadly for the vast majority of people but it is very dangerous for some. And while I am sure there were irregularities in November’s election, I don’t think there is evidence of voter fraud so widespread that it could have changed the presidential outcome.
I hesitate to share these convictions because that’s not what I want this post to be about, but neither do I want to pretend that any of us can so rise above the fray that we don’t have to reach any of our own conclusions. My larger and more important point, however, is to urge us as Christians to lead the way in thinking carefully, and in carefully engaging those who think differently–especially on these disputed factual matters that can’t be answered (as I would prefer) by reading our Bibles alone or by quoting from Turretin.

Kevin DeYoung (PhD, University of Leicester) is senior pastor of Christ Covenant Church in Matthews, North Carolina, Council member of The Gospel Coalition, and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary (Charlotte). He has written numerous books, including Just Do Something. Kevin and his wife, Trisha, have nine children: Ian, Jacob, Elizabeth, Paul, Mary, Benjamin, Tabitha, Andrew, and Susannah.