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Abraham and Sarah's son Isaac was old enough to have a wife, but he didn't have one yet, not even one. His father was now quite old and was in the process of arranging his affairs in expectation that his death would soon occur.

One thing much on Abraham's mind was to secure a wife for his bachelor son. After all, Abraham and Sarah's descendants were scheduled to become a great nation, and if their only son never married, the prospects of that happening would be greatly diminished.

In those days, the mating of young men and young women was not done so much by the couple themselves as it was by their parents and families. So Isaac's father decided it was time to act in this matter. Looking around among his Canaanite neighbors, with their many gods and pagan rituals, he concluded that none of these women were well suited to be the great-grandmother of a nation.

Accordingly, and desiring to keep it all in the family, Abraham sent a recruitment mission to a distant land where certain of his relatives lived. The expedition was carefully thought-out and skillfully planned. The emissary Abraham sent was astute, loyal, and extremely faithful in his assigned task. Abraham saw to it that the plan was virtually fail-safe.

There were two aspects of the plan, each complementary to the other, and each of which alone would virtually guarantee success. First, there were the things that Abraham arranged, and second were the things he trusted God to take care of.

That's really not a bad program, you know. To do our best and trust God for the rest -- this makes good sense, I think. To undertake everything ourselves, as though God did not exist, or, if existing, did not care -- this is not good. Neither is it good to expect God to do it all, while we lazily do nothing. In his quest for a wife for his son, the wise and aged Abraham struck a beautiful balance between these two ways of working.

Now, let's have a look at the first of these two; let's look at the plan of action Abraham cleverly designed and his servant faithfully carried out.

When the servant arrived at the assigned destination, and had determined that a young woman named Rebekah was the one to be chosen, it was then his task to convince her family and her that she should return with him and marry a man she had not yet even met. Quite a sales job, one would think.

Nevertheless, following a carefully conceived strategy, the servant was preeminently successful, even so impressing Rebekah's family that when she left, they blessed her on her way.

How did Abraham's emissary bring this all about? Well, it was a masterful piece of persuasive psychology, and no deception about it.

First of all, after identifying himself, Abraham's servant let his audience know that Abraham was rich, very rich. He said, "The Lord has greatly blessed my master, and he has become wealthy; he has given him flocks and herds, silver and gold, male and female slaves, camels and donkeys" (Genesis 24:35).

About this time, members of his audience probably cast approving glances toward one another and prepared to listen more attentively. After all, what woman and her kin wouldn't look with favor upon marrying into a family as well-to-do as that?

But then the clincher came with the servant's next revelation; he announced: "My master's wife has borne him a son ... and he has given him all that he has" (Genesis 24:36). Ah! the heir, the only heir to all that fortune! Virtually any woman would be impressed with that, and so would virtually any woman's family.

Abraham's servant, however, wasn't finished yet; he had other bait to dangle before his prospective catch. He went on to say that Abraham was being highly selective in the matter of a wife for his son (Genesis 24:37). Canaanite women were unacceptable; a wife for Isaac had to be special, very special. Therefore Abraham had sent his servant on a long journey to find that special woman, and he felt he had found her.

What a compliment to Rebekah and her family! When trying to win a point with somebody, a bit of praise, even a little flattery, may work wonders. To make the other feel important, even superior, is an excellent technique for encouraging agreement. Thus, Abraham's servant really laid it on: My rich master is hard to please, and you, Rebekah, are that rare person who will please him -- this is what the servant was saying.

By this time, he was probably fairly certain that his audience had bought into his proposal, but he still wasn't ready to sit back and say: Well, what do you think?

Instead, he went on to offer the blessing and protection of angels. "The Lord will send his angel," he said (Genesis 24:40). He was saying: I want you to know that God is involved in this; it is pre-approved, and the Lord has given his sign of this in what happened at yonder well when I made covenant with God as to the next to visit there and immediately Rebekah came.

Now the servant considered his point well made, his sales pitch completed, and now, in effect, he did sit back to ask, "Well, what do you think about it?" Anyway, we know this from the record: Her family said to Rebekah, "Will you go with this man?" and she promptly gave reply in two short words: "I will!" (Genesis 24:58).

And why not? Who wouldn't? After all, to use the modern vernacular, she and her family had been thoroughly "sold." Abraham and servant had put much thought into the issue at stake and had planned well. They had done their best and were successful.

But this is only half the story. The other half has to do with trust in God, and clearly Abraham and servant were quite sincere about that. They were honestly convinced that God would indeed "send his angel" to see that all turned out well.

There is here, I think, a powerful message for you and me. We also, like Abraham, have every reason to trust that God will always use his angels well. But the question is: How well do we use ours?

You ask: Do we have angels? The word is simply another name for power; and, yes, we do have angels. Angels of God are they through whom his power may be extended or expressed in whatever way he may desire. You and I have powers also, powers of various kinds. God can be trusted to exercise his powers responsibly, but can we be trusted so to use ours?

The problem with possessing power is the persistent and devilish temptation to overuse it. We are often like a youth behind the wheel of a high-powered sports car: We want to feel it do everything it can. Responsible use of power means restraint in what we call upon it to do. In many ways, we have some measure of power over other persons, and here is an area of grave danger for us.

You will recall, I suppose, that when Jesus was facing his arrest, Simon Peter drew his sword as though to defend him. Gently, but firmly, Jesus reprimanded Peter, saying: "Put your sword back in its place" (Matthew 26:52). And then Jesus went on to say this highly significant thing: "Do you think I cannot appeal to my Father, and he will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels?"

In the Roman military, the legions were the elite, each composed of 4,500 men, and twelve legions would total 54,000 of Rome's best soldiers. What would Peter's little sword amount to in comparison with all of that? And do you want to compare the power of just one of God's angels with the power of the whole Roman army? What chaos 54,000 of those angels could have wrought in the Garden of Gethsemane that Thursday night!

But Jesus did not call his angels. Please hear that again: Jesus did not call his angels. He had at his disposal power that he did not use, enormous power.

He who by precept and example has taught us so much, has, by his example in Gethsemane that night, given us an important principle to live by, a lesson in living that urgently calls for our attention. The lesson, of course, concerns the use of power; it's about a controlled, restrained, disciplined management of whatever angels we may have.

We all have power, each of us -- certainly not as much as Jesus, but enough to be dangerous, damaging, even devastating. To utilize the imagery of Jesus, we have angels at our command, perhaps not 54,000, but maybe a dozen or so.

We have powers that can affect other people, that can do them great good or awful harm. Any one of us, for instance, who has the power of speech, can utter a few words of false witness that will destroy the good name and reputation of another.

Sadly, too many of us who move about in this human scene stand ready to assert all the powers we have over anybody we can. But, my friend, if you are at all of a decent sort, you just don't clobber somebody every time you get a chance.

The Spanish-American War battle of Santiago in 1898 resulted in a decisive American victory. Seeing the enemy in ruin and at riot, American soldiers sent up an uproarious cheer. Instantly, their commander shouted, "Don't cheer, boys; the poor devils are dying."

There are many times in the give and take of struggle and conflict when we might cheer, but should not. A normal sensitivity to human feelings and values calls for some restraint. If we follow up on every advantage we may have over others, we have this in common with the lioness that pursues her prey to the death.

In the thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians, we read about some things that love will not do; it will not behave in ways that are arrogant or rude and will not rejoice when things fail to go well for other people.

It is neither praiseworthy nor a mark of strength in us if we wield over the lives of others all the power we can muster. It is praiseworthy, though, and surely an evidence of strength, when we don't. It takes a lot more of the stuff of which life ought to be made to control our powers than it does to turn them loose upon the world or any of its parts.

When the American Civil War stumbled to its conclusion in 1865, the defeated "rebels" may possibly have been punished severely. The victorious Northerners had the power to do that, but they didn't. Instead, under orders of President Lincoln, the word was this: "Let every Confederate soldier take his side arms and his horse and go home."

Not only is it praiseworthy and a mark of strength, but it is also an evidence of greatness not to use all the powers we have. This is true, at least, in so many instances. The fact is that many times the hurtful thing we might do to others and do not do is even more laudable than the helpful thing we do.

Not to use all the clubs we have at hand is an aspect of the kind of maturity to which we should all aspire. A small child may use all his powers simply because he has them; he will snatch a toy from a playmate simply because he can; but he should outgrow this by the time he is ten. And when he is grown-up, he should know that merely having power is never a sufficient reason for using it.

During the Civil War, to cite that war again, Confederate president Jefferson Davis once asked General Robert E. Lee his opinion of a certain man, and Lee responded with highest praise of the fellow. Overhearing this conversation, another man said to Lee, "You speak so well of this man; perhaps you do not know that he misses no opportunity to malign you in every way." Lee replied, "Yes, I know; but President Davis did not ask his opinion of me, but my opinion of him." You see, General Lee might have used his great power and influence to get even, but he did not.

There are many good reasons why we ought to ask some of our angels to stand idle much of the time, many good reasons why we should not do to others all the things we might. And one of the most important of these reasons is this: God has not used all his angels against us, and therefore, in gratitude, we should not use all of ours against others.

I am both impressed and embarrassed when I consider all the times I have disappointed God, and God could have clobbered me into the dust, but did not. If God, in loving patience, can deal so generously with me, I think I should be diligent to practice more generosity with others.

One of the many stories Jesus told is reported in Luke 13: A man had a fig tree that for three years yielded no fruit. The man said to his gardener, "Cut it down; why should it be wasting the soil?" But the gardener protested: "Let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it...."

Aren't you glad God doesn't chop us down after our first fruitless season, and especially after many, many more? He keeps digging and fertilizing and cultivating and hoping and giving us another chance -- and another and another. He who uses his angels so well has a right, I think, to expect that we will use ours better than we sometimes do.

Well, dear friend, life has entrusted us with enormous power, but it is up to us to control it. You may know that King Hezekiah of Judah needed military help against Egypt and appealed to Assyria for aid. The Assyrian king responded: "I will give you two thousand horses, if you are able on your part to set riders on them" (2 Kings 18:23).

Changing the figure for a moment from angels to horses, you and I have been given a lot of them, and it is our responsibility to put bits in their mouths and on their backs riders with the reins in their hands. This, of course, lest those horses run wild.

So, whether the figure is that of angels or horses, the bottom line is this: Most of us most of the time have power to do many things we ought not to do. There are many positive and constructive things to use it for; let's concentrate on these.

Now, back to Abraham: He did the very best he could to accomplish a good thing, and in addition, he trusted God. Thus, between what he could do and what he believed God would do, he could be confident of getting the job done.

His was a prudent use of the powers he had; he didn't send an army to steal Rebekah and carry her screaming home. His way of doing it left no bruises, no scars, and when it was all done, everybody was happy about it.

In his time and place, Abraham was a citizen of great power; but he did not use all the powers he had; he had no need to. Nor do we. The way this man worked was the better way; it was so for him and will be for us. He used his angels well. Let's resolve that we will in like manner use ours.