Genesis 22:1-14 Matthew 10:40-42
There are a few stories in the Bible that are sometimes referred to as “texts of terror.” This story from Genesis is one of them.
It is the climax of the long story of Abraham and Sarah. In a way, it resembles the climax of a big disaster movie, where a disaster comes – a tsunami, a fire, a nuclear attack, or zombies from outer space – tearing through our civilization and leaving a huge swath of wreckage in its wake.
Usually, in the disaster movie, we just focus on the survivors. When it’s over, the audience is washed in relief, so thankful that we made it! On the screen there are embraces and maybe a little wry humor, so we can leave the theatre feeling good.
We might try to do that with the Genesis story too. Look at the survivors – Abraham and Isaac come back down from the mountain alive. They go home to Sarah. Isaac lives to a ripe old age – he marries and has children. So all is well.
Yet, I just can’t do it. And it’s all because of one sentence. God calls, Abraham answers, then God says:
“Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering.”
I mean, what do you do with a text like this? You can rationalize it, usually our first instinct with something this hard. You can historically analyze the heck out of it – I have done that too. You can spiritualize it – try to remove it from the bodily realm and just think about the spiritual meaning.
And while all of these things – the historical context, the spiritual meaning – are worthy conversations, they don’t erase the plain sense of the words on the page, the flesh and blood impact of the story.
This is your worst fear; this is the darkest corner of humanity; the darkest shadow of every human heart.
I resist it the same way I resist the reality of evil in the world, in all its forms. and yet it is here.
Why is this story necessary, I often wonder? Something so difficult, so hurtful and frightening, so prone to misunderstanding? Was it really prudent to include it in the Bible?
I am reminded of a conversation recounted by the writer Sara Maitland, with an elderly woman she ran into on her way to the post office one day. A local church had been struck by lightning and it was on the older woman’s mind. She asked Sara, “Do you suppose it’s really true that God deliberately made this happen?” Sara replied, “No, I don’t think really think so. Do you?” The older woman said, “No I don’t think so either.” But then she added, “He should have been more careful, though. He should have known there would be talk.”
And that’s what I think about this story of Abraham and Isaac. God should have known there would be all kinds of talk. God should have known that people would be scandalized by a story like this one. They would distort it and misuse it and misinterpret it … and just have a really hard time understanding the how and the why of it. Really, God should have been more careful, so such a story as this wouldn’t even be necessary.
And that is fine to think, even to say, but God will do what God will do, not being subject to our conventions. God is too big for that. And so stories of God, like this story of Isaac and Abraham, take us right up to the edge without letting us fall.
But, man, that edge? I don’t really want to look over that edge.
I want to echo the feelings of the Danish philosopher Soren Kierkegaard, who said it was one tough calling being Abraham, God’s chosen one. It would have been so much easier to have been cast out, rejected by the Lord. Kierkegaard imagined that there were times when Abraham actually wished that God would turn away from him, releasing him from this impossible burden.
The calling is, indeed, a tough one, as Jesus told his disciples in a variety of ways. In this 10th chapter of Matthew Jesus offered some hard teachings – words we listened to last week. That because of his presence, families would be divided and lives would be lost. That to be worthy of him, they each must take up their cross and follow him.
He took his disciples right up to the edge. But then he didn’t let them fall. Jesus pulls them back with the assurance that their relationship is for keeps.
Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and welcomes the one who sent me, he says. We are so intertwined, you and I, that they can’t do anything to you without also doing it to me. I am always with you in a way that backs you up entirely and strengthens you completely. I am so much with you that our identities are inseparable. And even more, we are both intertwined with the Father, the one who sent me.
The Father – the one we identify as the God who said to Abraham, “Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering.”
It is still a tough calling, because this is what it is. Our God asks us to go right up to the edge and look over; to acknowledge the evil, to never close our eyes to the suffering in the world. Yes, our God is a scandalous God who won’t tidy things up or shove the skeletons in the closet for the sake of our sensibilities. But in it all, through it all, God will reach out a hand to come between us and the evil.
God stopped Abraham from the terrible act he was so near committing, and God provided a suitable sacrifice. In gratitude, Abraham named the mount, “The Lord Will Provide.”
The Lord will provide what we need. An outstretched hand holding –
a ram caught in the thicket – saving Isaac, rescuing Abraham from becoming a hollowed-out man for the rest of his life. An outstretched hand holding –
a cup of cold water for a thirsty traveler, the sustenance we need in a dry and weary land.
Remember this. No matter how ugly things get in this world, God will provide.
►Photo: Team building at Camp Krislund
