The Test
detail from “Abraham and Isaac,” Rembrandt van Rijn, 1645, https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/343139
Sermon Series “Through the Bible,” № 7, Genesis 22:1-14
He said, “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 on one of the mountains that I shall show you.” —Genesis 22:2
Today’s Hebrew Testament reading has puzzled and repulsed many readers.
In an effort to understand it, we might look at the text from the perspective of comparative religion. We might interpret the passage as one in which a religious primitive named Abraham fears the wrath of a God so capricious that one can never quite figure out how the next calamity will strike. Maybe this angry, demanding God will consume his life through blazing sun, or flooding storms, or marauding raiders who strike in the middle of the night. In order to appease God’s wrath and ensure protection, Abraham must offer as a burnt sacrifice a scapegoat, in whom all the sins of Abraham and his family are believed to be transferred. God demands the best, and, for some terrifying reason and tragic logic, Abraham comes to the conclusion that no sacrifice is more perfect than his son Isaac.
Or we might look at the text from the perspective of canonical criticism, which examines how one part of the Bible gives us insight into another part of the Bible. We might notice that the Old Testament dilemma Abraham faces in sacrificing his son is similar to the New Testament dilemma God faces in sacrificing his only son. We might notice how the gospels and Paul’s writings are influenced by the story of Abraham, and, in turn, influence the way we interpret Abraham’s story.
When confronted with the question, “How could a loving God ask Abraham to sacrifice his son?” we might answer like Martin Luther, who said somewhere that God was asking no more than He did himself when sacrificing his son for the sins of the world. We might answer like John Calvin, who said that God was testing Abraham’s faith in providence.[1] We might answer like John Wesley, “The best evidence of our fearing God is our being willing to honour him with that which is dearest to us, and to part with all to him, or for him.”[2] Each of these Reformers, in his own way, tells us that Abraham’s commitment to God was in a competition with other commitments. The moral of the story, more or less, is this: Until you sacrifice to God’s care and direction everything that is important to you, your heart will never belong fully to God.
In any given church season, usually there are several liturgical and programmatic themes running in parallel tracks, more than we can touch on in any one sermon. This week, I’ve paired the text from Genesis in our “Through the Bible” sermon series with the text from Luke that is foundational to this year’s stewardship emphasis. The Luke text contains one of Jesus’ most famous stories, the Parable of the Good Samaritan.
It’s not too much of an interpretative stretch to say that the Good Samaritan, like Abraham, was faced with a test of character and commitment. The position of power in which the Good Samaritan was placed, and the actions he pondered taking or not taking also had life-or-death consequences. Jesus used the Samaritan as an illustration of what it means to be faithful to God’s purposes. The message to us: “Go and do the same kind of things for your neighbor — and your church — that the Good Samaritan did for the person robbed along the road.” In the context of a stewardship campaign, the line carries the additional emphasis, “Go and give the same way the Samaritan gave.” The Good Samaritan’s commitment of time, talent, and financial resources is a model for how God’s people continue to share and be the good news.
Robert Boyd Munger, who served for many years as pastor of Hollywood Presbyterian Church, wrote a classic devotional booklet called “My Heart, Christ’s Home.” In it, Munger lets the reader know that one evening he invited Jesus into his heart, and what a real difference that made. A fire was built in the hearth that banished his soul’s chill. Music played where before there was stillness.
In the joy of this new relationship he prayed to Christ, “Lord, I want this heart of mine to be Yours. I want to have You settle down here and be perfectly at home.”
Jesus began to tour his heart, and room-by-room, he made stunning changes. In the “study,” or control room of his heart, impure thoughts were replaced with meditation upon the scriptures. In the “dining room,” the place of appetite and desires, unhealthy food was put aside in order to taste the food of doing God’s will. On through the living room, and the workroom, in each place bringing new purpose and vitality.
Then came the day that Munger found Jesus waiting at a door that Munger did not want him to enter. In that small room were one or two things so personal and so treasured that Munger was not willing to relinquish control or even share them. In fact, he was angry that Jesus should point himself in the direction of that door, given the fact that Munger had already given him access to everything else in his life. Eventually, says Munger, he realized that Christ’s goal was not limited entry, but total access.
Munger’s little parable helps us better understand and appreciate the story of Abraham’s testing. In another form, it expresses the same message: God wants us to devote all that we have and hold dear to Him. Until you sacrifice to God’s care and direction everything that is important to you, your heart will never belong fully to God.
As a new grandparent, or reaching back in my memory to the time when I was the parent of a young child, how absurd it seems to talk about sacrifice when exercising my protective instinct. But the years pass by, and life changes. The time comes when protection isn’t as simple as providing a top-rated child’s car seat. Fixing a problem isn’t as easy as applying a Band-Aid, or giving a dose of amoxicillin. The day comes when we realize that we can no longer protect children by placing them behind the steering wheel of a car with the latest safety features or asking that they be home by curfew. The passage of time forces us to sacrifice to God’s care and direction the child who has become an adult. We can resist the change, and resent it to the bitter end. Or we can surrender the child into the hands of God, whose love for our children is more powerful than any human parent ever can provide.
Pastor Ed Markquart, at Grace Lutheran in Seattle, asks the simple question: “What is your Isaac? What is your most valuable possession or possessions in this world? Your family? Your spouse? Your children?”[3] What is the person or place to which you will not allow God access? Who or what keeps you from fuller commitment to God?
There’s a fascinating story that seems to stem from the lore surrounding the Holy Roman Empire. Sometimes the story is set in the context of a military campaign led by Constantine or Charlemagne. I searched without success for a reliable ancient source, and now suspect that it’s more likely fiction than fact. But story has a fine point, so I’m going to tell it anyway.
As the story goes, while in the midst of a military campaign, the Emperor felt a renewed devotion to God. He called his troops, as an act of dedication, to pass through a river while dressed in heavy armor. I know, it doesn’t make much sense to move through a river wearing metal gear, we know soldiers have died carrying less through rivers. Still, I ask you to suspend your disbelief for just a moment longer. It’s said that a group of Frankish warriors were suspicious of this new God and worried that this ritual act might carry some harmful magic. As these warriors passed through the river, they held their swords high above the water, not to save them from rust, but to keep them from Jesus.[4]
There are many ways to hold back for ourselves only that which belongs to God. The editors of our Genesis material suggest that Abraham was tempted to place his devotion to Isaac above his devotion to God. Jesus says that three people who had opportunity to reach out with healing and service, but only the Samaritan altered his schedule, and opened his wallet. We, too, face our particular contemporary temptations to go into the waters of baptism, but hold high our calendars and our mutual funds.
The story of Abraham’s testing holds a message for us. We are called to devote all that we have and hold dear to Him. When you were baptized, was your calendar baptized, too? Did you hold your personal treasures out of the water? Until you sacrifice to God’s care and direction everything that is important to you, you will not realize the full potential and purpose that God has planned for you.
NOTES
[1] John Calvin, commentary on Genesis 22 in Geneva Notes.
[2] John Wesley, commentary on Genesis 22 in Notes on the Bible.
[3] http://www.sermonsfromseattle.com/series_b_abraham_and_isaac_GA.htm
[4] One version of this story is noted by Michael L. Lindvall, A Geography of God, p. 132-133.
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