Today, father's day of 2015, the pastor gave a sermon in church directed to fathers. Although I'm not one -- we've already established that -- I still found the message applicable. I thought I'd share some thoughts from it instead of a Daily Lie. Please remember that most of these ideas come from the Pastor who spoke today at Pleasant View Bible Church, not from me. He's a Professor from Grace College in Winona Lake, Indiana.
You're hiking up a mountainside. In a few months this will all be lush and green, with splashes of vibrant color decorating the landscape. For now, though, the rains haven't fallen yet. There's nothing but scrub brush and yellow grass, and a few stunted saplings giving tattered shade.
What do you talk about? What can you talk about, with a bundle of sticks on your back and a knife on your belt, and the implements for fire in your satchel? What do you tell your seven, a teenager jogging beside you, who has asked questions that you can't answer? Does he suspect? Does he know that every step you trudge carries the two of you closer to his own death?
You've been traveling for three days. Your journey is nearing it's end.
A Holy death. Hah, you could laugh at the idea. A sacrifice? You don't understand that. Why would your God, a supposedly-loving God who gave you this child, command you to kill him? Isaac is your only son. The only son you're ever likely to have. You were a hundred years old when Sarah had him, after all. And it's not just that he will continue your blood line, that he takes away your shame and fulfills your dream . . . it's that you love him. A deep, violent love, a love that would make you die for him, if that was what it took. You would kill any man who tried to hurt him. But what do you do when it's not a man? What do you do when it's someone you're supposed to love even more, and that person is God?
You're nearing the top of the mountain.
This is Mt. Moriah, a Holy place, so they say. But it doesn't feel Holy, does it? It feels tainted with the coming deed, the coming murder. This is the mountaintop where your Faith and your Fear collide. Where the Giver and the Gift seem to be in conflict.
This is the place of death and life. And now you're at the top.
He's a good boy, you think, as you bind his hand behind his back. Your rough with the cord. You have to be, to get it tight. But still, he could resist, because he's young and you're an old man. He could shove you to the ground and sprint away, and you could do nothing. You wish that he would.
This, however, is about more than his life. It's about obedience, prompted by the fulfillment of God's gift. God always fulfills, you see, in His appointed time and way. He gave you a son, and so you know you have to obey Him, even though you don't understand, even though obeying means losing that son.
In another way, a perverse way, this isn't only about obedience. It's about teaching Isaac, too. Killing him means you will lose him. But if you don't kill him, that will be teaching him to defy God's commands when it suits him, and the result will be far worse than simple loss. You will watch him become a godless man, a corruption of the dream you once had. And you suspect that that is why he does not flee you, now. Even as he clearly realizes what is coming, you see in his eyes that he will obey you and obey God, because he has watched your example of obedience. For better or worse, you have taught him to be meek as a lamb. And it is right. Oh, but it hurts.
If you're familiar with the story found in Genesis 21:1-7 and 22:1-19, then you know how it ends: God does not rip Isaac away from Abraham, but rather provides another sacrifice: a lamb caught in a thicket near the sacred altar. This is such a beautiful story. A heartache-journey of three days, a slow trudge up a mountain towards death, and two men who can stop at any time, but continue on bearing fire, wood, and blade. Finally, at the moment of greatest pain and commitment, they hear the voice of God himself. Then there is red blood on white fleece, and a wailed prayer of thanks as smoke boils up toward heaven.
Philosopher Soren Kierkegaard has said that "Life must be lived forwards, but can only be understood backwards." I'm not sure if that quote is exactly correct, but I think you understand. In retrospect, it is clear to us that God would never demand the true blood-sacrifice of Isaac. But it wouldn't have been clear beforehand. We know that Isaac grew up to be a faithful man, and I'm willing to bet that at moments when he questioned obedience, he remembered his father weeping as he stood against the backdrop of the lands surrounding Mt. Moriah.
How about you? Have you visited the place where Fear and Faith collide? Where the Giver and the Gift seem in conflict? Remember that obedience is not only right, but it is a legacy left for others. Remember that, as you walk up one side of the mountain, God's provision is coming up the other.
And remember Mt. Moriah.
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