God is always moving, whether we notice it or not. And God calls us to join him: Will you?
This past Sunday we had the privilege of revisiting one of the most iconic episodes in Jewish and Christian literature: the binding of Isaac, also known as, the Akedah (Genesis 22:1-14).
This story, in which Abraham is commanded to sacrifice his long-awaited son Isaac would become in Judaism a dominant tale and in Christianity it would become a type for the death of Jesus Christ. It also happens to be one of the most brilliant examples of literary art in human history. One literary critic, Eric Auerbach, compares this story with the epic poems of Homer (i.e., Iliad, Odyssey), expounding upon its suggestive power and literary subtlety.
During the sermon we walked through the text verse-by-verse paying careful attention to what the narrator tells us (as opposed to “filling in the gaps” with psychological or narrative conjecture). Upon studying the text as written and handed down, we concluded that the question posed by the text is as follows: Does Abraham’s love of Isaac threaten or weaken his commitment to YHWH?
The passage, in other words, is not about a jealous, codependent God who needs to see that Abraham loves him more than anything else to feel secure in his identity. Neither is it about a capricious, bloodthirsty deity who delights in child sacrifice. Nor, I would say, is it about God not knowing something at the beginning (whether or not Abraham is faithful) and learning something new by the end (that Abraham is indeed faithful).
The “test” which Abraham undergoes is less like the SAT and more like Basic Training. By commanding Abraham to hand over his long-awaited, beloved son Isaac, God intends to strengthen Abraham’s trust, a trust that is the only real condition for God’s covenant with Abraham to stand.
Before, in Genesis 12, 15, and 17, God had promised to make Abraham into a great nation, to give him and his descendants the land of Israel, to bless him and make his name great. Elsewhere, he promises to bless the entire world through the descendants which would come from Abraham.
All Abraham must do is remain faithful to God by obeying his command of circumcision and continuing to follow God’s lead. If Abraham keeps covenant, in short, God will bless the world through him. The world’s blessedness depends, in a way, on Abraham’s faithfulness.
Abraham’s trial in Genesis 22:1-14, then, is for the sake of the entire world. If Abraham refuses to obey YHWH, balking at the notion of child sacrifice, or clinging to his most treasured possession (in his mind: his sure guarantee of eternal happiness), the world will not be blessed through him. The covenant will dissolve.
Those who know the story, of course know that Abraham did obey, at least he intended to. He arose early in the morning, saddled his donkey, went to the place of which God had spoken, and lifted his hand to slay his son. At the very last moment, God “provides” (a verb which can be translated “select, determine, designate”) a ram to be offered instead of Isaac. At the end of the day, it’s still God who determines what he must give up.
We learn from this story that Abraham’s love of Isaac, his commitment to his long-awaited son and heir, did not weaken his commitment to YHWH. God’s promise to bless the world through Abraham (the covenant) was not jeopardized by Abraham’s most treasured possession.
In the sermon I asked: What exists in your life which threatens or weakens your commitment to Jesus? What, in other words, is your Isaac?
In our modern Western context, we are likely to read this individually, taking the yous and yours as singular: What exists in my life which threatens or weakens my commitment to Jesus? What is my Isaac?
Now, this isn’t all bad. If you feel led to engage this question for yourself, by all means do so! What I am most interested in at this moment, however, is: What is our (the Church’s) Isaac?
Toward the end of the sermon, I listed a number of Christians (some individuals, some communities) who were urged to give something up to enhance their usefulness in God’s mission.
Saul of Tarsus, for one, had to give up thinking that this radical new sect called “the Way” (later called Christianity) was heretical and wrong.
The apostle Peter, later, had to give up dearly held beliefs (sourced from the OT) about cleanliness to include Gentiles in the early Church.
James and the Church at Jerusalem had to give up thinking that Jewishness (marked by circumcision, Sabbath/festival observance, etc.) was the only way to be saved.
And countless early Christians gave up health and life during the plagues and the Great Persecution(s).
“Christians today,” I went on, “give up many things to be faithful to God’s mission: giving up upper-middle class comforts to minister in impoverished neighborhoods; prejudice against certain races, classes, orientations to bring the gospel to where it’s needed most; some dearly held positions or beliefs (sourced from Scripture, even) which hinder rather than mobilize the Gospel.”
After all this, I asked: “What do you need to give up? What is your Isaac?” This, of course, encouraged personal, individual reflection in the pews. I even continued with: “Only you know the answer to this question; not me, not your spouse, not your neighbor. Only you after honest prayer and reflection can identify what you might need to give up.”
Moving away from the “I” and the “me,” however, what about the “us”? What about the “us”?
After the sermon, we typically gather for an organic “Sermon Review” discussion time. There is no agenda besides opening up the floor for questions and comments about the sermon and the passage that was preached.
Toward the end of this particular session, we discussed the example of the apostle Peter in greater depth. We compared Peter with Abraham, both characters having “checkered pasts,” but whom God showed mercy and grace in giving them second chance after second chance.
The Abraham who lied about his wife, handing her over (sexually) to Egyptian nobles, is entrusted with the spiritual fate of the entire world. The Peter who denies Jesus three times is declared to be the foundation of the Church itself.
Abraham is given an opportunity to obey and to strengthen his trust. So, we discussed, was Peter. After insulting Jesus on numerous occasions, denying him openly before others, God gives him a vision in Acts 10.
Peter, a faithful, Torah-observant Jew, had grown up thinking that certain foods were unclean (off-limits) for Israelites. The Scriptural basis for this conviction is ironclad. You find such prescriptions all over the Pentateuch (esp. Exodus-Deuteronomy). Such “food laws,” writes Darrell Bock, “underscore Israel’s separation from the nations.” When Peter sees in the vision a menagerie of unclean animals and hears the command, “Kill and eat,” everything in him says: “Say no (to this test).” And he does. The voice comes again a second time, and again, Peter says, “No” (unstated but implied). Finally, it comes a third time, and then the vision dissolves.
Peter has lived his entire life clinging fast to such purity laws. He has read them in Torah, practiced them in his daily life, safeguarded them at all costs. Now, God seems to say: “Take your beloved convictions and offer them up as a burnt-offering at the place I will show you.” In other words, these practices you have safeguarded, these laws you have obeyed, these beliefs you have held; I need you to give them up.
Peter’s “symbolic world of Torah and his identity as a member of God’s people is stretched to an unimaginable extent” in this episode (Luke T. Johnson). “In a sense this is the book’s turning point, since from here the gospel will fan out in all directions across a vast array of geographical regions” (Darrell Bock). “The LORD here forces Peter to acknowledge that God’s granting of salvation takes place apart from Torah, and that the people of Israel no longer need to separate clean and unclean foods, clean and unclean people” (Eckhard Schnabel).
Peter, like Abraham, is being called forward into the unknown future written by God. If he had clung to his dearly held beliefs, to Scripturally supported (!) laws about cleanliness and impurity: the Gospel may not have spread to the Gentiles (or, it would’ve, but only by the preaching of Paul).
God is always moving, whether we notice it or not. And God calls us to join him: Will you?
“Understanding and following God’s call requires courage,” writes Schnabel. It requires courage to be the first one to challenge deeply held communal convictions (purity laws). It requires courage to be the one to step up and say, “I think we need to give this up.” All throughout the Christian story, we see examples of this.
At the end of our post-sermon discussion, one participant asked: “Might we be living in such a moment today?” He said, “This is a pattern in Scripture, yes, but might it extend to our present?”
The Church, like Abraham, is being called (always) to “give something up” for the sake of God’s mission. What do we need to give up? What is our Isaac?
Jonah Bissell
Pastor