Pentecost 4A – June 28, 2020

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Abraham said, “God himself will provide the lamb for a burnt offering, my son.”  Genesis 22:8

            Lord, have mercy.  Surely this is what Abraham prayed when he heard God’s command, rose early, cut the wood, saddled his donkey, and set off with two servants, and his son, Isaac. Lord, have mercy.

            Isaac was the child of the promise, the reason Abraham and Sarah left their home and everything they knew.  It had been very a long time between the promise and its reality.  So much so they tried to force the promise with Sarah’s servant, Hagar and her son of Abraham, Ishmael.  You heard how that went last week. Eventually three visitors arrive bearing such amazing, unbelievable news that laughter erupts and fills the desert. Nine months later, Isaac, laughter, is born.  God is gracious. God is good. Isaac is the child of promise.  And now this child, his and Sarah’s laughter, is to be sacrificed.  Abraham cut himself off from his past, and now, he must give up his future.  Lord, have mercy.

            Before I had children, I thought the most amazing part of this story was the ram caught in the thicket. But once I became a parent, what is most amazing is Abraham obeys this command of God. That Abraham loved Isaac is without question.  Did you notice the care he takes on the trip up the mountain? Abraham carries the fire and the knife, so the boy would not be hurt. Isaac bears the safer burden of the wood.  This is not a test to determine if Abraham loved his son. It’s about whether he would trust the one who gave him that son. Isaac asked, “Where is the lamb for a burnt offering?” Abraham replies, “God will provide the lamb,” not knowing if it was to be Isaac or another. With his answers and his actions, Abraham embraces both the dark command and the high promise of God.[i] He passes the test.

            Would we pass such a test?  Would I?  Would you? Whenever we pray the Lord’s Prayer, we beg not to face such testing, saying “lead us not into temptation,” or the more accurate translation, “do not bring us to the test.” And though we may not be asked to take the hand of a child and lead him, lead her, up a mountain, there are times of testing for all of us.  As a nation, we are in such a time. 

            Our national motto, e pluribus unum, which goes back to the Continental Congress in 1782, is being tested.  It means “out of many, one.”  In 1782, out of 13 colonies, one nation. The motto is on the Seal of the United States, our coins and the back of one-dollar bills. Out of many, one. Will the many include everyone?  People of all races and backgrounds? Or only some people? And the one? Will each one of us make sacrifices for the whole, knowing that we are in this together?   Abraham passes the test. He has faith God will provide.  He worships the giver, not the gift. He walks up the mountain with Isaac, trusting God every blessed step of the way.  Will we, you and I, pass the test?  I pray so.

            There’s an even deeper question.  And that is, does God pass the test?  John Calvin wrote of this passage, “The command and the promise of God are in conflict.”  While Martin Luther said, this is “a contradiction with which God contradicts himself.”[ii]  How could God who promised a future, now command Abraham to sacrifice his son, the very means of the promise?  Abraham proves to be faithful, while God appears to be absolutely crazy.  Is God crazy?

            In the command to “take your son, your only son, the one whom you love,” God is shown to be God.  In charge.  Lord of all. God’s first commandment is that we have no other gods before him, not even our children.  But God is also graciously faithful – providing what is needed.  Abraham learns that these two marks of God – his dark command and his high promise, are always held together.  If God only gave and never demanded, God would be a wimp.  And if God only demanded and never gave, God would be a tyrant.  Luther said that human reason does not comprehend this and that faith alone is the answer to this strange contradiction.[iii] 

            Faith says “yes” to the promise – packs up the belongings, bids good-bye to friends and family and at the age of 75 takes off on the basis of a promise. Faith also says “yes” to the command to lead the son, Isaac, laughter, by the hand up the mountain, to build an altar, to arrange the wood,  to bind the child, to lower the knife – the command which makes the promises only a promise – for Abraham is absolutely and completely dependent upon God providing.

            That day a ram was given, caught in the thicket by his horns.  Abraham saw it at the last possible moment.  This day a lamb is given too – Christ the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.  God’s Isaac. God’s Laughter. God’s only Son. This Son that God loved is sacrificed upon the wood of the cross.  Does God pass the test?  God, ever faithful, gives his only Son, and in the giving there’s new life.  His resurrection keeps the promise.  There’s life where only death was expected. The dark command and the high promise of God is held together in the cross and resurrection of Jesus. God passes the test.

            Biblical scholar, Walter Brueggeman writes: “Resurrection concerns the keeping of a promise when there is no ground for it.  Faith is nothing other than trust in the power of the resurrection against every deathly circumstance.”[iv]  That includes our response to two deadly circumstances.  First, the covid-19 pandemic which last week a man told me he is “over”.  No longer wears a mask.  He’s done with it.  Except Covid’s not fading but growing. Instead of becoming weary, faith doubles down, keeps social distance, wears masks, washes hands, out of love for our neighbors.  The second is harder, because the roots of racism are so deep – going back over 400 years. At the Phoenixville on Protest on June 5th, I heard a chant that spoke the truth:  All Lives Can’t Matter until Black Lives Matter.  Faith dares to confess and repent for all we have done and left undone, to listen, to learn, to act. Amen


[i] Walter Brueggemann, Genesis, Atlanta: John Knox Press, 1982, 189.

[ii] Ibid, 188.

[iii] Ibid, 189.

[iv] Ibid, 193.