God 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 on one of the mountains that I shall show you.” (Gen 22:2 NRSV)
The caseworker called twenty minutes after court had ended. “They’re reunifying tomorrow. We’ll be there at 9 AM to pick her up.”
***
I’ve never really been bothered by the “Sacrifice of Isaac.” It always seemed weird to me that people got so worked up about it. I mean, at the end of it, Isaac wasn’t sacrificed, so why worry about it? (I recognize that this is neither a pastoral nor compassionate response to people’s trouble with Scripture, but take heart in that I’ve never actually said this to anyone.)
Sure, God asks Abraham to do a horrific, morally repugnant thing — of all reasons — to test him! Maybe even more shockingly, Abraham seems pretty intent to do it, without any push back or comment at all. Good Ole Abe put up more of a fight for Sodom and Gomorrah than he did for Isaac. Everyone else seems pretty intent to let the chips fall where they may. Sarah is absent, the servant hangs back, and all Isaac can muster is a not-so-thinly-veiled word of terror: “Ummm, where the heck is the sacrifice!?”
But at the end of the day, everything works out: Isaac is alive, God’s promise and Abraham’s faith are confirmed, time for a snack!
So much hubbub for a happy ending.
All this makes me jealous of Abraham.
We couldn’t sleep that night. We had about 16 hours to pack up almost four years of a young life. Do we send it all? Do we save some for other kids in the future? What about the toys? My God, the toys! And we need to do this while maintaining a level of normalcy. We should order dinner. Call our families and friends to help. Where do we even start? Now we’re down to 14 hours.
“Isaac said to his father Abraham, ‘Father!’ And he said, “Here I am, my son.’ He said, ‘The fire and the wood are here …’” (Gen 22:6-7)
“Why are we packing?” she asked.
“You’re going to live at your mom’s house.”
“You can leave this here for when I come home.”
“You’re not coming back to us.”
“Yes, I am.”
“We love you very much, but we don’t know that. If you are going to want it or if you’ll miss it, you should take it with you.”
“I’ll leave it here for later.”
“Okay.”
By 3 AM it was all packed, friends and family had all gone, the house was dark and silent. We laid in bed, wide awake, soaked in tears, begging God to do something — anything. 6 hours left.
She woke up at 6:30 AM (2.5 hours left) and knocked on our door. We were glad she didn’t sleep in. We got ready for the day. Made breakfast, drew a bath, and bathed her for the last time. She played and laughed in the sink, happy. I washed her hair, despite her protestations. The water rolling over her like an ancient rite. Like baptism, or ablutions for the dead, something that marked an ending and a beginning — marked that the world would never be the same.
“‘The fire and wood are here,’ Isaac said, ‘but where is the lamb for the burnt offering?’” (Gen 22:7)
I started to cry.
“Dada, why are you crying?”
“Because I’m sad.”
“Why are you sad?”
“Because I don’t want you to go.”
“I’m not going.”
“Lovebug, you are.”
She reached out her tiny hand and put it to my cheek, “Don’t cry dada. I don’t want you to be sad.”
“I love you. I’m sorry.”
“I love you too.”
By the time her bath was done, the rest of the family was awake. We fed and dressed everyone; and then she asked us if we could play outside. It was 8:30 AM. 30 minutes.
We went outside and took the most egregious family photo you can imagine, eyes puffy, cheeks wet, like a hostage photo meets funeral death mask. And then we played. She rode her bike. She dare-deviled down the hill in her Barbie car. She pushed her “sister” down the hill in the car. There was laughter and dancing, and for a minute we forgot that it was almost 9 AM.
The state’s car pulled up. “There’s not going to be enough room,” my wife said. “We’ll make it fit,” I told her.
“Abraham said, ‘God himself will provide the lamb for a burnt offering, my son.’ So the two of them walked on together.” (Gen 22:8)
At 9:45 AM, the car drove off.
***
Theologian Ellen Davis, in a sermon given at the Duke University chapel, after describing her aversion to the story of the “Sacrifice of Isaac,” imaginatively interrogates the councils and compilers of Scripture as to why they would include this story in the canon. She imagines they would tell her that she missed the point:
The point of this story is not to make people want to believe in Abraham’s God — who is of course also Jesus’ God and Father. Rather, this harrowing story exists to help people who already believe make sense of their most difficult experience, when God seems to take back everything they have ever received at God’s hand.
She continues that this story is specifically about trust: yes, Abraham’s trust in God, but also God’s trust in Abraham.
I said earlier that this story never bothered me much because it has a happy ending. But I find myself wondering, questioning, grappling with what we do when it doesn’t.
What am I supposed to do now that I find myself jealous of Abraham?
“Abraham looked up and saw a ram, caught in a thicket by its horns. Abraham went and took the ram and offered it up as a burnt offering instead of his son. So Abraham called that place ‘The Lord will provide’; as it is said to this day, ‘On the mount of the Lord it shall be provided.’” (Gen 22:13-14)
***
A year later, I’m still looking for the ram in the thicket.
That’s not right — I’m looking for a very specific ram, in a very specific thicket, for a very specific deliverance. (This is obviously the problem — don’t worry, my therapist agrees.) If I’m honest, the hardest thing, the most infuriating thing, is all the other rams that have appeared that just aren’t what I want. (“What I want” … Isn’t that problematic.)
“The Lord will provide.” The Lord has provided. Children to love and care for. A community I’ve grown more deeply and intimately connected to. A world of the lowest lows and the highest highs. So many rams. So, so many.
But Abraham got what he needed and what he wanted. (There’s that jealousy again.)
***
I’ve written about it before (several times actually: check out “The Family Issue” of the magazine), so you might know where this is going. Any jealousy of Abraham is met by a deep and abiding commiseration with Mary.
Abraham experienced only the risk of losing his son. Mary lost him.
Abraham was given a ram to deliver Isaac. Mary was given a son to deliver the world.
Both spent time in the in-between, between death and life. But Mary reached the bottom.
This might be way too personal (and is precisely why I will not be preaching this on Sunday), but the word for me this Sunday — the hard news that accompanies the good — is that I must trust that the rams that appear in my thickets won’t fix the sacrifice I’ve been asked to make, but that there are any rams at all is a gift. That God who places (allows, maybe) these hard, impossible, unimaginable things into people’s lives — that God is faithful. That God is trustworthy. That God is good. The rams are proof enough, whether I like them or not.
I realize that I’m jealous not of Abraham’s happy ending, but of his assurance. Of the finality. Of having his cake and eating it too.
So once again, I stand with Mary on Saturday evening. In her tears and her grief, I help her gather the spices and the linen and everything we will need for the next morning. We don’t sleep that night, counting down the hours until the sun rises and we’re called to do the hard work we must do for those we love but who are gone.
At this moment there is no guarantee of assurance, not obvious finality. The hours keep ticking by. But even in this space, we trust God. Not that it will be the way we want it to be. Not that whatever goodness comes in the future will offset the trauma of this moment. Not that bad things are easily dismissed by happy endings.
But that God is trustworthy. That “He who has promised is faithful.”
We head out at first light for the tomb.
“The Lord will provide.”
COMMENTS
8 responses to “Jealous of Abraham”
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The one thing I always make sure people note in Abraham’s story is what he says as they leave to go sacrifice — at the end of verse 5, he tells his young men who were with them ” … we will come back ….”
Abraham knew Isaac was going to be coming back. He didn’t know how, but He knew it. He knew that if he had to kill Isaac, God would raise him again. He told people “we” would be coming back. That’s always made me marvel at this story.
I have always had a ton of respect for the people I know who foster. We’ve met a lot of their foster kids as they brought them to church, and saw the impact that a good foster family can make. It is a hard calling, but I thank you and your wife for being willing to serve God that way.
I really cannot imagine what ache you live with. I don’t really know you but I know you are kind and precious in the mind of the holy man that you serve. I know that I have a million questions about the Bible stories. I do believe that Jesus is my lord and my savior.
I lost my daughter to cancer and I know that one day we will see each other and I know in my heart that K will never forget you and one day, when she is old enough to be independent, you will hug her.
Ben – thank you for your honesty, especially this: “If I’m honest, the hardest thing, the most infuriating thing, is all the other rams that have appeared that just aren’t what I want. (“What I want” … Isn’t that problematic.)”
Post-sifting Job was blessed with seven sons and three daughters. At the foot of the cross Mary was given John and John, Mary. I can’t, don’t, won’t, always get what I want and it is only with eyes of faith that I trust that I will be given what I need? And thankfully, by grace, never what I deserve?
I am so so grateful for the tragic beauty of this reflection.
What a powerful vision of a difficult text, acknowledging that we can trust in God, even when there is no ram in the thicket
Thank you sharing your emotions so honestly. Your comparison of Abraham and Mary helped me to realize you fathered her during critical years of her development. I say this as someone with adopted children from China.
Please know you made an immeasurable difference in her life and she will forever draw from the well of your sacrificial gift of deep love and stability. Without you, she could be facing a very different future. Yes, many times we are Mary and as you say so beautifully
” the hard news that accompanies the good — is that I must trust that the rams that appear in my thickets won’t fix the sacrifice I’ve been asked to make, but that there are any rams at all is a gift. That God who places (allows, maybe) these hard, impossible, unimaginable things into people’s lives — that God is faithful. That God is trustworthy. That God is good. The rams are proof enough, whether I like them or not”. I will carry this with me as I embrace the rams who bring new life and meaning, but who cannot undo the sacrifice. Thank you for giving her the gift of being seen, loved, and may she always know she is a beloved child of God, as you are also.
Good heavens, Ben – this is incredible! I’ve NEVER had this story described this way – and it just reeks of honesty and truth. Whew – thanks!
[…] Jealous of Abraham, by Ben Maddison […]
I can’t tell you how this spoke to me!
Thank You!
In my 20s I felt the Lord asked me to.lay down my boyfriend/lover.
The relationship was never restored and I still don’t understand why….Although as you say the Lord has been more than faithful in so many many areas of my life and I’m happily married with the joy of kids now…Thirty years on I still find it hard to reconcile the pain of that breakup with the character of God.
Thank You again.Su