There are Two Gods on the Way to Moriah

What if the true test that Abraham passes is a different test than the one we think?

Sunday’s upcoming Old Testament lectionary text is Genesis 22.1-14.

Luther was haunted by it.

Rembrandt and Chagall painted it.

In his asthmatic kitty voice, Dylan sang about it going down on Highway 61.

But in twenty years I never preached on the akedah.

Not until the Sunday after I stood outside in the church cemetery next to a shallow grave and a tiny two foot coffin tossing a fist full of dirt, I had clawed from the ground. I looked into a mother's vacant, tear filled eyes, and in the name of Jesus Christ, who is resurrection in life, I promised her— I promised her— that God did not take her child from her.

Was I wrong?

Sylvia was only four months old.

The way the undertaker had prepared her body and her mouth, she looked like she was still nursing, she'd been dressed in a coat that looked like the kind Marilyn Monroe wore on her wedding day. Next to her body. I told her parents about Jesus Christ, about how God in the flesh wept beside a grave, just like Sylvia's, wept over a friend who like Sylvia died much too soon. On a day like today, I said, it's good to remember that Jesus is weeping and Jesus is angry that any of you need to be here. I promised.

Was I wrong? Did I bear false witness?

Now is the God I promised to them, the God I promised was for them in Jesus Christ and with them in the Holy Spirit, is that the same God who tells Abraham, take your child, your only son Isaac whom you love and go to the land of Moriah and sacrifice him there as a burnt offering?

It's hard to hear Jesus saying, Abraham:

“I know I said put down the sword, but I'm gonna need you to pick it up and— really big favor— take your son Isaac and set him on fire, as a sacrifice to please and appease me.”

It's hard to hear Jesus saying what Abraham hears in Genesis 22.

And, bluntly, that's a problem.