"Because of the Love He Had" (Gen 29:15-28)

A Glimpse Inside

Today’s passage is a rarity in the Old Testament. Because seldom in the Old Testament do we learn what a character is actually feeling inside his heart. When God calls Abraham to leave his family, his home, and his land, to go somewhere unknown, how does Abraham feel? We don’t know. The story only tells us, “Abram went, as the Lord had told him” (Gen 12:4). When God calls Abraham to sacrifice his son, Isaac, how does Abraham feel? We don’t know. The story only tells us, “Abraham rose early in the morning” and gathered his son Isaac and his supplies (Gen 22:3). Here at the crucial junctures in Abraham’s life, the storyteller is silent about what is going on inside his heart. Some readers have carelessly mistaken this silence as a mark of primitive storytelling. They take the Old Testament to be crude and unsophisticated, just telling us what happened and little else.

But I think this silence is actually the genius of the ancient Hebrew storytellers. The genius of the Old Testament is what it doesn’t tell us, because these gaps become gateways into the story. We as readers or listeners are invited to imagine how the characters are feeling. We are invited to imagine how we would feel in their place. How we would feel if God called us to leave everything we knew. How we would feel if God called us to do the unthinkable. We talk about the Bible as the “living Word” because somehow its story lives on in us. For thousands of years, humans have looked into the Bible as though looking into a mirror, recognizing themselves and God in this story.

But as I mentioned, today’s passage is a rarity. For in today’s passage, we do learn what a character is feeling inside his heart. Jacob has just arrived at Laban’s home and has been received well. So well, in fact, that he appears to have taken up work around the home as part of the family. Only after a month has passed, does Laban acknowledge this, saying, “It’s not right that you’re working for nothing. What can I pay you?” (Gen 29:14-15). And it’s here that we learn what is inside Jacob’s heart. “Jacob loved Rachel” (Gen 29:18). Which is a big enough revelation in itself, but it gets even bigger in just a couple of verses, when we learn this: “Jacob served seven years for Rachel, and they seemed to him but a few days because of the love he had for her” (Gen 29:20). For a story that is awfully reserved when it comes to sharing characters’ emotions, this is a significant disclosure. The storyteller doesn’t just share these sort of details without a reason. We know that this must be a crucial point in the story.

The Turning Point

Jacob is perhaps best known for the moment when he wrestles with God. Many readers identify this juncture as a turning point in Jacob’s life. After all, he receives God’s blessing, a new name, and he walks away with a limp, forever marked by the encounter. But today I’d like to make the case that the definitive turning point in Jacob’s life is actually earlier. It is the moment in today’s scripture when we learn that he loves Rachel. In other words, the reason that the storyteller gives us a rare glimpse inside Jacob’s heart is because this is a turning point in his life. Love is the turning point. Almost everything that happens from this point on can be explained by love.

Consider Jacob’s life up to this point. Born with his hand on the heel of his brother, Jacob is indeed a grasper, a clasper, a grappler. His name means something like “heel-grabber.” He is a go-getter. The decisive moments of his childhood show him prevailing over others through cunning and deceit. First he finagles his brother out of his birthright. Then he tricks his father into giving him the firstborn’s blessing, which (again) belongs to his brother. Jacob may not be completely honest, but he cuts an impressive figure and would do well, I imagine, in our culture today. He will do whatever it takes to get ahead. He is a born winner.

But what happens when love enters the picture? He begins to lose. The very next story after we learn he loves Rachel shows us his defeat, as his father-in-law tricks him into marrying Leah instead of Rachel. Jacob, the deceiver, is deceived. The master of deception is beaten at his own game. He didn’t see it coming. He was blind to it. Why was he blind to it? “…because of the love he had.”

Later in Jacob’s life, on the night before he sees Esau for the first time since their monumental falling out, he wrestles with a stranger. Now Jacob is a born wrestler, but this is unlike any struggle he’s faced before. The timing suggests that he is in fact wrestling with his past, that this is a divinely inspired reckoning or coming-to-terms with his own history. For the next day he will be meeting Esau, and the deeds of his past now threaten not only him but his loved ones; he’s afraid for their lives. What if Esau should seek vengeance? The result of this nocturnal struggle is blessing, but not the kind of blessing that he’d grown up chasing, the blessing of wealth and prestige. No, this blessing comes at the cost of a limp. What is it that has made him vulnerable? Why does he walk away wounded? “…because of the love he had.”

As Jacob gets older, he continues to lose. He loses his beloved wife, Rachel, who dies in the act of giving birth to her second son, Benjamin. Then he loses his beloved son, Joseph, as his other children mercilessly deceive him—another instance in which the master of deception is beaten at his own game. Jacob is learning what perhaps any loving father learns. His children are beyond the bounds of his control and protection. His children bring him to tears more than once (cf. 37:35; 44:31, 34), and at the end of his life this born winner will have lost so much that he will summarize his life for Pharaoh in this way, saying, “Few and hard have been the years of my life” (47:9). Why has Jacob suffered so much? “…because of the love he had.”

What Cannot Be Seen

If love is indeed the turning point in Jacob’s life, then his “before” and “after” shots may make us think twice. Because before, he looks like a winner. And after, he looks rather like a loser. [Love blinds him, love wounds him, love brings him a great deal of suffering.] Here I’m going to have to take the apostle Paul at his word, when he says, “We look not at what can be seen but at what cannot be seen” (2 Cor 4:18). Love may look like losing, but perhaps there’s more than meets the eye here.

What comes to my mind is Jesus’ invitation to take up our cross daily. To the outside observer, the cross may look like losing your life. That is what the eye can see. But in fact, Jesus says, the cross is saving your life (Luke 9:23-24). That is what the eye cannot see. So, it may look like Jacob is losing and losing and losing, but in fact he is being saved. “…because of the love he had.”

When most people look at the cross, they see only suffering. But behind the suffering, is the real meaning of the cross. It is not suffering that saves us. It is love.

“More Pleasure Than Pain”

I’m reminded of a Harvard research project that recently published its findings. The researchers had undertaken an eighty-year study to investigate the sources of happiness. The researchers’ primary finding is that happiness has one key predictor: meaningful relationships. The authors tell the story of two men: one was a very successful lawyer, and the other took a second-choice career as a high school teacher.  The lawyer made tons of money, was respected widely, and had the means to do just about anything he wanted. People would probably consider him a “winner.” The teacher, on the other hand, was more strapped for cash but had a network of close friendships through his students and their families and his role in the community. What fascinated me most were how these two men answered a series of true/false questions when they were 55 years old, at the height of their professional lives. The lawyer indicated in his answers that life had more pain than pleasure, and that he often felt starved for affection. The teacher indicated the opposite: life has more pleasure than pain, and he did not often feel starved for affection.

Is this not the story of Jacob’s life? In the first half, he is a winner who looks out for number one. Yet he must feel terribly alone and exhausted, as he competes with others and then runs from the resulting danger. But then in the middle of his life, something changes him. “…because of the love he had.” From that point on, Jacob begins to live for others. The good news of his story, is the same good news of the cross. Even when Jacob loses, he wins. Because now he is living in love, which means he is never alone.

He has Rachel. Joseph. Even his brother Esau. There is, of course, an element of loss in each of these relationships, for love inevitably entails loss of some kind. But what the Harvard researchers discovered, is the gospel truth that Jesus proclaims. Loving relationships fill us with life even beyond their loss. It is why we like the high school teacher might indeed affirm that, even when things don’t go our way, life has more pleasure than pain. That, because of the love we have, this life is more than worth it.

Prayer

God of life,
Your love is the turning point in our stories:
But sometimes we lose sight of what cannot be seen,
And our tears, our pain, and our loss
Can become overwhelming
…
May Jacob’s story teach us anew
The power of your love,
Which endures loss
And fills us with life.
Grant us contentment, please,
In the relationships that sustain us,
And draw us evermore into your abundant life.
In Christ, crucified and risen: Amen.

"The Greater Shall Serve the Lesser" (Gen 25:19-34)

The Last Shall Be First 

Jolien Boumkwo is an expert shot-putter. She holds the national record in Belgium. It is safe to say that she is used to coming in first place. But until last month, I’d never heard of her. I probably never would have if it hadn’t been for a strange turn of events in the European Athletics Team Championships. All of Belgium’s hurdlers were injured, and the country stood at risk of falling out of the competition if it did not complete the hurdling event. Up stepped Jolien Boumkwo, the shot-putter—big, broad-shouldered, muscular. Not anything like the light and nimble hurdlers with whom she would be competing. But that did not faze her. With a servant’s heart and a brave smile, she took on and completed every hurdle for her country.

Of course, she was much slower than her professional competitors and came in last place. But she was the talk of the tournament and made headlines all over the sporting world. Even her competitors gave her high fives of admiration at the end of the race. It is a heartwarming story, and I would like to think it gives us a glimpse of gospel truth. Though she was last in the competition, she was first in the eyes of many viewers. Her greatness was not in competing and prevailing over others. Her greatness was in serving her team. She did not care that she would come in last or stand out like a sore thumb. She cared about helping her teammates.

An Ambiguous Prophecy

Jacob and Esau are on the same team, you could say. They are brothers, part of the same family, part of team Abraham. But in fact they are bitterly divided. Many readers of scripture assume that their conflict is preordained. After all, when Rebekah inquires of God about the pain of her childbearing, God’s response seems like a straightforward declaration of fate. “Two nations are in your womb, and two peoples born of you shall be divided; the one shall be stronger than the other, the elder shall serve the younger” (Gen 25:23). Esau is the elder, and he will indeed lose out to his younger brother on multiple occasions. First, he willingly forfeits his birthright. Later, he unwillingly misses out on the blessing for the firstborn, which his younger brother steals from him. Jacob’s repeated gain at the expense of his older brother seems like fulfillment of what God had foretold. Case closed, right? The elder has served the younger. Esau has relinquished to Jacob, sometimes willingly, sometimes not, the privileges that originally belonged to him.

But there’s a little detail that complicates this clear-cut interpretation of events. In the original Hebrew, God’s words to Rebekah are more ambiguous. A more literal translation would be: “The one shall be stronger than the other, the greater shall serve the lesser” (Gen 25:23). Here God differentiates the brothers not according to seniority, but according to greatness. “The greater”—not the elder—shall serve the other. Greatness itself is ambiguous. In the Old Testament, it regularly refers to power and wealth, in which case God would be saying that the more prestigious or successful brother would serve the other. That would certainly be a twist of its own in the story, and we could see it, perhaps, when Jacob, after years of prosperity, meets Esau again and bows down profusely before him and gives him a tribute of flock and servants (cf. Gen 32:13-15; 33:3). Is this not the greater serving the lesser? The one who got ahead, serving the one who fell behind?

But there is yet another interpretation I’d like to consider. So far, we have read God’s revelation to Rebekah as fate. In other words, God is saying who will come out on top, as though the story has already been written and is not subject to change. But to me, fate seems contrary to the freedom that, elsewhere, God regularly gives humanity. Even when God issues prophecies of destruction, God also holds out the possibility that humanity may change its ways and God may change God’s mind. Thus Jonah announces the imminent demise of Nineveh, yet Nineveh surprisingly repents and then so does God. A seemingly sure fate is averted, because Nineveh is free to change its mind, and so is God. I wonder, then, if God’s revelation to Rebekah—“the greater shall serve the lesser”—is less a foretelling of fate and more a declaration of principle. That is, serving others is the mark of greatness. The greater does not serve the lesser in spite of his greatness, in an act of condescension or concession. Rather, it is precisely his service that makes him great.

From Strugglers to Servants—How?

If service is indeed God’s hope for these brothers, then it is a long road for them to get there. Even before they are born, scripture says, they are locked in a struggle with one another (Gen 25:22). They are born strugglers, not servants. Esau may seem to have won the struggle, as he comes out of the womb first, but locked onto his heel is Jacob’s hand. In fact, Jacob’s name means “heel-grabber.” He is scrappy, persistent, a go-getter that does not give up. Jacob and Esau may have different personalities, but they share in common one trait: they serve no one but themselves. Esau is at the service of his appetite, seeking only to satisfy his immediate desires. In the defining scene of their childhood, he comes in from the field and cannot see beyond his hunger, so he thoughtlessly exchanges his birthright for some food. Jacob is at the service of his ego, his social appetite, his desire always to win and come out ahead. There’s only one outcome to the brothers’ endless struggles. Conflict. Separation. They cannot live under the same roof.

Yet after twenty years, they do reconcile (Gen 33). Technically, that’s not part of our scripture today, but I want to look ahead at it for a moment, because in their reconciliation there seems to be a radically different spirit between them, a spirit that seems to match with God’s prophecy of servitude. Both are vulnerable in their own way. Jacob, perhaps fearful of retribution, strikes an especially submissive pose, repeatedly bowing and calling his brother, “lord.” Esau falls on his brother’s neck with tears and kisses.

What has brought them to this place of servitude? In short, I think they have both finally been broken by their struggles. Defeated by their own exhaustion. We see this dramatically in the famous episode where Jacob wrestles the angel and walks away with a permanent limp.

On the one hand, both characters could theoretically look back at their lives and feel some satisfaction at their little victories. Jacob has prospered in building a family and acquiring a wealth of livestock. Esau may count it a victory that it is Jacob who flees home and he who remains. On the other hand, what is the cost of these little victories? The poet Rainer Maria Rilke gives simple but profound expression to the brothers’ struggle and its ultimate futility:

When we win it’s with small things,
and the triumph itself makes us small.
What is extraordinary and eternal
does not want to be bent by us.
I mean the Angel who appeared
to the wrestlers of the Old Testament.[1]

“Whoever Wishes to Become Great…”

Could it be, I wonder, that Jacob and Esau’s reconciliation later in life is a fulfillment of God’s prophecy at their birth that “the greater shall serve the lesser”? Could it be that the measure of this prophecy is not the triumph of one brother over the other, but rather that both brothers have become greater as both submit to one another? The brothers that were born in struggle, who served their own appetites before anyone else, have finally learned the greatness of service. In yielding to one another, they have broached the gospel truth that Jesus would encapsulate: “You know that among the nations those whom they recognize as their leaders lord it over them….But it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all” (Mark 10:42-44).

Living as a servant may seem like foolishness and weakness to the world. And yet the world’s response of admiration and awe for Jolien Boumkwo tells me that something about serving others resonates deep within our hearts. We sense intuitively there’s something to this strange, upside-down “greatness” of being last, about which Jesus speaks. Maybe it’s because we’ve won enough as it is but feel empty inside, or maybe it’s because we’ve gotten ahead of others only to feel alone. Maybe it’s because we’re tired of the struggle and the competition, and we’re walking with a limp, and we wonder if there’s another way. Maybes when we see the freedom and joy of a person who has little but helps much, we realize that relationship is more fulfilling than control. I don’t know exactly what it is that resonates within us when we hear the story of Jolien, or the story of Jacob finally bowing before his brother Esau, or the story of Jesus who gives his life for others. I only know that these stories ring true. Real greatness is not just self-exertion to the maximum, whatever that may get you. Real greatness is living together. And if the gospel teaches us anything, it’s that living together means mutual submission—serving each other.

Prayer

Humble God,
In Christ you have emptied yourself
Of every claim to authority
And drawn near to us,
As a servant, as a friend:
This is greatness,
Greater news than any other.
…
Thank you.
Help us as your children
To live in your way,
To serve and befriend
Neighbor, stranger, enemy,
All the world.
In Christ: Amen.

---

[1] Rainer Maria Rilke, “The Man Watching” (trans. Robert Bly).

"You That Are Carrying Heavy Burdens" (Gen 24:58-67)

Classic Scenes

Have you ever watched a movie and known almost exactly what was going to happen—not because you had paid extra close attention and determined the hidden motives of characters, but because the plot was so obvious? Maybe it’s a sports movie, and the team is decimated with injuries, but you know that one of the players in the background is going to emerge as a leader and lead the team to the championship. Or maybe it’s an action movie, and the hero is finally cornered by bad guys, but you know he’s got an ally lurking in the shadows who’s going to turn the tide. Or maybe it’s a romance movie, and the two lovers have just had a monumental falling out that seems to have mortally wounded their relationship, but you know it’s all based on a tragic misunderstanding and somehow the two will end up in each other’s arms at the end.

These obvious scenes and plot sequences are not necessarily the signs of a poorly made movie. In fact, familiar scenes and sequences are fundamental to our enjoyment of a movie. When we know what will happen, but we do not know exactly how, we watch with special interest. It’s the little twists and tweaks that give us pleasure. When I watched the original Star Wars movies, I knew that Luke Skywalker and his buddies would emerge triumphant. What I didn’t know, however, was that it would only happen through the help of one of the “bad” guys. The classic line from Darth Vader, “Luke, I am your father,” is so famous because it reveals one of the central surprises of the Star Wars trilogy and foreshadows how Darth Vader will end up saving his son and winning the day for the rebels.

The Woman at the Well…With a Twist

The Bible contains its own catalogue of familiar scenes and sequences. There’s the “divine revelation in the desert,” which we see in the stories of Hagar, Moses, Elijah, and Jesus. There’s the “barren mother who miraculously conceives,” such as Sarah, Hannah, and Mary. There’s the “bitter conflict between rival wives,” like Hagar and Sarah, Rachel and Leah, Hannah and Penninah. And then there’s the scene that we have today, “the woman at the well.” It happens again and again in the Bible, not only here, but also later with Jacob when he meets Rachel watering the flocks, Moses when he meets Zipporah watering the flocks, even Jesus when he meets the Samaritan woman drawing water for herself. Each story begins with a man journeying in a foreign land, where he meets a woman at a well. Typically the man draws the water. Next, the woman rushes home to share news of the stranger. Finally, the woman is betrothed to the man, often in conjunction with a special meal.

Each instance of this classic scene provides its own twist. When Jesus meets the Samaritan woman, for instance, the obvious tweak is that the result is not a worldly marriage (of which the Samaritan woman has already had many), but a spiritual one. The water that matters is not the well water but the Spirit that the woman (and other Samaritans) draw from Jesus. In today’s scripture, there are several twists. First, Isaac is absent at his own betrothal. He has no say or responsibility in the matter. Instead, it is a family servant who meets Rebekah and arranges the marriage. In direct contrast to Isaac’s absence is Rebekah’s initiative. She is the one who draws water for the man, not vice versa. And she is the one who has the final say in the betrothal. Usually it is the father who finalizes the arrangement, but as we see in today’s text, the family asks her, “Will you go with this man?” and she says yes. (It seems as though Rebekah’s family appreciates her for who she is: a strong woman. No one dares to tell her what to do.)

Isaac’s absence from his own betrothal and Rebekah’s remarkable presence and initiative result in a reversal of gender expectations. Here, in this iteration of the classic woman-at-the-well scene, the man is passive, and the woman active. I don’t think this is just a fanciful twist, a little variation to spice things up. This characterization of Isaac and Rebekah fits well with what we see elsewhere. Isaac is commonly the passive object—the victim—of others’ actions. As a child, Isaac is a bound victim of his father’s near-sacrifice; as an aging father, he is a victim of his son Jacob’s deception. In contrast, Rebekah is an assertive personality; later she confronts God when she’s in pain, and she manipulates both her son and her husband into doing what she wants (Gen 25:5-17; 46).[1]

“I Will Give You Rest”

Some readers have suggested that Isaac’s passivity is in fact a sort of juvenile dependence. They point out how the moment of his marriage is oddly sandwiched between references to his mother, who has recently died. When Isaac marries Rebekah, he takes her where? His mother’s tent. Not the usual honeymoon destination. And what happens there? He is “comforted after his mother’s death” (Gen 24:67). In this interpretation, Isaac is a momma’s boy, overly dependent on the care and nurture of a maternal figure. Rebekah becomes not so much his wife but a replacement for his mother.

But when I read the gospel text for today, I find myself thinking of Isaac in a very different light. “Come to me,” Jesus says, “all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens…” (Matt 11:28). Is that not a fair description of Isaac? I think it is quite possible that Isaac is carrying a lot, that he is paralyzed by the trauma of his past. Instead of growing up in safety and care, Isaac grew up as his mother’s unhealthy obsession and his father’s near-sacrifice. First, his mother had impossible expectations for him, namely that he would fulfill her life and make her complete. Her obsession for him led her to wreck the lives of others (Hagar and Ishmael), and undoubtedly he felt the strain of her expectations, the need for him to be a certain person for her to be happy. If that weren’t enough, then his father made him carry the wood to his own sacrifice, bound him up, and nearly brought a knife down upon him. Has Isaac felt the love of his parents? Or has he felt instead the need to be someone else, someone lovable enough that his father wouldn’t sacrifice, someone whose every move would bring satisfaction to his mother?

I’m nearly certain that, when Isaac meets Rebekah, he is weary and carrying heavy burdens.

So, when the text says, “He loved her [and] so [he] was comforted after his mother’s death” (Gen 24:67), I think it’s not a matter of the wife becoming a substitute for the mother. I think, rather, it’s a matter of love helping Isaac to heal from the wounds of his past. I think it’s a matter of him knowing now, what he never fully knew as a child: someone who loves him as he is. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that this verse is the first expression in the Bible of love in a partnered relationship. This is a special, life-changing moment. Isaac’s heart, which has long lain dormant behind walls of fear and insecurity, awakens and comes to life in the face of a person who sees him as he is and says, “Yes.”

Jesus says, “Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls” (Matt 11:29). I think that is what Isaac has found in today’s story—rest for his soul. He has found the “easy” yoke of Christ. How can that be? For the first time in his life, he does not need to strive; he does not need to secure his father’s love or meet his mother’s needs. For the first time in his life, he loves and is loved. And “so,” the scripture says, he is “comforted” (Gen 24:67). Love brings rest to his soul and puts him at ease. He experiences then what we experience now in Christ, who sees us as we are and says, “Yes.” This love—the one that Isaac encounters, perhaps for the first time in his life, the one that we know today in Christ—liberates us from the need to be someone else and sets us on a gentle and humble way.

Prayer

Compassionate God,
Whose blessing breaks through
The traumas of the past
And brings rest to our souls:
Meet us, please, where we have need,
Where we are bound
By unhelpful expectations or hurtful patterns
…
Teach us your gentle and humble heart,
The one Isaac discovered. 

In Christ, whose yoke is easy: Amen.

---

[1] More specifically, she orchestrates Jacob’s deception of his father (Gen 25:5-17) and manipulates her husband into sending Jacob to her family (Gen 27:46).

"The Lord Will Provide" (Gen 22:1-18)

A Surprising Sacrifice

Recently I stumbled upon the story of a couple who had just started dating. It was around Halloween, and they had gone to a haunted house with several friends. Pictures from early in the evening show the young man with his arm around his date’s shoulder. I’m not really a Halloween enthusiast myself, but I imagine this was all part of the young man’s plan. Little frights and shocks require comfort and reassurance, the perfect excuse for an arm around the shoulder. So far, so good. But a little bit later, a ghost jumped from the shadows into the audience. Footage from the young man’s friends show his arm drop, as he scatters for the nearest door and shuts it—in his girlfriend’s face! That footage found its way online to social media, and the responses are a whole lot of fun, as people debate the meaning of the young’s man decision to “sacrifice” his girlfriend. Some people interpreted it as a warning about the young man’s true character. (One person sarcastically commented, “The signs of a true gentleman”). Others, however, were more optimistic and said the episode deserved laughter; perhaps it would even become a memory that the couple would one day share with their grandchildren.

Does God Get a Pass?

Today’s scripture is about a sacrifice, too, but it is no laughing matter for Abraham. Or his grandchildren, for that matter: his grandson, Jacob, seems to know the family lore, for he alludes to this episode delicately when he refers to God as the “Fear of Isaac,” or “Dread of Isaac” (Gen 31:42), a title that hauntingly confirms the trauma of this episode. Isaac bears the wood for the sacrifice (Gen 22:6). He may well bear the emotional scars for the rest of his life.

The most common interpretation is that this episode is the ultimate test of Abraham’s faithfulness. God had promised him a great family, more descendants than there were stars in the sky. Now, God tells Abraham to sacrifice his only son. It is completely illogical, not to mention horribly inhumane. Many readers give God a pass here, because, well, God can do anything God likes, right? But for me as a Christ-follower, who has pledged faithfulness to a God of love, I cannot overlook what seems to be a sadistic entrance exam that demands violence and instills fear. If Christ is indeed God in the flesh, the fullest representation we have of God’s character (cf. Col 1:15-20), then I expect God to be at least as loving as Christ. And what’s happening here seems to bear little resemblance to that love.

Recovering God’s Character

But there are other interpretations. Today’s scripture has so many gaps, so many places where we do not know the character’s motives or feelings. And there are many different ways to fill in the gaps.[1]

I want to start with God. Elsewhere in the Old Testament, God clearly opposes child sacrifice. Israel’s neighbors engage in it. Mesha, king of Moab, sacrifices his own son so that he might have victory in battle (2 Kgs 3:26-27). But God forbids Israel to follow in the way of its neighbors, saying, “You shall not give any of your offspring to sacrifice them to Molech, and so profane the name of your God” (Lev 18:21). Child sacrifice is a blemish on God’s name. It is a bad witness to God’s character. It does not reflect who God is. God even goes further to say that if anyone is aware of the practice going on and ignores it, then God will turn against that person, and they will be cut off from the rest of the people (Lev 18:24-25).

If God is so resolutely opposed to child sacrifice, then what is going on when he tests Abraham with this contradictory command? The Bible never tells us the purpose of the test. Readers have assumed it is a test meant to prove Abraham’s faithfulness. But God already knows what is in Abraham’s heart. Whenever God asks a question in the Bible, it’s not to learn new information, but rather to invite the characters to learn something about themselves, maybe even to take responsibility for themselves. Think about Adam and Eve, whom God asks, “Where are you?” and “What is this that you have done?” (Gen 3:9, 13).

It is possible, then, that God is testing Abraham to show him something about himself. God’s character is not in doubt. We know that God is resolutely opposed to child sacrifice. But what about Abraham?

Abraham’s Character

For readers who pay close attention, Abraham’s character is a dubious matter. Perhaps the most glaring mark against him is his repeated choice to sacrifice his own wife, Sarah, for his own well-being. On two separate occasions, Abraham fears that Sarah’s beauty will lead to his death, that the ruler of the land will dispose of Abraham and take Sarah for himself. So, he formulates a plan. He tells Sarah to say that she is his sister rather than his wife. On both occasions, the plan works wonderfully—for Abraham. The king of the territory takes Sarah into his home and deals favorably with Abraham, giving him livestock and servants (cf. Gen 12:10-20; 20:1-18). But imagine how Sarah must feel. Her husband is passing her off for personal gain. He is doing much worse than the boyfriend in the haunted house. This is real life, and he’s pushing her into the clutches of what he fears so that he may survive.

Abraham does something similar with the family’s maidservant, Hagar. When Sarah becomes upset with Hagar—although Hagar has done nothing other than what has been demanded of her—Abraham disclaims any responsibility in the matter, saying, “Your slave-girl is in your power; do to her as you please” (Gen 16:6). He passes Hagar off just as he did Sarah.

A Test of Selfishness?

Observing this pattern of sacrifice, we might begin to wonder, “What or whom will Abraham not sacrifice for his own security or gain?” In this context, God’s command begins to look less like a test of faithfulness and more like a test of selfishness. Maybe God is revealing the horrible lengths to which Abraham would go for his own sake. Abraham thinks sacrificing Isaac is necessary to stay in God’s good graces and to continue to receive blessing, so he is willing to make the sacrifice. Rather than question God’s character for making such an outrageous command, we might question Abraham’s character for not refusing, for not saying, “Wait a minute, God. What now?” A little earlier in Genesis, Abraham has no trouble bartering for the lives of the righteous in Sodom and Gomorrah. In that episode, he even seems to reprimand God, “Far be it from you to do such a thing, to slay the righteous with the wicked! … Shall not the judge of all the earth do what is just?” (Gen 18:25). It seems that a similar response is even more in order here: “Far be it from you to ask such a thing! Shall not the judge of all the earth do what is just?”

Amazing Grace

Today’s story ends in blessing. Generally, readers have interpreted this as a sign that Abraham has passed the test. But we can equally read the opposite, that he has failed. Listen to God’s words again: “Because you have done this, and have not withheld your son, your only son, I will bless you all the more” (Gen 22:16-17). In other words, “Because you were willing to sacrifice even your son for your own security, well, you stand all the more in need of my grace. You have sacrificed your family at every turn, but look!—I insist on blessing your family.”

Amazing grace, indeed. In this interpretation, we get an early glimpse of God’s surprising character, a God who overcomes evil with good (cf. Rom 12:21). The wonder of the book of Genesis is that the main characters, whom we commonly read as heroes, are actually quite relatable. They commonly lose sight of God’s will and put their own interests ahead of others’. They act out of fear and greed. They endure traumatic moments with lasting consequences. Yet, all the while, God is with them and continues to insist on blessing them, that the world might be blessed.

I’ve been reading a book about the early church. One of things I’m learning is that they emphasized God’s patience as a peculiar virtue. In the Greco-Roman world, patience was not an ideal.[2] It was a trait of the weak or the foolish. Slaves needed patience. But anyone with a smidgeon of power or agency, would proudly try to fashion his own destiny on his own terms. Why wait around? Why let others be a part of the picture?

But that’s what God does. God blesses Abraham’s family again and again, patiently enduring their wayward looks, their flaws, their shortcomings. God’s blessing works on them like water works on stone. The good news that we see in Genesis is not that God instantaneously confers strength and success upon the faithful, but that God patiently loves them even amid their faithlessness. God’s real blessing is God’s steadfast presence, which never leaves them. They move about without a permanent home, they suffer the losses of this world, they endure the consequences of their own mishaps, but God is always there. Abraham gets a lot of things wrong in his story, but one thing he gets so right is his declaration at the end of today’s scripture. There at the place where God stops him from the worst sacrifice of all, perhaps snapping him out of his distorted thinking, out of his repeated attempts to secure his own life on his own terms—there Abraham declares, “The Lord will provide” (Gen 22:14).

Prayer

Patient God,
Whose blessing defies logic,
We are indeed children of Father Abraham,
Imperfect, impatient, impulsive,
Yet also aware of your presence.
Help us to see your blessing
Not so much in materials
But in your insistent love
That will not let us go
…
May your love instruct us
In your patient way.
In Christ, the free gift of God: Amen.

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[1] The interpretation advanced here is inspired by the interpretation offered in David M. Gunn and Danna Nolan Fewell, Narrative in the Hebrew Bible (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993), 90-100.

[2] Alan Kreider, The Patient Ferment of the Early Church: The Improbable Rise of Christianity in the Roman Empire (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2016), 20.