Genesis 22: 1-18

[God] said to him, “Abraham!” “Here I am!” Abraham replied. God said, “Take your son—your only son, whom you love, Isaac—and go to the land of Moriah! Offer him up there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains which I will indicate to you.”

Early in the morning Abraham got up and saddled his donkey. He took two of his young servants with him, along with his son Isaac. When he had cut the wood for the burnt offering, he started out for the place God had spoken to him about.

On the third day Abraham caught sight of the place in the distance. So he said to his servants, “You two stay here with the donkey while the boy and I go up there. We will worship and then return to you.”

Abraham took the wood for the burnt offering and put it on his son Isaac. Then he took the fire and the knife in his hand, and the two of them walked on together.  Isaac said to his father Abraham, “My father?” “What is it, my son?” he replied. “Here is the fire and the wood,” Isaac said, “but where is the lamb for the burnt offering?” “God will provide for himself the lamb for the burnt offering, my son,” Abraham replied. The two of them continued on together.

When they came to the place God had told him about, Abraham built the altar there and arranged the wood on it. Next he tied up his son Isaac and placed him on the altar on top of the wood. Then Abraham reached out his hand, took the knife, and prepared to slaughter his son. But the angel of the Lord called to him from heaven, “Abraham! Abraham!” “Here I am!” he answered. “Do not harm the boy!” the angel said. “Do not do anything to him, for now I know that you fear God because you did not withhold your son, your only son, from me.”

Abraham looked up and saw behind him a ram caught in the bushes by its horns. So he went over and got the ram and offered it up as a burnt offering instead of his son. And Abraham called the name of that place “The Lord provides.” It is said to this day, “In the mountain of the Lord provision will be made.”

The angel of the Lord called to Abraham a second time from heaven and said, “I solemnly swear by my own name, decrees the Lord, that because you have done this and have not withheld your son, your only son, I will indeed bless you, and I will greatly multiply your descendants so that they will be as countless as the stars in the sky or the grains of sand on the seashore. Your descendants will take possession of the strongholds of their enemies. Because you have obeyed me, all the nations of the earth will pronounce blessings on one another using the name of your descendants.”

 

 

Imagine with me  – “Bringing home the Stars” 

Jesus rubs his arms and hands in the firelight. Some muscle in his back strained a little earlier in the day when he was turning the tables of the money-changers over and driving out the animals. He clears his throat and feels the soreness from having raised his voice. He swallows a hard swallow.   

A wooden ladle taps against a cook-pot and Andrew’s feet scrape the dry ground throwing little whirls of dust up to catch the warm flicker of the campfire.  

“Rabbi, here, eat something,” Andrew says and hands him a little bowl. He’s not really hungry, but he takes the bowl and raises his face to his friend, “Thank you, Andrew.” Andrew nods and smiles a worried smile. 

A few hours pass, and the various sounds of shuffling and chatter have dwindled down like the campfire itself has dwindled down to an occasional crackle from barely glowing coals peeking through their white ash mantle. They’re like old, old faces whose bright life is now buried beneath the layered detritus of age. Whatever warmth comes to the surface, comes, as it were, from a great distance. 

 

Everyone is sleeping now. Everyone but him. His back turned to the coals, he faces the darkness… and the faraway stars. There they are dappled and blinking upon the face of the heavens. So many like scattered seed hovering in black soil, burning for the husk to break, waiting to hear their names called. 

Jesus crinkles his bare feet in the grit beneath them and pinches little clumps of dirt between his toes. Tiny particles glimmer as he turns the earth. Bits of sand dispersed amidst the soil catch moonlight and starlight on their impossibly small crystalline facets and he glimpses them hidden there like nearly imperceptible pearls in a field. The air is still, but then the barest breath of a breeze brushes by, just enough to alert the little hairs on his arms and legs, and he remembers his own words to the Sadducees, “The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob – the God of the living, for to him all are alive.”  And the muscles in his face tighten and a burning gathers to press from behind his eyes. He smiles and cries quietly there. 

“Father, go tell Abraham, that the night sky is so full and beautiful. Tell him the Lord still provides on Isaac’s hill.”  

He scoops up some of the dust and brings it close to his face, so close the breath of his nostrils stirs it a little. The dust smells and feels good, and he rubs it into his own hands and forearms, his feet are already covered in it. 

He prays again, whispering, “Go tell Sarah – laughing Sarah – that her barren arms will be filled, Father.  More children than she can count. We’ll laugh together before too long.”  

 

The later it gets, the colder. Jesus stands and walks a little to get his blood moving. A little ways away from the camp now, he lifts his face and hands to heaven and gazes silently, slowly around, seeming to look every glittering star directly in its eye. Each of those pale little lamps seems glazed-over, clouded-over in blindness, seen but not seeing, lost but looked-for.  Maybe like fruit fallen from a tree, hidden in tall grass. 

Looking up to heaven, he says, “Faithful Father, I remember the face of Abram, that Chaldean of Ur. I remember how he listened.” Someone behind him in the camp snores, snorts, and rolls over. It’s quiet again. He went on, “Father, I remember the promise we gave, and that he believed. Tonight beneath these stars, I keep that promise and count it kept. I remember when Isaac was bound. I remember the ram caught in the thorns.” He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly through his teeth. “He will be caught again, I know.”  

A restlessness grows as the cold night presses in, and his body is filled with mingled eagerness and anxiety, like a cliff-diver looking at the water far below from the precipice. He places both hands on his head, rubs his face and eyes, and crosses his arms, hugging his body. “All these years, Father. After all these years, it will finally be done.”  

“Amen,” he says breathing in, “Amen,” he says breathing out. 

All about his body the wind flaps his seamless garment. 

 

 

Poem – Malcolm Guite – Before Abraham was, I AM 

Jesus said unto them, Verily, verily, I say unto you, Before Abraham was, I am. John 8:58

 

Oh pure I AM, the source of everything,

The wellspring of my inner consciousness,

The song within the songs I find to sing,

The bliss of being and the crown of bliss.

You iterate and indwell all the instants

Wherein I wake and wonder that I am,

As every moment of my own existence

Runs over from the fountain of your name.

 

I turn with Jacob, Isaac, Abraham,

With everyone whom you have called to be,

I turn with all the fallen race of Adam

To hear you calling, calling ‘Come to me’.

With them I come, all weary and oppressed,

And lay my labours at your feet, and rest.

 

Song: Matthew Clark, “Father without a child”

Abram, leave your life and go 

to a land I will show you

A nation be born to sing a Kingdom song 

a blessing for all mankind

 

CHORUS

You’re a Father without a child

I’m a Father who’s lost his children

Follow me Abraham

I will bring them bring them home

 

Faith is wearing thin Lord

hopelessly barren for years now

We laughed just to hide 

the tears the years have dried 

when will the son arrive?

 

CHORUS

I’m a Father without a child

You’re a Father who’s lost his children

Lord I am in your hands

Can we bring them, bring them home?

 

BRIDGE

While Abraham slept 

in covenant darkness

With faithfulness crowned

the God of love moved

Poured out the blessings 

and shouldered the curse

He signed on the line 

by the ink of his blood

ink of his blood

 

CHORUS

Hear the Father of all cry out

See a son laid upon the altar

One day the knife will fall

Just to bring them, bring them home

 

Collect: Brian Brown 

O God, who by the passion of thy blessed Son didst make an instrument of shameful death to be unto us the means of life: Grant us so to glory in the cross of Christ, that we may gladly suffer shame and loss for the sake of thy Son our Savior Jesus Christ; who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.  Amen.