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Genesis · 3 min read
After decades of waiting, the promised son has come. Isaac is the living proof of the impossible promise — born to parents past the age of childbearing — and Abraham loves him. The text does not describe their relationship in sentimental terms; it simply states the fact, and that is enough.
Then God speaks again: Take your son, your only son, whom you love — Isaac — and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains I will show you. The sentence builds toward its target with deliberate slowness, the naming ritual of love becoming the naming ritual of command.
Abraham rises early the next morning. He does not argue, as he had argued for Sodom. He saddles his donkey, takes two servants and his son, splits wood for the burnt offering, and sets out. Three days of walking. On the third day, he sees the place. He leaves the servants: We will go worship and come back to you. That we — if it is faith rather than deception — is one of the most discussed words in all of scripture.
The two walk together. Isaac, carrying the wood. Abraham, carrying the fire and the knife. Isaac asks: My father, here is the fire and the wood — but where is the lamb for the burnt offering? Abraham answers: God will provide himself the lamb, my son. They walk on together.
At the place, Abraham builds the altar, arranges the wood, binds his son, lays him on the altar. He stretches out his hand and takes the knife. At that moment, the angel of the Lord calls from heaven: Abraham! Abraham! Do not lay your hand on the boy. Now I know that you fear God, since you have not withheld your son, your only son, from me.
Abraham looks up and sees a ram caught by its horns in a thicket. He offers it in Isaac's place. He names the place The Lord will provide, and a second word comes: because you have done this, all the nations of the earth will be blessed through your offspring. They come down from the mountain together.
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