I’m Here for You
Text: Genesis 21:1-3, 22:1-14
My friends, this is kind of an awful story. Unfortunately there are a lot of kind of awful stories in the Bible. Stories where people are hurt. Stories where people and even God do things that we can’t quite parse out. And in this one, a child’s life is threatened. By their parent, no less.
I went into this kind awful story this week looking for where there could be good news. And at the same time, the actually news this week — much of it anyway – also was kind of awful. And I realized that this story becomes a little more readable when I remind myself that we know the ending, the intervention. There is good news there. And there is good news in the knowledge that this whole interaction happens in the context of a covenant relationship between the Divine and the one who has been chosen by the Divine.
The whole, generations-long covenant relationship between God and a particular tribe of people – and arguably even with us as the descendents in faith – began with this one person, Abraham, and his partner Sarah. God chose Abraham, seemingly at random, and proceeded to invest relational energy into Abraham’s life. And by extension Sarah and Hagar and their children and all the people who would be descended from Abraham.
But in this story it’s still very much the beginning of that generational journey. God and Abraham are exploring what it means to be in a covenant relationship. What are the limits and the boundaries? What can be asked of each other? What will be provided? How will each be present to the other?
One of the ways that see Abraham showing up in relationship to God is in his responses when God calls. When God calls Abraham, he answers, “Here!” In many translations it’s rendered, “Here I am.” in the CEB we read,
God tested Abraham and said to him, “Abraham!”
Abraham answered, “I’m here.”
This is not like God doesn’t know where Abraham is and Abraham has to call out, “Yoohoo, God. Over here!” God is already in Abraham’s presence and calling to him and as Abraham is made aware of God’s voice and invitation, he responds with readiness and anticipation. The word in Hebrew is hineini. It is always an answer to a call – saying, ‘here!’ ‘ready!’ ‘let’s go!’
My friend Julie was talking about her son playing video games online with his friends and how she’ll overhear hear him saying over the mic, “Lock in!” or “I’m locked in!” That reminded me of this. A total readiness for the thing that is about to happen. For the thing that God is going to call or ask. Complete focus and attention.
We’re going to get a series of stories this fall where the characters have this kind of response and relationship to God. A relational readiness and orientation of focus and attention. Not only with God but also in human relationships. Later on we’ll hear Samuel respond to his mentor Eli in this way when Eli calls.
Abraham responds not only to God in this way but also to his son. I am a bit in awe of him, actually. That he can so completely attend to the terrible test that God has put before him – a test that requires him to believe that either God actually wants him to sacrifice his child and he’s willing to do it, or that God has a workaround in mind that will come to pass. In that context Abraham can also turn to his innocent child – who is yet becoming skeptical – and say in the same way, Hineini. I’m here for you. I’m locked in.
I think I would probably go crazy to have to hold both of those realities. Here is the child, the child of my old age, the one that was promised, the beloved one, gazing with innocent and questioning eyes. And I am carrying the sacrificial knife that God, the One who has called and provided, the One who has given me a son in my old age, has asked me to wield.
Somehow Abraham is able to carry both of those together. Maybe because of the depth of his relationship with each and because of his deep trust in God’s faithfulness.
In the late 70s Leonard Cohen wrote a song about this story. He writes it from the perspective of Isaac, the innocent son, who doesn’t see the faithfulness of God or of his father. He’s just a scared and confused child. And there are a few lines from it that I can’t stop thinking about:
You who build the altars now
To sacrifice these children
You must not do it anymore
Cohen wrote this about the Vietnam war. About the seeming expendability of the nation’s youth. But what I couldn’t stop thinking about is all the children in schools and churches and college campuses and war zones that are apparently expendable.
I expect by now you’ve all heard the news that Charlie Kirk, the right-wing organizer and gun-rights advocate, was shot to death at an event he was speaking at. Only weeks before he was quoted as saying that it is acceptable to expect deaths as the price to pay for gun freedom.
The ways that we are willing to sacrifice children, Cohen reminds us in this song is not at the call of the Divine. It is a scheme. For power, for dominance, for some kind of misplaced understanding of glory and freedom.
I’ve been feeling really emotional this week about Kirk’s death and about the views that espoused and the fact that they ultimately were his downfall. And that having killed him, there will be no change and in fact it will likely deepen the divide.
Johnny Rashid wrote about it in a way that I found helpful. Johnny is a Pastor in PA and has been part of the leadership of Mennonite Action and he writes thoughtfully about all kinds of issues of justice. I follow him on Substack. He wrote this:
…despite feeling complicated about Kirk’s death…I condemn the assassin’s actions and disagree with their political efficacy. There’s nothing to celebrate here. It is a sad and dark day, to be sure. The world isn’t safer because Charlie Kirk is dead. But the fact remains that Charlie Kirk’s life and legacy is one that made it more violent and more dangerous. Kirk lived by the sword, and he died by it. And he didn’t only arm himself: he proclaimed that casualties of gun violence are better off dead, as long as we keep our right to wield guns.
And he goes on…
I elect to be nonviolent because I follow Jesus Christ, who succumbed to the state’s death. I am moved to be antiviolent because Jesus lived and died for the oppressed. Jesus modeled his life as a selfless one, uplifting the oppressed.
Jesus isn’t in the story of Abraham and Isaac. Although plenty of Christian readers understand it as a sort of foretaste of the Christ story. But like we have the benefit as readers of the context – God is enacting a test, God will intervene, there will be a ram to sacrifice, – we also have the whole arc of scripture.
As Christians we can read this knowing that God’s desire for human beings is deep relationship with God and with neighbor. The story of Abraham and Isaac’s descendants will culminate in the person of Jesus and through him spread and bless the whole world.
So my good news prayer, arising from this story, is that I may listen for God’s voice and be able to respond meaningfully, “Here! I’m here for you.” And I will equally listen to the voice of the world – especially the world’s children and respond in equal measure, “Here! I’m here for you.” Because ultimately I believe they are the same.
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Photo by Ricky Turner on Unsplash
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