Genesis 22:1-10
After these things God tested Abraham and said to him, “Abraham!” And he said, “Here am I.” He said, “Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains of which I shall tell you.” So Abraham rose early in the morning, saddled his donkey, and took two of his young men with him, and his son Isaac. And he cut the wood for the burnt offering and arose and went to the place of which God had told him. On the third day Abraham lifted up his eyes and saw the place from afar. Then Abraham said to his young men, “Stay here with the donkey; I and the boy will go over there and worship and come again to you.” And Abraham took the wood of the burnt offering and laid it on Isaac his son. And he took in his hand the fire and the knife. So they went both of them together. And Isaac said to his father Abraham, “My father!” And he said, “Here am I, my son.” He said, “Behold, the fire and the wood, but where is the lamb for a burnt offering?” Abraham said, “God will provide for himself the lamb for a burnt offering, my son.” So they went both of them together.
When they came to the place of which God had told him, Abraham built the altar there and laid the wood in order and bound Isaac his son and laid him on the altar, on top of the wood. Then Abraham reached out his hand and took the knife to slaughter his son.
And Abraham called this worship. “I and the boy will go over there and worship.”
When we read this indelible account of God directing a faithful and believing man to render his beloved son in sacrifice, something seems to be missing which we who read it supply almost involuntarily: the emotion.
There is not word one said here about the feelings of Abraham. We assume them. How could he not be wracked with sorrow? Must not his legs have felt like lead and his entrails like pulp as he led his son, Issac to the land of Moriah? With every swing of his arm to cleave wood for a fire, would he not see it a rehearsal for that dreadful and fatal blow which he must apply to the tender flesh of his son?
We can't read this text without superimposing all the restless sensibilities we believe must be inexorable under such a mandate from God. No man can be imagined who would not be cast into the throes of inconsolable grief at the prospect of sacrificing his child, his only child, his beloved son. For days the tonnage of sorrow, the speed and relentlessness of time, and the horror of such an act seem nearly unreal to us. To project ourselves into Abraham’s sandals is something we can't get our heads around. The emotion is too great.
Yet not a word is said about how Abraham feels.
If this is worship, where is the joy? If this is worship where is the hopefulness? If this is worship, where is the contentment—the gracious sensations and pleasant atmosphere? What about all those good feelings we think worship should evoke? Today, by example, by church growth principles, by custom and almost the universal opinion of people, worship is supposed to be … well … nice! It’s not supposed to be like this.
God is supposed to be nice. The people are supposed to be nice. The music is supposed to be nice. The welcome, the atmosphere, the seating … heck, all of it is supposed to be nice, isn't it? What about all the good “juices” of worship.
“I’ve got the joy, joy, joy, joy, down in my heart; yea, down in my heart, yea, down in my heart.” Shame on us if we don’t provide appetizing worship experiences and likeable elements in a reasonable amount of time. Next to being nice, people expect to like it. Pastors are supposed to be smart enough to know what people like and what they don’t.
This journey by Abraham to Moriah is not nice. And who can in any way conceive that Abraham liked it?
Yet, he says to his two young attendance at the foot of the mountain. “Stay here with the donkey; I and the boy will go over there and worship.
What do you think it would mean for attendance and membership if this became the profile of worship in our churches?
What strikes me, as I said, is that nothing whatsoever is recorded about how Abraham felt. But the account is filled with what Abraham did.
He responded, “Here am I” when God called his name. He rose early; saddled donkeys, cut wood, traveled to Moriah, gave instructions, placed the wood on his son’s dear shoulders, climbed the mountain, gently answered Issac’s curiosity, carried the fire, built an altar, arranged the wood, bound his son, laid him on the altar, and grasped the knife to slaughter his son.
This he did.
So, what is worship? Abraham did staggeringly difficult things. Is worship showing God what near super-human things we can do? Show just how fantastic we can “do” worship? Perform wonders? Top last Sunday with even more amazing components?
Jesus once said, “The hour … is now here, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for the Father is seeking such people to worship him.” (John 4:23)
The marvel in Genesis 22 is the faith which God had given Abraham. God gave Abraham this privilege to trust Him. Then we see Abraham unquestioningly following the Word of God.
And what have we learned by projecting ourselves into this drama which so powerfully draws us?
Divine worship consists of rugged acts, not comfy sentiments or polite felicitations.
But fundamentally it is God who acts.
It was God who stepped forward to serve up His Son as Savior when justice required a righteous sacrifice. It was God who assigned His Son the wood of the sacrifice to bear on His own dear shoulders. It was God who directed Christ Jesus to Calvary. It was God whose word was left with the attending disciples who could go no farther. It was God who prepared the altar of the cross and was not only fully prepared to sacrifice His Son but did so.
And what of worship today? It is still God acting – calling, washing, forgiving, teaching, feeding, consoling, strengthening, preaching, renewing, clothing, and blessing His people.
Does such evoke emotions in us? Of course it does. But it’s not the emotions that matter.
It is the greater gift, the gift God gave Abraham—the gift of faith.
