blip : Being Lonely In Paradise :

Title: Companions without paychecks
Date: June 29, 2008
Text: Genesis 22:1-14

Just in case you happen to forget, people need a paycheck to survive. We do work, sometimes we enjoy it and sometimes we don’t, so we can get a paycheck. Everyone has bills to pay. My dad has never enjoyed his work; but he works hard for the family. And he’s good at what he does. But it’s work—and he works for a paycheck. Sure, he’s made some friends along the way. But at the end of the day, at the end of the week, at the end of the month, it’s a paycheck. When it’s time to retire, he will not return to the factory and put in a few hours on a machine for the heck of it.

Isn’t that how we think about salvation sometimes? Seriously, think about it. All this following Jesus stuff, all this Christianity, don’t we do it for a reason? Isn’t there a payoff? Don’t we do all this church business, all this discipleship stuff, for a paycheck? Isn’t heaven or salvation our paycheck? We make our investments now—call it ‘discipleship’—so we can get paid at the end.

To rip off some words from Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, we give to the needy so that our heavenly father will reward us. And we don’t spend our time padding our bank accounts and investment portfolios because we’ve got a more important fund: it’s called heaven. “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy… But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven.”

We do it all for a payoff at the end—something that will make it all worth while. Isn’t this what we believe?

That’s why the story of the binding of Isaac is so difficult to figure out. Abraham does everything he does because of one promise—that God will make of him a great nation. “Leave your country, your people and your father’s household and go to the land I will show you. I will make you into a great nation and I will bless you.” That’s what God says to Abraham in Genesis 12. God gets Abraham to leave everything behind for a promise, a future paycheck—to be a great nation.

Abraham makes a cost-benefit analysis. He’s got a decent life in Haran. But if he invests his life in God’s project, then Abraham will have an unbelievable life. He’ll be the father of a great nation. So he goes. The investment is worth it.

All along the way, God has to reaffirm this promise, and each gets a little more specific.

Gen 13:14ff. After the painful separation with Lot, God says to Abraham: “I will make your offspring like the dust of the earth, so that if anyone could count the dust, then your offspring could be counted.”

Gen 15:5. In chapter 15 God says the same sort of thing again, but this time uses stars instead of dust to talk about the promise of descendents: “Look up at the heavens and count the stars—if indeed you can count them. So shall your offspring be.”

Gen 17:4. Again in chapter 17, God reaffirms his promise. God changes Abram’s name to Abraham and says this: “You will be the father of many nations. No longer will you be called Abram; you name will be Abraham, for I have made you a father of many nations. I will make you very fruitful; I will make nations of you, and kings will come from you.”

One reason why God has to remind Abraham of this promise, of why he left his life in Haran, is because it all seems impossible, a fairy tale, a lie, a dishonest investment. Abraham and Sarah are too old for children. But God does the impossible and Sarah bears a child, the child of the promise, the one that will make Abraham a great nation, as numerous as the dust on the ground and the stars in the sky.

Abraham took God at God’s word, the word of promise. And it finally looks like Abraham’s sacrifice will pay off—Abraham will see the beginning of his rewards. Isaac is the first payment on Abraham’s investment. And this first dividend is an important one, because it makes all the future payments possible. The great nation will come through Isaac.

This is how we can begin to feel what happens on Mount Moriah. Abraham faces the possibility that it’s all for nothing; this is the sacrifice of a promise, of his investment, of his hope, of his reason for being. We all know the story well enough. Abraham and Isaac walk together. Isaac carries the wood; Abraham carries the knife and fire. Abraham puts Isaac on the altar, atop the wood. He raises his knife. “Abraham, Abraham,” says the angel of the Lord. Abraham lays down his knife and says, “Here I am.”

Here I am. That’s the testing. Here I am. That’s what God wants to know, what God needs to know. Here I am. Will Abraham be there for him? “Now I know,” the angel of the Lord says in verse 12. What does God now know? God knows that Abraham follows God, walks with God, for no other reason than love. That’s why this whole event is called a test at the beginning. God needs to know if Abraham is in it for the investment, for the payoff; or is Abraham in it out of sheer love, companionship, a desire to walk with God.

Here I am. This story is about Abraham’s ability to say, “Here I am”—to be wholeheartedly available, to be present to the one who beckons, to be completely present. Abraham says “Here I am” at the beginning and the end of our story. Verse 1: “After these things God tested Abraham. God said to him, ‘Abraham!’ And he said, ‘Here I am.’” And then at the end of the story the same thing happens. Verse 11: “The angel of the Lord called to Abraham from heaven and said, ‘Abraham, Abraham!’ And he said, ‘Here I am.’”

God needs to know if Abraham will be a companion, if Abraham will be there for him without hidden motives, if Abraham is in it for the promises of glory, to be the father of a great nation; or if Abraham is in it because he is completely devoted and available for God. God needs to know if Abraham will run when he gets what he wants from the relationship. God wants to know if Abraham will walk with him; if Abraham will be God’s companion, an intimate ally, a friend.

Will Abraham walk with God when he calls? Or will he hide, run away, or abandon God? Will Abraham hide like Adam and Eve hid in the Garden of Eden. Remember that story from Genesis 3. Adam and Eve “heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden during the evening breeze, and the man and woman hid themselves among the trees from the presence of God” (v. 8).

God comes to take a walk with Adam and Eve, to be companions, but they hear God and hide, they run away from the presence of God. They refuse to be companions to God; they refuse the intimacy of walking with God. Now will Abraham do the same? God needs to know.

God wants a companion, someone to walk with, someone completely available, someone who will say, “Here I am” instead of hiding in the trees. This companionship, this intimacy of walking, is at the foundation of the covenant. In Genesis 17, the great covenant of circumcision that will mark God’s people forever, God starts by telling Abraham to walk with him, to be God’s companion. Verse 1: “Walk before me, and be wholehearted.”

Walk before me. Literally, walk to my face. God is saying, Walk so that I can look at you; so my face can shine upon you; so I can see you; in my presence, always by my side; with me, my companion.

Be wholehearted. Literally, be undivided, simple, complete. Be with me completely, God says. Be there for me without hidden motives, without deceptions, without running. Be undivided, faithful, singular in your desire for me. “Be wholly there for me” (Ellen Davis).

God needs to know if Abraham will be a true companion. And after the test, God says, “Now I know.”

(pause)

I think we mishear this story of the binding of Isaac because we can’t understand a God who wants a companion, a God who wants an intimate ally, a God who wants us, who wants to walk with you, face to face. We don’t want God to come that close to us. We think we’re miserable creatures, separated from God. In fact, it’s hard to believe that anyone would want our presence all the time, that would want us to be with them forever, constantly, always in front of their face, always at the center of their vision. Wouldn’t we be an annoyance? I mean, I know I frustrate Katie (my wife) enough sometimes that it might be better for me to go and do something else, maybe wash the dishes or work in the garden.

We’d rather not think so personally and instead talk about philosophical and theological dilemmas. We’d rather keep the story at arms length—turn it into a complicated issue for smart people to deal with: theologians, philosophers. Let them work out how God entertains the possibility of breaking his promises by asking Abraham to kill the child of promise. That’s a tough one!

(the bracketed stuff below on Kant and Kierkegaard was excluded from my preached sermon)

[So, some turn to Immanuel Kant who takes this story to show the irrelevance of God to our ethical lives. According to Kant, Abraham should have said, “That I ought not to kill my son is quite certain. But that you, this apparition, are God—of that I am not certain.” (from The Conflict of the Faculties).

Then there’s Soren Kierkegaard who tells us that Kant had it backward. This is a story about how Christianity is irrational and that’s a good thing; it’s about time we abandoned reason and all the trouble it gets us in. This is a story about how we must abandon all rationality, abandon our ability to reason, and obey the God who contradicts and shatters our logic. We shouldn’t trust our own thinking—it leads us astray. For Kierkegaard, this story is about how we, like Abraham, must sacrifice our ability to reason on the altar. All we have is the leap of faith. ]

But the story gets a whole lot more personal when we see an important detail, often forgotten. Our trusted translators even miss it. They all forget that God says “please.” This is a God who says “please”—not some distant, non-committal concept of God. The God of Genesis 22 is a beggar God, a God who looks more like the hungry person on the side of the road than the president of the United States who gives commands. Too often we think God is just like a president or a dictator, but just more powerful. But the God of Genesis begs; God is desperate to know if Abraham will be a companion, someone to walk with.

This “please” is literally the case. It’s there in verse 2: na (Hebrew), please. God says, “Please take your son.” God says please. What kind of God says please? This isn’t a harsh command from a distant sovereign. It’s a heartfelt request; God is begging. The Rabbis pick up on this word for please and offer this translation: God said, “Abraham, take—please take; take, I beg of you—take your son” (BT Sanhedrin 39b).

What does God want from Abraham? God wants to know if Abraham will work for free. Will Abraham walk with God without promises, even if the promise of a great future doesn’t happen, even if there are no descendents, even if he won’t be the father of a great nation? Will Abraham be God’s companion without expectations? Will Abraham walk wholeheartedly with God without the hope that has sustained him so far?

Is intimacy with God enough to make it all worthwhile? God has to know, God needs to know, God is dying to know, if Abraham is in it for the paycheck; or if he’s in it simply for the sake of companionship, friendship with God. What will it be for Abraham? What will it be for you?

So, this is a hard story. It gets to the very heart of our faith. Would we work without a paycheck? Will we walk with God even if heaven wasn’t a possibility? Do we live for the promises, or do we live for the companionship?

God is wholeheartedly devoted to us, to you, without expectations—that’s called grace. And God is wondering… no, God is begging, God is hoping, that you want nothing else but intimacy, nothing else but companionship. Is it worth it? Do you need a paycheck to follow? Do you need the promise of heaven, of salvation, to keep on going, to keep on walking with God?
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Sources:

Ellen Davis, “Vulnerability, the Condition of the Covenant,” in Davis and Hays (eds.), The Art of Reading Scripture (Eerdmans, 2003): pp. 277-293.

Leon R. Kass, The Beginning of Wisdom: Reading Genesis (Free Press, 2003), chapter 11.

R. W. L. Moberly, “Living Dangerously: Genesis 22 and the Quest for Good Biblical Interpretation,” in Davis and Hays (eds.), The Art of Reading Scripture.