You may have heard me talk about my next-door neighbor yesterday--the Bible.
Eccentric, full of stories about real people who experienced...well...really extraordinary moments.
Take Isaac for instance. He was born to Abraham and Sarah when they were beyond child-bearing age and not by just a little bit: he was 100 and she was 90. Abraham had been promised this child by God for so long that he had given up a few years before and at his wife's arranging (!), had a child by her maid, Hagar.
When God is too slow, DIY?
At any rate, Issac is an old-age blessing to his parents when, out of the blue, God directs Abraham to take him to a certain mountain and sacrifice this precious son. Without question, Abraham takes Isaac on this journey.
Isaac: Father, we have flint and wood, but where's the sheep for the burnt offering? Um...who is going to die here? (Genesis 22)
Abraham: God will see to it that there is a burnt offering.
My neighbor goes on to tell me Abraham prepared the altar, tied up his son, placed him on the altar and took the knife to kill him. (The story has a happy ending as God intervenes and provides a ram caught in a nearby thicket but nobody tells me how Isaac feels climbing down from the altar.)
Me to my neighbor: How in the world does Isaac reconcile his view of a God that nearly kills him in what is explicitly referenced as a test for his father?
Neighbor (Bible): silence
I can't explain it but the more extraordinary the moment, the more I want to ponder what it must mean about my neighbor who is (did I tell you?) the spoken face of God.
