A few years ago I taught an adult Sunday school class through the book of Genesis and wrote a sermon (of sorts) on Genesis 22, known in Jewish tradition as the Akedah Yitzak, “the binding of Isaac.” The sermon has never been preached or published, just collecting digital dust in my writing folder. Every time I see it there amidst my other writings it looks like silver I received from my master and buried in the ground. What good is it doing there? Well, it seemed time to finally let it see the light of day (or screen). Like one of the other essays that grew out of that Sunday school Genesis class, it is quite long for Substack. I won’t be offended if you don’t have time to read it. But if you do, I encourage you to approach it like you would a written sermon, something to be read at leisure, when you are unhurried and able to read slowly. I have also recorded an audio version for those who like to listen while running/walking, driving, doing chores, etc.
What do we do when we hit the proverbial wall and we can’t see the way forward? You know the feeling. It’s often the feeling clients bring to the therapist’s office, hoping she will see a way where we do not. It’s also the theme of Genesis 22, and this essay is an attempt at answering that question through contemplative commentary. “Contemplate” literally refers to sight and observation, so this requires a right-brain oriented use of sanctified imagination. Join me in walking alongside Father Abraham, looking out for what God might teach us about the crisis caused by obscured vision.
[1] After these things God tested Abraham and said to him, “Abraham!” And he said, “Here I am.”
In Genesis 22 we come to the pinnacle of Abraham’s life. Genesis 12-21 narrates twelve different episodes recorded for us by Moses under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit. We witness the amazing surrender of Abraham, trusting God to lead him into the unknown and mysterious land of promise. We watch in agony as he abandoned his barren wife, risking her being violated by Pharaoh in Egypt. We read of his confident generosity in letting Lot choose the fertile Jordan valley and contenting himself with the arid land of Canaan. We cheer his courageous victory over the kings of Mesopotamia and wonder at the unexpected blessing of the priest Melchizedek. We marvel at the covenant encounters between God and Abraham, witnessing Abraham’s struggling faith in Genesis 15 and his faithful obedience in the sign of circumcision in Genesis 17. We cringe as Abraham takes matters into his own hands with Hagar and abandons Hagar to the whims of scornful Sarah. We are instructed by his example of priestly intercession for the wicked citizens of Sodom and Gomorrah. We look on in horror again when Abraham falls back into his habitual sin of selfish passivity with Sarah and Abimelech. We celebrate with Abraham and Sarah at the long-awaited birth of Isaac, the miraculous son of the promise. And just before this story in chapter 22, we reflect on the faithfulness of God to bless those who bless Abraham in the covenant he makes with Abimelech.
Through all these ups and downs of faith, God was faithful. It is beyond any shadow of doubting that God was with Abraham, leading him, protecting him, ever intent to fulfill his promise to bless. That is the meaning of the opening phrase of Genesis 22, “after these things.” But it continues with an ominous and unexpected twist, “God tested Abraham.” Here we are brought into the inner circle of omniscient narration, privileged with knowledge unavailable to Abraham and his family. God, the God of the covenant, the God of blessing for the nations, the sovereign, promise-fulfilling YHWH Elohim, who has only ever been for Abraham, is now against him. For whatever it means to “test”, it implies tension, conflict, difficulty. Our English word “test” comes from the Latin word testum “earthen pot,” which is related to testa “piece of burned clay or earthen pot”. Abraham is about to go through the fire. But as we walk with him through his testing, we must remember that he does not know it’s a test.
[2] 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.”
When we hear the emphatic repetition of “your son” (13x), we naturally feel with Abraham the familial, paternal affection that is being put in the fire. Abraham knew exactly what God was asking him to do, at least on a literal, physical level. Even though this is the first and only time we read of Abraham preparing burnt offerings, God assumes he knows what this means and how to do it. So Abraham has prepared burnt offerings before. He knows how horrible it will be to slaughter not a lamb but his own flesh and blood. When Abraham arose early in the morning, I wonder if part of what woke him so early was imagining the smell of fire, and not the mouth-watering smell of roast lamb but the repulsive stench of burning human flesh.
[3] 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.
Observe how quickly the narrative gets into the details. This is a noticeable shift from the 30,000-foot view of Genesis 12, which merely says, “So Abram went, as the LORD had told him, and Lot went with him” (12:4). Obviously there are a lot of details that get skipped over in that verse: packing belongings into bags, loading camels, saying goodbye to friends and family. In Genesis 22 Moses switches to slow-motion and gives us those very details. We are invited to come in close and watch Abraham sit up in his tent in the pre-dawn mist, his beloved Sarah still asleep next to him. She knows they are going on a trip to worship, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell her the revelation he’d received from YHWH. He looks over at her, watching the slow rise and fall of her peaceful lungs, and feels a twinge of doubt about leaving without revealing the real purpose: “YHWH has demanded I slay Isaac, your only son, the source of your laughter and joy.”
He couldn’t bring himself to tell her, and as he steps out of the tent, he can’t bring himself to speak to anyone else in his household, so he goes to saddle the donkey. Here at least is a creature that won’t question him. But the questions are still churning inside him, and I can imagine Abraham feeling like someone else’s arms and hands are lifting the saddle, tying the straps, stroking the donkey’s muzzle, and all the while the questions are still churning: “What has God asked me to do? How can this be happening?” But the friendly animal’s face supports him a little, and he manages to rouse two young men from his house and request their assistance with the journey. He knew he would eventually have to awaken Isaac, but can’t you feel the tension building in his heart as he puts that off as long as he can? He does eventually rouse Isaac, who surely knew of the planned trip, but not the unspeakable plan of God.
Next, Abraham starts to cut the wood for the sacrifice, now that it won’t awaken the rest of the camp. He is also grateful for the distraction. Sure, the young men, or even Isaac himself, could easily have done the job. But I can feel Abraham’s desperation to delay the journey and the dreaded demand of God. Yet, I wonder if the distraction was successful. He’s cut wood countless times before and can almost do it with his eyes closed, leaving his mind vulnerable to his tortured, anxious thoughts. He cuts one log for the altar, and as the wood cracks his thoughts thunder: “Slay the promised heir.” Another log split: this time it’s not a word but an image of horror, a knife in Isaac’s heart. Another log: and his nostrils are assaulted by the foul odor of charred flesh. The final log: except it’s no longer a log, it’s Isaac himself, heart split open, and Abraham almost gasps aloud. But with the wood cut, the only thing to do was load it on the donkey and steel himself for the long journey ahead.
[4] On the third day Abraham lifted up his eyes and saw the place from afar.
Oh what a long journey it must have been! Three days the text tells us. They likely started from Beersheba, the last named location in Genesis 21, and the place they return to at the end of the story. Based on 2 Chronicles 3:1 explaining that Solomon built the temple in Jerusalem “on Mount Moriah”, interpreters throughout the centuries have understood Jerusalem to be their destination. The distance between Beersheba and Jerusalem is anywhere from 45-60 miles, depending on the source, which means an average of 15-20 miles per day. If we estimate a pace of 3 miles walked per hour, we’re looking at roughly 6.5 hours of walking a day, and when you add in meals and rests, that sounds pretty reasonable.
Unless you’re hiking in the mountains, the most any of us typically walk at one time is maybe 3-5 miles, and probably on relatively level ground. This was definitely more like hiking the Appalachians. Beersheba, where they started, was anywhere from 980ft to 1,600ft above sea level. The elevation of Hebron, about the half-way point, was 3,050ft. Mount Moriah is roughly 2,500ft high. And in between were the ups and downs of the Hebron mountains.
I can see them plodding along, Abraham in front with Isaac by his side, one of the young men in the middle, and the other bringing up the rear with the donkey’s tether in hand. And I can imagine Abraham with every step, each foot striking the ground with the force of a hammer into his own heart. Perhaps he tried filling the silence by telling Isaac stories of his many sojournings through the land. They eventually passed Hebron where the oaks of Mamre stood. I can see him pointing to the altar he made to YHWH after separating from Lot in Genesis 13. And that is where YHWH himself appeared with two angels and revealed that Isaac would be born within a year. And all of a sudden Abraham remembers the sure, sovereign voice of the Almighty, “Is anything too hard for the LORD?” Indeed, is anything to hard for YHWH? “Maybe not,” Abraham cries to himself, “but this is too hard for me!”
Isaac sees his dear father go silent and observes his face turn pensive and distracted. I can feel Abraham struggle to reminisce about the past while his mind is pounding at the foreboding future. “What am I doing? I don’t even know what our destination is. I’ve walked to the unknown before, and God has always fulfilled his promises. But will I be able to do this? And if I do, what then? What awaits on the other side of Isaac burning to ash on the altar of God’s demand?”
[4] On the third day Abraham lifted up his eyes and saw the place from afar.
It’s quite possible that on this third day Abraham was looking from Bethlehem to Jerusalem, a distance of about 4-5 miles. And here Moses tells us that Abraham stopped walking. Perhaps this is when God made clear the exact place for the sacrifice. But the language of the text introduces an important theme, one which I have been using but haven’t stated. This story is all about seeing. In the very beginning when God calls Abraham, Abraham’s response is literally “behold” or “see”. It is always a good thing to be seen by God, but that doesn’t mean it always feels good to be seen by God. Abraham certainly doesn’t feel good as his gaze sets on the crested ridge of his dying dreams. You can see him, can’t you? See him standing there, unmoving, thoughts swirling, heart hurling through his veins. “I’m following you, LORD. Thank you for showing me where to go. I know how to get there, but I don’t know how to follow you into this living death! How can I live, and my son die? He was to be my life, my legacy, and not mine only, but through him you promised to give new life to the world. How can that be and yet you ask me to kill him? I don’t know, don’t understand, CAN’T understand. But I am following.”
So he shakes himself alert and braces himself for the ascent.
[5] 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.”
Here we reach the unsearchable depths of Abraham’s heart. What was he thinking? Can we know? Moses frequently leaves his readers to infer the inner thoughts, feelings and motives of the story’s characters. But of any stories of Genesis, and any parts of those stories, surely here above all the rest we cry out for more information. “I and the boy will go over there and worship and come again to you.” What does that mean? But perhaps that question pays more attention to what Abraham doesn’t say, rather than what he does say. He doesn’t say what’s going to happen to Isaac. He doesn’t tell the men Isaac is going to be killed. The men just know Abraham and Isaac are going to worship God through a burnt offering, and then return. That is what Abraham does say.
“We will come again to you.” There is a settled conviction to that statement. It makes me wonder, is there more to what he saw when he looked at Mount Moriah from the region of Bethlehem? He certainly saw the death of Isaac. There is no question there. Such was the command of God. We might even say, such was the providence of God. Abraham confesses in v.14 that “The LORD will provide,” which could be literally rendered “the LORD sees”. The translation “provide” is appropriate, because the Latin roots simply mean “see before”. So before Abraham learns that God will provide, or God will see to it, he is first confronted with the providence of God commanding him to see that Isaac is killed. The promised heir, through whom blessing would return to the entire creation, is to be killed by the providence of God. How is Abraham resolving this cataclysmic conflict between God’s promise and God’s providence? “God, you promised me blessing, but now you are providing curse instead. How can both of those be true?”
Perhaps he still doesn’t have the answer, but he isn’t willing to let go of either. He is set on seeing that God’s providence is fulfilled, and his faith is resolute. “We will come again to you.”
[6] 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.
Here father and son set out alone on the final leg of their journey. Notice how Abraham splits up the items for the sacrifice: Isaac carries the wood, and Abraham carries the fire (flint?) and the knife. But it doesn’t say Isaac carried the wood, rather, “Abraham took the wood of the burnt offering and laid it on Isaac his son.” Isaac carries the heavier burden of the two, naturally enough, but he is passive. Abraham places the burden on him. As Abraham ascends the mount, he is carrying less weight, but an infinitely heavier burden, for he knows what God has demanded.
Notice also, Abraham has the tool for lighting fire in one hand and the knife in the other. What must he have been thinking with the very tools for slaying and burning his son in his hands! Have you ever been in a fit of anger, and all of a sudden you close your fist? The very act of closing your hand into a fist conjures images of violence: striking another person, punching a wall, slamming a table. Surely Abraham is being assaulted with images of striking his son as he walks silently beside him. It’s as if he is trying to hold onto God’s promise and at the same time holding the death of that promise in his own hands.
[7] And Isaac said to his father Abraham, “My father!” And he said, “Here I am, my son.” He said, “Behold, the fire and the wood, but where is the lamb for a burnt offering?”
“Oh Isaac,” I can hear Abraham exclaim to himself, “Why did you ask that question? Ask me anything but that, my son.” But Isaac did ask. Before considering Abraham’s answer, look closely at the question. Isaac observes the fire and that which it burns, the wood. And he’s carrying the wood, while Abraham is carrying the fire. He asks where is the lamb, but does not draw attention to the knife which would slay the lamb. With Abraham holding that which consumes the burden on Isaac’s back, and also holding the knife for killing the offering, we would expect Isaac to also be carrying that which is to by killed by the knife. But he is not. Just as fire, held by Abraham, is to burn the wood Isaac is carrying, so the knife, held by Abraham, is to kill Isaac himself.
[8] Abraham said, “God will provide for himself the lamb for a burnt offering, my son.” So they went both of them together.
In Abraham’s response we need to see the play on words in the Hebrew text. When Abraham says “God will provide”, it literally means “God will see”, as noted earlier, and it’s the same word used in v. 4 where Abraham “saw the place from afar.” The Message actually sticks closer to the literal sense to capture the repetition in this passage: “Abraham said, ‘Son, God will see to it that there's a sheep for the burnt offering.’” What does Abraham mean by this? To answer that, we need to remember what has come before in Abraham’s life. Many significant events have involved physical and metaphorical seeing.
In Genesis 12, when God first calls Abraham, he tells him to “Go…to the land which I will show you,” that is, the land which God will cause to be seen. When God appeared to Abraham in ch. 12, it’s the same word, to be seen. When Hagar returned from her flight toward Egypt, she told Abraham of her experience of being seen by God and learning that God is “a God who sees,” (Gen. 16:13). That title is Elroi, Elohim Roi, “God of seeing”, virtually synonymous with Abraham’s designation of God later in this story, Jehovah Jireh. Hagar has a similar experience in Genesis 21, where she pleads with God “Do not let me see the boy die” (21:16), and in v. 19, “Then God opened her eyes and she saw a well of water.” Hagar’s experience showed that God’s seeing is God’s providing. Abraham had learned these crucial lessons about God. He sees that his people are cared for, and he sees that his promises are fulfilled. At this point, that’s all that Abraham himself can see. But it is enough.
So they went both of them together.
This repeats the same line from 22:6. This question and answer dialogue happened half-way through the trip up the mountain. So, there is a gap of time between Abraham’s answer to Isaac’s question, and when they reached the place for the sacrifice. Can you hear the silence between father and son? Was Isaac content with Abraham’s answer? Throughout this story Isaac demonstrates implicit trust in his father. But the hero of our story is Abraham, so we ask, was Abraham himself satisfied with his answer? In the awkward silence, the words echo in his mind: “God will see to it, my son.” Whether or not there was any twinge of doubt, we can imagine him saying to himself, “God will see to it. God will see to it…God will see to it? The place for the altar is almost in sight. I will obey my Lord. God will see to it.” To the degree that Abraham foresaw God’s provisions, it was surely the sight of faith, not the sight of the eyes. He was forced to continue the uphill climb, trusting that God could see what he himself could not.
[9] 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. [10] Then Abraham reached out his hand and took the knife to slaughter his son.
Aside from the cross of our Lord, it is hard to think of any more gut-wrenching scene in all of human history. The best actors in all the world, the greatest of directors and producers, the most extravagant budget imaginable, could not adequately portray the tension we feel in this moment. Again, we move into slow motion and see Abraham building the altar. On the basis of Exodus 20:24, where God makes provision for burnt offerings on either an “altar of earth” or uncut stones, Abraham is building up a mound of either dirt or stone. It would have to be large enough for Isaac to be laid on it. If he used dirt, it would be quite an ordeal with merely a knife! And if there were enough stones nearby, it would still take a long time. Abraham labors on his knees, while nearby Isaac waits silently. He has done this many times before, but always with a heart of joyful gratitude for God’s provision. Now he builds with fear and trembling. I can see Abraham with his back turned to Isaac, trying to hold back tears as the dreaded moment rushes closer with each handful of dirt. As the mound is raised inch by inch, again Yahweh’s voice thunders in his mind: “burn your son — Isaac, your only son, your laughter.”
Once the altar is built, Abraham takes the wood he had split 3 days ago and arranges it flat so Isaac will be able to lie down. Seeing the logs again up close, feeling the rough outer bark and the smooth inner grain, he remembers each lightning strike of his axe as he places them one by one on the altar. Then he takes his first unthinkable act of radical obedience and binds Isaac.
In Jewish tradition, this story is named “akedat Yitzhak“ or “The Binding of Isaac,” akedah being the Hebrew word for “to bind”. What must have happened on the faces of Abraham and Isaac as their eyes meet, and Abraham begins to wind rope around his son, first his wrists, and then his legs? Perhaps straining the merits of sanctified imagination, I can almost see Abraham lift a finger to his lips with imploring eyes, as if to say silently, “Trust me, my son. Even more, trust YHWH. Did I not say that the God himself will see to the lamb?”
Next Abraham lays Isaac on top of the altar. Surely Isaac, being at least an adolescent, allowed himself to be lowered down. The next thing the text tells us is that “Abraham reached out his hand and took the knife to slaughter his son.” It appears that Abraham did not light the fire, which probably was to be done after killing the sacrifice. Even though the text does not describe where Abraham’s arm is when a voice intervenes from heaven, how can we not picture his fist raised, poised to strike at the heart of Isaac? That is what you will see if you look up artistic renderings of this scene throughout history. And knowing God’s assessment to Abraham, “seeing you have not withheld your son,” surely God waited until the very last moment, when he saw not only Abraham’s raised arm but his resolute heart, split-seconds away from driving the knife downward.
But here we need to remember that it’s not just Isaac that Abraham is about to kill. Yes, this is Isaac, Abraham’s son. But God calls Isaac Abraham’s only son. If that is meant literally, then it’s not true, because Abraham has another son, Ishmael. So the adjective only means something else. It means that Isaac is the son of promise. God had promised a son to Abraham when he pleaded that his servant Eleazar would be his heir. Ishmael was Abraham’s son, but God later clarified that the promised son would come by his barren wife Sarah. He had waited for this son 25 years since the initial promise, given in the land of the Chaldeans, that God would “make of you a great nation.”
That initial promise had been expanded multiple times, become ever greater and richer. In Genesis 13:16 God said “I will make your offspring as the dust of the earth, so that if one can count the dust of the earth, your offspring also can be counted”. In Genesis 15:5 God said, “Look toward heaven, and number the stars, if you are able to number them…So shall your offspring be”. In Genesis 17:4-6 God said, “Behold, my covenant is with you, and you shall be the father of a multitude of nations…I will make you exceedingly fruitful, and I will make you into nations, and kings shall come from you.” All of these promises are not just for Abraham. Neither are they only for Abraham’s family line. These promises are the hope of restoration for the entire world. As John Calvin put it so emphatically, it’s as if Abraham is about to “not only throw aside, but to cut in pieces, or cast into the fire, the charter of his salvation, and to have nothing left for himself, but death and hell.”
But perhaps Abraham, reflecting on this approaching death, remembered the state he and Sarah were in before Isaac was born. Paul tells us that “he considered his own body, which was as good as dead,” and Abraham knew by actual experience that God “gives life to the dead and calls into existence the things that do not exist” (Rom. 4: 19, 17).
So he raises the knife, pausing with his hand above his head for what must have felt like an eternity.
Only as we feel the incredible, visceral, almost indescribable anguish of building tension throughout this story can we feel the relief of verses 11-12:
[11] But the angel of the LORD called to him from heaven and said, “Abraham, Abraham!” And he said, “Here I am.”
[12] He said, “Do not lay your hand on the boy or do anything to him, for now I know that you fear God, seeing you have not withheld your son, your only son, from me.”
Words of divine comfort descend from heaven with the double appellation, “Abraham, Abraham!” God is eager to get Abraham’s attention, and even in this most agonizing moment Abraham is attentive to the voice of God. “See!” or “Behold!” Abraham says literally. At the beginning of this episode he was seen by God for assessment, and now he is seen by God for assistance.
And God sees that Abraham did not withhold Isaac, his laughter, the son and sign of all God’s promises to him. In the moment of terror, the moment of terrifying obedience, Abraham could not see the promise, because it was about to die and burn before his eyes. But he believed that God could see a way. And God could and did. God saw that Abraham’s faith needed to transcend even the highest evidence of God’s promises to a vision of God himself and God alone.
And that is what Abraham saw.
[13] And Abraham lifted up his eyes and looked, and behold, behind him was a ram, caught in a thicket by his horns. And Abraham went and took the ram and offered it up as a burnt offering instead of his son.
[14] So Abraham called the name of that place, “The LORD will provide”; as it is said to this day, “On the mount of the LORD it shall be provided.”
Abraham’s eyes beheld the ram, and with the instinct of faith saw it as God’s provision, a substitute for Isaac. Again, God’s provision is really God’s vision. As Eugene Peterson puts it, “Abraham named that place God-Yireh (God-Sees-to-It). That’s where we get the saying, ‘On the mountain of God, he sees to it.’” Abraham sees the vision of God, meaning God’s sovereign sight that determines and bestows goodness (Gen. 1:31), and also brings resurrection life out of the death of testing.
What did Abraham learn through this test? What was Israel to learn through hearing this story while in the wilderness of Sinai? What do we learn today as followers of Christ?
When God tests your faith in his promise to the point of death, trust that he will provide a resurrection.
We are to trust that God sees a way to fulfill his promises, even when we do not. We can be inspired by Abraham’s example that it really is possible to walk by faith, not by sight. It really is possible to allow ourselves to be tested by God, to have our faith refined and purified. But that requires following in the steps of Abraham, who trusted and obeyed to the point of enduring the death of God’s promised blessings.
There is another who also followed in Abraham’s steps, answering the greatest test ever given by God to man: not putting the promised son to death, but the promised son offering himself up to death for the lives of his lost sheep. Jesus is both the true and greater Abraham and the true and greater Isaac, fulfilling both roles in himself, being offered and offering himself on the altar to bear God’s wrath for the world.
Although there doesn’t appear to be any connection in his mind to Abraham’s temptation, George MacDonald’s sermon The Eloi describes Jesus’ death in very similar language as the triumph of faith versus sight. MacDonald described Jesus’ cry, “My God, My God, why has thou forsaken me,” as “the vanishing vision of the Father”:
“Never before had he been unable to see God beside him. Yet never was God nearer him than now. For never was Jesus more divine. He could not see, could not feel him near; and yet it is ‘My God’ that he cries.”
MacDonald walks up to the brink of our limited, finite language to meditate on this holy ground.
“It is with the holiest fear that we should approach the terrible fact of the sufferings of our Lord.”
It is worth quoting him at length, as his description of Jesus matches perfectly the portrait of Abraham in the Akedah Yitzak.
Thus the Will of Jesus, in the very moment when his faith seems about to yield, is finally triumphant. It has no feeling now to support it, no beatific vision to absorb it. It stands naked in his soul and tortured, as he stood naked and scourged before Pilate. Pure and simple and surrounded by fire, it declares for God. The sacrifice ascends in the cry, My God. The cry comes not out of happiness, out of peace, out of hope. Not even out of suffering comes that cry. It was a cry in desolation, but it came out of Faith. It is the last voice of Truth, speaking when it can but cry. The divine horror of that moment is unfathomable by human soul. It was blackness of darkness. And yet he would believe. Yet he would hold fast. God was his God yet. My God — and in the cry came forth the Victory, and all was over soon. Of the peace that followed that cry, the peace of a perfect soul, large as the universe, pure as light, ardent as life, victorious for God and his brethren, he himself alone can ever know the breadth and length, and depth and height.
Like Abraham, like Jesus, and like so many men and women of God who have come before us, God places crossroads in our life where we cannot see around the bend to know what is coming or how we will make it through. In his kindness God has given us these stories so that we can see in them what we cannot presently see in our own stories. Seeing the providence of God in these stories which fulfills God’s promises against all odds enables us to walk by faith when we can’t walk by sight.
When your faith cannot see God’s promise through the smoke coming up from the fires of testing, rest in God’s vision more than you fear the failure of his promises, and know that dawn and deliverance are coming.
Thank you Aaron. 💛
I have never read such a psychologically and empathically insightful essay on The Akeidha.
And I’m ashamed to say that I’d never noticed Abraham’s words “we shall return to you” at the end of verse 5. Thank you so much for bringing that to my attention! Now I know why Hebrew 11:19 can so confidently say that Abraham knew that God was able to raise up Isaac from the dead.