In William
Styron’s story, Sophie’s Choice,
Sophie is a Polish woman who was sent to Auschwitz with her young son and
daughter. The defining moment in this story is one of Sophie and her children,
standing in line with all the other prisoners, waiting to be processed when a
German officer approaches her. He offers Sophie a choice: which one of your
children should be killed? Choose or they will both be taken. She chose her
daughter.
In Toni
Morrison’s story, Beloved, Sethe is a
runaway slave living in Cincinnati with her four children. When the master
hunts her down, Sethe grabs her children and runs to the toolshed with the
intention of killing them all, rather than see them returned to slavery. The
youngest, a two-year-old girl, is killed before Sethe is stopped.
These are
stories I considered this week, as I tried to imagine the circumstances under
which a parent would sacrifice his or her child. Both of these novels, you
should know, are based on true stories. They would have to be, for who would
dare make up such a thing?
I have to ask this
question, because the story of the binding of Isaac – although it undoubtedly
points to a meaning larger than itself – doesn’t allow me to easily move beyond
the central event. And the rescue of Abraham and Isaac at the last moment,
doesn’t offer much relief. The story is a trauma – to Abraham, to Isaac, and to
everyone who hears it.
It is a story that seems to
change everything. Abraham will no longer be the same. Isaac will not be the
same. Even we are not the same after hearing it. Sarah might never have learned
what went on up on Mount Moriah, but she certainly knew that her husband and
son were not the same when they returned.
It is a different kind of
story from some of the others in the Abraham and Sarah saga. Abraham, who is
sometimes a lively conversation partner with God, is here silent. Abraham, who
experienced feelings of deep distress when Ishmael was banished from the camp,
is here detached, seemingly unaffected.
For one member of the
roundtable, Abraham resembled an automaton – a creation without a will of his
own, whose only purpose was to serve the commands of the creator. He seemed
almost inhuman. We can imagine Abraham silently and stone-faced, marching up
the mountain, speaking only when necessary, as Isaac asks where is the lamb? and he answers God will provide. We see him focused, deliberate. We can see him
standing over the boy on the altar they have made, raising his arm high above
his head, clutching the knife as he looked down at the face of his son.
We can even imagine Abraham
being so tuned out to the world around him that he doesn’t hear the voice of
the angel telling him to stop! This is our fear as we listen to the story. Like
the phone call from the governor, ordering a stay of execution, that comes a
moment too late. Because death cannot be undone.
It seems almost incredible
that Abraham actually does hear the command and he stops his hand in the air. God
provides a ram in the thicket as a proper sacrifice. Isaac’s life is saved.
Abraham is saved from being the one who kills laughter. And we are all saved
from the dreadful possibility of a God who would demand human sacrifice.
It is a story about a
testing, which is something I resist. The notion that God will test us in such
horrific ways is deeply troubling to me. To take one’s beloved children right
up to the edge and then stop – as if to say, “just kidding!” feels cruel to me.
Yet, when I consider the stories of Sophie and Sethe, I am reminded that evil
will certainly test us in some horrific ways. Perhaps it is essential that God take
those testings very seriously and meet the challenge with testings of God’s own.
The temptations of evil are
real. We know the story of how Jesus was tempted in the wilderness, and we know
that we, ourselves are tempted by evil in the same ways. Do we want to imagine
we are self-sufficient, making our own bread from stones, providing all we need
by our own power? Do we want to imagine that we can turn our attention and our
loyalty to whatever idol seems to offer the greatest return at any given
moment? It is a choice we can make. But when we do, we have made the choice to
turn our backs on God and all that God alone is able and willing to do and give
for us. We turn our backs on love and life itself.
It is a serious commitment
– a stunning choice. Will we offer ourselves, wholly and completely to God or
not?
This is a sober
consideration that brings to the forefront the awful power of God and the awful
demands of obedience. Perhaps not unlike a traditional tale that is often
lifted up in Presbyterian circles about the young candidate for ministry who is
thoroughly tested by his elders to be sure his doctrine is sufficiently
orthodoxy. After hours of questioning, they have been unable to stump him, so
in a final attempt to find the limits of this young man’s faith, one old pastor
asks this: “Young man, would you be willing to go to hell for the glory of
God?” and the candidate answers, “Sir, I would indeed. In fact, I would be glad
for this whole presbytery to go to hell for the glory of God.”
In the end, we know that
the powers of evil are not imaginary, but very real. In the end, we have to
admit that the sufferings of this world cannot be avoided by anyone. The
bindings and the tears are part of our story, too. In the end, we are assured
that for those who hear and obey God’s voice, God will provide.
And in that case, we are
assured, there is nothing in all of creation that can separate you from the
love of God, who is truly willing to go to any length at all for me and for you.
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