i love
traveling. or at least, i don't mind it
too much. which is good because the
closest relative (before my sister began collage in town here) is 664 miles
away, plus a time zone change, plus extra for the search for Pilot stations and
detours for when they decide to shut down I-40 at midnight.
and while there's
often a few hours where i fight the sleepies, the occasional overnight drive
means that i have 10+ hours with no urgent phone calls, internet, tv...people…
crowded roads… it's just me, my thoughts and whatever music or podcasts i care
to blast. and a ribbon of highway that
goes past the horizon no matter how long i've been driving.
this most recent
trip i continued one of my favorite series of podcasts by Wayne Grudem as he
teaches through his giant textbook on systematic theology. yeah, i know. but i love it. even if there is no easy or clear answer or
if i may disagree with his conclusion, i always learn a little bit more.
one of the neat
things i've learned, both through this textbook and our church's curriculum, is
that even through the names and circumstances change a bit, there are all kinds
of images and word pictures for Jesus, from Genesis straight on through Revelation.
and one of the
strongest images shows up near the (second) beginning of the world, and is just
about THE beginning of our entire faith history, when this random pagan dude
named Abram gets a chance to step into the biggest story of everyone's
lifetime. he didn't know that, but he
DID know that when the Voice of Truth tells you to do something, you probs
should get on it, even if you're firmly planted in the Senior Citizen age
group. following Truth's lead, he turns
his life upside down, does his own sort of road trip to put down root way far
away, converts his philosophy, and does more of a U-turn in life than anyone i
know would do just because a Voice told him to.
it must have been a convincing Voice because beyond anyone's
comprehension he winds up with a kid a century younger than he is, which
assures him that all the other mind-blowing promises made to him were going to
come true as well.
but then the dream
turns nightmare-ish for just a bit.
the Voice comes
back, and what it says is not… not what he was hoping. definitely not conventional, but what else
has it said that didn't make some waves (literally- the Voice made the waves)
that rocked some boats?
it told good ole'
Abe to take the son that was promised to him… and sacrifice him up on a
mountaintop. the kind of sacrifice you
can't go back on, involving knives and fire.
what the crap. seriously, what. the. crap.
studying this as a
large group at church, about 50 of us brainstormed through a list of questions
that came into our minds after reading this passage. questions like:
-being raised a
pagan, was this type of sacrifice not as abnormal to him as to us?
-how old was Isaac,
this breathing promise being recalled?
-how long did it
take him to pack up and start walking to the mountain?
-WHAT ON EARTH DID
ABRAM TELL SARAH as he walked out the tent flap
with their child who was supposed to be the start of a chosen nation?!?
we don't know. all we do know is that Abram packs a suitcase
with some robes, firewood and matches and says he and Isaac are going on a
father-son retreat to worship this Voice.
the thought process
takes a long time. the passage has zero
verses in between the command and the obedience.
Isaac is smart
enough to realize halfway up this mountain that he's carrying the firewood, his
ancient dad has the suitcase, but there's no animal for the sacrifice. after being reassured by his dad that God's
got this under control, he continues unaware.
at some point i
think he catches on, because he finds himself tied up and lying on the
firewood.
and just when both
of them are despising (while obeying) the Voice more than either thought they
could, the Voice comes one last time. if you're still brainstorming through
this, try to picture both of their faces.
the confusion, denial, anger, bargaining- they're flying through those grief stages-
but Abe's already reached some level of acceptance and puts that shaky
knife-wielding hand in the air.
the knife is
literally in the air when Abram is told to put it back down and take back his
son.
and in its place he
puts a ram that got stuck in an unfortunately nearby bush.
i don't know how
long it took for their heart rates to come back down, but i'm betting there was
some fantastic worshiping going on up there as they celebrated weirdest
life-and-death situation they were rescued from. what a sweet swap!
there's a little
bitty "mountain" or sorts that has become my favorite. it's only 3 or 4 steps high, but there are
times when it's almost as hard to climb as it was for Abram to climb his. at the top, there's a table. an altar.
a place to put our
everything. our hopes, dreams, promises,
future, lives. whatever the Voice asks
for, no matter how crazy or contradictory it sounds.
understanding is not
a prerequisite to obedience.
and before you can
make excuses, you can read the engraved words, "In Remembrance of Me"
on the side.
so that we can
remember that Abram's story was a glimpse ahead of a different sacrifice, where
a different ram took its place on a different altar in the place of a different child, even as the judgement was
inches away in the hand of the father.
you're the child.
Jesus is the ram.
the altar… is an
altar. the place where mercy and judgement collide in a cataclysmic explosion-
that yet leaves us, the released bystanders, unharmed. there's no acceptable
response except to be knocked down to our knees by the shock waves from the
impact and to worship where we fall.
that little bitty
mountain that i climb sometimes feels steeper, sometimes less so. often almost too steep. i shakily stumbled
down the incline once after leaving my offering and took a single flower from
the bouquet atop the altar. i left
feeling like i'd gotten the better end of that swap, leaving behind
"just" a prayer and gaining a cut flower doomed to wilt in a
day. how could my gift compare? it
seemed hopeless, near-worthless, trivial. i looked up and saw the giant stained
glass window where fading light glowed through the image of a cross standing
over the earth.
the first time i
climbed that mountain under that cross, i exchanged all of my nothing for all
of his everything. i got on that altar,
knowing what was at stake-
-and then-
- a moment to hold
my breath-
- and there was a
lamb where i used to be.
if that's not the
sweetest swap, i don’t know what is.
every time since has
been easier than that first hike, and even though it can be more of a spiritual
workout than i'd like, there's a unique quality to the time spent there. it immediately brings me back to the beginning
- of my beginning there. up on the mountain, it's just me and my redeemer. few distractions, people, noises. no
timelines, deadlines, headlines. where nothing is more important than the two
of us. the time that is absorbed there is rarely regretted. i'll make that swap any time i can.
