In our Torah portion for this week, parashat Vayera, we read the shocking account of how God tested Abraham by asking him to sacrifice his son Isaac as a burnt offering (Gen. 22:1-18). In Jewish tradition, this drama is called the “Akedah” (i.e., “binding”), which is regarded as the supreme test of Abraham’s obedience and faith to God. Many of us are familiar with this great story, of course, though we can learn much if we take some time to reflect about the meaning of Abraham’s ordeal, instead of skipping over the journey and “flying to the top of the mountain” to behold the happy ending.
The Torah’s account of the test begins this way: “Now it came about after these things, that God tested Abraham, and said to him, “Abraham!” And he said, “Here I am.” And he said, “Please take your son, your only son, whom you love, even Isaac, and go to the land of Moriah; and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains of which I will tell you” (Gen. 22:1-2). On the face of it, this dreadful request from God was mind-bendingly difficult to understand. Why would God ask Abraham for none other than his promised heir, the miracle child Isaac, to be literally sacrificed as a burnt offering? Was not Isaac specially chosen by God as the promised seed from whom all the nations would be blessed (Gen. 15:4-6)? It made no sense at all…. And why did God want the offering to be made in the “land of Moriah”? According to Rashi, the Hebrew word “Moriah” (מוֹרִיָּה) derives from the word “instruction” (הוֹרָאָה) and God (יהּ), suggesting the teaching of God, a synonym for Torah. According to the sages, Moriah But what sort of teaching is this, for Abraham to be asked to kill his beloved son?
It must have been a terribly sleepless night for Abraham as he agitated over God’s request for him to do the unthinkable act of sacrificing his promised son Isaac. Nevertheless, he wasted no time preparing himself for the journey ahead. At sunrise the very next day he arose, woke two of his servants and Isaac, prepared his donkey, cut wood for the burnt offering, and immediately set off to the place (הַמָּקוֹם) where God told him to go (Gen. 22:3). We have no idea if Abraham had told his wife Sarah of his plans…
We must try to understand and feel the great anxiety and distress of Abraham’s heart as he journeyed for three days, not knowing how to explain what he was doing to Isaac (or to his wife Sarah for that matter). There is terrible suspense in this story, not only in the cloud of unknowing surrounding the entire mission, but because the very thought of sacrificing his son, the sole heir of all that Abraham was promised, was the annihilation of all that he had believed, loved, and hoped. The starry sky of his vision counting the stars suddenly turned to black (Gen. 15:3). Abraham was later called the greatest of the patriarchs and “the father of the faithful,” because he bore the burden of trusting God in the midst of a dreadful contradiction. How could Abraham understand the Lord (יהוה) as the sole Creator and Sustainer of life, the sovereign King and righteous Judge, the one who led him from his homeland, the one who promised that he would be the father of a multitude of people, the covenant-making God who pledged land to his descendants after him into perpetuity; the one who said that Abraham would be “exceedingly fruitful” and from whom nations and kings would descend — how could Abraham understand this LORD to be capable of asking him to go and sacrifice his son as a burnt offering? Was this not a complete shock to all his theology? A temptation? A demonic idea? Did it not threaten the meaning of his visions? Did not God promise him a future and a hope? Had not the LORD renamed him from “Abram” (exalted father) to “Abraham” (father of a multitude) to signify his promise to make his descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky and sand on the shoreline?
The Torah of Moses teaches that a defect-free male lamb must be sacrificed and roasted at the appointed time every year, eaten with matzah and bitter herbs, as a memorial of the redemption from Egypt (Num. 9:2, Deut. 16:1-8) — yet today, after the ministry and sacrificial death of Yeshua as the Lamb of God, we no longer perform the sacrificial rite of the Passover given to the Levites on behalf of Israel. We do not offer a lamb for sacrifice not because there is no Temple to offer such sacrifices, but because we have a greater priesthood based on the sworn oath of God that predates the Levitical priesthood in the life of the Messiah (Psalm 110:4). This is explained in the Book of Hebrews, chapter seven, which explains that “if perfection had been attainable through the Levitical priesthood (for under it the people received the law), what further need would there have been for another priest to arise after the order of Melchizedek, rather than one named after the order of Aaron? But when there is a change in the priesthood, there is necessarily a change in the law as well” (Heb. 7:11-12). The bottom line is that the promised new covenant (בּרית חדשׁה) of God centers on the sacrificial ministry of Yeshua as our Great High Priest, and this covenant provides a new way – “not according to the covenant made with the fathers at Sinai after the Exodus” – to be in right relationship with God (Jer. 31:31-34; Heb. 8:1-13). “And when Messiah had offered for all time a single sacrifice for sins, he sat down at the right hand of God, waiting from that time until his enemies should be made a footstool for his feet. For by one offering He has perfected forever those being sanctified” (Heb. 10:14).
To be a human being is a paradox, caught between the realms of the infinite and nothingness; a union of endless possibility yet terminating limitation. Man desires to live forever but is conscious that one day he will die. He is an incongruity – a mix of flesh and spirit, saint and sinner, good and evil, angel and animal… A spirituality that demands for us to be always happy, always “up,” is therefore dishonest, since the truth is grounded in what is real, and that includes both the miserable and the tragic as well as the joyful and sublime. It’s not that there is no difference between good and evil within the heart, but both are part of who we really are. It is the bittersweet struggle, the process of walking as “saintly sinners,” “holy fools,” “dying immortals,” and so on, that defines us. We must embrace our brokenness, in order to become whole; there is no healing without true confession of our need. Therefore we come to the paradoxical cross – the place of utter pain, separation, and death – to find healing, acceptance and life.
C.S. Lewis once made the helpful distinction between “looking at” and “looking along” a sunbeam (Lewis: “Meditation in a Tool Shed,” 1945). In the former case the mind looks “at” the beam itself, from a supposedly “transcendental” perspective, as if it could objectively describe the thing in descriptive terms, as a “fact” or by reducing the phenomena to simpler, more “natural” terms (e.g., defining light as waves or particles or energy). In the latter case, the mind see “along” the beam in relationship with it, seeing by its means, as part of his horizon of experience, not focusing on it (as a fact) but experiencing other things through its agency, and interpreting them in a semantic world of interrelated meanings. Now Lewis’ point was that modern scientific humanism assumes it provides a “truer” interpretation of experience by looking “at” things, as for example, when it “reduces” (i.e., explains away) religious experience as a matter of genetics, sociology, psychology, or some other “natural” paradigm. Of course such a presupposition is without real warrant, since “looking at” something involves its own way of “looking along” the axis of assumptions hidden within its own methodology…. In short, there is no true “looking at” things as an independent observer, since everyone is affected by their own biases and assumptions they bring to experience. Such awareness should instill within every soul a deep sense of humility. Nevertheless, in questions of faith we are both look at and look along the contours of life to make inferences to the best explanation, and therefore as Lewis succinctly said, “ ‘I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else.’ We (all of us) walk by faith, not by sight, and the only real question is what direction are we looking…
“The fear of the LORD is the first principle of knowledge, but fools despise wisdom and correction” (Prov. 1:7). In this “Daily Dvar” broadcast (see audio below) I discuss how reverence or respect is axiomatic for a genuinely good life. Fearing God expresses the confidence that life is a sacred trust and that each soul is answerable to the Creator. Such godly reverence infers that nothing is trivial or inconsequential, and that all things will be accounted before the bar of divine truth. I hope you will find it helpful, friends.
The theology of our Messiah insists that truth matters, and that knowing the truth about God is absolutely essential for life itself. Nothing is more important; nothing is more vital. As Yeshua solemnly affirmed: “This is eternal life (חַיֵּי עוֹלָם), that they may know you, the only true God (אֶל־אֱמֶת), and Yeshua the Messiah (יֵשׁוּעַ הַמָּשִׁיחַ) whom you have sent (John 17:3). Note that the Hebrew word for knowledge is da’at (דַּעַת), a word that implies intimate cognitive differentiation and the apprehension of spiritual reality. Your life is a venture of faith, an irrepeatable, infinitely costly venture.
The message of the cross of Messiah is that your deepest need for love, peace, and happiness is not to be found in this world, nor in the religious philosophies of this world, but instead is found by being healed from the sickness of spiritual death. That’s the gospel message, after all, which presents an offense to the “flesh,” that is, to natural human pride and humanistic aspiration. Indeed many religious people seem to think that something more is needed than the miracle of Messiah, and they therefore both underestimate the severity of our lost condition while flattering the ego with the conceit that it can contribute something to prospect of genuine eternal life… The Apostle Paul admonished: “If with the Messiah you died to the axioms of this world, why, as though you still belonged to the world, do you submit to its presuppositions (i.e., δόγματα)?” (Col. 2:20). Religious “legalism” (i.e., adherence to formula or ritual rather than living in personal faith) is a worldly practice that leads to a false sense of security in the mantras, ceremonies, “virtue signaling,” theological jargon, and various “mummeries” of religion. Worse still may such worldly religion lead to a “holier-than-thou” sense of spiritual superiority or elitism. Yeshua denounced the religionists of his day by focusing on what mattered most of all — healing the outcasts, touching the lepers, seeking the lost, and being a “friend of tax collectors and sinners” (Matt. 11:19). Focusing on outer forms of religion — even Torah based religion — elevates the law to an end in itself rather than as a means to the greater end of love and healing. We have to be careful not to make an idol out of religious practices, for all the commandments are meant to serve the end of receiving God’s love and sharing that blessing with others. Any “Torah observance” that leads you to “thank God that you are not like other people” (Luke 18:11) is therefore not genuine Torah observance at all, for the heart of the Torah is love, just as love is the Torah of the Gospel (John 15:12).
“Whom have I in heaven but you? And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you” (Psalm 73:25). Such is the “exile of hope” we suffer in this world… Torah begins: “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth, and the earth was “tohu va’vohu v’choshekh” (תהוּ וָבהוּ וְחשֶׁךְ) – confusion and emptiness and darkness – which the sages interpret to mean that when we truly understand that God created the heavens and the earth, we will realize our earthy desires to be barren, empty and unreal.
Recall that our Torah portion last week centered on