On the Mountain of the Lord

Take your son, your only son, Isaac, whom you love, and go to
the region of Moriah. Sacrifice him there as a burnt offering on
one of the mountains I will tell you about.
—Genesis 22:2

After decades of difficulty, Abraham was at last settling into the good life. Ishmael, who had caused so much trouble in the family, had gone off to start a new life. Abraham and Sarah had settled into godly ease and affluence and were enjoying their golden years with Isaac, their love and laughter.

One night the old man crawled into the sack and went off to sleep, oblivious to everything but thankfulness and joy—only to be awakened in the middle of the night by God’s call.

This was “the God” as the text makes poignantly clear—the same God who had been so good to Abraham—who now delivers this awful line: “Take your son.”

Isaac was the promised one through whom God pledged to make Abraham great, the son who ensured his father’s place in the world, Abraham’s last hope. He had already lost one son, Ishmael. Would God take another? It made no sense at all.

Abraham knew that the gods of the Chaldeans and Canaanites demanded human sacrifice. How could he know at this juncture that his God would not demand his first-born? Well, Abraham must have thought, it’s come to this. Yet when morning came, despite his heartache and confusion, Abraham got up and got going, unlike me, inclined as I am to quibble with God when He asks me to do something disagreeable or dangerous. “Certainly not this?” I ask as I look for a loophole, some alternative to faith.

Not Abraham. He began to split wood for the fire, though every stroke must have driven the pain deeper into his heart. Then he saddled his donkey, loaded up the wood and other supplies, and went off with Isaac and two of his servants to a place only God knew—a mountain later called Moriah.

On the third day of his journey Abraham saw the mountain. He said to his servants, “Stay here with the donkey while I and the boy go over there. We will worship and then we will come back to you” (Genesis 22:5).

This was not an empty assurance. Abraham had been thinking along the way. He had recently come to know Yahweh as the “Eternal God,” and to remember that revelation he had planted a tamarisk tree—a hardy bush that appears to live forever (Genesis 21:33). He concluded that since he and Isaac were joined to God, they too would live forever, and he reckoned that God could and would raise his son from the dead (Hebrews 11:19).

So, taking his leave of the servants, the two—father and son—trudged together up the mountain (see Genesis 22:7–8).

“Father?”

“Yes, my son?”

“The fire and wood are here, but where is the lamb?”

“God will provide.”

There’s such marvelous simplicity in that statement and at the same time such depth. This is the answer to every one of life’s dilemmas: “God will provide.” Sometimes the simplest things are the profoundest.

The two men finally reached the summit, where Abraham gathered a few rocks and built an altar stone by stone. He laid the fire, bound Isaac, and placed his son—unresisting—on the pyre. Then he lifted his knife . . .

“Abraham! Abraham!”

“Here I am.”

“Do not lay a hand on the boy. . . Do not do anything to him. Now I know that you fear God, because you have not withheld from me your son, your only son.” Then Abraham saw the ram of God, caught by its horns in a bush, and offered it instead of Isaac. And Abraham called the place Moriah (“The Lord Will Provide”), a memory that became a motto forever. “And to this day it is said, ‘On the mountain of the Lord it will be provided’ ” (Genesis 22:11–14).

What did this ordeal mean to Abraham and God? Only that there was nothing between them—no greater love.

Perhaps you’re being led up Moriah, being asked to kill some dream, some deep desire. You stare in stark unbelief at the thing God is asking you to do.

It’s not so difficult to endure these killings when we see the reason, but when God’s will defies logic, when it seems contrary to all that’s good for us and others, that’s when our love is put to the test.

There’s love and logic in all that God does. He knows us well. He sees the things that grip our hearts and tear us away from his love. Like Tolkien’s Gollum we have our “Precious”—passions that twine themselves around our hearts and strangle them.

Fenelon wrote, “[God] wants the ‘Isaac’ of your heart—the only son, the beloved. He wants you to yield up to Him all that you hold most dear. Until you do this you will have no rest. ‘Who is he that has resisted the Almighty and been at peace?’ Do you want God to bless you? Give up everything to Him and He will be with you. What comfort, what freedom, what strength, what growth when self-love no longer stands between you and God.”

Like Abraham we cannot pick the method, the time, or the place of our Moriah. Only God knows; He must choose, and we must let Him. It’s easier to bear our losses if we accept them without struggling to escape them. We only make life more difficult for ourselves when we resist God.

Dying is a terribly unique and personal thing. No one can do it for us; it’s something that we must do. “Take your son,” God said to Abraham. But when we give our Isaac—our only hope—to God, He will give us more than we ever hoped for.

It’s significant that when Abraham gave his son back to God, God promised again that He would bless all nations through Abraham (Genesis 22:16–19). Now, God said, “You will be fruitful beyond your wildest dreams.”

God’s gifts are of no value to us or to anyone else until we lose them. When we come to the place that God means more to us than anything else, when we love Him with all our strength and soul and mind and spirit and heart, when we give up the very gift God has given us, then in resurrection power that gift will bring blessing to everyone it touches.

Perhaps God has richly gifted you for ministry but has placed you on the shelf. Remember Abraham and offer up those gifts to God. Face the possibility of never using them again. Be content with the Giver alone. He will provide. He will use you in a new and better way—perhaps in a quieter, hidden way—to enrich many.

Perhaps God has called you to another place. You must give up family, friends, home, and ministry—every comfort zone—and make another place for yourself. This is Moriah. “On the mountain of the Lord it will be provided.” Beyond the loneliness and soul-ache lies a new and better life. God will use you to bring righteousness and peace in that place.

This the story of all whose lives have ever counted for God. They have been willing to put to death the very thing they believed was God’s gift to them and have contented themselves with God Himself. In so doing He has made them a source of unique and profound blessing to all they know.

This is the paradox of the cross: “Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it” (Matthew 10:39). “The end of a matter is better than its beginning,” the Wise Man said (Ecclesiastes 7:8).

Taken from Seeing God, ©2006 by David Roper. Used by permission of Discovery House Publishers, Box 3566, Grand Rapids, MI 49501. All rights reserved.

One Response to “On the Mountain of the Lord”

1. Oba AINA says:

   July 22, 2010 at 2:47 am

   God Himself gave us Jesus His only begotten Son, so there is nothing too big to give Him. God will be very pleased if we follow His example.

   Give us the grace o Lord to think and act as Abraham who considered nothing too dear to surrender to God’s will. Amen.