Gen. 22 1-14
Matt,. 10 40-42
May the words of my mouth, and the meditations of all our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O God, our strength and our redeemer. AMEN.
Earlier this spring, Dr. Lobb presented to us a wonderful sermon by Fred Craddock. Fred started out by saying that he was at a preachers' convention with 500 ministers. Everyone had already picked the best texts. When it was his turn to preach, there were only six verses in the Bible left. And they were from the Book of Revelation- just what seemed some sort of funeral notice, about a dim, God-forsaken little church in Sardis that had somehow died. Not a promising start! But I guess the grace of God inspired Fred, because it gave him the basis for a memorable sermon.
Over a three-year cycle, our ecumenical Common Lectionary offers us more than 150 selections from the Old Testament. But this Fathers' Day, I am given what many people feel is the most abhorent incident in the Old Testament- a father's sacrifice of his own son. In his book "The Laws of our Fathers", the American novelist, Scott Turow, comments that Abraham did not even argue with God, as he did for the people of Sodom. He didn't say as a father might, today- I need counselling for these ugly voices. He did not even question whether this sort of a God was worth worshipping. Confronted with this ugly passage, I hope the wonderful grace of God will bring inspiration to my lips, and that we shall all find a message from this scripture reading.
The text starts off pleasantly enough, in the comfort of Abraham's tent. "Hey, Dad. Whatch'ya doing packing up all that stuff? Goin' on a trip someplace?" "Sure am, my son. I gotta climb way up that great mountain over there." "Can I come too?" "You sure can, my son!" "Yippee! Can we make it an overnighter?" "You may be staying longer than that, Isaac!" "But those aren't tent poles, Dad. Whadya gonna do with all that firewood?" "Well, son. God is kind of angry with us right now. The well is running dry. We may not even have water for
our cattle this
summer. So we must go up that
mountain, and make a really big sacrifice to God. Then,
just maybe He
will be happy again." "But why is Mum crying? Have you told
her she
can't come along?" Well, she can't come, that's all there is to
it.
And she's real sad to see you going.""Boy, that was some climb, Dad. 'Specially with that big pack of wood. Can I take the torch and start a really big fire? We could roast some marshmallows and have a ball of fun." "Why are you tying me up Dad? It's sort of exciting. But what'ya doing with that great knife? It looks pretty sharp and scary" "Well, son, sometimes when God gets real mad, you
must sacrifice
the
most precious thing you have. And you are the most precious
thing in
my life! You are the only son of my favourite wife, the one born
to us
in our old age." "Burn me? Yikes! Surely God doesn't
want that!
Look, there's a ram caught in that thicket over there. Why not
burn
him. It' ll smell just the same to God." "Perhaps you're
right,
Isaac. Maybe God will accept the lamb in your place. Let's give
it a
try." So Isaac lives to see another day.What a horrendous story for any Sunday, let alone Fathers' Day. Yet the incident was typical of its time. In his book "The Source," James Michener describes the excavations of Tell Makor. He
paints a vivid
picture of Canaanite
temples filled with sacred prostitutes, and the regular sacrifice of
infants to appease a God called Molech or Baal when crops were
poor.
Molech was the God of sun and fire. A hollow brass idol had arms
outstretched; a fire burned within, and any cradled child soon fell
into the flames. This
was not just a rite for pagan
neighbours. Child sacrifice was also common among the
Israelites.
Solomon built a temple to Molech (1 Kings 11 5-8) to humour his foreign
wives. Ahaz (2 Kings 16 3) made his son "pass through the
fire,
according to the abominations of the heathens. Manasseh did the
same
(2 Kings 21 6). Josiah defiled Topheth, the cemetery of
sacrificed
children, hoping to ensure that "no man might make his son or his
daughter pass through the fire to Molech." (2 Kings 23 10). The
books
of Deuteronomy and Leviticus make repeated prohibitions against the
burning of first-born children (Deut 12 31; Deut 18 10; Lev 18
21).
But as recently as the seventh century B.C., Micah is still prophesying
against the fire temples and their harlots (Micah 1 4-6).Perhaps people saw this barbaric practice as a means of population control? When you had few cattle and several years of poor grazing, the birth of a twenty third child was not always a reason for singing the twenty third Psalm. But Abraham was not sacrificing his twenty-third child. He was prepared to slaughter an only son, born to his favourite wife Sarah in her old age, the one whose seed would build God's people. The Elohist priest who is writing this section of Genesis uses the story, in part, to justify the replacement of child sacrifice by the killing of animals such as rams. The first-born child really belongs to God, but parents can buy him or her back if they make an alternative major sacrifice. The writer looks beyond this mechanistic transaction, suggesting that God's blessing comes to those whose obedience is total, even to the point of sacrificing an only child. And this theme is echoed by some New Testament writers; they see the passion of Christ as the giving of a sacrificial lamb, the only son of God.
Is this just a story from humankind's barbaric past? Or is it relevant to modern history? Do we still face an angry God who takes the lives of innocent children? I have just read an essay that
Dickens wrote for
the "Examiner," a radical weekly
paper in Victorian England. He entitled his contribution
"The
Paradise at Tooting." Mr. Drouet, no doubt an upright church-goer, was
operating a "farm" for pauper children. The local Board of Guardians
paid him to look after 1400 destitute infants. He crowded them
into
ramshackle barns. Cholera claimed the lives of 150 children in
rapid
succession. An inquest found them sleeping six to a bed. A report
to
the General Board of Health noted the children were continually
vomiting, both in their beds and on the floor. Sheets, bedding,
and
floor were all covered with discharge. Looking out the filthy windows,
the inspectors saw a "stagnant and filthy ditch of extraordinary
dimensions... connected with a large tank, which receives all the
refuse from the Surrey Lunatic Asylum... It ran right under some of Mr.
Drouet's buildings. It exhaled a most offensive odour."
Moreover,
"...the ditch had been dammed up..., for the express purpose of
collecting filth, in order to manure Messrs. Rollisons’ land."Why did these children die? Was this the act of an angry God? Or was it the greed of Mr. Drouet, the baby farmer? Did the lack of interest of the parish inspectors contribute to the disaster? How could they see nothing wrong? Children were sleeping in a low-roofed shack, six to a bed, with badly soiled bed linen! Was the epidemic a broader indictment of political priorities in Victorian England, a society where the rich needed enormous homes and dozens of servants, but no money could be spared for orphans, public health, or city infrastructure?
Even this incident occurred more than 150 years ago. Children don't die like that today, do they? We are a caring society. A broad safety net looks after all children, orphans included. But are children no longer at risk? Ask a Brasilian or a Mexican about that father and his children, sprawled on the sidewalk outside an imposing cathedral- "Well, they're just poor people. We can't be expected to take care of them." Travel to Africa with Kevin and Vicki, and see children dying of AIDS in their thousands. Is this the will of an angry God? "Did this child sin, or was it his parents?" (John 9 2). Should we point a finger at the father, a man who must work in a distant country, and there consorts with prostitutes and drug abusers? Or does the problem lie with greedy mine-owners, those who make transient labourers work long hours underground, with no respite other than a shack with four bunks to a room, and outside a saloon with limitless supplies of alcohol? Dare we look nearer home? Is there fault among God-fearing Canadians who profit from shares in that mining company? And how loudly do we raise our voices against Canadian drug companies who sell retroviral drugs at a price no African can afford?
Come with me to Darfur, where 2 million people are still dying of starvation. Why does God allow such genocide? Does the blame lie with an angry God? Or is this the fault of Sudanese peasants,
people who have
never learned to tend their crops
properly? Should we blame local warlords who exhaust their people
in
inter-tribal battles? Are international oil companies finding
commercial advantage in supporting the janjaweed or some other group of
bandits? Talisman Energy has now left
the Sudan. But for years there
were disturbing reports that they encouraged the Sudanese Army to
engage in an ethnic cleansing of its oil fields, with a savage 50%loss
of the local population. Should we blame arms manufacturers,
companies
who profit from dissipating the wealth of local oilfields? How
much
blame lies with good Canadian citizens, who fail to curb the greed of
such companies? And what should we say to Canadian politicians,
who
year-by-year have reduced the proportion of our GNP allocated to the
development of agriculture in Africa? Peter Gordon could tell us a great deal about orphaned children in Sri Lanka, and human factors underlying the Tsunami disaster. Was this simply the act of an angry God? Or did the clearance of forests and the development of coastal resorts contribute to that huge tidal wave? And did we hide within our North American laboratories technology that could have warned people to escape before the wave hit?
Now let us turn our thinking through 180 degrees, moving beyond the misery and death of young children. Why does God allow our fathers to suffer? Why must I use a walking frame, when others can hop, skip and roller skate around the church to their hearts content? Did I sin? Or is my disability the will of an angry God? Why does your Dad lie helpless in an old people's home, with almost total loss of vision and hearing? Why should your father leave hospital with verbal aphasia, unable to name even the simplest objects in his home? Why do so many old people suffer from unpleasant and chronic illnesses? Are these things the will of an angry God? This question has puzzled Jewish and Christian philosophers, right back to the time of Job.
We each have our explanations of human pain and suffering. We are wrong to imagine God sitting somewhere just around the corner, as he did with Job, watching to see how we react to misfortune in those who are near and dear to us. And the problem is not going to be resolved if we try to appease God by saying the right sort of prayer, or sacrificing an only child.
We live in a world of contrasts. We cannot fully enjoy the highs of delight and pleasure until we have experienced their absence. To give a personal example, I never really valued the joys of walking, until this steel frame restricted me to a 1 km stretch. But now, I rejoice and praise God for sparing me this much mobility.
We must also accept that as in Africa or Sri Lanka, we create much of the suffering that we see in Canada. In particular, we have extended the lifespan which God and the evolutionary process have given us. Dr. Ronald Klatz, founding President of the American Academy of Anti-Aging Medicine boasts "We're looking at life spans for the baby boomers... of 120 to 150 years." But God developed the human frame to last for three score years and ten. By that time, most of our body systems are pretty well shot. When I was a medical student, 70-year-olds died relatively peacefully- from a sudden heart attack, or an overnight bout of pneumonia. But now we enjoy the miracles of modern corporate medicine. Hearts- and the factories that manufacture them- keep us going another ten years by grafts and plastic valves. Then we are ready for a complete transplant, maybe of heart and lungs. Pneumonia is banished by modern antibiotics. And instead of dying peacefully at seventy, after an active day in the garden, Dad is now nearly 100, lying deaf and blind in a nursing home bed, far from friends and family. Is this the will of God? Or are we looking at human pride in conquering every disease and ailment?
How should the modern church respond to such pain and suffering? We need to build a rock-solid, accepting faith. We are unlikely to find healing in a pilgrimage to the ancient shrines of Lourdes, or Sainte Anne de Beauprès, littered as they are with canes and walking frames. Certainly, we must speak out boldly against the sins that cause so much of human misery. But our main role will be one of compassionate caring, bringing and accepting spiritual healing from those who share our burdens- the Caring Committee, the Shawl Knitting Group, the "Healing Touch," and the many individual members of our congregation who show their concern as they offer rides so generously, visit, and cook for those who are sick and disabled.
"Then shall the righteous answer Him "When saw we an hungered and fed thee, or thirsty and gave Thee to drink..." "And the King shall answer... "Inasmuch as ye have done it to one of the least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto me." (Matt. 25 37-40).... "Whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones -- truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward."(Matt 10 42). May this be our experience in the days that lie before us.