The Mountain and the Knife: Genesis 22:1-19

Some time later God tested Abraham.

Tested. The word is clear about intent: this was not temptation to evil but trial to prove faith. God already knew what Abraham would do. Abraham needed to discover what he was capable of believing.

He said to him, "Abraham!"

"Here I am," he replied.

Here I am. Hineni. The response of availability, of readiness, of presence.

Then God said, "Take your son, your only son, whom you love—Isaac—and go to the region of Moriah. Sacrifice him there as a burnt offering on a mountain I will show you."

Each phrase twisted deeper. Your son. Your only son. Whom you love. Isaac. As if God wanted Abraham to feel the full weight of what he was asking before he asked it.

A burnt offering. Not a dedication. Not a wounding. Complete consumption by fire. God was asking Abraham to kill the promise—to take the miracle child, the laughter of their old age, the one through whom all nations would be blessed, and destroy him.

Early the next morning Abraham got up and loaded his donkey. He took with him two of his servants and his son Isaac. When he had cut enough wood for the burnt offering, he set out for the place God had told him about.

Early the next morning. No recorded hesitation. No argument. No bargaining like he had done for Sodom. Abraham simply rose and obeyed.

On the third day Abraham looked up and saw the place in the distance.

Three days of walking. Three days of knowing what waited at the destination. Three days with Isaac beside him, innocent and trusting.

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."

We will come back. Did Abraham believe God would raise Isaac from the dead? Hebrews says he did. Somehow, Abraham believed the promise could survive the knife.

Abraham took the wood for the burnt offering and placed it on his son Isaac, and he himself carried the fire and the knife.

Isaac carried the wood. The son bore the means of his own sacrifice up the mountain. The image would echo centuries later when another Son carried wood up another hill.

As the two of them went on together, Isaac spoke up and said to his father Abraham, "Father?"

"Yes, my son?" Abraham replied.

"The fire and wood are here," Isaac said, "but where is the lamb for the burnt offering?"

The question must have pierced Abraham's heart. Where is the lamb? His son was asking about his own death.

Abraham answered, "God himself will provide the lamb for the burnt offering, my son."

God himself will provide. Prophetic words, truer than Abraham knew. Jehovah Jireh—the LORD will provide.

And the two of them went on together.

Together. Father and son, walking toward an altar. One knowing everything, one knowing nothing.

When they reached the place God had told him about, Abraham built an altar there and arranged the wood on it. He bound his son Isaac and laid him on the altar, on top of the wood.

He bound him. Isaac was not an infant—he was likely a teenager or young man, strong enough to carry the wood, old enough to resist. But he allowed himself to be bound. He submitted.

Then he reached out his hand and took the knife to slay his son.

The knife was raised. The arm was cocked. The blade caught sunlight.

But the angel of the LORD called out to him from heaven, "Abraham! Abraham!"

"Here I am," he replied.

"Do not lay a hand on the boy," he said. "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."

Now I know. The test was complete. Abraham had passed. The knife could be lowered.

Abraham looked up and there in a thicket he saw a ram caught by its horns. He went over and took the ram and sacrificed it as a burnt offering instead of his son.

A ram in the thicket. A substitute. The lamb God provided, trapped in thorns, offered in place of the beloved son.

So Abraham called that place The LORD Will Provide. And to this day it is said, "On the mountain of the LORD it will be provided."

On the mountain of the LORD. Moriah. The same mountain range where Solomon would build the temple. The same region where another Father would not withhold his Son—and no ram would appear.

The angel of the LORD called to Abraham from heaven a second time and said, "I swear by myself, declares the LORD, that because you have done this and have not withheld your son, your only son, I will surely bless you and make your descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky and as the sand on the seashore. Your descendants will take possession of the cities of their enemies, and through your offspring all nations on earth will be blessed, because you have obeyed me."

The promises reaffirmed and expanded. Stars and sand. Victorious descendants. Blessing to all nations. All because Abraham did not withhold his son.

Then Abraham returned to his servants, and they set off together for Beersheba. And Abraham stayed in Beersheba.

He came back down the mountain. The son he had been willing to sacrifice was still alive. The test was behind them. The story would continue.

But the shadow of the mountain would stretch across history. One day, another Father would climb with another Son—and that time, no angel would stop the sacrifice.