Finished

I remember the flannel graphs, and the cartoon like pictures of a father, and son, of a hill and a lamb caught in a thorny bush. It was simple, straight-forward, and told in such a matter-of-fact way, praising Abraham’s obedience.

But it’s not that G-rated, is it? It’s not so neat and simple and flannel graph-ey. No. That’s not the kind of story this is. In fact, if we’re honest, it’s a little disturbing.

But this isn’t really a story about how “good” Abraham was. It’s a story about how good God is.

In today’s Old Testament lectionary reading from Genesis 22, Abraham is asked to sacrifice his only son, God's gift to him. 

By the time I was old enough to take a college psychology course, I was…concerned maybe…about Abraham. But cultural context matters in understanding scripture. And awhile back I learned something about ancient culture that broadened my understanding…that this kind of request wasn't unheard of. In the context in which he lived; the gods often demanded such sacrifices. The offering of one's child was sadly not uncommon.

So, it had to be tempting for Abraham to ask, "You too, God? Maybe you're not who I thought you were?" I can't help but imagine hurt, disappointment, disillusionment. He had to be incredibly confused.

But none the less, there was trust. 

And together, father and son climbed a hill, and Abraham prepared the alter.

But we know this story has a happier ending...

God shows he's not like those other gods. Because HE is the God who provides. And there was a lamb, and Isaac went free.

And God said to Abraham, "through your offspring all nations on earth will be blessed."

The second story starts with an invitation to dinner. And at this dinner, the creator of the whole universe, fully human yet fully the same omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent God who breathed the stars into place got down on his hands and knees, and tenderly scrubbed the dust, and yes, maybe even dung, off the feet of his students. Even the one who was about to betray him.

Peter, however, protested. Surely, they should be the ones washing the feet of their master! But that’s not the kind of master he was. And that’s not the kind of party they’re invited to.

To put it in the very lightest possible way, a series of seemingly unfortunate events followed and are recorded in the gospels. By morning, God's only son, born of a descendent of Abraham, is led to a hill, and HE chooses to become the sacrifice, and all the nations of the earth are blessed.

 Those who loved him most didn't understand what was happening. There was hurt, anger, disappointment, disillusionment. Maybe Jesus isn't who they thought he was?  And so there they sit in that shock, anger, and grief. What they were feeling was appropriate in that moment.

Can I share this with you? Every culture has some blind spots. And here's one of ours...we don’t know how to grieve very well.

There’s very little that we find more “wrong” than sadness. It’s a flaw, a lack of faith, maybe even a sin. Anyone who has experienced loss has had someone we love to try to rush us past the grief. They say silly things that start with the phrase, "At least..." or "They wouldn't want you to cry..." 

One of the greatest gifts I was given when I was going through a time of intensely personal grief and loss, was a friend who wasn't afraid of my grief. She stepped into it with me and was just there no matter how awkward or uncomfortable my tears, and anger, and silence might have been. 

 We know how the story of Good Friday really ends. As we love saying, “Sunday's a ‘Comin'.” But for Jesus’ disciples, it’s too loud, too raw, too close-up, and zoomed in. Too overwhelming. They have no idea what just happened. But, because we do, we want to rush past it. I know I’m not the only one who never wants to watch The Passion of the Christ ever again. It’s hard to look upon. It’s so much better to fast forward our weekend to soft bunnies, brightly dyed eggs, and a thundering rendition of “Up from the Grave He Arose.”

But in remembering, Stephanie Dryness Lobdell says we "allow ourselves to enter the pain of this moment and find the kind of comfort that comes in solidarity" (146).

Jesus didn't jump right back up and say "gotcha" or send his disciples some kind of cosmic wink...he allows that devastation to simmer for a few days.

Rev. Lobdell writes, "God does not offer a long-distance remedy for us and for creation-a clean-cut, simple solution to mend what ails us, like some divine round of antibiotics. Rather, God gets low. God enters into the darkest shadow of human experience: abuse, humiliation, shame, violence." 

We cannot fully appreciate the joy of Easter until we've really grasped the enormity of this moment in which the only words ringing in his disciple’s ears are, "It is finished."

We’re about to see God answer that question that had been asked so many years ago by Isaac. We’re about to see just what kind of god this really is…the God who not only provides, but who is the provision. The God who is himself the very definition of perfect love.

But just because you know the rest of the story, please don't rush immediately back to the comfort of the light. Sit with me awhile and remember. 

 Middendorf, Jesse C., and Stephanie Lobdell. Sacred Invitation: Lenten Devotions Inspired by the Book of Common Prayer. The Foundry Publishing, 2020.