Scripture tells us that after the ram is provided to take Isaac’s place as burnt offering, the angel of the Lord comes to Abraham, telling him that the Lord would bless him and that his offspring would be as numerous as the stars of heaven and the sand on the seashore. But that’s not the end of the story of that day. There is always more of whatever story we tell, because our lives go on, even after the event that we recount for years to come. I have heard it said that there was a little more to the story of Abraham and Isaac that day – a bit of the story that didn’t quite make it into the canon of scripture.
Abraham and Isaac are walking back down the mountain. They are silent, pondering the events of the day. Perhaps Isaac is wondering what will happen next – is this really the end of this business with sacrificing? Perhaps Abraham is wondering what has happening – what it means that he’s heard this blessing – perhaps being simply filled with relief that his beloved son is safe and that God seems to be okay with that. Anyway, they are walking back down the mountain. After some while, Abraham speaks. “Isaac, my son,” he says, and we can imagine that Abraham perhaps puts his arm around Isaac’s shoulders. “Isaac, I don’t think we need to mention any of this to your mother.”
The idea that Abraham would perhaps want to keep this story from Sarah rings true in our ears – even as we laugh. We can imagine how that conversation would go, and we can understand that it’s a conversation Abraham would want to avoid.
For most of us, the idea of God commanding a parent to kill a child is so far removed from our understanding of God’s relationship with us that we can’t imagine how Abraham could believe God would want him to do such a thing. The idea of being tested by God, the idea of God checking people out, poking at people to see just how far they’re willing to go to prove their obedience, is not the way most of us understand our relationship with the Holy. Most of us would not recognize the God that Abraham knew in this story.
Most of us don’t talk about hearing God’s voice. When we do claim to hear God’s voice, it’s usually seen as a sign of significant disturbance. Joan of Arc was asked by her interrogators if she heard God’s voice in her head. She responded: “Of course. Where else could I hear it?”
I don’t know how Abraham heard God’s voice. I don’t know what God had in mind for Abraham and Isaac that day on the mountain. My experience of a loving God who seeks justice, compassion and care for all creation leads me to believe that the sudden appearance of that ram on that mountain that day was God’s way of saying: “Abraham, are you out of your mind?” But that’s my notion, based on my experience and my perspective of the world around me.
I don’t know what God had in mind for Abraham and Isaac. What I suspect, based on our family story, the story of our relationship with God found in scripture, is that we humans tend to create God in our own image. We tend to hear God say what we might say. We tend to believe that God wants what we want. We tend to believe that God wants us to do things that bear an amazing resemblance to the things we want to do. A striking example of this is the steadfast belief held by all people in conflict: God is on our side. God is on my side.
We know that we sometimes hear our own desires as God’s voice. We also have a strong sense that God communicates with us and wants to be known to us. That leaves me – it leaves us – with a question: how do we know the difference? How do we know when we are hearing God’s voice and when we are hearing an echo of our own voice?
One of the things that strikes me about Abraham’s story is the absence
of community around him. At the time of this story, Abraham is a man of substance.
He travels with his kinfolks; he’s not alone out there in the promised
land. He’s not alone, but there is never any indication
that he takes counsel with anyone else. His actions are based solely in his
own understanding of God’s will. Never do we hear that he takes a respected
cousin aside and says, “The strangest thing happened the other day. Let
me tell you what happened – I’d like to know what you think about
it.”
It may be that in Abraham’s time, that kind of consultation just didn’t happen. But, for whatever reason, it’s clear that Abraham doesn’t check things out with anyone. On the whole, that seems to work for him. His life is messy, but he prospers and lives to see his son Isaac grown to manhood and married to Rebecca. Standing alone seems to work pretty well for Abraham, but what about us? How do we know when we’re hearing the voice of God or the echo of our own voices?
It’s been 6,000 years since Abraham’s trip up the mountain with Isaac, and God still seeks us out, God still speaks to us. In these 6,000 years, many of us have learned that we will never know exactly what God wants of us. In these 6,000 years, we’ve learned that one of the best ways to try to discern God’s will for our lives is to listen in the company of those who are also listening.
We do this in many ways and in many. We listen in covenant groups, in spiritual direction, in pastoral care, in Education for Ministry groups, in Stephen Ministry supervision. We listen for God’s words in the voices of our loved ones, our spouses, dear friends, trusted colleagues and perhaps me and other clergy.
This morning, I want to offer another way to listen. Renovaré, our Lenten adult education class that begins today, offers a way to build a balanced spiritual life, with attention to the disciplines that give us a supportive framework for listening for God’s voice. If you can’t attend the class, I invite you to identify someone who can listen with you. Perhaps it’s your spouse or close friend or someone with whom you are already in a trusting relationship. The important thing is to connect with another human – a person with whom you can make covenant – to listen together – to listen for God’s voice.