What Did Abraham Know? Reflections on Intimacy and Surrender
Abraham and Isaac (c. 1617) by Anthony van Dyck. National Gallery, Prague (WikiCommons)
Most Sundays, I’m not the person to ask for an evaluation of the sermon. The problem is not the preacher (my pastor-husband just breathed a sigh of relief)—it’s those pesky “curiosity antennae” that pop up when the Holy Spirit underlines something in the Scripture reading or when a particular line from the message ignites my imagination. As soon as those antennae start quivering, I’m off down the rabbit trail—and if it’s a Spirit-blazed trail, it can be quite a long and worshipful journey!
Several months ago, while listening to an excellent sermon on Genesis 22 by a passionate young preacher, it happened again. Those antennae burst out of hiding, vibrating with curiosity and interest. Fortunately, by quickly jotting down the basic question, I was able to stuff the quivering antennae back down into hiding and return to the message. The “trigger” that day was the preacher’s twice-repeated contention about Abraham’s journey toward Mt. Moriah with Isaac: he suggested that Abraham’s knowledge of God at that point was pretty limited. The old patriarch was acting more or less on blind faith in response to a shocking and repugnant imperative. My reaction in the moment (probably because, like Abraham, I’m a lot older than that preacher) was, “Really? Hmm. What did Abraham know about God at that point in his journey of faith? By the time the Lord asked Abraham for this radical relinquishing of his greatest treasure, hadn’t they already been on a journey of intimacy and surrender for nearly forty years? What kind of relational knowledge did Abraham have by then?”
Those questions percolated over several weeks of close observation of Genesis 12–21, the record of Abraham’s faith journey prior to Mt. Moriah. Dwelling in those chapters, traveling with Abraham through the ups and downs of the terrain of his spiritual formation, led me to some significant observations about what Abraham had learned about God by the time the now-familiar voice speaks the disruptive and disconcerting demand at the beginning of Genesis 22.
First, and most important, Abraham knew God’s name. Four centuries later, when Yahweh speaks to Moses in the wilderness (Exodus 3) and says, “Tell the people that I AM has sent you,” this is not a novel, out-of-the-blue revelation of God’s name. At that point, Abraham’s descendants have forgotten what Abraham had learned from his earliest encounter, as Genesis 12:7–8 makes clear. Immediately after his initial encounter with the Lord, Abraham builds altars to I AM and calls on the name of YHWH (see also Genesis 13:4). The rest of Abraham’s journey will be a process of learning what kind of God this YHWH is, and the names or titles that Abraham uses for God along the way reveal what he is discovering. In Genesis 14, he calls the Lord El-Elyon, “the Most High God,” because he has learned that he is above all other powers. In Genesis 21, Abraham describes YHWH as El-‘Olam, “the Everlasting God,” the eternal and unchanging One. And when Hagar returns from her encounter with the Lord in the wilderness (Genesis 16), Abraham learns that he is also El-Roi, “the God who sees,” the One who is deeply aware and intimately concerned for the needs of his people. This is the God with whom Abraham is journeying, the Lord he is learning to trust, the One he calls by name.
Second, before the shocking call to surrender in Genesis 22, Abraham had learned to trust God’s promises. From the very first conversation in Genesis 12, Abraham learns that YHWH is a God who makes promises, and the intervening decades teach him that the promise-making God is also a promise-keeping God. The divine promises are not hindered by “impossibilities” (like old age and barrenness), nor are they delivered on a human timetable. Abraham discovers that “delay” is a human category rather than a divine definition; Isaac’s birth, twenty-five years after the extraordinary promise, is perfect timing. The Lord’s promises are utterly trustworthy and always oriented towards Abraham’s good; even the waiting period is a gift, an extended internship in intimacy and faith-building. This is the God with whom Abraham is journeying, the Lord he is learning to trust, the One who keeps his promises.
Third, Abraham learned about God’s abundant mercy. Repeatedly in this decades-long journey, Abraham learns that this God is lavishly merciful to those who need him—to Hagar, in her desperate flight; to Lot, in his foolish choices; to Sarah, in her painful, shame-filled childlessness and in her precarious experiences in the courts of foreign rulers; and even to Pharaoh and King Abimelech themselves, when they teeter on the brink of serious sin due to Abraham’s own sinful, self-serving deceptions. Certainly Abraham himself experiences God’s gracious forgiveness and merciful care over and over again. This is the God with whom Abraham is journeying, the Lord he is learning to trust, the One who abounds in mercy.
So much more could be said about what Abraham discovers about the character and nature of I AM during those nearly forty years. From the very first encounter, Abraham learns that the God who called him is the God whose eyes are on the whole world, for good purposes (Gen. 12:3; 20:4–6; 21:8–21). Abraham and Sarah learn that this God with whom they are walking knows the thoughts of their hearts, is patient with their learning process, and does not impose his will on them (Gen. 16:1–16; 18:9–15). YHWH reveals himself to them as One who draws near to them (18:1–8). And these faithful pilgrims learn along the way that the Lord they are following is the God who is just and who does justice (Gen. 12:10–20; 16:1–16; 18:16–33).
Forty years of this kind of learning, then, precede Genesis 22, which begins: “After these things.” It is only after Abraham’s long journey of learning to know God, of learning to trust his faithfulness and his goodness, that he comes to this new and unsettling encounter with the Lord. He arrives at Genesis 22 in a season of life when he is no longer waiting, when the promise has already been fulfilled, when all is well, when the future is bright. All that he has ever asked and desired is his. Abraham is not in “the wilderness” anymore; he’s in “oasis,” a place of lush abundance. It really seems like the birth of Isaac in Genesis 21 must be the climax of Abraham’s story, the culminating moment toward which the whole journey has been leading. But as it turns out, the real climax of Abraham’s story comes in Genesis 22, and it is not a story of blessing received but of blessing relinquished. It is precisely now, in this moment of fullness, and precisely here, in this place of blessing, that Abraham will be asked to surrender it all.
We learn in Genesis 22 that Abraham could make a full and unconditional surrender precisely because he knew the One who was asking it. Notice that the whole episode begins with a call and response—a spare, almost wordless dialogue of intimacy and mutual knowing. “Abraham!”, God calls. And that single word is enough. “Hinnenî!” Abraham answers. That little word means “here I am!” or “behold me!” It expresses both Abraham’s recognition of the Lord’s voice and his posture of readiness for the conversation. That kind of response was possible because of the already-existing relationship, cultivated by both Abraham and Yahweh.
Precisely because Abraham knew the Lord, he was able to trust the Lord with everything, without condition. And at the pinnacle of that trust, when Abraham’s hand is raised to complete the irrevocable act of surrender, he is stopped in his tracks by the same conversation. “Abraham, Abraham!” The Lord calls to him with urgency (v. 11). Once again, Abraham answers, “Hinnenî!” He still recognizes the voice of his Lord, and he is still ready to respond.
Unpacking the rest of Genesis 22 could occupy many pages, but I want to concentrate on three key lines in the story, each spoken by one of the partners in this intimate dialogue (God and Abraham). Each one of these lines has something to say about surrender, and each one is pregnant with a “forward echo” to another scene on the mountain of the Lord.
The Lord speaks first: “Your only son, Isaac, whom you love” (v. 2). The triple emphasis underscores the enormity and costliness of the surrender Abraham is facing. This is the son of promise, the long-awaited and much-loved treasure! We have to wonder if Abraham is screaming inside, “Have the last 40 years all been for nothing??” But we also hear in the Lord’s words a foreshadowing of the words spoken by the Father over Jesus at his baptism and transfiguration: “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased” (Luke 3:22: Matt 17:5).
The second key line is also spoken by God: “[Go to] the mountain that I will show you” (vv. 2, 3, 9, 14). This takes Abraham full circle, back to his original encounter with the Lord: “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you” (Gen. 12:1). That original command to surrender all that was familiar came with a boatload of promises attached; but here, it accompanies a call to relinquish the promises that have already been received. In these words of the Lord we hear another forward echo: the only other mention of “Moriah” in Scripture is 2 Chronicles 3:1, referring to the place where Solomon built the temple; it’s a hill associated with Jerusalem. Centuries later outside Jerusalem on “the mountain of the Lord,” God himself will surrender his Son to fulfill his promise to restore what sin had corrupted and to make mercy available to all through the perfect, sinless, and willing sacrifice of Jesus the Son.
The central line of this story is spoken by Abraham: “God himself will provide the lamb” (vv. 8, 14). Embedded in Abraham’s resolute journey of surrender and obedience is hope. We don’t know all that was in Abraham’s mind when he claimed God’s provision. Verse 5 seems to hint that he hoped for an outcome in which God would spare Isaac (“we will return to you,” he tells the servants). What we can see here is a man clinging to the goodness of God, despite all odds. Reaching far beyond his own situation, Abraham’s words are prophetic, another forward echo. In Genesis 22, God provides a ram (v. 13). It is on Mt. Calvary that he provides a Lamb. “Jehovah-Jireh,” Abraham’s description of God in verse 14, is not a catchy little phrase for us to sing while thinking about God giving us “stuff”—it is the name of the Lord who gives all he has to make it possible for us to be in right relationship with him.
When Abraham and Isaac arrive at Mt. Moriah, Abraham builds an altar. He creates a space for worship, surrender, and encounter with the living God. It is not an altar built out of desperate need—“Grant me the promise, O God!”—he already had the fullness of the promise. This is an altar built out of obedience and resolute trust in the One whom he knows and by whom he is known. It is an altar that says, “All that I have is yours.” But Mt. Moriah is a space of two altars, two surrenders. The mountaintop altar in Genesis 22 directs our eyes forward to the other surrender—the one made by the heavenly Father, who was both willing and committed to the fullness of the sacrifice, and the willing surrender of another Son, who trusted completely in his Father. “God will provide a lamb.” On Mt. Moriah, he provided a ram for Abraham and Isaac; on Mt. Calvary, he provided a Lamb for all of humanity. God says to us on that mountain, “All that I have is yours.”
As Revelation 5 describes, the eyes of all of heaven are on the Lamb, who reigns at the right hand of the Father. Jesus, the slain and triumphant Lamb, is the focus of heaven’s praise, and the song arises continually before him: “You are worthy… because you were slaughtered and by your blood you ransomed for God saints from every tribe and language and people and nation” (Rev. 5:9). This is the God with whom we are journeying, the Lord we are learning to trust, the One who has given all that we might live and reign with him. To him be the glory in the church forever and ever!
Rachel Coleman lives in Elida, Ohio. She is affiliate professor of Biblical Studies at Asbury Theological Seminary and adjunct professor for the Spanish House of Study at United Theological Seminary. She is also the regional theological education coordinator (Latin America) for One Mission Society.