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Today we look again at Abraham. We remember God's promise of a great nation, a new land and numerous descendants. We remember God's plan to bless all of humanity through him and his people. So we have a right to be thoroughly confused and confounded with the passage before us. Here, in Genesis 22, God asks Abraham to offer his only son as a burnt offering.

And what is even more startling, Abraham responds dutifully and quickly to God's command. Abraham offers no protest, shows no emotion. The story focuses on Abraham's unswerving obedience to God! Abraham does, in fact, all that God asks and apparently is ready to take his own son's life when an angel intervenes. Because of his demonstration of faith, such a sacrifice is not necessary. Abraham has proven his faith in God and his obedience to him.

But there is something obviously missing in our story. I certainly am impressed by Abraham's discipline and obedience, but I would like to see more humanness, more emotion, more inner turmoil. The problem with the way the story is told is that it supplies us only with outward actions. It keeps hidden the inner thoughts and motives of Abraham and reveals nothing of God's concern for the feelings of Isaac or Abraham.

Was this task that God asked of Abraham that perfunctory? Could one easily take the life of one's only son, the son, we are told, that was loved? I am convinced that there is an even deeper drama played out in the heart and mind of Abraham. Surely he struggled with this unbelievable command from God!

How could God dare ask Abraham to give up his only son, the son he loved? How could God ask him to take Isaac as though going on an Indian Guides' campout only then to take his life? How was Abraham able to answer Isaac's questions? How could his heart bear to see the tears in his son's eyes and to hear words of disbelief: "What are you doing? Why are you tying me down? Why, Daddy, why?"

And what about God's promise for descendants? Surely God's promise would die with Isaac! And it would mean that all of Abraham's call had been for nothing -- the leaving home at 75, the wanderings, the promises, the great joy of finally having a child.

Surely Abraham struggled with some of these questions! He may have obeyed God without a word on the outside, but from the inside he must have cried out, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?"

Can you imagine offering your own child or grandchild as a sacrifice to God? I can't. I cannot even relate to cereal offering, burnt offering, animal sacrifice. Human sacrifice is totally foreign to me.

But I do understand the Hebrew notion that we are not to love anything or anybody more than God. I do understand the first commandment. I do remember Jesus' saying that anyone who loved mother or father more than him was not worthy of him. But I still can't imagine God's ever putting us to the test that way, forcing us to choose one or the other.

Keep in mind that in the story a life was never taken. This story does not suggest that God takes children from us if we love them too much. It is a story of Abraham's obedience, not of God's cruel testing. Abraham is quick to point out God's graciousness even after the anguish of his ordeal.

Abraham, once he is delivered from his agonizing call, offers up a name for the place. He calls it "the Lord will provide." Remember that, earlier, Abraham offers the same phrase when Isaac innocently asks him, "… where is the lamb for a burnt offering?"

"God will provide…"

For our purposes this morning, this phrase is precisely the image of God that I want to suggest -- that God is the Great Provider. And more than that, God is at times an agonizing provider.

Of course, there are no signs of God's compassion from the story itself. But one must understand that this God is the same God of the Old Testament who forgives his stubborn people, who has pity on the widow and the fatherless, who accepts scoundrels like Jacob as worthy enough to lead his people. This God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob is a loving, caring, compassionate, forgiving God. This God also knows judgment, to be sure, but not without a concern for all who suffer.

Let me suggest that if Abraham anguished over the thought of killing his son, if he suffered in the depth of his soul until the final release came from the angel of mercy, if Abraham agonized over his call to obedience, then the God who provided a means of escape agonized with him. God was more than simply a provider; he was a provider linked to the heart and soul of his servant.

I believe the writer of Genesis 22 was primarily interested in showing Abraham's obedience. He gave, therefore, only sketchy details of the experience on the mountain. But I still want to know about Abraham's inner struggles. I am convinced he agonized over what God had asked him to do. If he experienced no agony, then surely this could not have been his only son, the one whom he loved.

But just as I am convinced that Abraham had moments of anguish, I also am concerned that God agonized with him. I am certain that the Great Provider is often the Agonizing Provider, the One who hurts with us and suffers with us.

Our story, of course, has a happy ending. Abraham does not have to kill his only son, the son he loves. When the ordeal is over it is a time for celebration, but not the kind with firecrackers and hurrahs. I imagine instead a tearful embrace of a very emotionally weary old man and a very frightened young lad. Tears would have been more likely than laughter. And in the poignancy of that moment, in the midst of joy spilling out of agony, I am certain that God smiled.

Many victories in life are like that moment. These are victories not without anguish and high cost. When victory comes, it should not be like the frenzy of winning the Super Bowl. Even in the midst of success, the sacrifices cannot be ignored. The pain endured cannot be totally forgotten. Joy is present but it is given shape and character by remaining concern.

Victory in the Persian Gulf was that kind of victory. We could rejoice that our troops came home, that a cruel aggressor had been stopped, that there was an end to intense military conflict, that there was new hope for a lasting peace. But our joy had to be tempered with compassion and concern for those who had suffered and who will continue to suffer, for the needless loss of life, for atrocities to our environment, for destruction of property and livelihood and for the mental anguish of so many people around our globe.

We in America may feel much like Abraham felt at the end of the story. There are indeed sons and daughters we feared we would lose who were spared. For the many lives returned safely to us we are grateful! But our joy is tempered by the knowledge of the many who suffered and died in this conflict. We join with God in compassion for those whose anguish has only begun.

The consequences of this conflict will be borne for decades to come: loss of life, damage to the environment, destruction of property and services. We truly can be grateful for victory, but it is not a victory without agony, it is not a joy undiminished by sorrow. The "stars and stripes" that are waved in victory also cover the coffins of our own who have died.

So where is grace when victory is tainted by agony, when joy has to make room for tears? Abraham believed in the midst of his trial that the Lord would provide, and he knew even after his son was spared that the Lord would continue to provide.

The good news is that the Great Provider is always there --
in times of jubilant victory, in times of agonizing defeat and in those rare moments of agonizing victory.

The Great Provider is with us when we leave our security, when we lose our son or daughter, when we face a debilitating illness, when we recover from surgery, when war breaks out, when peace comes.

Saint Francis de Sales once said: "Do not look forward to what might happen tomorrow. The same everlasting Father who cares for you today will take care of you tomorrow and every day. Either he will shield you from suffering, or he will give you unfailing strength to bear it."

In the drama of the crucifixion, we see the story of Abraham revisited. Again we have an only son, a son loved by the Father, a son on whom a promise rests, a son who is in danger. And again it is a story not devoid of agony, anguish and inner wrestling.

But in this greatest of all stories, we are allowed inside the characters. We see the purpose of God for his creation. We know something of the mind of Christ. We witness Christ's agony in the Garden of Gethsemane. And this time the Son is aware of the dangers. He does not look for another sacrifice. If there is to be a sacrifice, he knows it will be his.

But there is a different ending here than in Genesis 22. The hand is not stayed. Death is not prevented. The cup does not pass. And, finally, the ultimate sacrifice is not taken but freely given.

We cannot escape the seriousness of the cross. We cannot deny the agony of the Father, the anguish of the Son. We cannot even hide our own regret for Christ's innocent suffering.

We also have reason to celebrate for we are the recipients of the Christ's blessing. We stand in the presence of Christ, the Agonizing Provider, and we are more grateful than happy. Our joy comes not without tears. Our Easter comes only after Good Friday. Resurrection comes only after the costliness of the cross.

Most of us know of agonizing victories -- victories where the price was high. We know of triumph after discipline, sweat and tears. We know of success that sometimes has followed mental anguish, courage and sacrifice.

The God we worship, the God of Abraham, is not a detached God but one acquainted with our grief and with our joys. He is with us in the thrill of victory, the agony of defeat and in that strange experience of victory amidst anguish.

Most of us long for shallow victories. That is, we would be willing to settle for liberation without sacrifice, victory without cost, grace without discipline, resurrection without crucifixion.

And sometimes the hand is stayed and the sacrifice is not made. Sometimes we get well. Sometimes we are reconciled. And in that process toward wholeness, the Great Provider is there.

But other times tragedy knocks on our door, life asks us to pay up, the night comes and the chill shakes our very bones. Isn't it good to know that the Great Provider cares, that our anguish is his anguish and our agony is his agony?

The Provider is always there. Saint Paul tells us, "God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your strength, but with the temptation will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it (1 Corinthians 10:13)."

In our Genesis story, God in his mercy spared Isaac. Abraham was obedient and trusted always that the Lord would provide.

And in our gospel story, God does what he did not ask Abraham to do. He fully offers his only Son, the Son whom he loved, the Son who held promise for all people: "For God so loved the world that he gave his only son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have everlasting life."

God has always been an agonizing Father. Christ was willing to feel the agony of the cross. And together, Father and Son, they guarantee the call of Abraham to bring a blessing to all people. Indeed, now grace and salvation are available to everyone.

God always has been the Great Provider. He provides for us in the midst of our abundance. He provides for us in the midst of our agony, our time of temptation, our hour of despair. He celebrates with us when our joys triumph over our tears.

So when trials come, when agony appears, when temptation knocks, remember the words of Abraham: "God will provide."

He will indeed!