Providence as Provision

"SO ABRAHAM ROSE EARLY IN THE MORNING . . (GEN. 22:3).

This terse, almost innocuous statement referring to Abraham's time of arousal from sleep has been the subject of much speculation. Why did Abraham arise early on this day when he was to commit, at God's command, a most horrendous deed?

The Danish philosopher Soren Kierkegaard wrote a book entitled Fear and Trembling in which he turned this phrase over and over, trying to guess why the patriarch rose up early. Was it because he was eager and willing to be prompt in obeying God in the task He had set before him? Was it because the terms of his call from God were so troubling to his soul that his sleep was filled with torment, making further attempts at slumber impossible?

Scripture does not answer these questions. We are left to use our own imaginations. I suspect, however, that Abraham's early rising had more to do with torment than eagerness to serve. Abraham was not a paper saint. He had feelings common to our humanity, and the thing God had commanded him to do would surely strike terror into the soul of any mortal. God had required of Abraham what Kierkegaard called the "temporary suspension of the ethical."

He had summoned Abraham to commit murder—and not just any ordinary act of homicide. God had ordered Abraham to kill his own son.

It is true that this command to Abraham was given before the Decalogue, the Ten Commandments, were given to Moses on Mount Sinai. The Law had not yet been delivered on tablets of stone. So it was not yet written, "Thou shalt not kill." But before it was uttered in the special revelation of Sinai it was already inscribed by nature in the hearts of men. Long before Moses was born, Cain already knew that in the order of creation it was a heinous crime to kill his brother. The scream of Abie's blood was heard down through the centuries. That murder was a capital offense, a crime against God Himself because an assault against human life was an assault against an image bearer of God, was clearly revealed to Noah and his progeny.

No, Abraham had to know that murder was in violent opposition to the law of God, and yet he had heard the words of God directly and clearly, words that went against everything he knew about the character of the God whom later generations would revere as the very God of Abraham. The words were part of one of the most difficult tests God would ever impose upon a human being. We read of this test in Genesis 22: Now it came to pass after these things that God tested Abraham, and said to him, "Abraham!"

And he said, "Here I am."

And He said, "Take now your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains of which I shall tell you." (Gen. 22:1-2) Much is contained in this terse summary of a poignant event in the life of Abraham. God called him to a test; indeed for Abraham it was the supreme test.

Abraham's life to this point had been marked by an extraordinary level of trust.

This is the man who had left his homeland and all that he held dear to travel to an unknown country at the summons of a strange and foreign God. This God had made an astonishing promise to him and sealed this promise with a sacred covenant. God had promised Abraham in his old age that he would become the father of a great nation and that his descendants would be as the stars of the sky and the sands of the sea.

The promise came to Abraham when his wife, Sarah, was aged and barren. Yet Abraham believed God and hoped against hope that the promise would someday be fulfilled and that his heir would not be his servant Eliezer of Damascus but a son from his own loins, flesh of his flesh and bone of his bone.

To be sure, Abraham had taken steps of his own to ensure that the promise would be fulfilled; he had fathered a child from his wife's handmaiden, Hagar.

This son was Ishmael, who was not the child of promise. Nor was the promise quickly fulfilled. Abraham waited for years for his wife to conceive. She had laughed at the very idea that she would ever bear a child. She remembered

her laughter when she did in fact bear a son; the child was named Isaac, which meant "laughter."

When Isaac was born, Abraham beheld the flesh-and-blood fulfillment of God's promise to him. The impossible dream was realized, and the seed of the covenant promise was alive and well. Now Abraham faced the test of all tests when God demanded that Abraham put the child of promise to death.

We note that the terms of God's command were painfully specific. He did not simply order Abraham to "kill your son." Had the command been that unspecific we would have expected Abraham to go directly to Ishmael and offer him upon the altar of sacrifice. Rather, God left nothing to ambiguity. He ordered Abraham to take the son he loved. To leave absolutely no doubt about who was to be slain, God said: "Take now your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love. . . ." If it had been Ishmael who had been named, perhaps Abraham could have understood. But Isaac? Isaac was, in a real sense, his only son. Surely he was the son Abraham loved more than he loved life itself. There was nothing more precious to him than Isaac. But it was Isaac, the child of promise, the sole hope of Abraham's future progeny, who was named for the sacrifice on Mount Moriah.

It was after this blood-curdling commandment that Abraham rose up early in the morning. The scriptural narrative continues: So Abraham rose early in the morning and saddled his donkey, and took two of his young men with him, and Isaac his son; and he split the wood for the burnt offering, and arose and went to the place of which God had told him. (Gen. 22:3) The details of the story are surprising. We are told that after he rose early Abraham proceeded to saddle his donkey. I wonder about this detail. Abraham was one of the wealthiest men of his era. He had a multitude of servants at his beck and call. He was also aged. I would not expect this old and wealthy man to be engaged in such a menial task as putting a saddle on a donkey. Yet Abraham attended to this task alone.

We are also told that he personally split the wood that would be used in the burnt

offering. This action borders on the macabre. Was this an exercise in masochism? What on earth was going on inside his mind while he was chopping the wood? Was he seeking some catharsis with this physical labor, as Martin Luther once observed about himself? He said that when he was stricken with a fit of melancholy or besieged by an assault of depression he would turn his attention to some physical task to get his mind off whatever was troubling him.

I once had a piano teacher whose infant granddaughter died when she got into her father's medical bag (her father was a medical missionary) and ingested a fatal dose of pills. My piano teacher was grief-stricken by the death of the child.

She told me she sought solace at the piano because she could feel her grief moving out of her soul through her fingers and into the keyboard. Perhaps the ax was Abraham's keyboard, a physical conduit to release his intense emotion of the morning. With every swing of the ax, his blinding pain was being released into the wood.

When the preparatory tasks were completed, Abraham arose once more and set out to the place where God commanded. As his greater Son would do centuries later, the patriarch set his face like a flint to the mountain of destiny. The journey surely was made all the more grievous by the distance and time it required. It was not as if Abraham could finish the deed quickly. He had time to think about what lay ahead.

I find it difficult, if not impossible, to get inside the head of Abraham on his journey to Mount Moriah. I have never had the experience of being called to slay my son for the glory of God. The closest thing to it in my own experience pales into insignificance by comparison. It occurred not with my son, but with my dog.

When I began Ligonier Ministries in 1971 I was given a special gift of two German shepherd puppies by the benefactress of our work. Mrs. Dora Hillman gave our family two puppies that had been born on Palm Sunday. She named them Hallelujah and Hosannah. Hallie was the female, and Hosie the male. They were bred of champion stock; the sire of the litter was the Canadian Grand Victor, and the brood bitch was the champion of the noted Mellon family of Pittsburgh. Hosie was an especially magnificent animal, a classic sable German shepherd.

When Hosie was two months old he came into the kitchen through the doggie door one morning with his head swollen to almost twice its normal size. He was staggering and obviously disoriented. I quickly assumed that somehow he had encountered a bees' nest and had suffered multiple stings to his head. I rushed him to the veterinarian's office for treatment. When the vet examined him he discovered three deep fang wounds to his head that had obviously been made by a poisonous snake, either a copperhead or rattlesnake. The snake had injected enough venom to be fatal to the young dog. The vet declared that it was the worst case of snakebite he had ever seen in an animal, and he gave me a grim prognosis. He explained that the ability for poisonous snakes to kill was vastly overrated and that the potency of their strikes depended upon several factors including the physical size of the animal stricken, the area of the body where the venom was injected, and the amount of venom the snake injected. On all these counts the puppy was in serious danger. The vet went on to explain that Hosie would have to go through some serious crisis stages in order to survive.

The first crisis was to survive the initial shock and the impact of the venom itself. The second was the crisis provoked by the severe swelling. He said that when animals' eyes are swollen shut and they are reduced to temporary blindness, they simply seem to lose their will to live. He explained secondary reactions that also could prove fatal.

He administered antivenom shots and other medications and told me the next forty-eight hours would be critical. Two days later the vet phoned to inform me that Hosie had survived the initial crisis stage but that he would have to remain in the vet hospital for two weeks. After that period elapsed the vet called again to report that Hosie was sufficiently recovered to come home. I was enormously relieved by the news.

The vet then issued one caveat. He told me that a secondary reaction to such episodes of poisoning was necrosis of the skin tissue affected by the bite. He explained that the poison had killed this tissue, causing it to rot and literally fall from the dog's face. He said I must be prepared for a ghastly sight because the dog's face was horribly and permanently disfigured.

All of the warnings uttered by the vet did not adequately prepare me for the sight

of my dog. When I arrived at the hospital to recover Hosie, I found a dog whose facial tissue had rotted to such a degree that the skin covering his face had fallen off. I looked at naked sinew and tissue that reeked of the foul odor of rotting flesh. I scooped up the dog in my arms and placed him on the seat of my car to take him home. The vet handed me a large jar filled with a special ointment that I was required to apply to Hosie's face twice a day for weeks to come to facilitate the healing of the skin tissue. He also gave me a pair of surgical gloves to wear while applying the ointment.

When I arrived home with the dog I prepared a special bed for him in the garage.

The odor from the putrefied flesh was too intense to bring Hosie into the house.

Then I set upon the task of applying the first round of ointment to his face. It was an unforgettable experience as I felt a deep revulsion within myself at even coming near the animal, let alone touching this face that was oozing with all sorts of ghastly stuff. It was as if the dog could sense my apprehension or revulsion as he seemed to cower before me in canine embarrassment. This was no longer a proud young German shepherd of champion stock and extraordinary beauty. He was a pitiable specimen to behold, and I wondered if it wouldn't have been better for all concerned, especially Hosie, if he would have died from the initial impact of the poison.

I realize that it may seem a bit maudlin to explain the visceral feelings that transpired as I knelt beside Hosie for the first application of the ointment, but those feelings were quite vivid at the time. I put on the surgical gloves, held my breath against the stench, and forced myself to touch the hideous face in front of me. As I did, some undeniable communication took place between man and animal. It was a moment of pathos and tenderness. It was as if the dog understood my difficulty in giving him this care. I could see it in his eyes. If dogs have souls then Hosie's eyes were the windows to his heart. A vital bonding of love took place when I touched his skin with glove-covered hands. It was obvious and instantaneous that the ointment was soothing to him. The bonding of that moment was such that it was the last time I ever wore gloves to apply the ointment. Thereafter I applied the ointment to his face twice a day with my bare hands with absolutely no sense of revulsion.

As the days and weeks passed, Hosie was restored to health and returned to life

inside the house. His face became covered over again, not with normal skin, but with hard, leathery scar tissue. With the development of the scar tissue his face looked like it was frozen into what most people described as a snarl but I preferred to consider a smile.

Hosie grew to full strength. As an adult he weighed close to one hundred pounds and had a barrel chest and an unusually docile disposition. He became my inseparable companion. When I lectured he would sleep next to the podium.

Along with his mate Hallie, he produced fine litters of puppies, some of which were trained for service in the canine corps of the state police.

Hosie loved to go hunting with me in the forests of the Allegheny Mountains as we sought out ruffed grouse. On one occasion when I was hunting alone with Hosie I came to a barbed-wire fence that blocked my path. According to hunter safety I carefully slid my rifle under the fence before I tried to cross it myself.

As I started to climb over the fence my wool coat got caught in the barbs. I struggled to free myself, making the wire taut, which then flipped me head over heels over the fence. I landed hard on a rock pile, my back striking a sharp rock, leaving me stunned and temporarily paralyzed. I was immobile upon the rocks. Hosie instantly sensed my predicament, and in Lassie-like heroics he snuggled his snoot under my arms so I could grasp his strong neck. I held on to him as he dragged me from the rock pile. Moments later feeling returned to my torso, and I was able to stand and walk home safely.

Two years later Hosie went into a sudden convulsion in our kitchen. I took him to the vet, who administered medication, but the medication failed to provide sustained relief. Within weeks Hosie was having five to eight convulsions per day. The vet opined that the seizures were a result of the residual damage to the dog's brain from the original snakebite; he recommended that Hosie be "put to sleep."

I brought Hosie home and contemplated the vet's advice. The procedure to end his life medically was expensive. I said to my wife, "Perhaps I should just take Hosie out in the woods as if we were going hunting. When he isn't looking I can mercifully and inexpensively end his life with one shot from my rifle." But even as I said it, I knew I could not do it. As I thought of training the sights of my rifle

upon Hosie I knew there was no earthly way I could ever pull the trigger. I had to admit to my wife there was no way I could even drive the dog to the vet for execution. I asked her to find a student to take Hosie to the vet when I didn't know it was being done.

Two days later I came home from a lecture, and my wife told me gently, "It's over. Hosie's gone." I wept.

This episode in my life was about a dog. It was not an experience I had with my son. I could not even bring myself to kill a dog who was hopelessly ill. How radically different this was from Abraham's situation, yet my experience gave me a much greater appreciation of what Abraham was facing. God did not ask Abraham to kill his dog; God required that he kill his son, his only son, the son whom he loved.

For three days Abraham walked beside his son on the way to Mount Moriah.

Isaac had no idea what was going on. The Scriptures say: Then on the third day Abraham lifted his eyes and saw the place afar off. And Abraham said to his young men, "Stay here with the donkey; the lad and I will go yonder and worship, and we will come back to you." (Gen. 22:4-5) After three tortuous days of journey, Abraham and Isaac had still not arrived at their destination. Mount Moriah was visible but still was afar off. At this point Abraham ordered his servants to stop and wait with the donkey while he and his son continued on. He said they were going to the mountain to worship and that they would return. He said, "We . . . will come back." I can only speculate why Abraham said this. Was it an expression of undaunted faith that somehow God would rescind His command? Was it an attempt to conceal from his servants and from Isaac what his real mission was? I don't know, but I suspect he was crossing his fingers when he said it.

Far more heart-wrenching was the conversation that ensued between Abraham and his son: So Abraham took the wood of the burnt offering and laid it on Isaac his son; and

he took the fire in his hand, and a knife, and the two of them went together. But Isaac spoke to Abraham his father and said, "My father!"

And he said, "Here I am, my son."

Then he said, "Look, the fire and the wood, but where is the lamb for a burnt offering?"

And Abraham said, "My son, God will provide for Himself the lamb for a burnt offering." So the two of them went together. (Gen. 22:6-8) Isaac noticed that something was missing. He saw that they had the wood and the fire necessary for a burnt offering, but the most important element was not present. Where was the lamb that would be slain? Who can imagine what went through Abraham's mind when Isaac asked the question? What could he say? "You are it! I am going to sacrifice you." Hardly! Rather, Abraham answered in the Hebrew tongue with the words "Jehovah-Jireh," which means "the Lord will provide."

This response by Abraham represents the first direct and explicit reference to divine providence found in the Bible. Again, we do not know if this utterance was an act of faith on Abraham's part, an expression of hope, or a thinly veiled attempt to disguise the expected outcome from Isaac. In any case, with this expressed promise of hope that God would provide a lamb for the sacrifice, the two of them continued their trek toward the mountain.

Finally the crucial moment arrived: Then they came to the place of which God had told him. And Abraham built an altar there and placed the wood in order; and he bound Isaac his son and laid him on the altar, upon the wood. And Abraham stretched out his hand and took the knife to slay his son. (Gen. 22:9-10) Surely the most difficult task Abraham ever performed in his life was the task of binding his son with ropes and placing him on the altar. By this time it had to have been absolutely clear to Isaac what was going on. Imagine the look in his

eyes as he watched his father in stunned disbelief. Then Abraham raised the knife over his head, ready to plunge it into his son's heart. I'm sure he must have closed his eyes and trembled, the knife shaking out of control. And at the last possible second the voice of Jehovah-Jireh was heard from heaven: But the Angel of the LORD called to him from heaven and said, "Abraham, Abraham!"

So he said, "Here I am."

And He said, "Do not lay your hand on the lad, or do anything to him; for now I know that you fear God, since you have not withheld your son, your only son, from Me."

Then Abraham lifted his eyes and looked, and there behind him was a ram caught in a thicket by its horns. So Abraham went and took the ram, and offered it up for a burnt offering instead of his son. And Abraham called the name of the place, The-LoRD-Will-Provide; as it is said to this day, "In the Mount of the LORD it shall be provided." (Gen. 22:11-14) Providence intervened. God called for Abraham to stop. A substitute was provided, a ram caught in the thicket, snared not by the thicket alone but by the very Creator of the thicket. Abraham passed the test of all tests and rested secure in the certainty of the fulfillment of God's promise for the future. Isaac would live and become the father of Jacob, who in turn would sire twelve sons whose progeny would be the nation of Israel.

Two thousand years later history noted the ultimate act of divine Providence.

God would make the ultimate provision for human need. He provided another Lamb, a Lamb without blemish who was destined to die on a mountain named Calvary. Tradition locates that place as the exact same site as Old Testament Moriah. God took His Son, His only Son, the One whom He loved, Jesus, and placed Him on an altar on that mountain. And this time nobody hollered "Stop!"