Isaac: God’s Promised Son
God again promises Abraham a son, but this time God names Sarah as the mother.
In the covenant of Genesis 15, God had promised Abram that his descendants (seed) shall
be as countless as the stars, but God did not specifically say these descendants would come
through his wife, Sarai. After Hagar, God gets more specific. Abraham responds by falling
down and laughing! But, as we shall see, it will be God who gets the last laugh.
Shortly after renewing the covenant, Abraham greets three visitors and shows
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them remarkable hospitality. During their meal, they tell Abraham that when they return
this time next year, his wife, Sarah, will have given birth to a son. Just as Abraham had
laughed at this wild idea, now Sarah laughs at the idea that she, a postmenopausal woman,
will give birth! But the visitor responds with a reproach for such lightheartedness at God’s
promises: “Is anything too hard for the L
ORD
?” (Gn 18:14), a lesson both Abraham and
Sarah have been slow to learn.
Sarah indeed conceives and bears a son. This unexpected joy, utterly beyond their
hope and expectations, comes in spite of all the promises and prophecies, as a wonderful
surprise. What else can this old couple, who laughed at God’s outrageous promises, name
this child of promise other than Isaac, which means “laughter?”
Not everyone joins in the joyous celebration, however. When Isaac is weaned and
Abraham holds a feast in honor of Isaac, Sarah spies Hagar’s son, Ishmael, “playing” with
Isaac in a threatening way. The Hebrew here has the sense of “mocking” or “taunting.”
Sarah understands that sixteen-year-old Ishmael’s taunting of her three-year-old son
clearly reveals Isaac’s vulnerable position. She acts at once to protect him, demanding that
Abraham expel the “slave girl with her son.” Of course, “her son” is also Abraham’s son—
a point not lost on Abraham, who reluctantly complies. He rises early in the morning and
sends Ishmael and his mother, Hagar, out, giving them only some bread and one water-
skin. Such meager provisions, of course, are not sufficient for an exile into the desert
wilderness (Gn 21:14).
Soon Hagar and Ishmael run short of water and hope. Hagar, not wanting to witness
Ishmael’s death, moves a short distance away from him. Her son begins to weep, and God,
in his mercy, hears his cry. An angel cries out to Hagar, telling her not to be afraid,
promising her that Ishmael will live to be the father a great nation. Ishmael will indeed be
a great nation, but one that has more connection to Egypt than to Abraham. The
narrative is at pains to put a distance between Abraham and this son of Hagar. This story,
which seems to be a digression and sidelight to the primary story of Abraham and Isaac,
will turn out to be important for a proper understanding of the climactic story of the
Abraham narrative that immediately follows.
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Sacrificing the Beloved Son
The command strikes us as the most unexpected and bewildering of the entire Bible:
“Take your son, your only son, Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and
offer him there as a burnt offering upon one of the mountains of which I shall tell you”
(Gn 22:2). How could a good and loving God demand the death of Abraham’s son? This
story is so disturbing that the reader quickly shifts focus from what God is asking to
Abraham’s response. Just as we cannot look directly at the sun, we cannot bear to see what
this command might suggest about the God of Abraham, who is our God, too.
The command cuts to the heart, demanding sacrifice and referring to Isaac not simply
as Abraham’s son but even more tenderly as the son “whom you love.” The anguish of the
command is driven home as the word “son” is repeated more than a dozen times in the
short narrative of Genesis 22. Abraham, who haggled with God for the sparing of Sodom
and Gomorrah (Gn 18:16–33), responds to God’s command with silent obedience. He
rises early in the morning to set out for the journey to the mountain God will show him
where he is to sacrifice Isaac, the son on whom the fulfillment of all God’s promises
hinges. Abraham puts the wood for the burnt offering upon Isaac, who carries the wood
up the mountain while Abraham carries the fire and the knife. As they make their ascent,
Isaac calls to his father, “Behold, the fire and the wood; but where is the lamb for a burnt
offering?” (Gn 22:7). Abraham’s response, although intentionally vague, will prove to be
prophetic: “God will provide himself the lamb for a burnt offering, my son” (Gn 22:8).
If this story is read apart from all the previous stories about Abraham, God’s
command appears quite arbitrary. Indeed, read in isolation, Genesis 22 seems to lead
readers to the conclusion that God’s ways are cruel and unpredictable. Abraham is
portrayed as obedient and righteous, but the God who threatens a beloved son seems to
appear rather less well than Abraham. Such a conclusion about God stems from a failure
to read the story according to its own inner logic and meaning. Ancient Hebrew
storytelling techniques require readers to see seemingly disparate stories as inextricably
related. A story must be read in light of those before and after it. If we ignore the
interconnections, we will cut the string
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between them, and the meaning and larger
plot of these narratives fall out of our grasp like loose pearls from a broken necklace.
Many clues are given in the narrative as to why God asks Abraham to sacrifice Isaac,
a request that takes modern readers by surprise far more than it did Abraham. One of the
first is God’s description of Isaac, not merely as a beloved son, but as Abraham’s only son
(Gn 22:2). One could call Isaac the only son of Sarah, but not the only son of Abraham.
Why describe Isaac this way?
Genesis 22 begins, “After these things.” “These things” refers back to the story of the
expulsion of Hagar and her son into the wilderness of Beersheba. It is easy to miss this
connection because we see the chapter division and think of it as a completely separate
episode in the Abrahamic epic. But the Bible’s chapter and verse divisions were added
many centuries later, in the early Middle Ages. In short, the story of Abraham’s call to
sacrifice his beloved son Isaac begins with a connection to the story of Hagar and her
beloved son, Ishmael. Genesis 22’s opening phrase invites us to see these stories side by
side and understand their important relationship.
The last time Abraham saw Ishmael, he was sending Ishmael and Hagar on a death
march into the wilderness with little bread and one water-skin. For all Abraham knew,
Ishmael was now dead. When God begins by saying, “Take your only son, Isaac,” those
words are meant to make Abraham feel the sting of his guilt. God tells Abraham to
sacrifice his son Isaac as a “burnt offering.” Burnt offerings were one of the five major
cultic sacrifices practiced by Israel, and the Jewish reader of this story would recall that
burnt offerings were made for atonement. The technical term “burnt offering” is repeated
five times in Genesis 22, to emphasize the importance of atonement in this story. The
suggestion of the text is that Abraham’s exile of Ishmael into the wilderness without
sufficient supplies required atonement, an atonement that was to be made in the sacrifice
of his son Isaac.
There are other striking parallels between Genesis 21 and Genesis 22. Each story
begins with Abraham rising early in the morning to prepare for the journey (Gn 21:14,
22:3.) In both stories a parent believes that the death of a beloved son is imminent. In
both an angel of the Lord comes with deliverance: God opens the eyes of Hagar, and she
sees a well that will bring saving water, while Abraham
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lifts up his eyes and sees a
ram that will replace Isaac as the burnt offering. In both stories Ishmael and Isaac are
called “lad,” in Hebrew
na’ar, which means a “young man.” We know Ishmael was sixteen
or seventeen, given that he was expelled after Isaac is three, but how old is Isaac in Genesis
22? Western art typically depicts Isaac as a very young boy, but the narrative suggests that
a significant number of years have passed since the end of Genesis 21. What is more, Isaac
carries the wood up the mountain, indicating he must have been a strong young man.
These parallels point vigorously to the plot line of the larger story. God is making
Abraham experience what Hagar experienced. God himself will spare both beloved sons,
bringing home the point that although Isaac is the son of promise and Abraham is
specially chosen, God is the God of all. Justice is universal, and no one is to be abandoned
or treated with less than justice requires. God hears the cry of Ishmael and acts, and he
sends his angel to stay the knife from Isaac. God will see Hagar and reveal himself as the
defender of the alien, the orphan, and the widow, just as he will hear the cry of Sarah and
give her a child of promise. The pattern that emerges is that God is universal in both his
justice and his mercy: justice, in that one reaps what one sows; mercy, in that God cares
both for the child of the slave woman and the child of the promise.
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