Understanding or The Most Beautiful Day of Raymond K. Hessel’s Life

A braham hasn’t updated his Facebook page in over a decade. The span between Genesis 16 and 17 is a mind-numbing thirteen years. Abraham is now ninety-nine years old. Ishmael, the son he had with Hagar, his ill-advised second wife, is a teenager. Life is moving along at a nice clip. Then, without any explanation for his long absence, God shows up on the scene again and immediately reminds Abraham of his commitment: “I will multiply you exceedingly” (v. 2). It’s the fifth time he’s mentioned this now-familiar declaration, so it’s hard to get psyched. But tell that to Abraham. He reacts by doing his best Wayne and Garth “We’re not worthy!” imitation (v. 3). This isn’t your typical dream sequence. Someone cue up Scorpions. God just walked through the door in his business suit humming “Wind of Change.” Abraham is clearly overwhelmed by the live-action treatment.

Up until now God’s covenants have been one-sided affairs in which he hasn’t asked for anything in return, but with Abraham God busts out the mother of all requests. He allows that Abraham will become “the father of a multitude of nations” (v. 4), but first he’ll have to demonstrate he’s ready to join into the covenant as an equal partner. So what does God ask him to do: locate the five sacred Sankara stones? Nope. He asks Abraham to cut off part of his penis. That can’t be right. Abraham is old as the hills, his wife can’t conceive and now God wants him to take a little off the top? No adult male would willfully self-impose such a procedure. God doesn’t need to exercise his omniscience to figure that out. What he doesn’t know is if Abraham will fold now that the stakes have been raised. Remind me never to play poker with God. Circumcision offers no substantial physical benefit. Its function is primarily symbolic. It’s about accepting God’s standard by marking oneself as a committed covenant participant. And it doesn’t just apply to Abraham and his offspring. If he accepts God’s terms, all of the guys living alongside him will also have to run their kosher franks through the Slice-O-Matic (v. 10). That’s right, now there’s literal skin in the game. Somebody call Rabbi Tuckman.

God goes on to say it will be Abraham’s barren, ninety-year-old wife, Sarah, who will give rise to these future nations (v. 16). He doesn’t leave room for another Hagar slip up. Then, without asking Abraham if he wants to know the baby’s sex, God plays spoiler and tells him it will be a boy. He also says the child should be named Isaac and that he’ll be born “at this season next year” (v. 21). It appears God has fixed the hyper-drive on the Millennium Falcon and now the covenant promise is moving at about .5 past light speed. Now we’re getting somewhere. Abraham makes a fatherly appeal on Ishmael’s behalf, but God insists the covenant be upheld through his son with Sarah. Ishmael isn’t left out of the will, though. God allows that, “He shall become the father of twelve princes” (read about these guys in Genesis 25:12-15) and become “a great nation” (v. 20). Not exactly scraps from the table. Ishmael’s future has Arabian Nights written all over it.

At this point the only thing left for Abraham to do is perform a little elective surgery. He doesn’t waste any time either. Abraham sharpens his Ginsu and rounds up all of the men in his company within hours of hearing God’s precondition (v. 23). He’s not a doctor, but he plays one in Genesis 17. To reassure the men in his camp who are sprinting to pack their bags, Abraham circumcises Ishmael first. However, according to verse 14, anyone could opt-out of the procedure and not take part in the covenant. Scripture doesn’t say how many guys joined the exclusive club that day, but, based on the number of men who helped Abraham rescue his nephew, Lot, in Genesis 14:14, it likely ranged into the hundreds. And no, the text doesn’t say he sterilized his knife between uses.

God doesn’t let thirteen years pass before his next visit. He shows up a short time later accompanied by two emissaries (aka angels) in full Halloween garb. Thinking they’re Arab travelers, Abraham extends his hospitality to the “three men.” Some scholars speculate he was still recovering from his circumcision at the time, but Genesis 18 says he “ran” to greet them (v. 2) and “ran” to prepare a meal (v. 7). So unless Abraham had a high threshold for pain or the regenerative power of James Howlett, it seems doubtful he was still in the throes of recovery. The condition of his penis aside, it soon becomes clear the men he’s serving aren’t men at all when they begin to speak about the impending birth of his son, Isaac. This time the announcement is repeated for Sarah’s benefit. But being a left-brain thinker she doesn’t react the way her husband did. Hidden from sight in her tent she rolls her eyes and scoffs in disbelief. God immediately calls her out: “Why did [you] laugh, saying ‘Shall I indeed bear a child, when I am so old?’” (v. 13). Sarah plays dumb, but gets so freaked out by God’s mind-reading skills she makes a hat out of tinfoil as soon as the coast is clear.

As the visitors make their exit, the text offers up a transcript of what’s going through God’s mind. No warning. No shoulder harnesses. Nothing. Just God’s unadulterated thoughts: “Shall I hide from Abraham what I am about to do? … For I have chosen him, so that he may command his children and his household after him to keep the way … doing righteousness and justice” (vv. 17-19). Scripture keeps saying he’s a personal Being, but it’s hard to get used to the great and powerful Oz pulling back the curtain on himself. God tells Abraham he’s heard an “outcry” from Sodom that eclipses the troubling noises coming out of Maynard’s pawnshop (v. 20). Yep. Somebody just woke up the gimp. If you’ve ever wondered where the term sodomy originated, look no further than Genesis 18. But before God delivers up a Tunguska Event he wants to make sure the rumors are true by paying the city a visit (v. 21). It wouldn’t look good on his résumé if he leveled the place and then found out it was all just a rowdy game of Marco Polo.

Feeling conflicted about what he’s just heard, Abraham poses an ethical question: “Suppose there are fifty righteous people within the city; will You indeed sweep it away and not spare the place? … Shall not the Judge of all the earth deal justly?” (vv. 23-25). Uh, is it me or did a homeless guy just press the self-proclaimed God of the universe on his principles? You almost expect verse 26 to read, “And that was the last anyone ever heard of Abraham.” At what point does God stop being so personable and break out the wrath of Khan? Surprisingly, God doesn’t start quoting Melville when Abraham challenges his moral code. Instead, he agrees that if fifty individuals are located he will “spare the whole place on their account” (v. 26). This isn’t the response of a psychotic Patrick Bateman itching to go on a killing spree. God is open to discussion here, which is a good thing, because Abraham is just getting started. He goes on to ask the question five more times, whittling the number down to a measly ten people. He’s playing Twenty Questions with God—and winning! But it appears his motive goes beyond just saving innocent lives. This is a next-level relationship breakthrough. Abraham’s question(s) and God’s answer(s) reveal who they are and what they can expect from one another in the future. It’s a verbal litmus test showdown. Abraham is discovering the guy, behind the guy, behind the guy when it comes to God and it leads to new understanding.

A few miles down the road, God’s emissaries have arrived in Sodom. Genesis 19 says they’re greeted by Abraham’s nephew, Lot, who apparently still possesses some of the good manners he learned from his uncle. Thinking the angels are hapless hitchhikers, he offers them a place to stay (vv. 1-3). But word gets out and the locals show up en masse looking to prison-rape his guests with extreme prejudice (vv. 4, 5). We’re up the Cahulawassee River now. Cue the banjo, somebody’s about to start squealing like a pig. In a bizarre turn, Lot defends the strangers by callously offering up his two virgin daughters as a substitute: “[D]o to them whatever you like; only do nothing to these men” (v. 8). So much for good manners. Lot just turned hosting into an extreme sport. But his despicable secondary offer only works to upset the crowd more. The Sodomites have their minds set on, well, sodomy. It’s kinda their thing. It looks like Obi-Wan Kenobi was wrong, you can find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. The mob bum rushes Lot (v. 9), but the angels toss a flash-bang grenade into their midst that leaves them crashing around blindly (v. 11).

There’s no need to take a head count. There isn’t a righteous person in the city, much less ten. But nepotism goes a long way and because of his relation to Abraham the angels give Lot a chance to grab his bug out bag and hit the road. He tries to convince his married daughters and sons-in-law to go with him, but they refuse and Lot can’t bring himself to leave without them (v. 14). Instead, he sits around listening to Aerosmith’s “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing.” It’s half past zero hour when the angels finally take it upon themselves to drag him, his wife and two remaining daughters away from the city, warning them, “Do not look behind you … or you will be swept away” (vv. 16, 17). Armageddon is coming to Sodom and not even Harry Stamper and the boys can stop it. As they flee the impact zone Lot’s wife can’t resist the urge to take a peek over her shoulder and snap a selfie, but the angels weren’t kidding, because the moment she turns around she becomes a pillar of salt (v. 26). Watch your sodium intake, kids. It’s the other silent killer. Also, if you ever cheat death, don’t stop to admire other people’s misfortune.

Having lost his taste for big city life, Lot flees to a remote mountain with his daughters and a few jugs of hooch, where he locates a cave and goes into hermit mode (v. 30). Almost immediately the girls panic. One minute they have they’re pick of countless eager Sodomites, the next they’re holed up in a cave with the only apparent male survivor—their dad. If you get queasy seeing Luke and Leia kiss, this incestuous plot twist will drive you straight over the edge. Over the course of two nights Lot’s daughters get Daddy blackout drunk and first one, then the other goes to bed with him (vv. 33-36). Both wind up giving birth to their little brothers. Scholars generally give Lot the Noah Cross stink eye for not being more vigilant, but kindly give the incest twins the benefit of the doubt, speculating that they thought the population had been wiped out and now have no choice: “[T]here is not a man on the earth to come in to us” (v. 31). That’s pretty explicit, ladies. It’s last resort first, ask questions later. Had these girls been on Flight 571 they would’ve resorted to cannibalism before the plane ever crashed. But if the situation is so dire, why get Lot liquored up? Wouldn’t he bite the bullet if it meant repopulating earth? There are more questions than answers here, but after the Noah/Ham incident in Genesis 9 and now this, no one’s ever gonna drink around their screwy kids again.

Meanwhile, Abraham has decided to pull up stakes and move camp again. Genesis 20 says he takes up residency in the region of Philistia, where he once again pulls the old Sarah-is-my-sister ruse. You’d think he would’ve learned his lesson after how poorly this ploy went over the first time around (see Genesis 12), but it’s déjà vu all over again. This time it’s King Abimelech who whisks Sarah away (v. 2). Talk about aging well. At ninety guys are still stamping their feet and howling like wolves when Sarah walks into the room. But before Abimelech can put the moves on her, God shows up like Dr. Kananga in defense of Solitaire (v. 3). It all plays out like a syndicated rerun of their trip to Egypt: Abraham gets cussed out, Sarah is returned to her husband, God rescinds his curse on the king’s house and the two leave richer than when they arrived. The only difference is Abimelech doesn’t force them from the land. After his close encounter with the third kind he has a new respect for life. He even goes on to take out a personal insurance policy by making a pact with Abraham, because “God is with you in all that you do” (see Gen. 21:22-32).

Then, after a long, dramatic buildup, Sarah’s pregnancy is finally announced. Genesis 21 says God remembered her (v. 1). No, this doesn’t imply he suddenly slapped his forehead absentmindedly. It’s another instance of his timing. Scripture confirms this, saying, she “bore a son … at the appointed time” (v. 2). Problem is nobody consulted Ishmael first and he never wanted a little brother. The text doesn’t go into detail about his behavior, but Sarah views him as a regular Caine Lawson. It’s hard to tell if she’s just being an over-protective mother or if Ishmael has become a genuine menace to society, but when she spots him playing rough with Isaac it’s the last straw. Sarah calls a family conference and demands to have him sent away once and for all (vv. 9, 10). Abraham reluctantly agrees. Hagar and Ishmael accept the verdict and leave the camp without putting up a fight. But it quickly becomes clear they aren’t trained survivalists. They go through their canteen of water like Dusty Bottoms and soon find themselves on the brink of death. But just when it appears all is lost, God steps in to reassure Hagar about her son’s future and points out a Wet ’n Wild water park shimmering in the distance (vv. 18, 19). Despite being outside of Abraham’s circle, God is still committed to their livelihood.

But the big money contract still rests with Abraham. It’s been a long time coming, but now that Isaac is at his side the future God spoke about is finally becoming a reality. As Hannibal Smith would say, “I love it when a plan comes together.” But just when everything seems to have fallen into place God shows up with new standardized testing. Get out your No. 2 pencil, Genesis 22 just busted out a Scantron test (v. 1). “Take now your son, your only son, whom you love, Isaac, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering” (v. 2). Did God just go Mola Ram crazy? It almost sounds like he wants Abraham to take Isaac to the woodshed. This is where you expect old Abe to start muttering Roger Murtaugh’s mantra under his breath. After all, he doesn’t know God is only administering a test. That’s what makes his response so legendary. But the test applies to God as much as it does Abraham, because if God allows him to kill Isaac, he immediately ceases to be trustworthy. To be fair, the text doesn’t say, sacrifice Isaac. It says, bring him as an offering. God’s instruction is a request for preparation, not a command to kill. He doesn’t appear to be looking for an excuse to do coke lines with Isaac’s ashes.

It takes three days for them to reach Moriah. That hardly qualifies as a rush job. Abraham has plenty of time to think things over. Scholars always bring up the f-word (faith) when discussing this event. They seem to forget the ten chapters (62 years) leading up to it. Nope. Abraham hasn’t been drinking the blood of Kali. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Right before heading up the mountain he tells the two men accompanying them, “[S]tay here … we will worship and return to you” (v. 5). The Hebrew text uses the plural form going and coming: we will worship and we will return to you. This goes beyond the abstractness of faith. Abraham has come to a point of understanding. He’s played Twenty Questions with God (chapter 18, remember?) and gotten all of the answers he needs. If God’s willing to spare thousands of horny Bogs Diamond’s for the sake of ten innocent Andy Dufresne’s, then the likelihood of him arbitrarily taking the life of his son is pretty slim.

Another misconception about this story is Isaac’s age. Most people assume he was still a kid. That’s how the story is regularly told and what pictures depict, but Hebrew scholars say he was in his mid-thirties at the time. And while Scripture doesn’t specify, it does indicate an older, stronger guy when it confirms Isaac carried the wood (v. 6). We’re not talking about a helpless child. Isaac isn’t just a pawn in the God/Abraham chess match. He could’ve overpowered his old man at any point. Of course, human preservation would’ve compelled him to defend himself in the end, so he lets his dad tie him down. For Isaac, this has gotta be like ten minutes on top of the Parker-Morris Building. If anything, his supporting role deserves an Oscar nomination. Even when his dad takes the knife in the final act he remains as cool as Arthur Fonzarelli.

At this point, Abraham has done everything that’s been asked of him. Isaac’s preparation is complete. God calls out at the last second, instructing him not to harm his son (v. 12). It’s the most intense test of loyalty ever devised, but once again God doesn’t cheat. He keeps his omniscience locked in the cellar. He doesn’t want it to blab halfway through the movie and spoil the ending. It appears God likes a good cliffhanger as much as the next guy. Instead of giving Abraham’s intentions the Charles Xavier treatment, he lets the test play out so he can say with authority, “Now I know.” Genesis 22 isn’t about Abraham’s willingness to carry out what God asked. Not even God is interested in that. It’s about him trusting the God who asked it. A skeptic would have written off God’s request as madness without ever getting out of his chair, while a fanatic would have rushed out to the backyard and hit Isaac over the head with a hammer to save on gas money. Abraham does neither. His understanding of God is complete. The story is actually more for God’s benefit. It appears Abraham knows him better than he knows Abraham, but before the credits roll their understanding is mutual. In the end, Abraham is prepared, but it’s God who provides the offering (v. 13).

Immediately following this Sarah’s death is announced. It’s generally thought her sudden passing was caused by her concern for Isaac during his trip to Moriah, but there’s no way to confirm this definitively. Genesis 23 only provides a bare bones obituary that covers her age and where she died. Clark Griswold gave Aunt Edna a better eulogy. If anyone deserves the This is Your Life treatment, it’s Sarah. She married her half-uncle, was good looking enough after the age of 60 to get taken into the king’s harem…twice, called God a huckster and lived to tell about it and, yeah, gave birth at the age of 90. But Abraham, more a man of action than words, skips the opportunity to write up an obit for the newspapers and puts all of his effort into procuring a nice burial plot (vv. 3-20).

Genesis 24 says the last notable task of Abraham’s life is reading all of Nicholas Sparks’ novels. Not because he’s a hopeless romantic, but in preparation for finding Isaac his Allie Hamilton. Once he knows what he’s looking for he explains the specifics to Eliezer, “the oldest of his household” (v. 2) and delegates the search to him. Instead of picking a local girl for Isaac, he tells Eliezer to leave Canaan and look for someone among his relatives. Keeping it in the family back then didn’t possess the ick factor it does today. Eliezer vows to follow the instructions by placing his hand on Abraham’s penis (v. 9). That’s right, “thigh” is a scriptural euphemism for Abraham’s junk. But just so everyone’s clear, this isn’t a scene from the Blue Oyster Bar. Eliezer is simply taking an oath on the covenant Abraham made with God—his circumcision. This is what happens when there’s no Bible around to swear on.

Eliezer makes the trip to Abraham’s homeland, but instead of going around door-to-door creeping out young women, he stakes out the community well and asks God to do all of the work for him. He proposes a made-to-order scenario that would never work in an eHarmony profile, but God honors the request anyway (vv. 13, 14). Rebecca, the daughter of Abraham’s younger brother, arrives at the watering hole before Eliezer can even finish his thought and unknowingly performs everything on his check list. The process couldn’t be easier. Eliezer goes to Rebecca’s home and retells the whole story in excruciating detail to her family, who promptly agree she should “be the wife of your master’s son, as [God] has spoken” (v. 51). Rebecca’s brother, Laban, does most of the talking, but seems more interested in Eliezer’s gift bag than his sister’s happiness. But before it turns into an Akeem Joffer and Imani Izzi situation, Rebecca is also consulted and agrees to go (v. 58). Consensually arranged, so to speak. She hits the road with Eliezer the very next day and together they travel to Canaan, where she meets and marries Isaac (vv. 64-67).

Abraham’s delegation makes it sound like he’s on his last leg, but according to Genesis 25 he goes on to live for another 35 years, in which time he sees the birth of his grandkids. He also remarries and has six more kids himself! The guy must have been sucking down Viagra like Tic Tacs. He finally runs out of gas at 175 or, as verse 8 puts it, “a ripe old age.” That’s putting it mildly. Abraham’s death marks the end of an era. It’s the original Gandhi funeral. Everyone turns out. Even Ishmael shows up to pay his respects. Now recognizing Isaac as the heir apparent, he reunites with his half-brother to bury their father alongside Sarah (vv. 9, 10). He even sings Oasis’ “Don’t Look Back in Anger” at the memorial service.

Scripture’s greatest patriarch has died, but the story is far from over. Immediately following Abraham’s death God throws his full support behind Isaac (v. 11). He’s already revealed it’ll take 600 years before Abraham’s offspring can take over the deed to the land (see Gen. 15:13-16). It’s a long-term investment. Instead of fast-tracking the process, God’s deliberately taking the scenic route. The question is how many times can he bear hearing the phrase, “Are we there yet?” before he pulls the car over and uses his belt on the kids? Only time will tell.