The Fifth Sunday after Pentecost, Year A (track 1), Proper 8—June 28, 2026

Genesis 22:1-14
Psalm 13
Romans 6:12-23
Matthew 10:40-42

Readers of this blog will both be keenly aware, and breathe a sigh of relief knowing, that I am not a preacher. And I certainly don’t envy any preacher who might try to connect today’s readings. It seems to me that once the first lesson has been read, most of the congregation won’t really hear the rest. Even Jesus doesn’t seem to want to try to follow that one.

And then I go and use this dramatic—almost traumatizing—illustration, The Sacrifice of Isaac as painted by Rembrandt. It’s a remarkable image; we almost feel that moment the angel interrupts and causes Abraham to drop his knife (which we hope misses Isaac’s body on its way down). In visually capturing this moment, Rembrandt masterfully opens up a number of elements of the story we might meditate on. So let’s look more closely, and leave the other readings for now.

1. The glaringly obvious. Christian tradition has tended to read this story such that Isaac becomes a type, or prefiguration, of Christ—although that reading works better if you imagine the ram as Christ, as the ram takes Isaac’s place. The emphasis on Isaac’s relative nakedness, showing his pale and bright skin,¹ alludes to youth and innocence: this is a sacrifice, and Isaac, like Christ, does not deserve to die. Even so, Abraham’s hand forcing Isaac’s head back, and Isaac’s hands bound behind his back could arguably be for his sake, hiding the sight of the knife, for example. Isaac’s legs are free, but he seems to be pressing them into the ground as if to brace himself, not fight. He submits.
2. Abraham’s face. Somehow, even with Abraham’s mouth hidden under a beard, Rembrandt has expressed so many emotions. Abraham looks equal parts startled, relieved, confused, even worried.
   Hearing God’s command to sacrifice his son would not have seemed out of place; that was a common practice in the region at the time. It would have been especially hard after having sent away his elder son, although that promise that Ishmael would become a great nation would have exonerated God from seeming to break God’s own promise of an heir to Abraham.
   But why would God command this, only to stop him? Is this another test?
3. The angel’s gaze. The angel’s right hand seems to effortlessly stop Abraham’s, as their left hand points upward indicating that they act and speak on God’s behalf. But the angel’s eyes are fixed on Isaac in a somber expression, as if the angel were thinking, “Oh shit, he almost did it.”
4. The horror. As a text, we might (might) read this as a story with a happy ending. God tests Abraham, and God intervenes to ensure the child of promise lives. Abraham’s faith is confirmed, and a ram is provided so a sacrifice can be made. Everybody wins! But looking at all these details together—Abraham’s look of almost offended confusion; Isaac’s body strangely surrendered as his father’s hand fully covers his face to force his head back, exposing his neck for the knife; the angel’s solemn witness and interference—we glimpse in these details a fateful incident a sacrificial ram can’t possibly resolve.
   Imagine—as many preachers today are likely inviting their congregations to do—imagine that walk back down the hill.

Critical scholars suggest this story may have originally had Abraham go through with the sacrifice: no angel, no interruption. Examining traces in the text, they see evidence of an earlier version in which Abraham walks down the hill alone. With that in mind, we can certainly appreciate a redactor’s choice to introduce the story, “God tested Abraham,” even if it gives away the ending.

In Islam, the son placed on the altar is Ishmael, which of course makes sense—Ishamael being the elder son. That Isaac should be the one sacrificed requires not only the original shocking promise that Isaac would even be born in the first place, but also the expulsion of Ishmael and Hagar we heard last week. But our Muslim siblings understand Ishmael to have been willing to be sacrificed: such was his faith and submission.

Looking at the two different stories together and following the traces in the more ancient text may not change how we read the story, in the long run. Traditionally, this has been understood as God’s clear demonstration that God would neither demand nor accept child—or human—sacrifice. If the earliest layers reflect a story in which God did in fact both demand and accept a human sacrifice, the fact that it was changed, and the traces allowed to remain, show us a faith community working through the matter and concluding that God, increasingly understood as ethical, would find the idea of human sacrifice revolting.

1. Depicting biblical characters as if they were from one’s own time and place is a long tradition in art, though not universal. Over time, it’s been reified to the point that many white Christians seem to think ancient Israelites were white, which of course is ridiculous. ↩︎