The Lateness of Abraham’s Sacrifice

“And it came to pass after these things, that God did tempt Abraham.” — Genesis xxii. i.

44 A FTER these things “— as the sequel to /” all the experiences of his life. Is not that a strange place to assign to a sacrificial temptation! Should we not be disposed to test a man at the beginning of his career! Why is Abraham put to the test at sunset? Why has the sacrificial hour waited for his closing years? Is not youth the season in which a man’s power of sacrifice would be the truest measure of him? No, it is not. It is, no doubt, the season when we hear most about sacrifice. Young people often cultivate melancholy, often figure to themselves wonderful plans for self-surrender. But we do not much value these. Why? Because we feel that they are offering to give up something they have never tasted. It is not at the threshold of life that life reveals its beauty; it is after you have climbed the stairs. The romance of youth is the search of youth for another world. The reason why in after life romance dies is because actual things become precious. Only when they have become precious is the life of sacrifice a life of unselfishness. You must have the Transfiguration previous to the Cross. The gift must be dear to you ere the giving to another can be sweet. Before God tempts Abraham He must appeal to a joy of Abraham’s heart, “Thy son whom thou lovest.”

And so, my Lord, has it been with Thy sacrifice! The life Thou hast given for me was not a life which by Thee was counted light in weight. Thine was no pessimist offering — no surrender of a withered flower. Not because earth to Thee was barren didst Thou resign it. Not because its streams had ceased to gladden Thee didst Thou desert their banks. Earth was not barren to Thee; its streams had never lost their joyous music. Thou wert ‘’ crowned with glory and honour” for Thy sacrifice. The life resigned by Thee was a life of beauty — a life whose beauty was recognised by Thee, enjoyed by Thee. Thou hadst tasted of every pure delight ere Thou wert called to lay life down; hadst revelled with the bird of the air; hadst sat in the temple of wisdom; hadst ministered to the marriage feast; hadst watched the gambols of children; hadst known the delights of friendship; hadst felt the endearments of home; hadst experienced the luxury of human devotion. Life had opened every door to Thee. Not because life was poor, but because love was rich, didst Thou climb that cross of pain. So would I climb with Thee! I would climb for love — for love alone. I would not seek heaven because I despaired of earth; I would bring my earthly treasures into heaven. I would not fly to Thee in the winter of my heart. I would come when my heart was summerwhen its leaves were green. I would bring Thee the full-blown rose, t «ipest 14-uit, the finest songs of the grove. I would break the alabaster box for Thee, not when it was empty, but when it was laden with perfume. I would make my sacrifice a sacrifice of praise.