Luminescence, Volume 3 - C. K. Barrett

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Maybe Abraham thought that he ought now to do for his God what his neighbors did for their idols. But we must go further still. It seems to me that the greatest fact to consider is that—

      ON MORIAH THE OFFERING OF HUMAN SACRIFICES IN THE NAME OF GOD RECEIVED ITS DEATH BLOW

      You never read again of any man of God feeling that he ought to slay and offer to God his son or daughter. God finished this inhumane business there. And how? By teaching Abraham that he intended him to offer his son, not as an outward act, but in the realm of the spirit and the will. On the platform of the knowledge and morality he had attained, God met him and taught him and his descendants that the sacrifice of sons and daughters in the material sense was not required. God did move him to offer Isaac to Him in order to show at the conclusion that Isaac belonged more truly to God than to his earthly father. For all time men knew, or ought to know, that what God requires is a living sacrifice in the realm of the spirit, a living body consecrated and not a dead body consumed. Now that we have moved into the realm of the spirit and the will, we can—

      LEARN A LESSON IN OBEDIENCE OF FAITH FROM ABRAHAM

      What a story of absolute trust and obedience this is! We frequently sing “Trust and Obey,” but think of what it meant to Abraham—so trusting and obeying God that he was willing to surrender what was his dearest and best. Your Moriah is the height to which you climb when you are willing to surrender to God what you hold most dear at the call of God. Now that is not, as already suggested, in the course and material sense, but in the realm of the spirit and the will. God may be asking you to sacrifice your cherished, secret ambition. He may be asking you to give up the child you wanted to keep at your side to comfort your old age or to succeed you in the business you have brought up.

      Some years ago, there was a missionary play, “Farley Goes Out.” Mr. Farley, a well-to-do tradesman, thought it was one thing to know a missionary and to collect money to send somebody as a missionary, but when his own son said, “I must go out, Father,” it was another matter. Following that thought we ought to—

      LEARN A LESSON FROM ISAAC ON MOUNT MORIAH

      AN ILLUSTRATION THAT GATHERS UP THE TWO LESSONS

      In the closing hours of the year 1885, a young man with his prospects in the Civil Service attended a watchnight service in Clapham, London. He was Sam Pollard and he knelt in that service and pledged his life to Christ for service in China. There was one obstacle left: his mother would not give him up. In the selfsame hour, she was kneeling with her husband in a church service at St. Just in Cornwall. These moments were filled with thanksgiving and confession, with the surrender of wills and the dedication of lives. The mother learned through her agony. “At last,” she says, “as the old year was leaving and the new year entering, I said ‘Lord, I am willing.’”

      That was a modern Moriah. For the mother, it meant giving a mother’s all. For the son, it meant toil far from home among the Miao people in faraway China and a grave in the Shimenkan Mountains. When we come to our Moriah may God give us the grace to be as willing and obedient. I began by saying that there is one more poignant hill of God than Moriah. Let us turn there now.

      MOUNT MORIAH AND MOUNT CALVARY

      Side by side, does not one foreshadow the other? Can you think of Abraham offering up Isaac and saying, “God so loved the world that he gave His only begotten Son”? God did what he asked of Abraham. Calvary finishes Moriah. When they stretched Jesus on the cross, no angel intervened. When they drove the nails in his hands no hand stayed the hammer. There was no substitute. Jesus was the Lamb of God—slain. When you come to your Moriah and are asked to sacrifice your dearest and best, or to give yourself, remember what God gave and Jesus offered. I beseech you brethren, by the mercies of God that ye present yourselves a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to God which is your reasonable service.

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      “THE GLORY OF GOD IN THE FACE OF MAN”—Genesis 33.10

      (Preached forty-seven times, including James St, York 6/13/34, Pleck 8/1/37, and Nottingham 9/7/42)

      Genesis 33.10 “I have seen thy face as though I had seen the face of God.”

      Unless that is simply a prettily phrased compliment with a good deal of flattery, it is one of the most staggering and sublime utterances that ever fell from the lips of one mortal man about another. That any man should see the glory of God is a wonder. If we think of that honor being granted at all, we think of it as the high honor which is the privilege of a few saintly souls of surprising holiness, and granted to them only in honor of deep meditation and rapt adoration. But that Jacob, the supplanter, should see God, and see Him in the face of Esau, the “profane person”—well, here is a marvel of marvels.

      And everything about the incident suggests that the expression was not merely a piece of fulsome flattery, but the truth leaping from a surprised soul. It is too swift and unpremeditated to be anything less than the lip’s utterance of the heart’s feeling.

      RECALL THE FACTS OF THE CASE

      If they do not carry conviction, no argument will. Jacob had deceived his father and deeply wronged his brother. Esau had been deprived of birthright and blessing by a miserable trick. The twin brothers had parted with anger and the lust of vengeance in the heart of Esau and a great fear in the heart of Jacob. The years had sped away. In a hard school, Jacob had learned that what a man sows he reaps. The supplanter had been supplanted. Now he was returning a wiser and better man, a rich and prosperous man too. He had reached the borders of the old homeland. His return might have been a triumph but for the sudden appearance of Esau and his warlike band. That turned the triumph into terror. Here were the consequences of his deception and treachery meeting him with a vengeance. He had made his peace with God, but he still had to face the brother he had so cruelly wronged.

      Now comes a miracle of grace. In fear and trembling Jacob went forward expecting the worst and knowing he deserved it. But God had touched Esau’s heart. He looked upon his brother, something went soft within him, his lips quivered, his eyes shone with strange, tender light. There was no form of hate, but a look of love on his face. Instead of a clinched fist or an upraised weapon there were outstretched arms. Jacob found pity where he expected vengeance, saw compassion where he looked for anger, discovered love and forgiveness where he deserved wrath and punishment. It is written, “Esau ran to meet him, and embraced him, and fell on his neck and kissed him.” Why, those are the very words Jesus used to tell of the father’s welcome of the prodigal. Esau was doing a divine thing, a God-like action and it transfigured his face. Jacob saw it and summed it up in a genuine, poetic, inspired flash—“I have seen thy face as though I had seen the face of God.”

      THE DIVINE GLORY CAN BE SEEN ON A HUMAN FACE

      It has perhaps been one of the weaknesses of our theology that we have fixed too wide and deep a gulf between humanity and God. We have been anxious to emphasize the transcendence of God and have missed His immanence. It ought always to have been clear that the Divine dwells in the human as revealed through it. The great figures under which men thought and spoke of God are entirely human. He

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