Charles Ellicott Commentary Genesis 22

God did tempt Abraham. —Hebrew, proved him, put his faith and obedience to the test. For twenty-five years the patriarch had wandered in Palestine and seen the fulfilment of the promise perpetually deferred, and yet his faith did not fail. Finally, the long-wished-for heir was born, and, except for the grievous pain of parting with Ishmael, all went well with him and seemed to indicate a calm and happy old age.

He was at peace with his neighbours, had quiet possession of ample pasture for his cattle, knew that Ishmael was prosperous, and saw Isaac fast approaching manhood (Genesis 22:12). Nevertheless, in the midst of this tranquil evening of his days came the severest trial of all, for he was commanded to slay his son. The trial was twofold. First, human sacrifice was abhorrent to the nature of Jehovah, and Abraham’s clear duty would be to test the command.

Could such a deed really be required of him by God? Now, no subjective proof would be sufficient. In later times, many Israelites were moved by deep religious fanaticism to give their firstborn in the hope of appeasing God's anger for their sin (Micah 6:7); but instead of peace, it brought only a deeper condemnation upon their souls.

If Abraham had been moved only by an internal and subjective impulse, his conduct would have deserved and met with similar condemnation. But when, upon examination, he became convinced that the command came from outside himself, and from the same God with whom he had so often spoken on former occasions, then the precedents in his own life required obedience from him. Yet even when convinced of this, there was, second, the trial of his faith.

A command that he had tested, not only subjectively by prayer but also objectively by comparison with the manner of previous revelations, ordered him with his own hand to destroy the son in whom his seed was to be called. His love for his child, his previous faith in the promise, the religious value and worth of Isaac as the appointed means for the blessing of all mankind—this, and more, stood arrayed against the command.

But Abraham, in spite of all, obeyed, and in proportion to the greatness of the trial was the greatness of the reward. Until this time, his faith had been proved by patience and endurance, but now he himself was commanded to destroy the fruit of so many years of patient waiting (Hebrews 11:17–19). Assured that the command came from God, he did not waver.

Thus, by trial, his own faith was made perfect, and for Isaac too there was blessing. Meekly, as suited the type of Christ, he submitted to his father’s will, and the life restored to him was from then on dedicated to God.

But there was a higher purpose in the command than the spiritual good of these two saints. The sacrifice had as its purpose the instruction of the whole Church of God. If the act had possessed no typical value, it would have been difficult for us to reconcile with our consciences a command that might have seemed, indirectly at least, to have authorised human sacrifices. But in it was the setting forth of the mystery of the Father giving the Son to die for the sins of the world; and in this lies both the value and the justification of Abraham’s conduct and of the Divine command.

Take now. — Now is not an adverb of time, but an interjection of entreaty, usually coupled with requests and intended to soften them. It thus makes the words more an exhortation than a command.

Your only son Isaac. — The words in the original are more emphatic, being, “Take, I pray, your son, your only son, whom you love, even Isaac.” If childlessness was so unendurable in old times to Abraham (Genesis 15:2), what would it be now, after so many years of enjoyment of a son, and after giving up Ishmael for his sake (Genesis 17:18)?

The land of Moriah. — Moriah may either mean Jah is teacher (see Note on Genesis 12:6) or Jah is provider. The first is supported by Isaiah 2:3, where the verb is rendered will teach; but the second agrees best with Genesis 22:8; Genesis 22:14.

If this is the meaning, the name would be derived from this event and would signify the place where “Jehovah will Himself provide the sacrifice.” It has also been suggested by many able commentators that the place meant was Moreh in Shechem, and that the site of the sacrifice was, as the Samaritans affirmed, the natural altar on the summit of Mount Gerizim.

But as Abraham and Isaac reached the spot on the third day, and evidently at an early hour, Gerizim is too remote from Beer-sheba for this to be possible.

Even Jerusalem is distant enough, as the journey from Beer-sheba takes twenty and a half hours, and travelers in those days had to cook their own food and prepare their own sleeping accommodation.

We may also notice that Moriah is described as a land, in some part of which Abraham was to be shown the special mountain intended for the sacrifice; Moreh, on the contrary, was a place where Abraham had lived and which was therefore well known to him.

Offer him there for a burnt offering. — Hengstenberg and others have argued that Abraham was not to kill Isaac, but to surrender him spiritually to God and sanctify him by a burnt offering. But this is contradicted by the narrative itself (Genesis 22:10) and by the passage in the Epistle to the Hebrews referred to above, where the victory of Abraham’s faith is described as consisting in the belief that even though Isaac were killed, nevertheless the promise would still in some divine manner be fulfilled in him.

And Abraham ... — Every preparation for the sacrifice is minutely detailed, as if to show the calmness with which Abraham girded up himself for obedience. He even took the wood already split, not because there was no wood there (Genesis 22:13), but in order that on arriving at the destined place there might be nothing to distract their thoughts, and so that they might proceed at once to the sacrifice.

On the third day. —We may compare the patriarch's feelings during these two weary days of travel with those of Hagar as she wandered in the wilderness, and each day felt the death of her child growing nearer and more certain. But hers were human sorrows only, while Abraham was giving up the son on whom his spiritual hopes depended.

Afar off. —The summit called the Mountain of the House, usually identified with Mount Moriah, cannot be seen by a traveler from Beersheba at a greater distance than three miles (Stanley, Sinai and Palestine, p. 251). Hence it has been argued that some more widely conspicuous hilltop must be meant.

But the phrase afar off is used very indefinitely, and three miles exactly agrees with what Abraham did. For he left the servants at the spot, and laid the wood on Isaac, and went the rest of the way on foot. It must have severely taxed the strength of the boy to be compelled to carry the wood a distance of three miles, while to have carried it from the spot where Gerizim becomes visible would have been impossible.

In Isaac thus carrying the wood on which he was to be sacrificed, the Fathers discerned a type of Christ carrying his cross (John 19:17).

I and the lad will ... come again to you. —In these words Abraham expresses the hope ascribed to him in Hebrews 11:19. The belief in the resurrection of the body was not a new thing for Abraham, as it was part of the creed of both Chaldea and Egypt (Tomkins, Studies, p. 127).

God will provide himself a lamb. —Hebrew, the lamb. We learn from Hebrews 11:17-19 that Abraham expected that he was to consummate the sacrifice, but that Isaac would be restored to him from the dead, and the promise that his seed was to be born of him would thus be fulfilled. The bestowal of Isaac had been so extraordinary that Abraham would not feel staggered by what otherwise would have seemed incredible.

Apparently, therefore, he meant Isaac by the lamb, thus showing that it was not he who chose the victim, but God. The few words that passed between father and son, the notice by the latter that amid such careful preparation no victim had been provided, the father’s answer that the matter was left to God, the resolute faith of the one, and the trusting submission of the other, as they went both of them together, form a picture full not merely of interest, but even of tragic pathos.