Late Wednesday night I read something which had near revelatory power to me. In Inheriting Abraham I read about the Akedah, the binding of Isaac. I felt I understood Abraham for the first time, and that what he did was not a barbaric act, the way people leaving Kierkegaard wondering if it was.
At the Altar of the Lord, Abraham placed all he had and all he loved placed ready to be taken from him, never to be returned–he would give it back to God, for God surely gave him Isaac, forever. And then God relented and he received Isaac back. God did not need Abraham’s sacrifice, after all, only Abraham’s love.
I felt that in a small way I had my own Akedah. My life itself had been a sacrifice, a test. I had written a four-volume long book for God–but still waited on the Lord to see if I would be a successful author or if I would die a nonentity like so many writers do.
Perhaps in spots in The Bible According to Eve, I had been overcritical of the Bible (describing Jacob as a fool), perhaps in others too daring (I portrayed homosexuality). Yet I believe God accepted my gift and like Abraham I shall reap my reward. Like him I shall receive my Isaac in loving arms.
It is true that I have had many diseases, large and small: Bipolar Schizoaffective Disorder; anemia; a disease dealing with fatty liver (not yet cured); near sightedness; and obesity. (I know I have some responsibility for the last.) Yet somehow this didn’t matter, and doesn’t matter, having experienced the Akedah for myself. What matters is that finally my sacrifices–for to God prayers are “sacrifices of the lips”–shall be answered.
Or so I believe, so I have to believe.