These Three Things

© j.mayo 2016 all rights reserved

cover: jackie giammarco

(Bible translations used are at the back of the book)

www.shekhina.life

eISBN: 978-1-5439183-5-9

Contents

Acknowledgments

It is traditional that an author acknowledge persons that may have helped with and/or had an impact on the writer as it pertains to the work. This can be difficult, as we all have so many meaningful influences that shape us and what we do. So that being said, I would like to give thanks to those of you who took the time to read this little book and make corrections, comments and suggestions. (You know who you are, thanks so much guys.) I would also like to thank a wizened old Christian soldier by the name of Gene Edwards. It is his life long passion for the Lord and His house that has afforded me the opportunity to spend much of my adult life in a breathing, living organism known as the church. For this and so very much more, thanks Gene. Last, but in no way least, I would like to thank the person that has had the largest influence on my life and my walk with the Lord, my life partner and precious wife. Darling, you know.

Author’s note

I am a carpenter by trade. In my career I have had the opportunity to actually fell trees, have them milled by a local miller; have stacked and air dried the resulting lumber and then used it to do various projects. This type of lumber is known as rough- sawen. Of course the finished work using this type of lumber does not have the precise, polished result that can be had with close milled, kiln dried, planed and shaped stock, but can have an appeal of its own. Now to my point: I am a carpenter, not a writer. It was decided to not have this little book professionally edited and polished, but rather to keep it in more of a rough-sawn state. So I ask the reader to please excuse my run-on sentences, my over use of parentheses, my loose grammar, my made up words, and my regional and somewhat archaic colloquialisms. (as well as any other missteps ;-) Thank you. jm

What is truth?

¹

Pontius Pilate circa 33 A.D.

God’s Friend

Now it came to pass after these things that God tested Abraham, and said to him, ‘Abraham!’ And he said, Here I am.’ Then he said, ‘Take now your son, your only son Issac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains of which I shall tell you."²

the sacrifice

The sun had not yet risen when the old man entered the tent. The lamp’s gentle light falls on the adolescent. The boys face is beautiful, features distinct but still soft, innocent. He sleeps the restful, peaceful sleep of youth, unlike the old man, who had not slept this night. Wake up, wake up my son, said the old man softly. The lad stirs, rubbing his eyes. Why are you waking me so early Abba? It is not yet light out, the boy half speaks, half yawns. We take a journey today. Go wake Perez and Hezeron. Help them prepare one of the donkeys; we have a burden that needs carrying, Abba replies. With this the young man leaps to his feet and bounds through the door, his excitement quickly overcoming his sleepiness. In his haste he does not notice his father’s countenance or the tear that slowly makes its way down his cheek. You see, it was a very difficult night for Abraham. He had an encounter, once again, with his Lord and friend. This time the request made was more bizarre, by far, than anything asked of him in the past. But, after nearly a century of friendship, Abraham recognized that Voice and had learned to believe, to trust, to respond.

Isaac returned with Perez and Hezeron, along with the harnessed donkey to find Abraham hewing some wood. The men were perplexed. It was spring and there was much pressing work to be done. Abraham’s grim mood did not help. They were uneasy. Isaac had also noticed that there was something amiss with his father but was too excited about the prospect of an adventure, not to mention time away from the herd, to give it much thought. Once the wood was loaded, some food and water gathered, Abraham called to his son, Go tell your mother goodbye. Sarah had been standing in the door of the tent as the preparations were being made. She had not taken her eyes off of her husband of so many decades except for the occasional glance at her son, the joy of her life. Isaac nearly toppled his mother as he threw his arms around her. He was already as tall as she. Her arms tightened around him as Abraham approached. She knew this man, as well or better than he knew himself. Although others might sense some distress in his demeanor, she saw that he was much more than distressed, tortured even. A piercing knot was forming in her stomach. Come son, it is time. Abraham said. Sarah’s hold on the boy tightened the more, the strength in her withered, weathered arms surprising. Looking over his shoulder with fear, maybe even a little defiance in her eyes she whispered It’s Him isn’t it? She was speaking of the One that had so impacted their lives. Yes love, it is Him, replied Abraham. She knew any resistance was futile, so kissing her son on the head she let him go. Off he sprang, so graceful, so nimble, so ready to depart. Abraham hesitated a moment, then with a nod turned; they were off. As Sarah watched them disappear into the wilderness she was filled with foreboding; knees buckling, tears flowing, she clung to the door post. She felt her age, so old, so very, very old. Tired to the bone. In the quiet of her heart she joined the chant, the chant of the ages, Maranatha, Come Lord, come.Footnote

The small party walked largely in silence, hesitating only for a sip of water or morsel of food. Abraham ate nothing, drank little. It was hot and dusty during the days, especially for spring. Abraham, though old, was still strong, able to do a full days work. His servants noticed that he seemed uncharacteristically fatigued this day, leaning heavily on his staff, as though he were bearing the load that was carried by the beast of burden. Isaac, on the other hand, with boundless energy, circled, moved ahead, fell behind protecting them all from invisible enemies, using his walking stick as a weapon. Abraham’s only response to queries of their destination was that he would know when they had arrived. The nights were chilly, spent huddled around the meager fire, its language of crackles and pops the only conversation.

Finally, on the third day, the weary band came to a halt at the foot of a large hill. They were all worn out. Even Isaac’s youthful exuberance was spent. It was not a beautiful place as the area had apparently been swept clean by a wild fire just a few years before. The hill was covered with a low growth of brambles and gnarled brush revealing its unnerving profile. The hill’s shape resembled that of a skull. The somber air was filled with wind blown dust and biting insects, making rest difficult. What were we doing in this God forsaken place, wondered the servants.

After catching their breath, Abraham ordered that the wood be taken off of the donkey and tied into a tight bundle. He then told Isaac that he would have to carry it to the top. Perez and Hezeron were surprised and appalled at this. The load was heavy, the going rough and steep. They both instantly offered to help but Abraham refused, thanking them for the services already rendered. Up they went, Abraham leading. Near the crest Abraham paused, giving Isaac time to catch up. The scene he witnessed below was gut wrenching, unbearably heart breaking. Isaac often stumbled under the load, bruising and re-bruising each time. His hands and feet were bleeding, victims of the unforgiving rubble. He once completely lost his balance, crashing head first into a thick patch of brier. He struggled free but not before his face and forehead were bloodied with a multitude of scratches and punctures. Fearing he would be sick Abraham turned to the last few yards. It was not lost on Abraham that there were no complaints or mutterings coming from his son. You see, Isaac’s love for his father was such that it bordered worship. Abraham’s love was no less. At the top Abraham started preparing the place, the unspeakable place. It was like the worst nightmare he had luckily never had. At last, huffing and puffing Isaac reached the summit, dropping the punishing load. In between labored breaths he asked We have the wood, you have the fire, but Abba, where is the sacrifice? The question, like a heated iron, seared Abraham’s being. Through teeth, clenched so tightly that they risked breaking, he whispered, God will provide. With that he seized his son, binding him tight. The moment of realization caught Isaac off guard, great fear rising up. He struggled against the ropes, to no avail. Just as quickly Isaac’s love and trust for, and in his Abba overpowered the terror. He went limp, and closing his eyes, he resigned himself to the unfathomable fate, yielding his will to his father’s. With an anguished moan rising from the deepest of places, Abraham cried out, ANYTHING! Anything… but this!! With perspiration flowing from every pour he staggered through debilitating nausea to his full stature, raising high the accursed blade--then he heard it, the Voice, Abraham! Abraham! Do not harm the boy. Looking up he saw