Going Against Type

I love old movies.  And one of my favorite actors is Marion Morrison.  He’s better known as John Wayne.  The Duke was the quintessential star of the film genre called ‘The Western.’  He was usually quite convincing as a cowboy.  One of his greatest roles was that of U.S. Marshall Rooster Cogburn in the original True Grit.  Did you know that it was no stunt double, but the Duke himself riding the horse that made that four-rail fence jump at the end of the movie?

John Wayne was also good in a number of war films.  For instance, he was great as Colonel Kirby in The Green Berets.  But did you see the poor Duke in Genghis Khan?  It was a bit far fetched to think of the Duke as the Khan.  It just didn’t work.  And the film was a bomb.

Most of us have a difficult time accepting our favorite actors trying to fill atypical roles.  Most of them can’t pull it off.  Sure, there are a few.  Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau both could play a wide range of roles, from comedy to drama to something in between.

But could you imagine Jimmy Stewart in Humphrey Bogart’s role in Casablanca?  Or Bogey in Jimmy’s role in It’s a Wonderful Life?

How about Jack Nicholson as Mr. Rogers in A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood?  Or Tom Hanks as the Joker in Batman?

How about God as a bad guy? Or Abraham as an abusive father?

It’s this “against type” edginess that makes us uneasy when we think about Genesis 22. Here’s a loving God telling a father to stick his son like a pig, drain his blood, and leave his body as a fleshy sacrifice to an unseen deity.

Doesn’t sound at all like the God we know, or the Abraham we know, and how he is described in Scripture as a friend of God and man of faith.

What, in the name of all we call holy, is going on in this story? Talk about a leap away from typecasting. Previously in Genesis, we’ve watched God believably star in the role of Tender Caregiver who provided a well and a wife for Hagar’s son. We loved God in the tent scene with Sarah and Abraham when the All-knowing One disclosed the almost-too-wonderful word that a couple of nonagenarians were about to become parents. We cheered when the Lord blessed Abram with a call and a country.

God is our Rock, our Refuge, our Strength. God is the One who deals bountifully with us whether we deserve it or not. In Scripture, God is the Creator who made light and life, brought worlds into being and cast the stars into the skies.

And then … this?

“Take your son, your only son, Isaac whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains that I shall show you.”

And then there’s Abraham. In one scene, he and his friends party hearty in honor of Isaac and in the next scene, he’s hauling into the mountains determined to kill that same child. The role is hardly even believable. Abraham offered no argument to God. He disclosed no signs of temporary insanity. Instead, he calmly rose up, saddled his donkey, summoned two assistants and took his son – his only son – up on the mountaintop in search of a nice flat rock suitable for human sacrifice, to satisfy what appears to be a malevolent deity’s whim.

All the while, we can’t for the life of us figure out how the characters are going to get out of this horrendous situation. And our very souls feel a little queasy as we squirm in our seats and think, “This is all wrong. Since when is God so diabolical? Since when is father Abraham such a monster?” This is beyond lousy casting; this flies in the face of all the great parts we’ve witnessed God play in our lives and in the lives of others.

While we shudder to think what will happen next, Abraham himself experienced no heart-pounding tension at all. A loving father would have at least expressed a little concern. But Abraham showed no signs of anxiety.

When Isaac asks where the lamb for the offering is, Abraham replies, “God himself will provide the lamb.” At this point, perhaps Abraham knows God’s heart, that God has no intention of killing Isaac, but that this is a coming of age ritual for Isaac, and a consecration of his covenant status. The conversation between “Father” and “Son” could also have happened between Abraham and God. For Abraham and Isaac are both sealed as “heirs of the same promise” from this day forward. Abraham’s faith leads him to the altar with Isaac. Isaac’s faith allows him to lie upon it. God’s heart saves both of them.

God’s heart is a sacrificial heart. And God chooses servants throughout the scriptures to be cast as covenant bearers, those who bear that same kind of loving, committed heart, a shepherd’s sacrificial heart.

Jesus tells us that God looks for a “shepherd’s heart” in those chosen to do God’s will in the world. God looks for those who would lay down their lives for their sheep. In the end, God’s own Son is sent to serve as the ultimate sacrificial shepherd, proving that God’s sacrificial heart is what’s required to serve and to save.

God saves those with sacrificial hearts for the front lines of God’s mission in the world. Today, in the midst of the worst pandemic the world has seen since 1918, we see signs everywhere of those with sacrificial hearts. Whether they are aware or not, these are people “after God’s own heart,” who are willing to put their lives on the line in order to save others.

But these are not just people in healthcare, but people who pray for others sacrificing their time and energy, people who give of their limited resources to help others eat, people who risk their reputations to stand up for others who have been persecuted, people who challenge their own assumptions in order to follow God’s heart into a dangerous and unpredictable world.

Abraham passed his test of faith. As it turned out, Abraham’s role in life was to be the ever-trusting servant of God. Trumping even his role as Isaac’s father or Sarah’s husband, Abraham’s ultimate role in life was to be God’s faithful servant. And he performed brilliantly.

So maybe God and Abraham did not act against type after all. Abraham obeyed God. God provided for Abraham. Simple.

Abraham played his part well because he focused not on the tragedy before him – the possibility of losing his son – but rather, he focused on God’s promise. He remembered these lines, God’s words to him: “I will make of you a great nation and I will bless you.”

Living our real role in life involves remembering a few lines, too. Remember the lines spoken at our baptisms? We belong to God. We are children of the covenant.

Problems arise when we cast ourselves in roles we were never created to play, roles in which we forget our most important lines.

The tough guy role is a favorite. Tough guys don’t need anybody. Tough men are always in control. Tough women are always strong.

Some of us play the burdened worrier pretty well. There is so much to worry about. We can’t possibly trust that God – or anybody – can help us.

Then there are the hard-charging ambitious types. We have our priorities! We have our goals! Nothing’s going to stand in our way!

Or the better-safe-than-sorry types. We don’t like risks. We don’t want to upset anybody. We stay neutral even in the midst of injustice. We keep our mouths shut, because speaking up might get us into trouble.

Living in faith, however, requires us to live against type. God calls us to stretch beyond the roles we’ve been playing all our lives and try something new. Aren’t we bored with our old roles? Try trusting in God for a change. Take on a new adventure.  Make a leap of faith.

Try becoming a new character, one who remembers God’s promises, one who trusts in God’s unfailing love.

Live against type. Focus today not on your problems but on the One who provides in the midst of them.

And watch God cast you in new roles.