Fear Not, #4
Fear Not, #4
belovedness, Isaac, and Presbyterian schisms
Photo by Kelly Sikkema
Abraham begets Isaac. And what does Isaac do? He gets married, has a couple of sons, and...sojourns.
Basically, he hangs out.
We remember Isaac not because of what he does but because of who he is to others: he is the “child of promise.” He is the beloved, the wanted and waited for, the cherished only child of an old woman.
My kids love to hear the stories of their births. Not that the stories are particularly interesting: Daddy drove me to the hospital...I put on a hospital gown...you came out...they put a little hat on you...
And what they like to hear the most is how happy we were to see them. When our littlest one came home, the other three kids (ages 4, 2, and 1) chanted over and over again, “hooray for new baby! Hooray for new baby!” while she slept.
It is interesting that we don't remember the first few years of our lives. Because these are the years when we are most beloved and cared for. Everyone is saying, in effect, “hooray for new baby!” and we are sleeping through it.
Though we don't remember them, those early years affect us our whole lives long.
I used to work at a home for senior citizens, and we would have tea parties in a little room upstairs with fancy teapots and cups and saucers and chocolate chip scones. My job was to pour the tea, serve the scones, and ask interesting questions. Our conversations were wonderful and illuminating.
One time I asked, “Who has been the most important person in your life?”
As a new wife and mother, I expected people to say “my spouse” or “my child.”
I was surprised to hear that almost every person answered “my mother.”
It is as though, when we are old and no longer deemed useful as we once were, we rest on the unconditional love we experienced in those early years of our lives. We remember that we are beloved because we came into the world; because we exist; because —once upon a time—we were wanted.
When our mothers precede us in death, they await our arrival in heaven, longing for us, just as they awaited our arrival on earth.
Isaac's life is smooth and peaceful because of that which he has inherited: the adoring love of his parents, their spiritual legacy.
(Plus all their stuff.)
Because of his parents' battles and struggles, Isaac lives a peaceful life.
Perhaps, due to this lack of drama, God doesn't appear to Isaac or speak to him as much as he does to Abraham, or even to his son Jacob.
Isaac's life is one of abiding blessedness.
I've been on a bit of a church history kick lately, and I've recently learned that the first schism in the Presbyterian Church was between Old-School Presbyterians and New-School Presbyterians.
The Old-School were the original frozen-chosen: scholarly, dignified, theologically-scrupulous, Calvinistic.
The New-School emphasized personal conversion experiences: they were revivalistic, individualistic, and emotional about their faith. (Of course, they were still Presbyterians; they weren't theological ignoramuses. Jonathan Edwards was one of them.)
I happen to go to sort of an Old-School Presbyterian church, even though I happen to be more of a New-School sort of a person.
The other day, I had a conversation with a friend who reminded me who the Old-School experience is just as valuable, just as valid as the New-School one. She talked about how she has always loved Jesus, how she doesn't remember a specific moment of conversion, how she never had any gut-wrenching seasons of repentance.
She's had few problems because she has lived a good life, as did her parents before her.
She hasn't had a dramatic conversion experience because she hasn't needed one.
Her emotional and spiritual inheritance—plus her faithfulness to continue in it—have set her up for spiritual fruitfulness and peace, the kind of abiding blessedness that Isaac must have experienced.
The little drama Isaac does experience in his life is a little scuffle over wells and property boundaries.
This is when God speaks to him, and this is what He says:
Fear not, for I am with you.
He is with us—even when we are just hanging out, just sojourning. He is with us when we don't hear a voice or see a vision.
He is with us when we experience our minor scuffles over boundaries and wells.
He saw us when we were born into this world—whether we were wanted by our earthly parents or not—and He is with us our whole lives long.
He waits for us in eternity, as do our loved ones who precede us.
P.S.: Last week, you received an accidental email from me. I meant to send my “Bear Sightings, Chapter Three” to my other Substack newsletter—Juniper Mountain—but I accidentally sent it to this one. Sorry for any confusion! (It was kind of a weird chapter!) If you are interested in reading more of Bear Sightings, the other chapters can be found here.