Sacrifice: A Painful Virtue, Part II

As I was reading Works of Love by Kierkegaard (which is AMAZING by the way), I came across a short piece about sacrifice that I thought was great compliment to my last note about sacrifice

God [...] understands love to be a sacrificing love, sacrificing love in the divine sense, love which sacrifices everything in order to make room for God, even if heavy sacrifice were to become still heavier because no one understands it, which in yet another sense belongs to true sacrifice. This sacrifice which is understood by men has its reward in the approval of men and to that extent is no true sacrifice, for a true sacrifice must unconditionally be without reward.

Much love,
Dustin

Sacrifice: A Painful Virtue

Recently, I have been thinking a lot about sacrifice. I mean true sacrifice, the type of sacrifice that costs something-- something real, something significant, something precious. So often I feel as if this idea is thrown around so loosely that the heart of the term is easily ignored. What is this heart? It’s the sacrificial part of sacrifice. The virtue of selfless sacrifice is no small matter, in fact, it’s huge, it’s painful, it’s hard, it’s really hard. To truly give something up, to die a little inside, so that another may life, this I believe is the painful bliss of true sacrifice.

It is easy to get lost in the glorified and virtuous, adventure novel idea of sacrifice. That is, the idea that the act of virtue in itself will be so filled with grace and love that somehow the pain embedded within the act will be a little easier to bear. So often, in my head, I think of sacrifice in terms of taking a bullet for a friend: On a cool and crisp, yet eerily unsettled fall evening, I was walking home with a friend; not far, only two or three blocks. Somehow the air was a little harder to breathe on this night, as if the cosmos knew our fate. Walking past a downtown alleyway that was a little more dark and a little more sinister than usual, I caught the glimpse of evil out of the corner of my eye and without time to react I heard the deafening explosion of a spark upon sulfur. I instinctively, out of love for my dear friend, leaped between him and the lead. The act was timed perfectly, as if it were choreographed in the back lot of a Hollywood studio. The bullet caught my shoulder and lodged abruptly within the marrow of my collar, which remarkably proved itself to be a human shield, blocking what would have been a direct path to the heart of my friend. Certain death. The moment was done, it had happened so fast that I barely had time to realize what had happened. As I was lying on the ground, with blood slowly trickling out of my wound, I caught the eyes of my friend who was in complete and utter shock. At that moment, the pain of my sacrifice seemed insignificant compared to the righteous act, compared to saving the life of my friend. Then I knew, that because of this moment, our friendship will forever be united. I had no regrets, I get up and would do it again.

While looking upon this romanticized account of a hero-like fiction, it may be easy to question something. To wonder if, maybe, if this is how sacrifice really looked, than well...what would be the point? What is a sacrifice if it doesn’t cost you anything, if it wasn’t painful? Could it still be considered sacrifice? Or would it be something altogether different? This is how I believe taking a bullet might really look like: The moment was done, it had happened so fast that I barely had time to realize what happened. As I was lying on the ground, with blood slowly trickling out of my wound, I looked at what was left of what used to be my shoulder and all of a sudden I thought to myself “HOLY CRAP THIS FREAKING HURTS!!!!!SON OF A....... OUCCCCHHHHH!!!!” I then began to let out a booming scream of agony due to the pain, due to the fact that I was really shot, with a real gun, with a real bullet and due to the fact that (as far as I can imagine) getting shot really really, really really really hurts.

For me, it wasn’t until I began to sacrifice things, real things...not just abstract things....that I began to realize what it means to sacrifice. I may have never been shot, but I am beginning to know what it means to give something up for the good of another person, or for the good of a cause that is bigger than myself. I wish that the pain of sacrifice wasn't as real as it is, but I understand the necessity of it. And this fact, the fact of the reality of the pain of sacrifice, really makes the idea of sacrifice that much more remarkable. How much more are we to stand in awe of those who have sacrificed themselves in real-life, in concrete ways...all for the good of another. How much more are we to appreciate the crucifixion of the Son of God....who had real nails driven through his real hands. The remarkable thing is that He didn’t necessarily have to suffer, He could have supernaturally suspended the effects of pain and suffering, He is God, God could do what God wants. But no! He sweated real blood due to his agony, he felt real pain, he suffered, he died, the most imaginably painful of deaths! This is so breathtaking! A love as perfect as this! A sacrifice as selfless as this! Let us not stand in fear of what we might be called to sacrifice! Let us instead rest at nothing, absolutely nothing--no matter the cost, the truly painful cost--to see to it that the Lamb that was slain receive the reward of His suffering!

Fear and Trembling

I just re-read this the other day and remembered how spectacular it was. I hope it is as inspirational to you as it was to me.

-Dustin

Fear and Trembling

by Søren Kierkegaard

When Abraham and Isaac reached the place that God had told him about, Abraham built an altar there and arranged the wood on it. He bound Isaac, lit the fire, drew his knife, and thrust it into Isaac! At that moment God stood by Abraham’s side in bodily form and exclaimed: “What have you done? Oh wretched old man! That was not what was asked of you at all. You are my friend, I only wanted to try your faith! I called to you at the last moment. Didn’t you hear me? I cried, “Abraham, Abraham, refrain!” Didn’t you hear my voice?

Then Abraham answered God with a voice that betrayed a half mystic adoration and a half disheveled weakness that belongs to mental derangement: “Oh Lord, I did not hear you. Yet now that you mention it, I seem to remember that I did hear some kind of voice. Oh when it is you, my God, who commands a father to murder his own child, then a man at such a time is under terrible strain. Therefore, I did not hear your voice. And if I had, dared I have believed it was yours? If you commanded me to sacrifice my child, which you did command me to do, and then at the decisive moment a voice is heard saying, ‘Refrain,’ am I not obliged to believe it is the voice of the Tempter that wants to keep me from fulfilling your will? I had journeyed long, and now, when the moment at last had come, I was intent on doing only one thing. My options were: Either I should have assumed from the start that the voice that spoke to me, ‘Sacrifice Isaac,’ was the Tempter’s voice, and then not gone forth as I did, or when I had assured myself that it was indeed your voice from the start, I should have concluded that this other voice, this voice at the decisive moment, was the Tempter’s. It was the latter I chose.”

So Abraham went home, and the Lord gave him a new Isaac. But Abraham did not look upon him with any joy. When he looked on him he shook his head and said, “This is not my Isaac.”

But to Sarah he spoke differently. To her he said: “This is all so very strange. That it was God’s demand that I should offer Isaac is certain, absolutely certain. God himself cannot disavow that. Yet when I took it seriously, it was a mistake on my part. It was, in the end, not God’s will.”

Yet, as we know from the story (Gn. 22), it did not go like this with Abraham. His obedience lies just in the fact that at the very last moment he immediately and unreservedly obeyed as he did. This is amazing. When a person has for a long time been saying “A”, then humanly speaking he is rather bothered at having to say “B.” It is even harder, when one has actually drawn the knife, to be able and willing, with implicit obedience, to recognize that after all no demand is made, that it is not necessary after all to set forth to Mount Moriah with the purpose of sacrificing Isaac. The decision whether to sacrifice one’s only child or to spare him, oh, this is indeed great! Greater still, however, is it to retain, even at the last moment, the obedience, and if I may venture to say so, the agile willingness of an obedient soldier. Such a one, even when he has almost reached his goal, does not mind having to run back again, even if it renders all his running in vain. Oh, this is great! No one was so great in faith as Abraham – who can comprehend him?

Kierkegaard, Søren. “Fear and Trembling.” Provocations: Spiritual Writings of Kierkegaard, Ed. Charles E. Moore. Farmington: Plough Publishing, 1999. 89-90.