Faithful daughter. Who followed her father up the mountain. Walking to the sacrifice. Of herself. Faithful daughter. Do to me according to your word, she says. After making his promise to the Lord, she knew he had to keep it. And she believed. Because the faithful daughter remembered the faithful son.
Faithful son. Where is the sacrifice? He asked. Did he know the answer? Did he suspect the truth? As he followed quietly up that mountain toward death. Trusting in the word of his father. Trusting in the word of the Father above. There will be a sacrifice. They trusted in that for sure.
Faithful daughter. Keeping the way of her father, pure. Not questioning. Not begging. Not pleading for mercy. But, let it be done to me according to your will. She’s singing the faithful song of the virgin, generations before those words passed her lips.
Whatever comes out from the doors of my house, shall be the Lord’s. I will offer it up as a burnt offering. And his daughter came out to meet him with tambourines and dances. His one and only child. There was no other.
Sweet daughter, only son. Promised by your father to be lifted up, upon the mountain. Sweet one and only, humiliation and tears. It was not your death to pay, and yet it was to fulfill all righteousness.
Faithful daughter of David, walking towards death. Where is the lamb? When your womb was the seed of sacrifice. A sacrifice of your honor, a sacrifice of your blood. Let it be done to me according to your will. According to your vow. According to your promise. The faithful daughter remembered the faithful son. Sweet daughter, Mary. It was the only way. (Luke 1:38)
The long-awaited son. Followed up the mountain. Trusting his Father, speaking the words of the faithful. Knife in hand with no external sacrifice to be seen. Let it be done to me according to your will. And still, God sent a savior. So that everything would be according to his good pleasure.
She had to be sacrificed, that was her gift. And he had to be redeemed. That was his gift. The two stories become one, she dies and he lives. But he lived so that she would not be trapped by death. Rather, she lived and she lives. By her hope and fervent expectation.
His salvation was first. So that he became the story of the one and only. Threatened by the father. Saved by the father. Redeemed by another. Alive because of a hidden lamb. So that all the sons and daughters could expect this story. Salvation from the lamb. Beyond the clenches of death. Beyond the fear of the Knife. There would be a substitute, hidden and revealed.
Faithful daughter, That’s what you knew. Not trapped by death. Not shackled by fear. Alive in expectation.
Faithful daughter, how did it feel to say? Let it be done to me, father, according to your word. She knew from whence she came. A loving father, a fantastical story, and a great God. Beyond her death, beyond her faithfulness, there was more at stake. There was a promise from God. Written by her faithful brother who also walked up the mountain. While she was walking in the wake of the story which gave her a fearlessness of life and death.
Faithful daughter, faithful son. You live the story, you same say the words. Let it be done to me. because you know the truth of salvation. God has provided a sacrifice, beyond the destination of death, walking up the mountain. Expected death, expected salvation. This is called hope.
Sons and Daughters, this is what we do. Walk through the valley of the shadow of death. Follow faithfully behind your Father. Don’t you dare fear his knife, because you remember his sacrifice. Let it be according to his word. Walking up the mountain.
How does it feel to say? Let it be done, Father. Because your journey will certainly end in death. Stripping me of my path. My dignity. My own life. How can I possibly say it? Let it be done to me. When everything I do to live is an avoidance of that walk up the mountain.
So I just have to say it. Over and over. The story of a one-and-only Son. The story of a one and only Daughter. Let it be done to me. While I am standing here waiting for the slaughter that should be paid to me. Justly and deservedly. So how do I possibly say it? When it’s begging for my death? Let it be done, Father.
The pathway of the faithful is in the speaking of the words. Let it be done. To me. This is the wisdom of the righteous path. It does not look to the right or the left. It does not turn from the way of pain. Because there is no other way. The pathway of the faithful. Carved by the breath of those who spoke it all before. Imprinted in our trench, our well-worn trail cut into the mountain.
Expecting certain death. Expecting certain life.
It is the only way.