Little Lamb

The priest smiles at the sea of Sunday School students, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his crooked nose. The children range in age from 5 years old to 10 years old. After a brief pause, Father Jacob begins his introduction.

“Welcome, welcome, little ones! I am blessed and I am happy on this beautiful day. I’m feeling especially grateful today, being able to see your shining faces, hear the Word of the Lord, and pray together in the sunshine.” He paces at the front of the classroom, his hands clasped behind his back as he speaks.

“Today, I want to hear from God’s children— I want to hear from you. I know you hear lots of stories from the church, and from your friends, and from your families. How many of you have heard the story of Jonah and the Whale? Or maybe you’ve heard of Daniel and the Lion’s Den?” A few kids stir in the crowd, some sheepishly raising their hands, some slinking lower in their seats.

Father Jacob continues. “Those are some of my favorite stories! And those are very famous stories. But I have a different goal for today — I want you to ask questions about stories you’ve heard, stories that you maybe just don’t understand.”

He looks around the room, waiting for any sign of interest or engagement. After a few long moments, Father Jacob sighs. Maybe this is a bit over their heads.

Suddenly, a child’s arm shyly rises in the back of the room. A small, pale boy, no older than seven years old and wearing a Christmas turtleneck, averts his gaze as Father Jacob calls on him.

The boy speaks softly: “Why was Abraham going to kill his son?”

The silent classroom feels as if it got smaller. Father Jacob pauses after the question and thinks for a moment. The children may be a little too little for this.

“That’s a big question. It’s a hard question. That seems like such a scary thing, right? But I have a story for you that helps explain why Abraham did what he did.” He pauses for a long moment, collecting his thoughts. “I’m going to tell you about my good friend Adam.” Father Jacob paces at the front of the room, pulling together details of the story in a way that the young children will be able to understand.

After a moment, Father Jacob begins.

“Many years ago, a student not much older than you asked the very same question. But just after this student asked the question, he did something interesting. He stopped himself. He looked up at me, and he said, ‘Father Jacob? Don’t tell me. I’m going to pray to God for the answer.’” Father Jacob looks around the room with a smile. “Isn’t that just fantastic? At seven years old, little Adam was already trying to find answers on his own.”

Father Jacob continues pacing at the front of the room. “So Adam went home, and he prayed. And guess what? He got an answer.” Father Jacob beams at the students. “Adam came back with a big smile on his face, and he told us what he learned.

“Adam asked God, ‘Why was Abraham going to kill his son?’ and God appeared to him. Adam said God spoke to him." Father Jacob looked around the room at the students once more before continuing. "The sound of His voice is hard to describe; it is warm like honey, strong like the oceans, understanding yet commanding, paternal and maternal simultaneously. It is a voice of eternal wisdom, of the all-encompassing universe, of days and months and years and eons of knowledge, and of all things comprehensible and incomprehensible." Father Jacob smiles.

“To Adam’s question, God replied, ‘Abraham’s task was a test of faith. I spoke to Abraham, and I commanded him to sacrifice his son. Abraham proved himself to me in that moment, but I would never allow him to inflict any real harm on Isaac. Everything happens for a reason, Adam. In the end, the child survived, Abraham proved himself to me, and the world is better for it.’”

Father Jacob finishes speaking and tilts his head, analyzing the expressions on the students’ faces. “See? It seems like a scary story, at first, but it all comes from God’s love. Abraham loved his son, like all parents love their children. It was just a test of faith.”

Father Jacob smiles, content that he has given the children an answer they can carry with them.

In the back of the room, the shy boy in the Christmas turtleneck doesn’t say anything. He just presses down harder on his pencil. His sleeves slide down slightly as he doodles, and he quickly pulls them back up, once again concealing the bruises scattering his skin.