Forshadowing a Savior
The Story of Salvation: From Genesis to Golgotha
There's something remarkable about that first breath of spring air. You know the one—when you step outside and suddenly your mind floods with memories, nostalgia, and hope for what's coming. The forsythia bushes are preparing to burst with yellow blooms. Those first patches of grass appear through the melting snow. It's a moment of anticipation, of knowing that something better is on its way.
In many ways, this captures the entire arc of Scripture—a long winter of waiting, punctuated by moments when we catch the scent of redemption drawing near.
The Problem We Can't Ignore
Along with those the first hints of spring comes the promise of summer. Saturdays on the beach soaking in the sun in between moments when you--if you're a parent--are keeping your kids from hurting themselves or worse. That of course is why the odd profession of the lifegaurd exists.
We hire people to sit and scan the water all day. Why do they have to scan though? Why can't they just sit there and scroll on their phones until they hear someone calling for help? The reason is simple, very rare is it that a drowning person will actually call out for help. Even when death is imminent, human pride, embarrassment, and denial keeps us silent. We're too stubborn to admit we need saving.
This stubborn pride reveals something profound about our condition. We need saving from so many things: the meaninglessness of existence without God, the monotony of life, anxiety, fear, depression, loneliness, selfishness, greed, insecurity. We need saving from the evil inside us and the evil surrounding us. Most of all, we need saving from death itself.
The question isn't whether we need a Savior. The question is whether we're too proud to admit it to ourselves.
The First Glimpse of Hope
The first glimpse of a savior is found in Genesis 3, in what theologians call the "protoevangelium"—the first gospel. After humanity's rebellion in the garden, God speaks a cryptic promise to the serpent: "I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and her offspring; he shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise his heel."
It's vague and mysterious. But, it's hope. Something is coming. Someone is coming. A specific offspring who will crush the serpent's head, even while being wounded in the process.
When Evil Multiplies
The pages turn, and the picture darkens. By Genesis 6, humanity has descended into complete corruption. Scripture tells us that "every intention of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually." God looks at His creation and is grieved in His heart.
The flood comes—not as capricious divine anger, but as a necessary justice. Yet even after the waters recede and Noah builds an altar, God acknowledges the persistent problem: "The intention of man's heart is evil from his youth."
The rainbow appears as a covenant sign. But notice what it truly represents—not pride as many have come to see it today, but humility. It's a reminder that we deserve judgment, yet God promises not to destroy us in that way again. The problem remains unsolved. Something else must be done. God does not desire our extinction; He desires our redemption.
A Promise to Abraham
Enter Abraham, a man called to leave everything familiar and walk toward the unknown. God makes him an extraordinary promise: "In you all the families of the earth shall be blessed."
But the most profound moment comes later, in Genesis 22, when God tests Abraham with an unthinkable command: "Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and offer him as a burnt offering."
Picture the journey. Abraham rises early, cuts the wood, saddles the donkey. For three days, he walks toward the place of sacrifice, knowing God has promised to make a great nation through this very son he's been commanded to kill. The tension is unbearable. How will God work this out?
On the third day, Abraham sees Mount Moriah in the distance. Isaac, carrying the wood for his own sacrifice, asks the piercing question: "Where is the lamb?"
Abraham's answer carries weight beyond the moment: "God will provide for himself the lamb for a burnt offering, my son."
The Pattern Revealed
At the last moment, an angel calls out. A ram appears, caught in a thicket. Isaac is spared. But notice God's words afterward: "In your offspring shall all the nations of the earth be blessed."
The word shifts from plural to singular—from "offsprings" to "offspring." It would not be in many descendants, but one specific descendant through whom blessing would come.
The parallels between Issac and Jesus are numerous:
The story of Abraham and Isaac wasn't just a test of faith. It was a preview of the gospel itself—a dress rehearsal for what God would one day do on a neighboring hill called Golgotha.
The Sacrifice That Changed Everything
What began on Mount Moriah would be finished on Mount Golgotha. The knife that was stayed in Abraham's hand would not be stayed in the hands of the Romans. The ram caught in the thicket was only temporary. The true Lamb of God would come and would not be spared.
Abraham didn't withhold his son. But God? God did not spare His own Son. He gave Him up for us all.
This is how God chose to save us—not through another flood of judgment, but through a flood of grace. Not through death, but through life emerging from death. Not by destroying the evil ones, but by taking our evil upon Himself.
The Invitation
For those who follow Jesus, we've been grafted into this story. We're now called the offspring of Abraham—not by physical descent, but by faith. The promise made thousands of years ago on a mountain in Moriah extends to us today.
The question that echoes through all these stories is simple yet profound: Do you trust God?
Not "Do you understand His ways?" Not "Can you figure out how He'll work things out?" But simply: Do you trust Him?
Like a child standing at the edge of the pool, terrified to jump into their father's arms, we're often paralyzed by fear. The jump seems impossible. The risk seems too great. But the Father stands in the water, arms outstretched, saying, "I've got you. Jump. There's joy on the other side of this fear."
Whatever God is calling you to today—whatever obedience looks difficult, whatever sacrifice seems too costly—remember Abraham. Remember that God provided a ram. Remember that God provided His Son.
And remember that the same God who brought life from death on resurrection morning is still in the business of redemption, still working out His promises, still worthy of our trust.
The long winter is over. Spring has come. The Lamb has been provided. Are we humble enough to cry out, and wise enough to trust Him?
There's something remarkable about that first breath of spring air. You know the one—when you step outside and suddenly your mind floods with memories, nostalgia, and hope for what's coming. The forsythia bushes are preparing to burst with yellow blooms. Those first patches of grass appear through the melting snow. It's a moment of anticipation, of knowing that something better is on its way.
In many ways, this captures the entire arc of Scripture—a long winter of waiting, punctuated by moments when we catch the scent of redemption drawing near.
The Problem We Can't Ignore
Along with those the first hints of spring comes the promise of summer. Saturdays on the beach soaking in the sun in between moments when you--if you're a parent--are keeping your kids from hurting themselves or worse. That of course is why the odd profession of the lifegaurd exists.
We hire people to sit and scan the water all day. Why do they have to scan though? Why can't they just sit there and scroll on their phones until they hear someone calling for help? The reason is simple, very rare is it that a drowning person will actually call out for help. Even when death is imminent, human pride, embarrassment, and denial keeps us silent. We're too stubborn to admit we need saving.
This stubborn pride reveals something profound about our condition. We need saving from so many things: the meaninglessness of existence without God, the monotony of life, anxiety, fear, depression, loneliness, selfishness, greed, insecurity. We need saving from the evil inside us and the evil surrounding us. Most of all, we need saving from death itself.
The question isn't whether we need a Savior. The question is whether we're too proud to admit it to ourselves.
The First Glimpse of Hope
The first glimpse of a savior is found in Genesis 3, in what theologians call the "protoevangelium"—the first gospel. After humanity's rebellion in the garden, God speaks a cryptic promise to the serpent: "I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and her offspring; he shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise his heel."
It's vague and mysterious. But, it's hope. Something is coming. Someone is coming. A specific offspring who will crush the serpent's head, even while being wounded in the process.
When Evil Multiplies
The pages turn, and the picture darkens. By Genesis 6, humanity has descended into complete corruption. Scripture tells us that "every intention of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually." God looks at His creation and is grieved in His heart.
The flood comes—not as capricious divine anger, but as a necessary justice. Yet even after the waters recede and Noah builds an altar, God acknowledges the persistent problem: "The intention of man's heart is evil from his youth."
The rainbow appears as a covenant sign. But notice what it truly represents—not pride as many have come to see it today, but humility. It's a reminder that we deserve judgment, yet God promises not to destroy us in that way again. The problem remains unsolved. Something else must be done. God does not desire our extinction; He desires our redemption.
A Promise to Abraham
Enter Abraham, a man called to leave everything familiar and walk toward the unknown. God makes him an extraordinary promise: "In you all the families of the earth shall be blessed."
But the most profound moment comes later, in Genesis 22, when God tests Abraham with an unthinkable command: "Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and offer him as a burnt offering."
Picture the journey. Abraham rises early, cuts the wood, saddles the donkey. For three days, he walks toward the place of sacrifice, knowing God has promised to make a great nation through this very son he's been commanded to kill. The tension is unbearable. How will God work this out?
On the third day, Abraham sees Mount Moriah in the distance. Isaac, carrying the wood for his own sacrifice, asks the piercing question: "Where is the lamb?"
Abraham's answer carries weight beyond the moment: "God will provide for himself the lamb for a burnt offering, my son."
The Pattern Revealed
At the last moment, an angel calls out. A ram appears, caught in a thicket. Isaac is spared. But notice God's words afterward: "In your offspring shall all the nations of the earth be blessed."
The word shifts from plural to singular—from "offsprings" to "offspring." It would not be in many descendants, but one specific descendant through whom blessing would come.
The parallels between Issac and Jesus are numerous:
- God asked Abraham to sacrifice "your only son whom you love." Later, God would give "his only Son" for the world.
- Abraham saddled a donkey for the journey. Jesus would ride a donkey into Jerusalem.
- Isaac was delivered on the third day of their journey. Jesus would rise on the third day.
- Isaac carried the wood up the mountain. Jesus would carry His cross.
- An angel stopped Abraham's knife and the precise moment of no return. But when Peter drew his sword in Gethsemane, Jesus said, "Put your sword away... How then should the Scriptures be fulfilled?" Rather than calling in "more than twelve legions of angels" to stop what was about to take place, Jesus withholds them.
The story of Abraham and Isaac wasn't just a test of faith. It was a preview of the gospel itself—a dress rehearsal for what God would one day do on a neighboring hill called Golgotha.
The Sacrifice That Changed Everything
What began on Mount Moriah would be finished on Mount Golgotha. The knife that was stayed in Abraham's hand would not be stayed in the hands of the Romans. The ram caught in the thicket was only temporary. The true Lamb of God would come and would not be spared.
Abraham didn't withhold his son. But God? God did not spare His own Son. He gave Him up for us all.
This is how God chose to save us—not through another flood of judgment, but through a flood of grace. Not through death, but through life emerging from death. Not by destroying the evil ones, but by taking our evil upon Himself.
The Invitation
For those who follow Jesus, we've been grafted into this story. We're now called the offspring of Abraham—not by physical descent, but by faith. The promise made thousands of years ago on a mountain in Moriah extends to us today.
The question that echoes through all these stories is simple yet profound: Do you trust God?
Not "Do you understand His ways?" Not "Can you figure out how He'll work things out?" But simply: Do you trust Him?
Like a child standing at the edge of the pool, terrified to jump into their father's arms, we're often paralyzed by fear. The jump seems impossible. The risk seems too great. But the Father stands in the water, arms outstretched, saying, "I've got you. Jump. There's joy on the other side of this fear."
Whatever God is calling you to today—whatever obedience looks difficult, whatever sacrifice seems too costly—remember Abraham. Remember that God provided a ram. Remember that God provided His Son.
And remember that the same God who brought life from death on resurrection morning is still in the business of redemption, still working out His promises, still worthy of our trust.
The long winter is over. Spring has come. The Lamb has been provided. Are we humble enough to cry out, and wise enough to trust Him?