Last week, Rev. Faris invited us to focus our reflections on the laughter of Sarah when she overheard the news that she was going to become pregnant, even though she was well into her nineties. Her reaction to that seemingly absurd declaration wove an unexpected note of grace into an otherwise serious narrative, and reminded us that God’s surprising grace and sometimes unanticipated ways can break in upon our lives in ways that lead us simply to chuckle.
Laughter can be a sign of grace.
But today, we are invited to turn our attention to a far more difficult, and far less humourous, part of the story of Abraham and Sarah. It is a troubling story to read, quite horrifying actually – and yet, woven into this troubling and horrifying story is, nonetheless, a note of grace if we have the eyes to see and the ears to hear.
The context is important in order to understand the reading. Earlier in the Genesis accounts, Abram and Sarai had been promised that if they followed God’s guidance and direction, if they set out in faith, they would become the ancestors of a great and blessed people. And yet, they were childless, even into their elderly years. Were the promises of God not to be trusted? Had all of their faith, all of their courage, all of their wanderings been for nothing? Had God forgotten about them?
In Genesis 16 – a few chapters before today’s suggested reading — we are told that Sarai decided to take matters into her own hands. She had an Egyptian slave-girl named Hagar, and told Abraham to go and to be with Hagar. The young slave girl became pregnant, which was the plan.
But things did not go well from there.
Jealousy and contempt grew between Sarah and Hagar, and as today’s reading opens, we see the continued effects of their bitter rivalry. By this point in the story, in Genesis 21, Sarah had now – finally — been able to have a son, who had been named Isaac. The child was young, healthy and growing strong.
But, as the passage attests, Sarah’s resentment had also grown strong towards Hagar, and that animosity was now being transferred to Hagar’s son Ishmael as well.
As verse 9 states, “Sarah saw the son of Hagar the Egyptian, whom she had borne to Abraham, playing with her son Isaac.??? The text is not entirely clear about what Ishmael was doing to cause such offense and resentment. The Hebrew verb that is used in the passage can be translated in various ways – some of which seem innocent, some of which may imply some form of harmful intent, but most likely a description of what older brothers do with their younger siblings – they play together.
But regardless of the reason for it, Sarah’s resentment was so powerful that she wanted to drive the child and his mother away, rather than continue to tolerate their presence. So she said to Abraham, ‘Cast out this slave woman with her son; for the son of his slave woman shall not inherit along with my son Isaac.???
Abraham did not seem to want to act in such a way, but God assured him that the child would be protected. And so, as we read in verse 14, “Abraham rose early in the morning, and took bread and a skin of water; and gave it to Hagar, putting it on her shoulder, along with the child, and sent her away.???
Nice guy. Here, slave girl, take a bit of water. Now, pick up your kid and go away.
The water did not last long. And in a scene that is rather agonizing to read, we watch as the thirsty, mistreated, exiled young mother sets her only child down under a set of bushes in an arid wilderness, and walks away from him. She knows that he is going to die; she knows that there is nothing that she can do about it. And she cannot bear the anguished experience of seeing her little boy pass away in the heat and thirst of the wilderness.
She sits down, and weeps.
The tears of Hagar rang out to the heavens.
Which provides quite a contrast to last week’s reading. After all, last week we were invited to hear God’s response to the laughter of Sarah at the news that she was going to be a mother; but today, the text invites us to hear the anguished, agonized tears of an exiled, mistreated mother and child, about to die of thirst, alone in the wilderness, with her child.
But if, as Bob suggested last week, there is grace to be found in the laughter of Sarah, is it possible to glimpse grace in the tears of Hagar?
Perhaps.
Consider, after all, what happens next.
In verse 17, we read, “God heard the voice of the boy; and the angel of God called to Hagar from heaven, and said to her, ‘What troubles you, Hagar? Do not be afraid; for God has heard the voice of the boy where he is. Come, lift up the boy and hold him fast with your hand, for I will make a great nation of him.’ Then God opened her eyes and she saw a well of water. She went, and filled with skin with water, and gave the boy a drink.???
The tears of Hagar, the cries of Ishmael, the plight of these exiled, desperate, frightened, abandoned people were not ignored by God. The child, and his mother were not ignored; but saved.
One of the interesting – and important – points for us to remember, as we read this story, is that Hagar and Ishmael had done nothing, as far as we can discern from what the texts tell us, to deserve their fate.
Instead, they had been treated quite horribly. After all, if we were viewing the text through modern eyes, we would conclude that Hagar – as a young girl, and as a slave — had been forcibly and sexually exploited by her owners. She had become pregnant by an older man who was in a position of great power over her. And then, the very woman – Sarah – who had set up the situation had developed an incredibly antagonistic dynamic to grow between them. Try as she might, there was nowhere that Hagar could go, or flee, or appeal, to make things better. Ultimately, she had been exiled from Abraham’s house without adequate provisions to sustain her and her child. She and her child had been sent away to die in an arid and dangerous wilderness.
When we read of people in such difficult circumstances, our natural tendency is to try to figure out what they had done to deserve such a cruel fate. We think that they must somehow share the guilt, bear some portion of the blame for their circumstance in life.
Even in our own lives, and in our own time, we like to try to assign blame and guilt to those who suffer. That person over there – you know, the person who is going through such difficulties, who has been stripped of their dignity, who has been driven away, who has no pride left – they must have done something to merit their fate, to deserve the challenges that they are having to face. .
It is possible, as we read the story of Hagar and Ishmael, to construct reasons why Hagar could be blamed. The previous chapters had suggested that she may have been contemptuous of Sarah, that she might have offended her master’s wife – but really, is any degree of resentment truly sufficient to merit a death sentence in the wilderness?
And what is intriguing about the text is a slight but subtle detail that is included in verses 16 and 17. In verse 16, our attention is directed to the tears of Hagar, but in verse 17, the text states, “And God heard the voice of the boy…??? And again, later in verse 17, the angel of God reiterates that God has heard the voice of the boy.???
Did you notice the shift? The story states that Hagar was weeping; but it was the voice of the boy, Ishmael, to which God responds.
So who is Ishmael, in this story? Ishmael is a weak, innocent, vulnerable child – thirsty, left to die under a little tree in the wilderness. Everyone who is supposed to care for him has forsaken him. All of the adults in his life – his father, his family, his own mother – everyone has failed him and abandoned him.
He is completely alone.
Or so it seems.
But then, his true protector shows up. God has not forsaken him, God has heard his cries, and God intervenes not only to protect and save him, but to offer the reassurance that there are great things in store for Ishmael
The grace in this story, therefore, is the grace of a God who does not abandon the suffering, who does not turn a deaf ear to the oppressed, who does not look the other way when suffering happens, who does not only pay attention to those who are laughing and joyful and reverent and holy and perfect.
Which, actually, is good news.
After all, we live in a world, where there are many who feel just as abandoned, just as forsaken, just as vulnerable, just as alone as Ishmael was, in this narrative.
But the good news is that we bow before a God who does not abandon the vulnerable and the weak, but instead, hears and responds to them; a God who lifts up the excluded and the oppressed; a God who binds up the brokenhearted; a God who is with us both in the laughter and joy of life, but also in its tears and sorrow.
In fact, the story of Christ provides an intriguing parallel to the story of Ishmael. After all, both stories focus our attention on the experiences of a son who, through no fault of his own, was abandoned in a time of great vulnerability and danger. In both cases, their mothers are close by, but are unable to do anything to affect the seemingly inevitable fate of their beloved sons – both Mary and Hagar undoubtedly could not bear to ponder the suffering of their children.
And in both cases, God intervened when there was no hope left. God heard the voice of Ishmael, just as God heard the voice of Jesus, calling out, “my God, my God, why have you forsaken me????
But neither Ishmael nor Jesus were abandoned; just as none of us will ever be. So when we go through times, in this life when tears come more quickly to us than laughter does, it can be good to remember the story of Ishmael, the story of Christ and the grace that their stories ultimately revealed.
It is intriguing to read this story on a day when we celebrate a baptism. We are not baptized into the life of a person whose existence was always marked by joy, by success, by triumph, by laughter – although Jesus certainly knew all of those experiences. Rather, we are baptized into the life of One who knew joy and sorrow, friendship and abandonment, pride and shame, hope and despair, success and failure, power and weakness, laughter and tears.
And who promised to walk with us through all of those experiences – and who will continue to walk with us, and with Augustine, and with every one of God’s beloved children – through all of the mountaintops of joy, and through all of the valleys of sadness, in this life.
For it is He who, in the waters of baptism, claims us as His own.
And for that, all that we can say it, thanks be to God.
Amen.
