Genesis 21:8-21
Meeting God in the Story
James Sledge June
25, 2017
Unless
you know the book of Genesis well, you are likely unaware of a small problem
with the story we just heard. When Hagar walks out into the wilderness with her
meager provisions of bread and water, she also carries her child, who by the
way, is in his mid to late teens. You hear a lot about helicopter parents, but
I’ve never seen a mother carrying her teenage boy on her shoulder.
Now
some may be thinking, “Wait a minute. The story doesn’t say a thing about how
old the boy is.” True, but an earlier story that tells of the child’s birth, as
well as his name, Ishmael, says that Abraham was 86 years old then. He’s 100
when Isaac is born and children were typically weaned at around three. You do
the math.
Of
course now that I’ve pointed out this problem, I should add that the problem
isn’t really with our story. The problem is modern people who don’t know how to
listen to Israel’s faith stories, our faith stories.
Like
some other parts of the Old Testament, Genesis is a collection of stories, many
of which existed independently before being woven together. And because the
editors who do this don’t share our interest in precise history or facts, they
make no effort to harmonize our story, one clearly about a very young child, with
another that makes him much older.
These
editors were not stupid people. They were the intellectuals of their day. But
they were not writing history or recording events. They were perfectly willing
to leave intact and honor stories as they received them, stories that people
probably already knew anyway. They wove these into a larger fabric to help
Israel wrestle with what it meant to be the people of God, especially in a time
when Israel had suffered defeat and exile.
That
larger story started with a call and a promise from God to Abraham. “Go
from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I
will show you. I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you, and
make your name great, so that you will be a blessing.” So Abram went as the Lord had told him.
God
calls, Abraham is faithful, and they all lived happily ever after. Well, not
quite. As the various stories and adventures that follow make clear, Abraham
and Sarah’s path to the promise is a winding one with wrong turns, doubts,
questions, and uncertainties. Individually and together, these stories explore
questions about God’s trustworthiness, what it means to be faithful, what
happens when we are not, even what happens when attempts to be faithful turn
out to be misguided and unhelpful.
And
so Abraham starts out on his faith journey and has assorted adventures, does
well financially, and occasionally puts God’s promise in jeopardy to save his
own skin. This goes on and on, but a critical element is missing. Abraham and
Sarah have no children and are getting up in years. How can they found a great
nation when they have no child, no heir.
God
shows up now and then to reassure Abraham, but the years drag on, and still no
child. Maybe God’s promise needs help. “God helps those who help themselves,” some
people say. So Sarah decides to provide a little help, and Abraham agrees it’s
a good plan.
Sarah
had a slave girl named Hagar, and Sarah said to Abraham, “Here, see if you can
get her pregnant.” Now this may sound a little sketchy to us, but this was
considered perfectly moral and respectable in Abraham’s day. Such a child would
be the legitimate first born of Abraham and Sarah.
The
plan works. A son is born. They have helped fulfill God’s promise. There’s now
an heir, and everyone lived happily ever after. Well, not quite.
Sometime
later, God shows up again, talking about Sarah getting pregnant and that child
being the heir to the promise. Apparently God’s not much impressed with Abraham
and Sarah’s efforts to help the promise along. The promise will not run through
Ishmael, but through a second son. Not that Ishmael did anything to deserve his
place, his fate in the story.
Sure
enough, Sarah has a son named Isaac. But Sarah sees Ishmael as a threat. He is
the first born, after all. He’s the legal heir, and Abraham loves him.
Something must be done, and Sarah insists that Abraham send Hagar and Ishmael
away. She will make certain that the promise runs through Isaac.
So
Hagar heads out with her son and what little else she can carry. Abraham’s role
in this is a bit troubling. He has to know that both will soon die in the
wilderness. Is this one of those moments when people do something despicable
and blame their religion? “God said it was fine.” And what of God? God is
pretty deeply mixed up in this messy situation.
Our
storytellers have no trouble presenting us with the inscrutability and mystery
of God. But while the promise to Abraham does indeed run through the younger
son, God’s care and grace and blessing are not restricted to Isaac’s lineage,
to the people of Israel. God cares for and will provide for the one Sarah sees
as threat, the ones Abraham casts off. What a strange twist. In this family
story about God’s special covenant with Israel, we find God’s grace and love to
the outsider. Ishmael gets his own promise. He too, will be father of a great
nation.
These Ishmaelites don’t show up much in
the Old Testament, but when they do they are typically enemies of Israel. Yet our
story insists that God is concerned for them and blesses them, that they are
heirs to God’s promise. What an odd story to weave into Israel’s story.
_____________________________________________________________________________
In
our stories as God’s people, our own meandering, zigzag journeys, our
sometimes-faithful-often-not attempts to go where Jesus calls us, what does it
mean for us to trust the promise? Where do our attempts to help the promise
along make things better, and where do they simply create new messes for God to
deal with, messes we might even want to blame on God? And where is God when
those messes get too big, when they seem completely overwhelming? Where is God
when we get caught up in the messes made by others?
Israel,
and the Bible, answer such questions with the artistry of stories, artistry
that we too often miss when we mistakenly believe the Bible and faith are about
information and formulas. Imagine I had visited the Louvre in Paris and saw the
Mona Lisa. You asked my impressions and I said, “It’s an old picture of a
woman.” That is a perfectly factual statement, but it says absolutely nothing
about the truth and meaning and beauty of the painting. Yet that is exactly how
many Christians treat the artistry of the Bible.
If
we imagine the Bible to be a quick reference tool, a rule book, an encyclopedia
with information about faith and God, or a source of formulas to follow, we are
likely to be put off, frustrated, even terrified by large portions of it. But
if we will pause and take the time to savor its artistry, to gaze deeply into
the images it paints and allow its stories to touch us, we may just encounter
the living God, a God deeply engaged with humanity, a God whose purposes
continue to move forward despite how often we humans muck things up, a God
whose love and grace and care is poured out for us, and also extends even to
those we would dismiss, to those we view as threats, even to those we don’t
care what happens to them.
O
God, give us eyes to see, ears to hear, and hearts to receive you as you reveal
yourself in sacred story.
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