God Will Provide?

Genesis 22:1-18

There are some stories that you don’t really want to know. Like William Styron’s story, Sophie’s Choice.

Sophie is a Polish woman during the Second World War. She was sent to Auschwitz with her young son and daughter. The defining moment in this story is one of Sophie and her children, standing in line with all the other prisoners, waiting to be processed when a German officer approaches her. He offers Sophie a choice: which one of your children should die? Choose or they will both be taken. She chose her daughter.

Then there is Toni Morrison’s story, Beloved. Sethe is a runaway slave living in Cincinnati with her four children. When the master hunts her down, Sethe grabs her children and runs to the toolshed. She knows she would rather they not live than to see them returned to slavery and so she aims to take things into her own hands. The youngest, a two-year-old girl, is killed before Sethe’s hand is stopped.

These are stories I think about when I try to imagine the circumstances under which a parent would sacrifice his or her child. Both of these novels, you should know, are based on true stories. They would have to be, for who would dare make up such a thing?

I have to ask the question, because the story of the binding of Isaac – although it undoubtedly points to a meaning larger than itself – doesn’t allow me to easily move beyond the pivotal event. And the rescue of Abraham and Isaac at the last moment doesn’t offer much relief. The story is a trauma – to Abraham, to Isaac, and to everyone who hears it.

It is a story that changes everything. Abraham will no longer be the same. Isaac will not be the same. Even we are not the same after hearing it. And Sarah? It might be that Sarah never learned just what exactly happened on Mount Moriah, which would be a blessing, but she definitely knew that her husband and son were not the same when they returned.

In fact, this is a different Abraham that we see in this story, from the moment God calls him out. Abraham, who is sometimes a lively conversation partner with God, is now silent. Abraham, who experienced feelings of deep distress when Ishmael was banished from the camp, is now detached, unaffected.

He resembles an automaton – a creation without a will of his own, whose only purpose was to serve the commands of the creator. He seemed almost inhuman. We can imagine this Abraham silently and stone-faced, marching up the mountain, speaking only when necessary,

Isaac asks where is the lamb? Abraham answers God will provide. We see him focused, deliberate. We see him standing over the boy on the altar they have made, raising his arm high above his head, clutching the knife as he looks down at the face of his son.

We can even imagine Abraham being so tuned out to the world around him that he doesn’t hear the voice of the angel telling him to stop! This is our fear as we listen to the story. Like the phone call from the governor, ordering a stay of execution, that comes a moment too late. Because death cannot be undone.

It seems almost incredible that Abraham actually does hear the command and he stops his hand in midair. God provides a ram in the thicket as a proper sacrifice. Isaac’s life is saved.

Abraham is saved from being the man who kills laughter.

And we are all saved from the dreadful possibility of a God who would demand human sacrifice.

It is a story about testing, but I don’t like that. The notion that God would test us in such horrific ways is deeply troubling. To take one’s beloved children right up to the edge and then stop – as if to say, “just kidding!” – this feels cruel to me.

Would our God really test us like this?

Yet, when I consider the stories of Sophie and Sethe, I am reminded that evil will certainly test us. Evil will confront us with tests in some horrific ways.

And here is where I find the pieces fit together to make meaning.

It took a long time for the people of Israel to get to know their God. Many generations of evolving, slowly, by trial and error, to figure out just who this God is. Just what this God wants from them. For a long time, generations, they were casting around, sampling other gods, other religious practices. Such as human sacrifice.

They thought: Other people are doing it. They wondered: Is this what we should do? Would this be an acceptable, an effective, form of worship?

Would it? Really?

Let me ask you: Would a God who loves us and cares for us desire such a thing? Would the God of Israel demand such a sacrifice from us?

Finally, emphatically, the answer was no.

It was a hard lesson to learn for the people. Trust is not easily come by. Faith is hard earned. We look at Abraham as a mountain of a man, a model figure of faith. But back then I am sure Abraham was floundering. Struggling.

Isaac said to him, Dad, where is the lamb for the sacrifice? And Abraham said to Isaac, God will provide.

God will provide, said Abraham, with no earthly idea of what, of how this story ends.

And then – at last – he knew it. God will provide a better way.

It took some time for the people to understand this – a lot of time. But eventually, centuries later, they put it down in these stories, stories that would be handed down through the generations. Stories that would say:

There once was a time when the people lived in fear – fear of the evil that surrounded them, fear of evil that might take hold of them, control them. And the greatest fear of all: that their God would be a heartless, cruel master over them; one who would take from them what was most precious to them. And they wondered: Is it possible?

And the answer was no. God will provide a better way.

And even today, in our world, the struggle against evil is real, it is constant. And our only hope is the knowledge that God will provide a better way.

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Creating Promise out of Pain

 

Genesis 21:8-21

HBO just wrapped up its series called Succession, after a very popular four-year run. The aging patriarch of a wealthy and powerful family and his children. And it’s all about who will be the heir. To whom will all this power be passed on. And so, there is the ongoing battle among the offspring and other interested parties – the battle for succession.

It is not pretty to watch. I gave up trying to watch the show because every single character was so unlikeable. Truly unlikeable, but unfortunately, not unbelievable. People are like that. People have always been like that, as we can see in the book of Genesis.

There are times in the course of studying the book of Genesis I am very aware of what an old, old story it is. But all I have to do is read the news and I am reminded that some things never change.

Family rivalries still exist. We haven’t outgrown them.

Let’s put today’s story into context. For many years, God had promised Abraham a son. But after decades of trying and hoping and praying, Sarah and Abraham were still childless. Remember the story we read last week, where messengers from God came to say Sarah would bear a child in due time – at the age of 90. And neither Abraham nor Sarah could do anything but laugh at the absurdity.

Long before that time, Abraham and Sarah had stopped believing that God would give them a child. So they had taken things into their own hands. Sometime before that visit of the three divine messengers, Sarah had made a plan to give Hagar, the woman enslaved to her, to Abraham, in the hope that Hagar would become pregnant in her stead. Abraham would have an heir, and Sarah would, by rights of ownership, have a son.

We could tell right away that this was not going to go well. Immediately, Sarah was overcome by jealousy. A pregnant Hagar was simply too much for Sarah to bear, and in her rage she made Hagar’s life hell.

Hagar ran away, out into the wilderness, with no plan, no good options. She couldn’t bear another minute of living under Sarah’s rule.

That was the first time Hagar heard the voice of God speaking to her. Out in the wilderness God told Hagar the plans he had for her. She would bear a son who would be called Ishmael, which means the Lord hears. God tells Hagar that her son Ishmael will live at odds with all his kin. But he will, indeed, live. Hagar responds by naming this God whom she has never before heard. She calls him El-Roi, meaning “God sees.”

Hagar does then return to Sarah and in due time gives birth to Abraham’s first-born son.  And so, perhaps, they assumed the matter of the promised child had been settled. They were quite surprised when the mysterious messengers came to them saying Sarah would have a child. By this time, Ishmael was at least ten years old.

And Sarah gave birth to Isaac.

When Isaac was old enough to be weaned, probably around two years old, Abraham threw a celebration for him. But, once again, the old rivalry emerged between the two mothers. Once again, Sarah is afraid. She is afraid the child Ishmael will take something away from her son.

This is not a pretty emotion. We don’t admire Sarah for her fear and jealousy and lack of faith she exposes. But, even so, we might understand in some small way, the protectiveness she feels. Yes, Sarah’s faith is smaller than it should be, but our faith is often smaller than it should be.

And yes, it might shock us that Sarah seems to care nothing about the welfare of Ishmael or Hagar. But to her, it is a question of survival and the protection of her own blood. Ishmael is not her blood – only Isaac is.

So Hagar and Ishmael are banished to the wilderness, although it seems to grieve Abraham deeply. He gets up early in the morning with her, gives her a skin of water and some bread, which he surely knows is not enough. And with some tenderness, but no real sense of responsibility, sends her on her way. He says goodbye to his son, probably not expecting to see him again.

We are told Hagar wanders about the wilderness, and we have to wonder about her state of mind. Does Hagar have any expectation that she and Ishmael will survive this journey?

In a way, Hagar is in a situation much like Sarah was before Isaac. A promise has been given, but it is hard to see how that promise can be fulfilled. How does faith sustain itself in a time and place like this? How do you hold on to hope in a hopeless place?

The book of Genesis doesn’t tell us much at all about Hagar. She wanders the wilderness until she runs out of water, then she leaves her child Ishmael in the shade and goes off a way from him, where she gives in to her grief. She cries out – and God hears. God hears Hagar and Ishmael and leads them to water.

We don’t get to know much of anything about Hagar from the book of Genesis – this is the last we hear of her. But Hagar plays a very important role in another religion: Islam. The story told in Islamic tradition is that Hagar did not just sit down and cry after running out of water. She ran up to the top of one mountain, As Safa, to see if there was anyone who could help her. Seeing no one, she ran down and then up a mountain opposite, Al Marwa, to see if there was anyone on that side. Hagar is said to have traced this path seven times, desperately seeking help, before she heard the voice of God speaking to her, guiding her to the source of water that would save Hagar and Ishmael and the generations to come.

Together, the two stories, from Genesis and from Islam, tell us something about survival and hope. Hagar could not save her son without God’s help. I believe she knew that. I think we all have had moments in life when we knew that without God’s help, we ourselves and our loved ones would be without hope. So we pray. We listen and look. We go out in search of what we need, for ourselves and our loved ones, because we believe, and we hope that, one way or another, God will provide. God will abide with us, wherever we are. God will be faithful to God’s promises. And for this we are grateful.

All thanks be to God.

 

Photo by NEOM on Unsplash

 

Creative Hospitality

Genesis 18:1-15

Once my mother forgot that she invited a guest for dinner. We were midway through our meal at the kitchen table when the doorbell rang. There he was, all dressed up and smiling, prepared to be a dinner guest.

My mother was acutely embarrassed, as well as panicked. But she reacted quickly. She immediately gathered us all together to go out to a nearby restaurant with our guest, as though she had planned it that way all along. For the first and only time in my life I was encouraged to eat a second dinner – a special treat. My mother was a delightful hostess all through the meal, and all was well. I always found it remarkable that she was able to recover so well and turn a near crisis into a very enjoyable evening.

This was an unusual experience, but actually, hospitality was an ordinary everyday thing for my mother. My mother was a generous host. She didn’t have much, but she was open-handed with what she had. One of the ways particularly memorable for me was through her work with young immigrant women. She opened our home to them as if they were family. She made sure they always felt loved and wanted and cared for in a strange land.

She always cared about her guests’ comfort, no matter who they were. She was positively scandalized if I ever forgot to offer a guest something to eat and drink. And she wouldn’t offer just anything – she paid attention to what her guests liked, and she would go out of her way to make sure they had it. It gave her pleasure to do so. She managed to treat her guests like royalty without ever making them feel self-conscious.

This was a kind of old-fashioned hospitality, maybe. Perhaps even Abrahamic hospitality.

The New Testament book of Hebrews encourages us to show hospitality to strangers because, in doing so, some have entertained angels. We have always understood that verse as a reference to this story of Abraham and Sarah.

In the first sentence of this story, we are told the Lord appeared to Abraham. The second sentence says there were three men. Then in the fourth sentence, Abraham addressed the three men as “my lord,” but in this case the term is simply one of respect. It certainly doesn’t seem as though Abraham knew he was standing in front of messengers of God. He just greeted them as travelers deserving of whatever he could offer them.

The moment he saw them, he immediately sprang into action and began over-functioning.  He told Sarah how to make bread, as if she needed him to do that. He personally selected a calf from the herd and instructed the servant to prepare it. They all moved as quickly as possible, because a simple snack was not going to cut it for Abraham. His guests deserved the best.

At last, they were enjoying the meal prepared for them, and Abraham was standing close by to be sure that his guests should want for nothing. Then we get our first glimpse of who they are and why they are there.

They say, “Where is your wife Sarah?” How do they know Sarah’s name?

They say, “In due time, Sarah will have a son.” In due time? How do they know that Sarah will have a child – a son even?

Sarah, standing at some distance behind the tent wall, laughed into her hand – quietly, politely, surely not wanting to offend these guests, but really – a child? Honestly.

The guests say, “Why did she laugh?” How do they know that Sarah laughed?

These strange travelers seem to know everything, which is a little jarring to me. But Abraham and Sarah don’t appear to be fazed by it. Perhaps they are not unaccustomed to meeting angels on the road – or perhaps it is just that the outrageous announcement they made has taken all the oxygen out of the room. 90-year-old Sarah is going to have a baby.

Of course, she laughed. In the previous chapter, Abraham fell on his face laughing at the suggestion his old wife Sarah should become pregnant. It’s just hard to believe – for both Abraham and Sarah. But the visitors say, “Is anything too wonderful, or too hard, for God?”

Is anything too hard for God?

That’s an interesting question, isn’t it? How do you want to answer that? Maybe you want to say that the correct answer is no, there is nothing too hard for God. And yet there are certain times and circumstances when it is very hard for you to believe it – that there are some things that really do seem too hard for God.

Neither Abraham nor Sarah found it easy to believe that God could give them a son at this stage of their lives. They had long ago stopped believing this was in the realm of possibility. Yet, neither one of them had an answer to these messengers’ very provocative announcement, and question: can anything be too hard for God?

In a little while, they would come to know the truth of it. Sarah would give birth to her son Isaac – whose name means laughter, by the way. He would be the long-delayed but finally delivered promise God made to Abraham. And he would give Sarah immense joy in her old age. Would any of this have happened if Abraham had failed to welcome these three strangers?

What if Abraham had ignored them and let them continue on their journey without any rest or refreshment? What if Abraham had shown no curiosity or care for who they were and what they needed? What if he had turned his back on them because they were not friend or family? How different would things be?

Science has shown us that something as minute as the flapping of a butterfly’s wings can lead to dramatic changes in weather patterns in a far time and place. How much might our small actions impact the world we live in? How can a small act of hospitality change the world?

When you think of hospitality, maybe you think of ladies in aprons with trays, but it’s so much more than that. To practice true hospitality is to open yourself to receiving someone just for who they are. And when you do this, you open yourself to receiving something you need.  And this is why hospitality is an act of creativity: because you find yourself playing a part in the ongoing creative work of the world, you find yourself getting involved in God’s business of making a way out of no way. And when you do you will always be surprised.

Maybe not as surprised as Abraham and Sarah were, but surprised.

We will never know, of course, if Abraham’s hospitality that day made a difference in the plans God had for their lives. It may very well be that this visit had nothing to do with the birth of Isaac. But it is interesting to take note of what happens at the end of this visit – in the next verses. Abraham walks out with the travelers as they resume their journey, kind of the way you might walk your guests out to their car, and here is where God chooses to confide in him certain plans for the city of Sodom.

Sodom had become a wicked place and God tells Abraham there is a plan to destroy it. Just wipe it off the face of the earth. Then Abraham does an extraordinary thing, something we might not have thought possible, except that it is written in the pages of the scriptures. Abraham persuades God to change God’s plan. He negotiates a different outcome.

And so it’s like this: Abraham opened his home, opened his heart, to three wayfaring strangers and he was given an opportunity to change the world.

If we are open to receiving, God will give us what we need. If we are open to taking part in it, God will make us partners in the ongoing creation of this world.

What do you have to give, and what, in return, do you need? Are you willing to give it? And are you open to receiving it?

 Photo by Stefan Vladimirov on Unsplash

  

Spoken into Creation

Genesis 1:1-2:4a

There is a restaurant in Austin Texas called El Arroyo. It has become famous, not for its food, but for its sign. Every day they put up some new witty saying – often reflecting an issue of the day, sometimes just weird and off-the-wall.  Like this one: There’s no way that “everybody” was Kung Fu fighting. 

Or: 90% of marriage is shouting “What” from different rooms.

Or this one: We all think we’re smart until we try to turn on someone else’s shower.

The sign has become a marketing bonanza for El Arroyo. They’re happy to sell you coasters, magnets, tea towels, Christmas ornaments with some of the cleverest sayings from over the years. It’s way more popular than the restaurant, and it caught my attention because, many years ago, I worked at the restaurant – for about five minutes.

I started working there as a waitress when I was in graduate school. I had worked in other restaurants before – I thought this job would be okay. But then I had a run-in with the manager. I was going about my work and suddenly she snapped at me so harshly I jumped. I didn’t respond to it very well; I called her the next day to give her my notice. She said don’t even bother to come back.

This was unfortunate because it could have gone so differently. It’s so easy to ask for something kindly rather than scream murderously.

And that is one of the things that struck me this week as I spent time with this creation story from Genesis 1. God speaks the world into existence – gently, gently.

Let there be light.  Let there be; it’s like a suggestion from the creator of the world, from the source of all wisdom. It’s as though God looked around at this formless, wet, dark, limitless void and out of pure goodness thought to do something about it. “Let us bring light into this void,” God said, because God is light.

Then God separated the light from the dark, giving order to the cycle of days. And God then tackled the waters. There is much to say about water.

Ancient people had a healthy fear of water. Water is a forceful thing, a chaotic thing – storms, floods, mudslides. People have always known that water has the power to give life, but also has the power, when unleashed, to take life.

The story imagines that God’s first act to tame the waters was to separate the waters into the water above and the water below. When these people looked up at the blue sky they imagined that it was all water, and that God had created a dome which protected us from the waters above. And the dome was called sky.

Then God turned back to the earth and gathered the waters together, organizing the wet and the dry, so plants would have a place to be and grow. In a similar way, God ordered the lights in the sky, separating day from night. Then God went about the business of creating life.

Creatures of all kinds, we are told, God says, let there be. The creatures that walk and creep upon the land, the creatures that fly in the sky, the creatures that swim in the seas – every kind, let there be. The rich diversity of life on this planet is God’s good intention of how it should be.

Finally, God created humankind. God spoke us into existence, saying “Let us create humankind in our image.” And God created them in God’s image; male and female, God created them in God’s image.

Notice that this is different from what we read in the second chapter, the second creation story about Adam and Eve. They are different stories, coming out of different traditions, each with its own purpose. The story of Adam and Eve, you might say, is the “Why Bad Things Happen to Good People,” version. The story we have before us today, the first story, is the grand, ordered narrative where God is at the center of it all, where God reveals the goodness that is God’s essence.

At every stage of creation, God declared God’s pleasure with it. “It is good.” And at the end, God said, “It is very good.” Then God rested.

And this is, perhaps, the most extraordinary thing of all. God rests, and the planets still spin. God rests, and the rains fall, the sun shines, day follows night, season follows season; plants, animals, and humans are born and live and grow and die, then new lives begin; and so it goes, on and on. And God rests.

This is not to say that God grew bored with the world and disengaged from it. The rest of the scriptures make very clear that God is deeply connected to us and the whole creation. Isn’t it fascinating, though, that God can let go? And that we, of course, are called to do the same.

As God rests, so should we. God made us as co-creators of this beautiful world along with God. And I assume we are to follow God’s lead. As God is gentle and kind, as God takes pleasure in the creation, so shall we.

The commandment that would come later says, “Remember the Sabbath and keep it holy.” We would do well to remember it.

We might remember the Sabbath as a statement of our inherent worth to God – a worth that is given to each one of us in equal measure. As I read this story of creation, I see it as a story of gift. God holds the world lightly, with grace and blessing, and takes sacred joy in this creation. How could we ever imagine that we should do any differently?

Hold it lightly, as God holds the creation lightly. Know that we are all, every one of us on this earth, created in God’s image. Hold it lightly, with an open hand, not a closed fist. We are all, every one of us, worthy.

Remember this as we hear the invitation to the table today. All are welcome, there is room enough for everyone.

Remember this throughout your week – as you go about your tasks and as you listen to the news. All have the right to food and shelter and human dignity.

God made this beautiful world with enough for us all. And we each have a hand in keeping it this way.

Let there be.

Photo by Rahul Pandit: https://www.pexels.com/photo/photo-of-person-s-hand-with-paint-colors-3893650/