Genesis 18:1-15; 21:1-7
Sermon by the Rev. Caela Simmons Wood
September 17, 2023
Do most of us know the book Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by Judith Viorst? It’s a children’s picture book featuring a kid named Alexander. Poor dude wakes up with gum stuck in his hair, gets in trouble again and again at school, discovers his mom left his dessert out of his lunch bag, goes to the dentist and has a cavity….and on and on. You know the feeling, right? Like you wake up and keep stumbling through your day, all the while thinking, “Maybe I should just go back to bed and start this one over.”
I had a day like that this past week. Things were mostly okay during the morning rush. Got the kids off to school smoothly even though we were down an adult in our household because David wasn’t feeling well. Once the kids left, I suggested to David that he take a COVID test, just in case. And, sure enough, that little, faint pink line emerged. Right after that I realized one of the kids had forgotten something very important when getting out the door. Something that they had to have at school, so off I went to the school. When I got home I decided to whip up a batch of my favorite green smoothies, which I make in bulk. No sooner had the blender turned off than I spilled half of the 48 ounces of green liquid all over the counter.
I was texting a good friend about my horrible, no good, very bad day and ended with, “And also: I have to write a sermon about Abraham and Sarah today. I can’t stand this guy.”
As I explained to her why Abraham drives me batty, I may have typed some non-pulpit-appropriate words. After listening to my rant, my dear friend Rachael assured me that it’s important that we talk about the less-than-savory parts of the Bible together. She said, “It may not give you all the good feels, but it is the truth. And church is supposed to be the kind of place for that. You tell them your friend Rachael said she has faith in them that they can handle the truth.”
I don’t know if any of you brought popcorn with you to worship today, but pull up a chair and gather round for the uncensored story of Abraham and Sarah. Because my friend Rachael said it’s okay to share it.
The reading we heard today is just one small part of their story, which spans chapters 12-25 of Genesis. God has promised to richly bless Abraham - he will become a “father of many nations,” and in today’s reading we heard about the three messengers who brought the seemingly-impossible news of Sarah’s impending pregnancy, followed by the story of the birth of their son, Isaac.
This story is one of several in the Bible that I find exceedingly difficult to preach on because, first, it makes it seem as though the sole purpose of women is to produce heirs for their husbands, and second, miracle conception stories often ring hollow or cause great pain for those among us who have struggled with issues of infertility and miscarriage. Reason number one of many why this story is a doozy.
But that only scratches the surface of the complexities of Abraham and Sarah’s story. This week I sat down and read the whole thing from chapter 12 to chapter 25, paying close attention to Sarah, who, after-all, did not get her own Sunday School song about bearing many sons despite being the person who actually bore the sons. I digress.
Reading Genesis with an eye on Sarah is, quite honestly, heartbreaking. The pain in her story makes all of my no-good, horrible, very bad days pale by comparison.
She enters the story as Abrahams’s wife. We’re not told much else about her. God promises her husband that God will bless him and make a great nation of his descendents. Abraham leaves his home and travels to the land of Canaan with Sarah, spending time in Egypt along the way. When the couple enters Egypt Abram says to his wife, “Listen, I need you to do me a favor. Because you’re so beautiful, people here will want to kill me so they can take you for themselves. Pretend to be my sister so I don’t get hurt.”
We’re not told if Sarah agrees.
We are told that the Egyptian pharaoh does, indeed, find her beautiful and “takes her into his home.” We all know what that means, yes? And because of this, the pharaoh dealt kindly with Abraham.
So the guy trafficks his wife. He actually does this AGAIN, later. Twice he does this. I wish I were kidding but I’m not. I told you, he’s not my favorite. And we don’t know anything about how Sarah reacts to this. We aren’t told her side of the story at all. Furthermore, Sarah seems to be very alone in this story. She’s traveling with her husband and his nephew, Lot. We aren’t told of other women in their group. We don’t know if she had friends or sisters or neighbors to help her bear her pain.
Fast forward a few years and we learn that Sarah isn’t the only woman in their household any more. We learn that there is an enslaved woman named Hagar living with them. Since Sarah has been unable to conceive, she suggests to Abraham that he might use Hagar to produce an heir. Books have been written about Hagar’s sad story and the pain she experiences. I’m struck by the way hurt people hurt people - Sarah is trafficked by Abraham and now she does the same to Hagar.
Hagar does conceive and she gives birth to a boy named Ishmael, which means “God hears.” But we all know that bringing a baby into the mix doesn’t fix a dysfunctional family, and it turns out this one is no different. Sarah and Hagar are now at odds now - arguing and snipping at each other. Eventually, Hagar is even sent away treated as the disposable property her owners seem to think she is.
Not too long after this, God speaks to Abraham again and clarifies that he will have more children. He’s going to have a son with Sarah and the son will be named Isaac. We aren’t told whether Abraham shares this news with his wife or not. Or whether God speaks to Sarah or not.
And then, one day when Abraham is sitting by the oaks of Mamre, he receives three visitors. While they are talking, one of them tells him, again, that his wife, Sarah, is going to give birth to a son. This time, though, Sarah overhears the news. Standing at the door to the tent, she laughs to herself. Interestingly, the narrator of this story tells us she’s laughing because she’s past menopause and no longer able to conceive. But Sarah, herself, says that she’s laughing because she and her husband are both old and she is no longer able to experience pleasure.
Which makes me wonder just, where in her life, exactly, Sarah HAS found pleasure. Did she love to feel the warmth of the sun on her shoulders as a little girl? Did she have a friend that she whispered secrets with as a young woman? Was there a time when Abraham treated her well? Had there been love between them at some point, despite all the pain?
We aren’t told. We’re only told that she’s certain she won’t find any pleasure in Abraham’s arms at this point in her life.
And we aren’t told how she laughs, exactly. Was it a shocked laugh that slipped out? A giggle of joy because she was giddy with the promise of new life? A laugh of derision because she’d had so very many terrible, horrible, no-good-very-bad days in the past and why should today be any different? We don’t know.
But the messengers are correct. Sarah does, in fact, conceive and bear a son. The narrator is silent on the subject of her pleasure. Except this: she does seem to take pleasure in the birth of her child. He is named Isaac, just as God instructed. A name that means “laughter.” Sarah says Isaac has brought her laughter and now everyone can laugh alongside her - this old woman who has done this seemingly-impossible thing.
Rev. Dr. Safwat Marzouk says that the story of Isaac’s birth is all about three things: questions, laughter, and wonder. [1] Sarah is bold enough to question God’s plans and even laugh about them. Rather than suppress her laughter, she offers it up as a form of protest. Marzouk says Sarah transgresses social and theological norms in this story. She’s not afraid to speak of her own pleasure. She’s not afraid to laugh and question God.
He explains, “Sarah’s laughter, which seems to have irritated God, is not a sign of doubt. Instead, it is a sign of this woman’s ability to protest. Marginalized people sometimes confront the systems from their liminal spaces by making jokes…Laughing to herself she is privately trying to make sense of what does not make sense about this promise…” [1]
Sarah’s questioning and laughter eventually makes way for a sense of wonder and awe. Holding her impossible-seeming son in her arms she invites others to join her in this space of wonder. “God has brought laughter for me; now everyone who hears will laugh with me.”
For all the messiness and pain in her story, Sarah is given this one brief moment of shining joy. And for that, I am deeply grateful.
Don’t you just WISH someone had written her story through her eyes? What a story it must have been. Instead, we’re stuck with snippets here and there, a woman who is never truly fleshed out, but treated more as an object and accessory. Despite the original authors’ best efforts to flatten her into a two-dimensional character, her laughter still leaps off the page. However you hear it - deep belly laugh, tiny giggle, snarky snort - her laughter was not able to be contained.
In Sarah’s story I hear the good news that God is with those who laugh, those who question, those who are pushed to the margins, reduced to objects. In all of her days - the good, the bad, the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad, and everything in between - Sarah was never abandoned by God.
Our God does not abandon messy families or those stuck in way-less-than-perfect unions. Our God does not forget those who are standing on the sidelines, barely visible through tent flaps. Our God is big enough to handle questions and outright laughter. Our God is not scared away by the mess of our lives. Our God does not leave us alone in the muck and mire.
Thanks be to God of Sarah. Amen.
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