Father Abraham’s Other Children
a sermon based on Genesis 21:8-21
by Rev.
Randy L Quinn
When we first read this
story, we may not realize that it is really setting the stage for one of
many stories of sibling rivalry, stories that are frequently initiated
by parents who have favorites and make those preferences be known.
In that sense, our story
today can be portrayed as the story of every sibling rivalry there has
ever been – from Cain and Abel to Jacob and Esau, from Joseph and his
brothers to the children of King David, from the Winchester and McLouth
United Methodist Churches to the European Union members who are
contesting their own constitution.
This is our story. The
only question is which child do we think we are?
I suppose anyone who has a
sibling can name at least one point at which there was a feeling of
unequal treatment. We often have a perception of favoritism; a
perception that may affect what we think is reality. But the truth of
most sibling rivalries, as any parent knows, is that we love our
children differently because each child is different. That does not
mean we necessarily love one more than or less than another one.
In one church where I
served, there was a family that had two sons. In a well-rehearsed
“public” argument, the younger one would frequently say to his brother,
“Mom loves me the most;” to which his brother would retort, “But she has
loved me longer.”
Clearly both knew they
were loved, and their rivalry had become a game, a joke that their
mother endured – and to some extent enjoyed. (I wondered at times if
she didn’t start the joke as a way of easing the sibling rivalry.)
In another church where I
served, I first met family members in the hospital room of a dying
grandparent. The daughter was there with one of the granddaughters. It
was the granddaughter who told me she was an only child. (And her
mother informed me that she had four daughters who each think they are
an only child.)
I came to understand what
she meant as I saw how each child had a unique relationship with their
mother – but their relationships with one another were more like friends
and acquaintances than siblings. I wasn’t sure how healthy it was, but
again, there was no doubt about the love of their mother.
Our text tells the story
of the rivalry between Abraham’s firstborn son, Ishmael and Sarah’s
firstborn son, Isaac, two sons who seemingly get along fine until the
parents intervene (Gen. 21:9).
Ishmael is the oldest. He
is the firstborn of Abraham. He inherits the promise of God – the
promise of a great nation (Gen. 21:18).
And so does Isaac.
Sarah, however, believes
that God’s love has a limit. Hers is the common pattern of thinking
some refer to as a “scarcity mentality” – and to protect her share (or
at least her son’s share) – she must exile any other recipient of that
limited love.
So Hagar is expelled.
Ishmael is cut off.
There can be no doubt that
this story is a difficult one to understand. Sarah’s jealousy is
seemingly condoned by God as Abraham is directed to “do as she said”
(Gen. 21:12).
And while we more often
share her scarcity mentality rather than seeing the world with a
mentality of abundance, it’s still hard for us to imagine how Sarah
could be so rude, so mean, so hateful. It’s even harder to understand
why God lets her get away with it!
Not only that, it’s
confusing when read alongside the Muslim understanding of this story.
In the Qur’an, the Holy book of the Islamic faith that was written by
Mohammed in the 7th Century, this story is told from a
different perspective, from the perspective of the descendents of
Ishmael, the “other” sibling.
In their telling of the
story, the angel Gabriel leads Abraham, Hagar, and Ishmael into the
desert. They end up in what is now known as “Mecca” where Hagar runs
between the hills of Safa and Morwah seven times, praying and crying out
in desperation. Finally Gabriel stomps his foot and water appears.
This story of God’s
provision of water in the middle of the desert is reenacted each year by
Muslims around the world during the great Hajj. (It really is a
remarkable event in which literally millions of people run between the
hills before praying together a prayer of thanksgiving for God’s
faithfulness and then drinking from the same well.)
For those who claim
Mohammed as the Great Prophet, this is a story of formation, the
beginning of the story of faith in the One God who was revealed to Hagar
and Ishmael.
And while it may be argued
that every culture tends to create legends and lore to support their own
perspective, the truth is that even from our own scripture, we can see
that this really is a story of amazing grace.
This is a story that ought
to cheer our hearts rather than confuse us. It offers us all reason to
give a sigh of relief: Hagar and Ishmael, the outcasts, the dejected,
the despised – the exiles who are no longer considered a part of the
Jewish people – can call on God and find relief.
The key, I suppose is in
the subtleties of the story. Ishmael’s name means “God hears.” God
listens to his cry for help and God holds out the same promise to him
that he offers to Isaac.
No matter who you are, no
matter what your story, that is good news.
This is a story that
offers hope to anyone who has a family member who is not a part of the
faith community. This is a story that celebrates God’s universal love –
a love that knows no limits.
Jews and Muslims,
Christians and Pagans are all loved by God. Even the outcast who cries
out to an unknown God can find sustenance.
So I guess it depends upon
which part of this story resonates with our own story.
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No matter which of God’s siblings you claim as the “father
of your faith,” God’s love and promises are extended to you.
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If we have ever been the outcast, this story is one of
hope.
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And what happens when we have been the ones who have cast
out others? Even then, God offers forgiveness.
Whichever way we read it,
then, this story is a story of grace.
No matter what other
people may think, this text reminds us that God’s universal love is
given freely to all people.
God hears. God listens.
God provides.
Thanks be to God.
Amen
