September 11, 2022: Faith Story: She Laughed
Hebrews 11:1-2, 11-12 (TIB) & Genesis 18:1-12 & 21:1-7
Rev. Rhonda Blevins
September 11, 2022
Faith is the reality of all that is hoped for; faith is the proof of all that is unseen. Because of faith, our ancestors were approved by God.
By faith, Sarah received the ability to conceive, even though she was past childbearing age, for she thought that the One who had made the promise was worthy of trust. As a result of this faith, there came forth from one woman and one man, themselves as good as dead, descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky and the sands of the seashore.
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The Lord appeared to Abraham by the oaks of Mamre, as he sat at the entrance of his tent in the heat of the day. He looked up and saw three men standing near him. When he saw them, he ran from the tent entrance to meet them and bowed down to the ground. He said, “My lord, if I find favor with you, do not pass by your servant. Let a little water be brought, and wash your feet, and rest yourselves under the tree. Let me bring a little bread, that you may refresh yourselves, and after that you may pass on—since you have come to your servant.” So they said, “Do as you have said.” And Abraham hastened into the tent to Sarah and said, “Make ready quickly three measures of choice flour, knead it, and make cakes.” Abraham ran to the herd and took a calf, tender and good, and gave it to the servant, who hastened to prepare it. Then he took curds and milk and the calf that he had prepared and set it before them, and he stood by them under the tree while they ate. They said to him, “Where is your wife Sarah?” And he said, “There, in the tent.” Then one said, “I will surely return to you in due season, and your wife Sarah shall have a son.” And Sarah was listening at the tent entrance behind him. Now Abraham and Sarah were old, advanced in age; it had ceased to be with Sarah after the manner of women. So Sarah laughed to herself, saying, “After I have grown old, and my husband is old, shall I be fruitful?”
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The Lord dealt with Sarah as he had said, and the Lord did for Sarah as he had promised. Sarah conceived and bore Abraham a son in his old age, at the time of which God had spoken to him. Abraham gave the name Isaac to his son whom Sarah bore him. And Abraham circumcised his son Isaac when he was eight days old, as God had commanded him. Abraham was a hundred years old when his son Isaac was born to him. Now Sarah said, “God has brought laughter for me; everyone who hears will laugh with me.” And she said, “Who would ever have said to Abraham that Sarah would nurse children? Yet I have borne him a son in his old age.”
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Hello, my children. I’m your foremother, Sarah. Last week you sang a song with your children about your “Father Abraham” having many sons. I don’t have a song, but I might have had a little something to do with the “many sons” thing. As you young people like to say, “It takes two to tango.”
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
I’m here today to tell you my story. I want to tell you my story, my way—in a way that you will hear it. You see, in a patriarchal culture, women’s stories are often left untold. And if they’re told at all, they’re told through the lens of patriarchy.
But you? I think you can hear . . . really hear . . . my story. I might be wrong. I suppose we’ll see. Let’s begin, shall we?
I was born Sarai, daughter of Terah. You know who else is a child of Terah? Abram. That’s right. Abram is my half-brother, older than me by ten years. We have the same father, but different mothers. While I may know my dear mother’s name and why Abram has a different mother than me, you’ll never know. The story you have in your Bible doesn’t offer too many details about most women. (Patriarchy, of course.)
So is incest acceptable in my day, you may be wondering? Since my husband is also my half-brother? Well, in a nutshell, yes. Now, when Moses comes along, he’s going to change that (Leviticus 18:6). When people in your generation talk about “biblical family values” I have to laugh. “WHICH biblical family values?” I wonder. The incest? The rape? The polygamy? It’s all in there.
Back to my story.
I am quite a looker, a real “hottie.” And not just when I am a young thing, either. You think it’s a good thing to be beautiful? Don’t be too quick to assume.
So get this. When I am 65-years old, my husband hears a call from God to leave our home, to leave everything and everyone we know behind and go to a land that God will show him. “A land that God will show him?” How do you think I feel about this crazy plan? But I’m a woman. In a patriarchal culture. I have little agency. So yes, of course I go with him.
We finally arrive at the land called Canaan. Abram believes this to be the land God has promised him, so he builds an altar. But we can’t stay long because of a severe famine. So we journey toward Egypt.
Have you ever been a refugee? I don’t recommend it. As we are about to enter Egypt as refugees, Abram devises a plan. I’m going to read his exact quote from your Bible, and as I read, I want you to think about me—about how I might feel about his plan:
I know well that you are a woman beautiful in appearance, and when the Egyptians see you, they will say, “This is his wife”; then they will kill me, but they will let you live. Say you are my sister, so that it may go well with me because of you and that my life may be spared on your account. (Genesis 12:11-13)
So guess what happens? The Egyptians, indeed, find me beautiful. Yay. So I am taken. From your Bible again: “The woman” (that’s me they’re talking about) “was taken into Pharaoh’s house” (Genesis 12:15). Taken into Pharoah’s house. Taken into Pharoah’s bed. Taken. Given. And taken.
It works out pretty well for Abram. Pharoah gives him sheep, cattle, donkeys, camels and human slaves. Pharoah eventually gives me back, too, when he finds out I am Abram’s wife.
Do you get it? What it is like to be a woman in my day? Just . . . property?
Eventually Abram goes back to Canaan. He brings all of his accumulations along: his livestock, his slaves, his wife.
By this time, I am 75, maybe 76-years-old. And although God had promised Abram that he would have an heir, I have never been able to conceive. Abram is sad, angry, disappointed that he has no one to leave his stuff to. So I take matters into my own hands. I tell Abram he should take our slave, my handmaid, Hagar. I suggest that he try to impregnate her. So he does. Your Bible doesn’t call it rape. But if it looks like a skunk and smells like a skunk . . . (Yes, I realize I am complicit.)
Hagar is quite the fertile thing—she becomes pregnant with Abram’s child. Boy, does she think she’s something! Arrogant. Rude. She looks at me with contempt. She can give Abram something I cannot give him, and she knows it. She is starting to walk around as if she is the lady of the house, and I can’t take it anymore. I say things . . . I do things to her I’m not proud of. But she deserves it.
Then comes . . . Ishmael. Whoopee.
Now here’s a part of the story that will leave the men squirming.
Thirteen years after Ishmael was born, when Abram is 99-years-old, when I am 89-years-old, God changes our names. Abram is Abraham. I, Sarai, am now Sarah. God makes a promise to Abraham; God tells Abraham that I will give him a son. Me! Here are the exact words God says about me:
“I will bless her and also give you a son by her. I will bless her, and she shall give rise to nations; kings of peoples shall come from her.” Then Abraham fell on his face and laughed. (Genesis 17:16-17)
But his laughter doesn’t last long, because God also tells him that he and every male in the house must be circumcised. So they are. I told you you’d squirm, fellows.
Now here’s a fascinating story. There’s this time that three men—angels of God—visit us. I am listening to them talk to Abraham. They tell him I will have a son. Now remember, I am 89-years-old. I have been the “barren beauty” my whole life. And now? After all these years? After all the home remedies for fertility treatment? Month after month after month of trying, waiting, hoping. Now? At 89? Menopause so far back in the rear-view mirror that I can’t even see it. The idea of me giving birth at 89 is simply preposterous. So yes. I laugh. Just like Abraham did and no one complained. I laugh a cynic’s laugh.
That’s what broken dreams give you. Hopelessness. Jadedness. Cynicism. Laughter not borne of joy, but despair.
So yes, I laugh. Sue me.
As we continue on in our journey (you get that we are nomadic people, right?) we come to the land of a king named Abimelech. Abraham does that “She’s my sister,” thing again. So Abimelech takes me. This time I am taken into the house but not into the bed. God appears to King Abimelech in a dream and warns him not to “consummate the relationship,” revealing to him that I am Abraham’s wife. So he give me backs to Abraham. Taken. And promptly returned. (Would you like cash back or in-store credit?)
Not too long after that . . . you’re not going to believe this . . . I give birth to a baby boy! I am 90-year-old; Abraham is 100. I can’t help but laugh. But this time, it’s not hopelessness. It’s not the jaded laugh of a cynic. This laughter is borne of joy! We give our son the name, “Isaac,” which means, “laughter.” I can’t imagine a more appropriate name for our healthy baby boy.
Isaac. My blessed baby boy.
Ishmael. That slave-boy. Ishmael must not inherit the goods that rightfully belong to my precious Isaac. Ishmael and his mother must go.
I tell Abraham that he must banish them. I insist. So he does. Will they live? Will they die? What do I care so long as that slave-boy doesn’t receive my son’s inheritance?
Judge me if you will. What I did, I did for him. For Isaac. For my baby boy.
One more story I want to share with you, though I’m not a central character in this story. When Isaac is just a boy, Abraham believes God is calling him to sacrifice Isaac. I know that sounds barbaric to your 21st Century ears, but child sacrifice is common in my day. I don ‘t know about Abraham’s plan, or you can guess how I might react to it. Abraham takes Isaac on a trip. Abraham builds an altar with every intention to sacrifice Isaac, my sweet boy, to God. At the last moment, God provides a ram. Abraham sacrifices the ram instead of my son. Thus, the practice of child sacrifice meets its end among our tribe, the Hebrew people. No one is happier about that than me, Isaac’s mother.
I live to the ripe old age of 127. I have 37 years with my son. Abraham buries me at Hebron. You can visit my (supposed) tomb even to this day, the Tomb of the Patriarchs. The myth holds that Abraham is buried there with me, along with Isaac and Rebecca, and Jacob and Leah. The “Tomb of the Patriarchs” it is called.
The “matriarchs” are there too. Don’t forget about us.
And if, when you remember me, remember my laughter. Hopeless, cynical laughter that transformed into the laughter only joy can produce.
If there’s one thing I want you to know, it’s this: God is faithful to keep God’s promises. Even when it seems all hope is gone, even when the promise is inconceivable, God is there. God will make a way, even when no way seems possible.
That’s my story. Full of perfect imperfections. Faithfulness with a side helping of faithlessness. But in the end, I am counted faithful.
You will be too. You’ll see. It will all work out. Just trust God.
Everything will be alright, my child. Everything will be all right.