Sermon: Reckless Sower (July 16, 2017)

Pentecost 6A/Lectionary 15

July 16, 2017

Matthew 13:1-9, 13-18

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

            I’ll admit it: I have garden envy. One thing I love about summer, especially in my neighborhood, is walking around and looking at all the beautiful blooming things. And I envy so many of them. I long to have such a beautiful garden! To have the eye to know what to plant and where, and then to have the knowledge and skill to plant it and make it grow so lusciously. But alas: my thumb is not green. Even the lowest-maintenance of plants, I’m just not great at keeping them alive and looking nice.

            It seems like it should be easy: just dig a hole, put the seed in, water, and be delighted! But apparently there is a lot more to it than that. You have to prepare the soil. You have to pull out the weeds and debris, and add nutrients, and plant the seeds at the right depth. You have to water the right amount, and put them where they get the right amount of light. If you want seeds to thrive, they need all the elements in place, including well-prepared soil.

            Any good gardener knows this. So it’s surprising, then, that the sower in the parable Jesus tells today seems to have no regard for the quality of soil where he plants the seeds! Totally reckless, no forethought, no preparation, just tossing seeds here, there and everywhere. And the result? Three quarters of the seeds don’t fall on fertile soil, and are scorched by the sun, or eaten by birds, or choked by thorns. Not much foresight there, Sower.

            I mean we, today – we know how to prepare for things. Businesses do a demographic study of an area before they plant a store there. Church mission starts also study an area, knock on doors, explore needs, before deciding to start a church. You want to have a sense that you are filling a need, serving a purpose… not to mention be successful! This lack of preparation that the sower is guilty of… that wouldn’t fly in today’s world.

            Not to mention the recklessness! Throwing seeds willy-nilly. It’s just not responsible. Since I was a kid, I have been so careful about not wasting things, and keeping things in case I might need them later. I remember for one birthday a friend gave me a package of clay that came with instructions for how to make

Van Gogh

pottery based on Native American designs. It even came with some black paint so I could do designs on the side. Such a cool gift! I was delighted. But every time I looked at the package of clay in my closet, I thought, “No, not today. I might mess up, and then I will have wasted it. I should save it for a time when I am sure I will be able to make something beautiful with it. If I use it now, then I won’t have it anymore, and then I’ll be sad later that I was so reckless to use this before I was really ready to get everything out of it that I could.” See – I was careful, thoughtful, and I thought ahead. Not like this sower in the parable.

            Well, I’d love to say my thoughtfulness, care and foresight served me in the end. But guess what happened to that clay, that lovely, interesting gift from my friend? I kept it – for years, until I was too old to really enjoy it anymore, and then a little longer in case my interest might return… until the clay dried up and became worthless to me. I ended up throwing it in the garbage one day many years later. I never got to enjoy it.

            How much of life passes us by like that? How many opportunities do we miss because we are afraid of not doing it right, because we are waiting for the perfect time, and want to make sure we are absolutely prepared? How many of us need to make sure the proverbial soil is perfectly tilled before we take any risks and try to make anything grow?

There are many ways to enter this parable. We can think of ourselves as the sower, being sent out to spread the good news to others. We can think of ourselves as the seed, that is being spread upon the world. But my favorite way to understand this well-known parable is to think of ourselves as the soil, and God as the sower. But – we’re not always the good soil. At least I’m not. Just as I sometimes miss opportunities to share the good news with others, I have also missed opportunities to let myself hear the good news. My guess is I’m not alone in this. Sometimes it is hard to hear and receive God’s Word, because our hearts have been hardened and burned too many times before, and we’re not in a place to receive the good news of God’s grace. Or sometimes we hear God’s Word, but quickly let it be choked out by other things that seem more important in the moment, or by our own preferences or fears. Or we hear it, but ignore it and let it be overcome by the elements and the ways of the world.

It’s a good thing, then, that the sower so recklessly spreads seed, even on the bad, unprepared soil – so that if we miss it the first time, we will still have another chance. This parable, you see – it is a parable of abundance. It is a story about a God who throws seed out to all different kinds of soil – not because God is a bad gardener who doesn’t understand about tilling and fertilizer, but because God knows that all of that seed will do some good. The seed that gets eaten up by birds – at least it is feeding the birds! The seed that gets thrown among thorns – it is fertilizing the soil for future harvest.

And the seed that lands on good soil – that not only grows and thrives, but is an abundance beyond our understanding! A good harvest is one that yields between seven and ten-fold. Jesus tells his disciples that the seed that fell on good soil yielded 30 times, 60 times, even 100 times! Surely the farmers in the audience were laughing at his absurdity – it is impossible! But God’s grace IS absurd. It often makes little sense, is not at all the way we would do things, and certainly is not, in any reasonable mind, the “best” or most efficient way to do something.

But you see, what is impossible and unreasonable with humans is possible and effective with God. Because our God is one of abundance – who throws seeds everywhere without counting the cost, who doesn’t worry that some of those seeds may not do a bit of good, and some will do good that we didn’t expect; a God who knows that some of those seeds will yield a crop that is lavishly beyond human comprehension. With God, there is always enough. There is always more than enough.

That story I told about my clay… I think I got that for my 7^th birthday, and it has stuck with me for 27 years since, probably because in some ways I am still that cautious little girl who wants to be sure she has what she needs when she needs it. But I wonder: what if I received God’s abundant grace the same way I received that gift of clay? Admiring God’s grace in its package – bread and wine, water in a font, a baby in a manger, a man on a cross – and understanding what a great gift it is… but never willing to actually delve into it and experience the joy it brings. Unwilling to take it and touch it and use it, lest I use it up and then not have it when I need it. Concerned that I might mess it up if I get too invested in it, and so content simply to admire it from afar. What if that was how we viewed God’s grace?

Thanks be to God, that is not how grace works. Our God, the Sower, is a reckless God of abundance, lavishly spreading grace and love upon the world. Some will receive it with joy, and yield an absurd amount more. Some will not be ready to receive it – yet. But the seed keeps coming. The grace keeps coming. It never runs out, and it is never wasted. It may not make sense to us, but that is the way of our abundant God of grace.

Let us pray… Reckless Sower, you never run out of grace for us. Make our hearts good soil, ready to receive your Word, and to share your lavish abundance with the world. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: Christ's yoke and discerning God's will (July 9, 2017)

Pentecost 5A/Lectionary 14

July 9, 2017

Matthew 11:16-19

Romans 7:15-25a

Genesis 24

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

            In today’s story from Genesis, we hear about how Abraham found a wife for his son Isaac. You see, Sarah had just died, so Abraham was probably thinking, “Man, if this whole ‘great nation’ thing that God talked about is going to happen, Isaac’s gotta get busy having some kids, and to have kids, he needs a wife!” So he sends his servant back to Abraham’s home country to find a wife for Isaac. The servant has some concerns about this, namely, why would some young woman come with him to some far-off land to marry some guy she knows nothing about? So he comes up with this idea. “If a woman offers me a drink of water from the well,” he says, “AND also offers some to my camels, then I’ll know she is the one!” This way, he thinks, he will know God’s will.

Have you ever used such a tactic to figure out what God wants you to do? Like, “Heads I take the job, tails I don’t.” Or, “If tomorrow it rains, I’ll take it as a sign that God wants me to do such-and-such.” This tactic worked well for Abraham’s servant in his quest to find a wife for Isaac: the very first woman who comes to the well is not only gorgeous, but also fulfills every qualification, and passes every “test” that the servant had in mind, and so naturally, the woman, Rebekah, is also willing to follow him back to Abraham and to Isaac, and God’s promise can continue.

Well, it worked for him, but it’s certainly not a foolproof way for us to discern God’s will, is it? Because too often, Paul’s words in his letter to the Romans come into play. “I do not understand my own actions,” he writes. “For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.” In other words, despite our best intentions, and our knowledge of what is the right thing to do, our sinful nature is always wriggling its way into our decision-making. So when I try to use Abraham’s servant’s idea for making decisions, I see “signs” pointing toward what I would like to be the case as signs from God, and dismiss signs that point me toward something that makes me uneasy or uncomfortable, or things I downright don’t want to be true, as mere coincidence. Anyone else guilty of that? I always prefer that God would agree with me and my will, than have to adjust my attitude or my thinking or my acting to go along with God’s will! So if I can find things that make me believe that God’s will and mine are in agreement, then all the better.

Yes, I see the fault here, or at least, the potential for fault. So the question becomes: what IS a good way to discern God’s will? Because this is one of our most pressing spiritual questions, isn’t it? I don’t just mean about the big decisions of our lives – whether to take a new job, or get married, or have kids, or move into assisted living. Certainly we need God’s guidance on those decisions, too, but we need help even on the more mundane things. Should I give $1, $5, or nothing to United Way when I check out at Wegmans? Am I voting for the right people or ideas? Am I fighting for the right things? Am I devoting my energy to the right things?

For me, this is especially the case lately, as I look around the world at all the things that are not as they should be: sick people without adequate health care, people who work full time (even multiple jobs) and yet still are unable to reliably put food on the table for their family, veterans who are not cared for, children who don’t have the support they need to thrive, faithful people who are persecuted for worshipping God in the way they know how, people who are mocked and bullied simply for being the beautiful creatures God made them to be, an earth that is commodified, taken for granted and trampled upon for the sake of profit. All these things I care so much about – but what am I supposed to do? How do I know the best solutions, and what role is God calling me to take in those solutions? Where is the balance of serving the needs of the broader world, and serving the needs of my family? What is God’s idea for the future of the congregations I serve, and what role do I play in that? How do I, and how do we, discern God’s will for our lives, and how do we act on it?

So many questions to discern! And then, even if we do successfully discern God’s will, we are still susceptible to “doing the very thing we hate,” because, well, we are in bondage to sin and cannot free ourselves. But there must be some way at least to get a little closer not only to knowing God’s will, but to actually doing it?

I find our Gospel lesson today offers a helpful image for the task of

discernment. It’s in that very famous and well-loved line at the end: “Come to me all you that are weary and carrying heavy burdens,” Jesus says, “and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” I have long been fascinated by this image: how is it that Jesus can promise rest for our souls when in fact, a yoke is something used for a work animal? What does that even mean to say Jesus’ yoke is easy? I’ve seen how hard those animals work – that doesn’t look easy to me!

            But that’s how discernment can be sometimes, can’t it? It is not easy. It is hard work, work that requires reading and listening and praying and perhaps talking to trusted people. What is helpful about Jesus’ yoke as a discernment image is this: you cannot be yoked alone. A yoke brings two together, to share the load. And in the case of Jesus’ yoke, of course, you are sharing the load with Jesus. And Jesus is walking alongside us all along the way.

So as we discern that question, “What does God want from me right now?” this image urges us to consider it right alongside Jesus. That is, we read scripture, we pray, we talk to other Christians who will push and question and challenge us to think things through. As we make big decisions, whether that is in personal life decisions, or in forming our opinions about the various issues the world and our communities are facing and acting accordingly, we must look at the words and teachings of Jesus, and ask ourselves, “Where would Jesus guide me on this? If Jesus were in my position, which way would he go?” Because the fact of this image is: Jesus is in your position. You are yoked with him. Where you go, he goes – or perhaps better, where he goes, as long as you are yoked, you go, too.

            But here is something else important to know about this yoke image. Jesus was speaking to a community of Jews who were feeling exceptionally burdened by Mosaic Law, and its 600-some laws that they were required to follow. Imagine having to keep all of that straight, and living in the constant fear of slipping up! But along comes Jesus and he condenses all those laws to essentially two commands: love the Lord your God with all you have, and love your neighbor. It’s simpler, yes, but certainly not any easier to love in so open and undiscriminating manner as Jesus, who spent all his time with the sinning-est of sinners! Still, with Jesus’ interpretation of the law, every action can be filtered through the same question: is this action in the best interest of my neighbor? Does this action, or viewpoint, or vote, or opinion, or word, show the sort of love to my neighbor that Christ himself would show? If we are truly yoked to Christ, we must be in step with him!

            But at the end of the day, the reason Christ’s yoke is easy, and we will find rest in it, is that his yoke is one of grace. Yoked to Christ, our salvation does not depend upon upholding the letter of the law. It depends not on our actions, but on Christ’s action – his action to die for our sins and rise again to bring us into new life with him. And because of that grace, suddenly being in step with our God of love and service to neighbor becomes not just easy, but a joy, because we are living into the gracious love shown to us by our Savior.

            Come to Christ, you who are weary from the weight of the world, and carrying the heavy burdens of your decisions, and Christ will give you rest. When you take his yoke upon you, you will learn from him: learn what it means to love your neighbor without counting the cost. Christ is gentle and humble in heart, willing to serve even the lowest and most despised, the weakest, the least popular. In loving these, you will find rest for your souls. Christ’s yoke is easy, for it makes the burden of sin light. Take Christ’s yoke upon you, and you will live in the joy of God’s love and grace.

            Let us pray… God of wisdom, you not only guide us when we have decisions to make, but you also walk right alongside us all along the way. Help us always to be attuned to your will, always to have our neighbor’s well-being in the forefront of our minds, and then to follow through on what you would have us do. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: What a Christian welcome looks like (July 2, 2017)

Pentecost 4A

July 2, 2017

Matthew 10:42-44

Genesis 22:1-14

            “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses, yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore, Send these, the homeless, tempest tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door.”

            Anyone recognize that poem? It is the inscription on the Statue of Liberty. This world-famous statue was a gift to the United States from France, meant to commemorate the alliance of France and the US during the American Revolution. The gift was also given by France in hopes that France, too, would someday be able to attain a government in which people’s natural rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness would be embraced, as they were in the United States. For 130 years, “Lady Liberty” has stood on Liberty Island in Manhattan, welcoming immigrants coming by boat – it was the first glimpse they saw of America, and of the hopes and dreams they believed rested in our great country. The torch, lifted high, would light the path to freedom, to hope, to liberty, to new starts, to all the ideals on which America was built.

            And what a beautiful welcome she offered – not to the educated, the rich, the accomplished, but to those listed on that beautiful inscription: the tired, the poor, those yearning to breathe free, the “wretched refuse of your teeming shore,” the homeless, those tossed about by storm upon storm – in short, those who sought a better life than the one they had.

            The statue and what she stands for was meant to be a tribute to and a celebration of Enlightenment ideals. But the welcome offered by this inscription could have come right out of the mouth of Jesus. All throughout the Bible we see and hear the same thing: welcome the stranger, care for the poor, heal the sick. Jesus reaches out to all those “wretched refuse” – people of different faiths, different genders, different races, different abilities (Gentiles, women, Samaritans, lepers) – all those people that good, respectable Jews would have nothing to do with. He reached out to them to heal them, and even, to make them his disciples.

            Today, in our Gospel reading, Jesus is now equipping and instructing some of those very same “wretched refuse” to bring his message to others. In the past weeks we have heard the earlier part of his instruction, telling them not to pack anything, but rather, to rely on the hospitality of strangers. He warns them that their work on his behalf could bring division in their own families. In this closing section, he offers what maybe is supposed to be an assurance: that when someone welcomes them, it is like welcoming Christ himself. I’m not sure how much assurance that would offer me, though. Putting yourself at the mercy of strangers is pretty risky. It’s one thing to go to someone’s house when they’ve invited you, where the risks may include having to listen to music you don’t like, or eating unfamiliar food, but to rely for all your basic needs on the hospitality of people you’ve never even met, people who may reject your beliefs and what you stand for, people’s whose history you don’t know… that’s about as risky as it gets.

            But I’m not sure which is riskier – that, or being the people who will be doing the welcoming. As I’ve reflected on this text this week, I have tried to put myself in both positions: the position of the ones Jesus is talking to, who are to rely on the welcomer, and the position of the one reading this 2000 years later, who may be the one called upon to welcome a stranger, to welcome someone I might call tired, poor, homeless, tempest-tossed, even, “wretched refuse” – to welcome them into my home, my church, my town, my country.

            That’s pretty scary stuff. We don’t really know what we’re getting into by extending that welcome. If we were the ones whose doors got knocked on by some dirty, tired stranger claiming some guy, Jesus, whom we’d never heard of, was Lord… would we let them in? Would we offer them a cup of cold water? They could steal from us, or hurt us. They could challenge our beliefs. They could say something that doesn’t jibe with how we see and understand the world. And all of these things can be very threatening.

            And yet, it is these, these ones who offer the welcome to the stranger, about whom Jesus says, “none of these will lose their reward,” and that indeed, they will be welcoming Christ himself into their home and into their hearts.

            Yes, it is the faithful thing to do – to welcome without counting the cost, to see Christ in our neighbors, even those who are strangers about whom we are skeptical. It is faithful, but it is not without risk.

But who ever said faith was without risk? Man, you don’t have to look any further than our Old Testament reading today! The sacrifice of Isaac has never been a favorite story of mine, and all the less so now that I have a son named Isaac! To imagine that God would call Abraham to sacrifice his own son! We talked

Sacrifice of Isaac, Marc Chagal
http://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=54647

last week about how faith means loving God with heart and soul and mind and strength, even more than our families, but this is a bit extreme, no? Of course, God doesn’t make Abraham go through with it, which is a relief (though just imagine the lasting trauma of the event, for both parties!). But the point is that trusting God means that we listen to God in all things, and in all ways try to follow God’s command – even if it puts us or our loved ones in danger.

            Or maybe better is, the point is that our faith may call us into risky or dangerous positions, but at the end of the day, God will provide: God will provide the ram, a conversation partner, a new perspective on our old views, a lesson in faith, a deeper relationship with God – and finally and most importantly, God will provide forgiveness of sins and life everlasting through the sacrifice of God’s own Son, Jesus Christ.

            Stephen Bouman was our speaker at Synod Assembly this year. He loves to tell this story: When Steve was just 8 years old, he and his grandpa went fishing. They stood there in silence, as fishermen often do, until suddenly his grandpa turned to him and blurted out, “The only death you ever have to fear is behind you in your baptism.” Then he smiled, and returned to his fishing in silence. Young Steve stood there, stunned, unsure of what to make of this outburst. Many years later, in 2001, when Steve served as the bishop of the Metro NY Synod, he thought of this, as he stood at Ground Zero and watched first responders running into the collapsed buildings to save people. He thought of it as he anointed their heads with oil in the sign of the cross, a recollection of their own baptism as they ran toward what may very well be their death. The only death we ever have to fear is behind us in our baptism. It is this assurance that makes it possible to have faith and to trust God.

            The Statue of Liberty promised to many immigrants over the years that new life, liberty and freedom were possible in this land called America. But we who believe in Christ know that true freedom comes in the trust of God’s providence. It comes in the knowledge that Christ died for us and rose again so that we need not fear the grave, so that we could trust that the only death we have to fear is behind us in our baptism, when we were welcomed into the death, and into the life of Christ.

So let us step out in faith, sisters and brothers in Christ. What in our lives and in this world requires our faith and our trust in the providence of our living God? What tired, poor, homeless, and wretched refuse of the world need a cold cup of water, or the promise of new life? Let us welcome them in the name of Christ, trusting that when we welcome them, we welcome also Christ himself.

Let us pray… Life-giving God, you have shown us from the beginning that faith requires all of our hearts, souls, minds, and strength, and you have also shown us that when we give everything we have, you provide everything we need. Help us to trust your promise as we seek to serve the tired, poor, and homeless in need of help. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: God who sees and hears (June 25, 2017)

Pentecost 3A

June 25, 2017

Genesis 22:1-14

Matthew 10:40-42

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

            Families. They can be such a joy for us, offering us safety, protection, and love. Many of us name family as that which is most important to us, that which brings us more joy than anything else on this earth. Families can certainly be a blessing.

            Unless, of course, they aren’t. Some, when they think of their family, don’t think of words like, “safety, protection, and love,” but rather, their opposites: abuse, instability, disfunction. Even if you have an overall pretty good, stable family, there may still be some dark spot: an estranged sibling, an emotionally abusive parent, a grown child who never calls. Or it may be that the sheer amount of love you have for one another causes its own problems: anyone whose children live far away, or who married someone whose family lives in a different state and has to navigate who goes where for what holiday ought to know this!

            Yes, families are complicated. Some of us, when we read Jesus’ difficult words in our gospel today, think, “No way, I would never turn against my mother/father/son/daughter. Nothing could make me do that.” Others may say, “Yeah, I could see that. In fact, I have seen that.” It is interesting, I think, when people refer to their congregation as a “family church,” because while that has a positive connotation for many, it could just as easily have the opposite effect on someone for whom family has not been a place of safety, stability, and comfort. It could bring up memories of being excluded, trampled on, held to impossible standards, or forced to fill a role you don’t want to fill.

            This summer, we will be reading through the book of Genesis, a book full of stories about the complexity of family relationships. Two weeks ago, we heard the creation story, including the creation of the first human family, Adam and Eve. How lovely it was in the Garden of Eden… until it wasn’t. Eve gives birth to Cain and Abel, and then… out of jealousy, Cain kills Abel. Ladies and gentlemen: the first biblical family. What a start! Last week we heard the story of the birth of Isaac, the long awaited son of Sarah and Abraham. But this birth didn’t come without plenty of family angst. Abraham and Sarah were so old and had not yet received the child God kept promising them. In desperation, Sarah takes matters into her own hands, and gives Abraham her Egyptian servant-girl, Hagar, who conceives. But the idea backfires: Sarah is consumed by her jealousy: her husband lay with another woman, who was then able to give him what she could not! In her jealousy, she chases Hagar away.

            Now a part we didn’t hear last week. I said last week that I find scripture most meaningful when I can find my own story in the biblical story. This is the part of Hagar’s story where I am first able to see some of my own story. Hagar finds herself in the wilderness, pregnant and alone. She was driven there by someone apparently chosen by God, someone who asked a favor of her, and when she came through on that favor, she was punished for it. She was blamed instead

of rewarded – as Sarah told Abraham, “Hagar looks on me with contempt!” When Sarah took her rage out on Hagar, Hagar bolted; she was no longer safe in that place, emotionally or possibly even physically. Out there in the wilderness, Hagar begins to doubt herself, begins to imagine that this was, indeed, all her fault. Had she looked with contempt on Sarah? She must have. After all, Sarah was the chosen one, not her. Now with a baby in her belly, she feels all the worse, for not being able to care for this child God has gifted to her. Out in the wilderness, there is no one to stop her downward spiral into self-hate.

Any of that sound familiar? Does it describe any of your own wilderness experiences? It does mine! The good news, though, is I also see myself in the next part. You see, God doesn’t leave her there. In her anguish, God comes to her. God tells her she is a part of God’s plan, and must return to this difficult situation because God has called her there. God promises her that the child in her belly will also be a great nation, that she and he both will be taken care of. No, this child is not the chosen one, but he is, nonetheless, a treasured one. In this moment of promise, what touches Hagar is the mere fact that: God has seen her. In fact, at this point, Hagar becomes the only person in the Bible to name God: El-roi, God who sees me. God has not left her alone: El-Roi sees her and loves her. She returns to Abraham and Sarah.

            Back to our text for today. Fast forward 15 years or so, and Isaac, son of Sarah, has been born and is being celebrated. True to his name, which means laughter, he is giggling away, playing with his older half-brother. Hagar has continued to live in Abraham’s household, along with Abraham’s eldest son – a blended family if ever there was one! But Sarah has never gotten over her jealousy. She sees the boys playing, and feels that familiar ache in her stomach – she sees the boy as a threat to the son she gave to Abraham. In yet another rage, she tells Abraham, “I want her out of here. Both of them – send them out. I don’t want to see them anymore.” Abraham is distressed (this is his son, after all!) but God tells him, “Go ahead, Abe. Do as she said. I’ve got this taken care of.” And so Abraham, showing minimal compassion, sends Hagar and her son (his son!) off once again to the wilderness with only a loaf of bread and some water, to fend for themselves.

            Once again, Hagar finds herself in the desperation of the wilderness. Her family, the father of her own child, had done this, claiming it as a moment of faithful action, and God had done nothing to stop it. Once in the wilderness is bad enough – but twice! Once the water runs out, Hagar has reached rock bottom. She casts her son under a bush, unable to bear watching him die of hunger and thirst, and she raises her voice to God, and weeps.

            Here, too, I see my own story: I, too, have desperately wondered what on earth God could possibly have in mind here, wondered how I would survive a situation, hidden myself even from things that I love in an effort to escape pain. I have wept in despair. Have you?

            And in my story just as in Hagar’s: God hears. God gently asks Hagar what troubles her, and urges her not to be afraid. The God who sees, El-Roi, is also a God who hears – hears our deepest pains, our saddest woes, our unspoken desires, even when all we can articulate is our sobs and weeping. God sees us and hears us. In this moment, the name of Hagar’s son, Ishmael, becomes a promise: it means, “God hears.”

            And from there, God shows Hagar that not only does God see and hear, but God also provides. God opens her eyes, and there, not 50 yards from where she sits, is a well. She had not seen it before, perhaps too blinded by her woes, but God shows her. And she drinks. And gives drink to her son, “God hears.” From the brokenness of her contentious blended family, to the deepest wilderness, Hagar, the outsider, the disenfranchised, the Egyptian slave-girl, has come to know God more intimately than perhaps anyone in the Old Testament: she names God, has a child whose name embodies God’s promise, and experiences God’s providence in her very darkest moment.

Hagar did not have the easiest time with her family; for all the joy they may bring, we don’t always have the easiest time with them, either. Families are often a blessing to us, but nothing in the Bible says they will always be a blessing. To the contrary, scripture is replete with stories of pain in families. Jesus even acknowledges that in today’s reading, warning that following him may even have a divisive effect on our family relationships. Perhaps that is why the Bible doesn’t say that we should love our families with all our heart and soul and mind and strength and our neighbor as ourselves, but rather, that we should love God in this way. That love of God, and following Jesus, is the good above all others. Because while families may on some days provide everything we could hope for – God always provides everything we could hope for and much more: water in the desert, sustenance, forgiveness of sins, life out of death, and eternal and unshakable love. God is a God who sees us and knows us. God is our God. God hears us when we call out, and even when we don’t. God will provide for us – not always what, when, and where we wanted, but somehow and some way, God makes a way where there was no way. With this conviction in our hearts, we will indeed find our way through the dividing swords of life, and find peace.

Let is pray… God who sees, God who hears, we give you thanks for the many blessings in our lives, and especially for the gift of family, wherever we may find it. But most of all, we give you thanks for the many ways that YOU see and hear us and all our needs, even when we find ourselves out in the wilderness, and for the many ways you love us, from now until eternity. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.