(Homily for Gayton Road Christian Church's Worship on June 18, 2017, Proper 6)
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A Story That Reawakens Our Faith
This morning’s scripture is a wonderful story. Like any good story, it captures our imagination. It sweeps us into its own world. It invites us to feel what the characters feel. At the same time, it reminds us a little of our own lives. As we read the story, we recognize parts of it that are our own story. In this way, it reawakens our faith. We discover that our lives are much more amazing than we thought, that faith plays perhaps a greater role in our lives than we had realized.
So in place of reading the scripture today, I’m going to tell it in my own words and in my own imagination. I’m going to share how it becomes alive to me, how it awakens my faith. Perhaps you’ll revisit the scripture on your own and discover other aspects and angles that awaken your own faith in other ways.
“Her Laughter Was Bitter”
Her laughter was bitter. It leaked out from a place of pain and sorrow. It was the kind of laughter that could collapse into tears or a whimper at any moment.
A child? At her age? Impossible. How dare they speak about something they knew nothing about? How dare they make such a casual, flippant remark? She and her husband had tried for years. Now they were both far too old.
It had been a long day. Maybe that, too, was why her laughter was bitter.
It all began when three strangers appeared outside their tent. Naturally her husband had offered them hospitality. The burning sun, the lack of water, the fatigue of a long journey—she and her husband had lived in the wilderness long enough to know the hardships of travel. Whenever they saw strangers, they could not help but welcome them. Hospitality was a reflex.
Her husband led the men to the deepest shade in their little grove of oak trees and had them to rest there. Cool water was brought for them to quench their thirst and cleanse their feet. It’s remarkable how something as simple as water can become the most delicious thing in the world, the most precious gift.
Then her husband had rushed into the tent, frantic, “Sarah! Make some bread, as quick as you can. We have guests.” Without waiting for a response, he ran back outside. A few minutes later, he was back in the tent, catching his breath. The cry of a calf rang out. He must have asked their servant to prepare some meat.
So here they were: she slaving over bread, the servant preparing the calf, and her husband doing nothing. She did not resent Abraham. She knew he was only catching his breath. But it stung her nonetheless: hospitality always seemed to require more of her than of him. This, perhaps, was another reason that her laughter was bitter.
Hours later, when she had finished with the bread and the servant had prepared the meat, Abraham served the men out under the great oaks. They had plenty to eat and plenty to drink. Sarah rested by an open flap of the tent, enjoying the evening breeze. The conversation of the men wafted inside:
“No children?”
“No children,” Abraham responded.
There was an awkward pause.
Then one of the other men spoke up, his voice strange and bold: “When I come back this way next spring, mark my words: your wife Sarah will have a son.”
Sarah knew how men talked late in the evening when they had a full belly and drink on their breath. Surely this was little more than a reckless, drunken claim.
Her laughter was bitter.
“Her Laughter Was Full of Life”
But the next day, and the day after that, the words echoed within her: “Your wife Sarah will have a son.” It was as though those strange, bold words had lodged themselves deeply in her womb.
Within a few months, those words took shape within her womb—literally. She had conceived. For days, her mind could not believe her body.
When spring arrived, she gave birth to a son.
For the first few days, she rested in a haze of exhaustion and disbelief.
But on the eighth day, she returned to the world. And holding her baby in her arms, looking into his eyes, she laughed—a full body laugh, the kind of laugh that begins deep in the womb and spreads to the furthest reaches. Her laughter was full of life.
And she exclaimed, “God has made me laugh! And everyone who hears this story will laugh with me! For who would ever have said that the two old grey-hairs, Abraham and Sarah, would have a child? Who? Yet here we are!”
And her laughter was full of life.
What did they name the child? Well, it should be obvious. They named him, “Isaac,” which means, “He laughs!” Who laughed? Everyone who heard!
And their laughter was full of life.
The Gospel according to Sarah
Today’s scripture is good news. It is the gospel according to Sarah. It is a tale of faith. But it’s important to recognize whose faith. It is not Sarah’s. Sarah had lost faith. That is why at the beginning she laughs so bitterly. In the Romans passage today, Paul talks about faith—not our faith but the faith of Christ. “While we still were sinners Christ died for us,” Paul says, as if to say, “Even when we are unfaithful to God, God is faithful to us” (Rom 5:8). That, in a word, is the gospel. And today’s scripture illustrates it beautifully as a tale of two laughs.
The first is a bitter and empty laugh—as empty as Sarah’s womb and as bitter as her years of disappointment. The second is full of life—for there is much more life now, the life of the newborn baby, to be sure, but also the life of Sarah herself. She has come back to life, you might say, not because she was faithful but because God was faithful. And not only has she come back to life. She declares that anyone who hears about her will laugh too! The laughter—and the life—will spread.
That, in another word, is the gospel. In the Matthew passage today, Jesus tells the disciples to spread the good news that the kingdom of heaven is near. In Sarah’s story, the good news is a matter of laughter. It’s contagious. God has made her laugh, and her laughter—she is convinced—will make others laugh too. The good news is not some point-by-point doctrine that we memorize, or some secret formula that certifies us as Christians. The good news is whatever has turned our tears into laughter, a laughter so great that it is contagious and spreads among others.
Who Would Ever Have Said?
“Who would ever have said!” Sarah exclaims, laughing in spite of herself. Who would ever have guessed it?
That is how Sarah expresses her story of faith, which at its heart is a story of God’s faithfulness to her. And my hunch is that this expression—“who would ever have said!”—might clue us in to our own stories of faith, which like Sarah’s are unbelievable. “Who would ever have said?” We ourselves could not believe it except that it has happened. God is faithful to us even when we have little faith ourselves.
From my own story, I might ask: Who would ever have said that a young man would find himself far from home and among strangers? From some of your stories that I know, I might ask: Who would ever have said that a man unloved by his father would grow into a loving and forgiving father himself? Who would ever have said that disability could make life better? Who would ever have said that the experience of discrimination would foster compassion instead of resentment? Who would ever have said that the kids would teach the grown-ups?
From the incredible stories that we find in scripture, we might ask: Who would ever have said that a disobedient son would come home to find a feast in his honor? Who would ever have said that those who mourn would laugh? That those who hunger would be filled? That those without anything carry within them the greatest blessing? That death would be followed by new life?
Who would ever have said these things? Probably no one. They’re unbelievable. And yet they happen. Like Sarah, we cannot help but laugh in wonder. And our laughter is full of life. And our laughter brings life. And that is the story of our faith. Or rather, the story of God’s faithfulness to us.
Prayer
God,
Sometimes your promise of life
Is unbelievable,
And like Sarah
We laugh bitterly;
May we trust in you
And learn to laugh fully,
Contagiously,
At your incredible faithfulness.
In the name of him whose love brings life from death, Jesus Christ. Amen.
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