Defining Traits
As many of you know, my nephews are twins. But you would have no trouble telling them apart. For one thing, they are fraternal twins with physical differences. One has straight hair, the other has curly hair. One is tall and gangly, the other is short and stocky. But even more distinguishing are their personalities. Part of what makes them so endearing, in my opinion, are their distinctive quirks.
Matthew, the shorter nephew with wild curls, is fascinated by the mechanics of the world. When he first discovered the kitchen sink, he was captivated. He would climb up the counter at every opportunity, pull the handle, and then declare with wonder, “Water goes down the drain! Water goes the drain!” Sometimes I think of Matthew as our little mad scientist. He’s always tinkering with something. If I hear a repetitive noise, “click-click-click” or “scratch-scratch-scratch,” I smile and think to myself, “Oh, that’s Matthew.”
Nathan, the taller nephew, is the helper in the family. When he sees daddy sweeping the floor, he gets out his toy broom and helps. When he sees mommy cooking in the kitchen, he rushes to her side to offer his culinary services. Nathan’s propensity to help sometimes spills over into the sharing of his expert opinions, such as, “I think this needs more chocolate,” or, “Maybe we should take a break and watch TV.” At times, Nathan can even become what one might call bossy. My dad likes to joke about Nathan, “He loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life!” So, when Nathan rushes to my side to see what I’m doing, to help, perhaps to offer his expert opinion, I smile and think to myself, “Oh, that’s Nathan.”
I imagine you can identify traits that define your own children or grandchildren, traits so distinctive that when you observe them you think to yourself, “Oh, that’s Paisley…that’s Olivia…that’s Ashley…that’s Dean…that’s Katie.”
Isaacing
I imagine that Sarah would have recognized such traits in her own miracle child, Isaac, who is three or four years old in today’s story. Maybe it was his distinctive laugh that identified him. (After all, he was named for laughter. Isaac means, “He laughs.”) Or maybe it was the way he interacted with the livestock. Later in life, he would manage the family’s flocks and herds with great success (Gen 26:23-24). Whatever his distinguishing traits were, I imagine that when Sarah saw them, she would smile—maybe laugh—and say to herself, “Oh, that’s Isaac.”
One day, Abraham makes a great feast to mark the completion of Isaac’s weaning. It is a celebration, a rite of passage for Isaac as he moves from infancy to childhood. It should be a day of laughter and joy. Isaac has made it through those treacherous early months and years. He has survived; he has grown healthy and strong. But tragically it is not a day of laughter. It is not even Isaac’s day, at least not as the story is told in the Bible. For Sarah’s focus is elsewhere, on Abraham’s other son, Ishmael.
Our Bible translation says that Sarah sees Ishmael “playing with her son Isaac” (Gen 21:9). But the original Hebrew text is more ambiguous. It simply says that she sees Ishmael “playing.” The word is metzacheq, which comes from the same word from which the name “Isaac” is formed. Therefore, some commentators have suggested that Ishmael is “Isaacing.” That is, Sarah sees Ishmael replicating her own son’s distinctive behavior, whether that’s laughing or horsing around with the livestock. That behavior for which she would have said, “Oh, that’s Isaac!”—she sees Ishmael doing it! She sees her worst fear, namely that Ishmael will take Isaac’s place.
And so on Isaac’s feast day, she pronounces a terrible fate for Ishmael, “Cast out this slave woman with her son” (Gen 22:10). She cannot even say his name, Ishmael. It is as though she cannot accept his presence in the family; it is too great a threat to her plans for Isaac. This day of laughter turns swiftly into a day of tears. The story follows Hagar and Ishmael into the wilderness, where their desperate cries are met with divine help. And there is a beautiful message here in this twist of the story, but where I’m choosing to focus today is back home. Because even as Sarah gets her way, even as Hagar and Ishmael leave forever, I do not get the sense that she is at peace. Rather, I imagine that she is crying too and doesn’t understand why. Didn’t she get what she wanted?
Scratching the Itch
In today’s gospel text, Jesus makes a seemingly impossible demand on his disciples, “Whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me” (Matt 10:37). I have often wondered how Jesus could say this, as cold and callous as it can sound. It is certainly not an advertisement for traditional “family values.” But when he goes on to say, “Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it” (Matt 10:39), I find myself thinking of Sarah, who seems to have lost her life, or at least her contentment, in her repeated attempts to secure life through a son.
Before today’s scripture, seventeen years earlier, Sarah had worried about even having a child in the first place. In Genesis 16, we learn that her desire for a son was a desire to be, literally, “built up” (Gen 16:2).[1] From the beginning, Sarah has seen her self-worth as rooted in having a son. So, she forces her Egyptian maidservant, Hagar, into a surrogate motherhood. But rather than feel better about herself, she feels even worse, even more worthless. As Hagar’s pregnancy begins to show, Sarah fears that biology will supplant her scheme. She fears that the son of Hagar will never truly be her son.
The same pattern repeats itself today. Sarah now has her own son. But rather than feel better about herself, she feels threatened by someone else: Abraham’s other son, who, ironically, was conceived and born in the first place because of Sarah. Sarah’s repeated discontentment, her never being happy when she gets what she wants, reminds me of the proverbial “scratching the itch.” (As an aside, my nephew Nathan is currently learning the meaning of this metaphor. Despite his mother’s warnings that scratching his itches will make things worse, not better, he can’t help himself, with the tragic result that his legs look like a battlefield.) The more that Sarah tries to secure her own life through having a son, the more she “loses” it through worry and conflict. The more her life looks like a battlefield. Her tragedy is elusively hinted at in the fact that her bitter demand for Hagar and Ishmael’s expulsion are actually her last words in the book of Genesis. After these words, Sarah disappears from the story until the day of her death. Is the storyteller trying to tell us something? Something like what Jesus says, that “those who ‘find’ their life will [actually] lose it” (Matt 10:39)?
Now, Jesus’ language about loving him more than our own
children is a little provocative, so I do want to underline that I do not think
Jesus is pitting himself against our families: “It’s either your children or
me!” It helps me to remember that Jesus is “the way, the truth, and the life.” So,
when he draws a contrast between loving our children and loving him, I think
what he’s talking about is the way we love. It is instinctive for us to
love with certain conditions. We generally draw a circle around our love. It
usually includes our family. Sometimes we widen it to include our good friends
and other people who think like us, or vote like us, or worship the same God
that we do. But this conditional love is competitive. It is “us” versus “them,”
fueled by the fear that those outside the circle will take what is ours, just
as Sarah fears that Ishmael’s presence will somehow diminish Isaac. And it is
selfish. It is making an investment in the hope of a return, just as Sarah had
hoped to be “built up” by having a son who would be hers.
At first glance, Sarah’s motivation in today’s story may seem natural and healthy. This is just a mama bear who loves her kid and is looking out for his best interest, right? But look a little closer, and we see that her “love” is more about gratifying a desire than it is about caring for others. It is competitive, “us” versus “them,” her against Hagar, Isaac against Ishmael. And the result of this conditional, closed-circle love is that in the process of securing her life, Sarah loses it. What God meant for laughter, has turned into tears. Sarah is perpetually worried and threatened, embroiled in a conflict that she has created. (If it feels a little like I'm piling on Sarah, make sure to come back next week. Abraham will get his own treatment!)
Sarah’s story invites me to pause and ponder where in my life I feel anxiety, worry, impatience, the need to control. What itch am I trying to scratch? … What would it mean to “lose” my life for Jesus and his way of love instead of trying to secure my life? Losing my life sounds so big and idealistic. But in light of Sarah’s crazed experience I’m now wondering if it’s not in fact Jesus’ practical advice for sane living.
Maybe “losing my life” simply means not being the center of the world (which inevitably makes other people peripheral).
Maybe it means caring for others rather than competing or trying to control them.
Maybe it means being patient and trusting in the power of God’s love.
Prayer
In Christ you beckon us
To stop scratching what itches
And instead
To become your healing balm
In the world.
Grant us compassion
For ourselves and for others
When we strive so hard to secure life
…
Make our circles of love bigger
And inspire us with your care,
That we might find life in your kingdom.
In Christ, who leads the way: Amen.
[1] The
NRSV obscures her clever pun—“Perhaps I may be built up (‘ibaneh),”
which plays on the word for son, ben—and translates more prosaically,
“It may be that I shall obtain children.”
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