Third Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 7A, June 25, 2017; The Rev. Pamela L. Werntz

O God of love, may we have the wisdom, the strength, and the courage to seek always and everywhere after truth – come when it may and cost what it will.

Our lectionary has dished up some hard readings for us today. Sometimes when I am feasting on the Word of God, I wish it were a little easier to chew and that it tasted better. The trouble starts with the story of the exile of Hagar and Ishmael, when baby Isaac had grown into a boy. Father Abraham is a biblical character that I have a hard time revering; he is so frequently willing (or feeling called by God) to sacrifice or dispose of his wives and his sons. It seems to me that to focus only on the tortured relationship between Sarah and Hagar is to ignore the oppressive patriarchy that is at work in both of their lives. Zimbabwean theologian, Dora Mbuwayesango points out that both Sarah and Hagar are caught in a “patriarchal web that is not easy to untangle,” [1] and I think that applies just as much to 21^st century listeners.

The legends surrounding Hagar are rich and varied. Early rabbinical commentators taught that Hagar was a daughter of Pharaoh, and some taught that her personal name was Keturah, that Hagar was a descriptive word that meant “stranger,” rather than a proper name. According to Genesis, Hagar was the first person to give God a proper name when she first encountered the Divine in the wilderness (back in Chapter 16). She declared the Holy One to be El Roi – God Sees. [2] In Islamic tradition, when Hagar noticed that Abraham was about to leave her and her child, Ishmael in the wilderness of Beersheva, which means well of mercy, she asked Abraham if God had commanded him to leave them there. When Abraham said, “yes,” Hagar replied, “then God will not abandon us.” In Islamic tradition, it was the Spring of Zamzam that miraculously saved them, and the place where that water of paradise sprang up is known as Mecca, the birthplace of the Prophet Muhammad and the center of Islam. After Sarah had died, the legend goes that Abraham returned to visit Hagar [3] and they lived happily ever after, with Ishmael, whose name means “God hears,” becoming the ancestor of Islam. It’s an example to me of how siblings tell stories differently. Was the exile the worst thing or the best thing that happened to Hagar? (Yes.) Was Sarah an oppressor or a victim? (Yes.) Was Hagar a victim or a victor? (Yes.)

It reminds me of the story about a Rabbi of a synagogue who is known for responding whenever a congregant shares bad news, “how do you know that’s not going to turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to you?” Somehow his congregation tolerates this because they know that when a congregant shares a piece of good news he will ask, “how do you know that it won’t turn out to be the worst thing that could happen to you?” We never do know how and when our own suffering might be redeemed through the grace of God.

South African theologian, Juliana Claassens contrasts Sarah’s feast with Hagar’s starvation, and Sarah’s laughter with Hagar’s tears, but she points out that Sarah’s laughter and Hagar’s tears are both powerful acts of resistance, demonstrating a refusal to accept their situations of suffering. In the Genesis narrative, it is the vocalization of laughter and tears that prompts dialogue with God that brings about a dramatic change in their circumstances. [4]

Hagar has long been a beacon to women who are mistreated by other women: women of color mistreated by women called “white;” women who are poor mistreated by women who are wealthy. African American theologian, Renita Weems, in her writing about Hagar and Sarah calls it “a story which …exposes the many hidden scars and ugly memories of the history of relationships between racial ethnic and white women in America. But the story…goes beyond race…to class.” She cites the racism that the 19^th century suffragettes used to secure their right to vote, and the 20^th century feminist movement that further marginalized poor women (and lesbians and queer women), many of whom are women of color. [5] She rightly acknowledges that we are all capable of acting like Sarah, given access to power. We are all capable of developing elaborate justifications for withholding mercy. And we all have the capacity to be so focused on our own pain and our own joy that we do not see the suffering of the people around us. [6] Hagar asserted with her declaration that God sees, and Ishmael demonstrated with his life that God hears.

This is what I believe Jesus was teaching his disciples about being persecuted in our Gospel passage for today. It’s hard for me to listen to this portion of Matthew without thinking, Jesus was so crabby! Where is our tender shepherd? When the vestry talked about this during our Bible study this past week, several people hoped that I would find a better translation for the word “sword,” as in, “I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.” So I spent some time with the Greek lexicons. The word is best translated sword. It is a particular word for a shorter sword, to distinguish it from a longer sword, so I guess that means one has to be closer to use it.

So what is going on here? This is a continuation of the portion of Matthew from last week in which Jesus summoned twelve disciples (students or followers) and empowered them to heal diseases and sicknesses and gave them authority over unclean spirits. He sent the authorized disciples out, thereby making them apostles (which means sent out). They were to take their newly bestowed spiritual power along the way, but not their stuff – no money or extra clothing or food. Jesus assured them that their power to heal, to bring peace was going to be enough to move people to provide hospitality, and if the people didn’t welcome them, they were to continue on with their peace, their well-being intact. So far so good. Sounds like everything is going to be alright. Except, apparently, some were suggesting that Jesus is not from God but from Beelzebul. (Beelzebul was a Canaanite god who was considered by the people of Israel to be a leader of evil influences.) And then it got worse. Jesus assured them that they didn’t need to be afraid of being tortured and killed. Yikes. Jesus assured them with the promise that God sees – even the number of hairs on their heads; and God hears the acknowledgements and denials, because Jesus would make sure of it.

Then Jesus said, “do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.” I don’t actually understand this to be a call to arms because that really doesn’t fit with the whole body of Jesus’ teaching, but I also do not think that this teaching should be summarily dismissed. For one thing, I don’t want to leave it to people who use this passage as a prooftext to justify tyranny and violence.[7] In Ephesians, the word sword is used as a metaphor for the penetrating power of the Word of God. In Luke, the word is used in Simeon’s blessing of the Holy Family in the Temple when Jesus was an infant – he says to Mother Mary, “and a sword will pierce your heart.” We understand that to mean excruciating emotional anguish, not a prediction of how she will be physically killed. I think we can understand Jesus’ instructions to those he is commissioning to include the caution that, “this work is going to break your hearts, divide your households, and cost your whole lives.”

These are small examples, but I think of my own dad’s faith-based civil rights work in the late 1960’s as being a reason that his father stopped speaking to him for a while – my grandfather thought my dad was foolishly putting his family’s safety in jeopardy. I think of my faith-based involvement in the Northern Virginia AIDS ministry twenty years later that made my parents freak out about their perceived risk to my own health (I countered that I was at far greater risk driving my car on the Washington beltway to work every day). I bet you have examples too. Yet, I want to caution us about identifying too closely with those who are persecuted, because in general, in our context, we are not persecuted because of our relationship with Jesus or with the Holy One. This teaching can provide comfort when any of us or collectively all of us make decisions to prioritize our integrity because of faith in God or Jesus over relationships with family or friends, but we should not get too comfortable. We are at much greater risk of not being counted among those who are worthy, and this is much more frightening than anything a sword can do to us, physically or metaphorically.

So, my last dive into the Greek lexicons for this week, was to look at that word translated, “worthy,” as in, whoever loves father or mother, or son or daughter, more than Jesus is not worthy of Jesus. The word has to do with leveling the beam on a scale. It means comparable or equivalent in physical terms, and figuratively, it means suitable or fit for a task. I don’t think this is about whether one is deserving of love by Jesus or God, because nothing can separate us from the love of God. This is about whether one is up to the task of being an apostle – one sent to represent Jesus. But if you are heaving a big sigh of relief right now, not so fast, because you are, we are the Body of Christ, not a social club or a community of convenience. We who receive mercy, are obligated to extend it. We who breathe in the love of God must breathe it back out if we want to live. And it’s not just an obligation; it’s an extraordinary privilege. So let’s do what we can to be comparable to Jesus. Adrienne Rich’s poem called “Final Notations” comes to mind.

it will not be simple, it will not be long
it will take little time, it will take all your thought
it will take all your heart, it will take all your breath
it will be short, it will not be simple
it will touch through your ribs, it will take all your heart
it will not be long, it will occupy all your thought
as a city is occupied, as a bed is occupied
it will take your flesh, it will not be simple

You are coming into us who cannot withstand you
you are coming into us who never wanted to withstand you
you are taking parts of us into places never planned
you are going far away with pieces of our lives

it will be short, it will take all your breath
it will not be simple, it will become your will [8]

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