Saugatuck Congregational Church, UCC
©Rev. Alison J. Buttrick Patton
July 17, 2016
Scripture: Genesis 18:1-15
Sarah laughed because the visitor’s claim was outrageous, inconceivable (literally). She laughed because she knew the facts: that she and Abraham no longer tangoed between the sheets; that they had settled into a more subdued exchange of affections: a pat on the back of the hand, a shared cup of cocoa before bed. At ninety-nine years old, Sarah had more worn out parts than she had parts that still worked. “Just picture,” (she thought) “chasing a baby around the tent, me on my two creaky knees; he on all fours.” How would she ever keep up? Sarah laughed at the sheer absurdity of the idea.
Maybe she also laughed because – she had to admit – it was an enticing vision, after all those years without children. Yes, she had long since resigned herself to being childless, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t imagined what it would be like to hold a baby on her knee, to coax him to smile, to echo his every coo and gurgle, to stick out her tongue and google her eyes, hoping to provoke a laugh, to wrap him up in her arms and feel his breath on her neck. The imagined baby-sized exhale tickled and made her laugh out loud. It also made her heart ache. Because of course the whole idea was preposterous… wasn’t it?
I am captivated by Sarah’s laughter – it makes me want to laugh, too; makes me realize how little I laugh some days. This month, in particular, the list of reasons to weep, or rage, or shudder; to throw a righteous tantrum or march for justice or hold your children a little tighter… that list is long. Between news reports of more young black men shot and killed by police, and police officers shot and killed themselves; with whole communities overturned by gun violence, from Orlando, Florida to Bagdad; to Nice, France… from vitriolic campaign speeches in our country, to an attempted coup in Turkey, we may be driven to despair, or terror, or worse, resignation. But certainly not to laughter.
That’s why I am charmed by Sarah’s laugh – because laughter is contagious, and I, for one, need it; it feels good to laugh, healing. It gets the oxygen flowing through our lungs and sends endorphins to the brain. Writer Anne Lamott says that laughter is carbonated holiness. Carbonated holiness. Like Coke bubbles that tickle your nose. Those other emotions – despair, terror, resignation – they shut us down (like the snail that disappears into its shell when you poke it). Laughter, on the other hand, opens us up, like a sunflower, lowers our guard. So while some have suggested that Sarah ought to be ashamed for laughing at God, I don’t think God minded. I suspect that God welcomed it, maybe even provoked it, because laughter gets us one step closer to imagining the unimaginable.
And that’s exactly what God wants us to do. Have you noticed? God has a habit of making outrageous promises. Through the words of the prophets and the songs of the faithful, God promises hope in the face of destruction, prosperity in the face of poverty, new life in the face of death. God promises all kinds of impossible things.
Take the book of Isaiah, in which the prophet paints a picture of the Peacable Kingdom (Isa 11) where babies will play without fear by the snake’s front door; all our weapons will be hammered into gardening tools (Isa 2; Micah 4); and wolves will lie down with lambs. It’s a compelling picture, inspiring even, but it’s also preposterous. In the words of Woody Allen: the wolf might lie down the lamb, but the lamb won’t get much sleep.
Still, there it is: Babies born to infertile couples; an end to violence (Isa 65:25); religious harmony; wine and food to fill every belly (Isa 55) milk and honey, empty tombs, these are the things that God promises. The books of Exodus, Isaiah, Joel, Micah, the gospels, are all replete with verses that cast a grand vision of God’s beloved community – the world as God intends it to be.
Is it all a fantasy, poetic fabrication? An opiate for the masses, after all? The pragmatists in our midst (and the one in my own head) insist that we need to face the world as it is, not as we wish it would be; we must confront the stark reality: that sometimes war is inevitable; poverty is pervasive; there will always be difficult people and hostile forces with which to content; there are problems too entrenched to be solved. Dwelling on utopian visions won’t change any of that. Best to keep our heads out of the clouds.
Except, this morning I’d like to respectfully disagree with my inner pragmatist. With Sarah’s laughter still ringing in my ears, I’d like to propose that we need those cloud-top views, now more than ever. When we feel overwhelmed by the world’s troubles, when we are tempted to shut down or to give up, that’s when God sends angelic messengers to show up on our doorstep, bang on the door and proclaim impossible promises – not because they provide a great bit of escapist summer entertainment, but because they have the power to draw us out of our shells and reignite our holy imaginations, to contemplate what God has in store. Right after they send us into gales of laughter, they might just get us thinking: “A baby? Yeah right; a baby… Well, what if?….”
What if we had a baby?
What if we had the chance to nurture new life?
What if we had a shot at changing our lives, changing the neighborhood, changing the world? What if that’s what God intends? What if we could help?
Like Sarah, I may think I know the facts, what systems are broken beyond repair.
But that doesn’t mean I haven’t imagined what it would be like to live in a different world, a world in which compassion trumps greed, and all babies born have an equal chance to thrive; a world in which every child is free to discover his or her gifts; where every student (in every town) has access to music and science, and any child might grow up to explore the stars, be a concert cellist, run for elected office or learn to dance the bolero (just for starters). In my vision of God’s beloved community, we know how to love each other and embrace our differences; we are more curious than critical; more patient than petty. Everyone has a garden; we bake and break homemade bread. Neighbors cook for each other: rice and beans; African pineapple peanut stew; Chinese noodles; pulled pork and corn bread… There’s dancing every other night – and story-telling. Except on certain summer evenings, when we just sit together in the dark, sipping fizzy drinks, listening to the nighttime sounds and applauding the fireflies – or the shooting stars.
Are you laughing let? At just how Pollyanna I sound? Good. If you are laughing then you are picturing what I’m picturing, you are beginning to contemplate the possibility – however remote. Maybe it sends you into fits of giggles. That’s ok; it’s the first step. The second step is to start living as if it were possible. Leadership trainer Dan Rockwell says, “Distill your dreams into behaviors that energize you.”
Without a vision, the people perish, it says in the book of Proverbs (Proverbs 29:18). God knows that, has known it all along. That’s why God took Abraham outside one moonless night. “Do you see all those stars?” She asked Abraham. “You will have that many descendants. More than you can count. More than you can fathom.”
With our mind’s eye fixed on God’s impossible promises, we step out. We put ourselves in God’s hands. “Lead us on,” we say. That’s what Sarah and Abraham did, despite their skepticism, despite all the evidence to the contrary. They trusted that God would come through. And God did. Sarah had that baby. She named him Isaac, which means laughter! He became one more daily reminder that nothing is too wonderful, too extraordinary for God.
So tell me: which of God’s promises energizes you? And where can you turn, when despair, rage or resignation threatens to take hold? What makes you laugh? Not a wry or cynical laugh, but a genuine, what-it-that-where-really-possible laugh? May you find those moments of carbonated holiness. May they remind you that we live in a world in which God keeps God’s promises. Then, may we begin to live as if She already has.
Scripture
Genesis 18:1-15 – New Revised Standard Version
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. 2He 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. 3He said, “My lord, if I find favor with you, do not pass by your servant. 4Let a little water be brought, and wash your feet, and rest yourselves under the tree. 5Let 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.” 6And Abraham hastened into the tent to Sarah, and said, “Make ready quickly three measures of choice flour, knead it, and make cakes.” 7Abraham ran to the herd, and took a calf, tender and good, and gave it to the servant, who hastened to prepare it. 8Then 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.
9They said to him, “Where is your wife Sarah?” And he said, “There, in the tent.” 10Then 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. 11Now Abraham and Sarah were old, advanced in age; it had ceased to be with Sarah after the manner of women. 12So Sarah laughed to herself, saying, “After I have grown old, and my husband is old, shall I have pleasure?” 13The Lord said to Abraham, “Why did Sarah laugh, and say, ‘Shall I indeed bear a child, now that I am old?’ 14Is anything too wonderful for the Lord? At the set time I will return to you, in due season, and Sarah shall have a son.” 15But Sarah denied, saying, “I did not laugh”; for she was afraid. He said, “Oh yes, you did laugh.”