Family Dynamics

DATE: June 22, 2014
SCRIPTURE:
Genesis 21:1-21 – Text printed after sermon
©Rev. Alison J. B. Patton

To whom do you relate in this family drama? With which character, or characters? Sarah: who yearned to have a child; the woman who suffered years of infertility, of feeling somehow incomplete and second rate. She eventually found a surrogate, let another woman bear a child for her, thinking that she could live with that. It turned out to be harder than she thought. Then finally, astonishingly, in her old age Sarah conceived a baby herself, only to become paralyzed with fear that the first child, the one her servant had borne for her, would remain the favored firstborn…

Then there’s Hagar: the slave. Given at the whim of her mistress to conceive her master’s baby. Hagar loved her son fiercely, found new hope and dignity in bearing him, only to have her hopes dashed when she was banished from the household – all because of the jealously of the woman who had insisted that she bear that child in the first place. Hagar the outcast; the one whose fate seemed always in someone else’s hands. Hagar who experienced the terrifying prospect of watching her son die (powerless, yet again)… Until she had a life-saving encounter with God; Hagar’s son survived after all, and inherited power that had always eluded his mother.

And Abraham: Chosen by God to father a nation (two nations, as it turns out). Abraham, caught between two women, a father who cherished both his children. Even so, he released Hagar and Ishmael, sent them away in order to keep the peace. Cruel-hearted or obedient? Depends who you ask. You could say he gave Hagar her freedom, or that he nearly condemned them both to death, by giving them such meager rations before sending them into the wilderness. Did his heart break, as he watched them walk away? Or did he sigh with relief, to be free of complications again? Did his heart leap at the sound of baby Isaac’s laugh? Did he delight to finally see Sarah’s eyes lit up with joy, instead of sadness?

Then there’s Isaac, who was just a baby when these events unfolded. Who knows how old he was, before he learned that he had a half-brother. Did he ever wonder what his brother was up to, in some foreign land? Was he glad to have his parents all to himself? We do know that when Abraham finally died, Isaac and Ishmael, by then adults themselves, met to bury their father together.

And Ishmael: thirteen years old when Isaac was born. The big brother. Was he jealous of this more legitimate son, born to his father’s first wife? Annoyed by this infant’s intrusion? Worried about his inheritance? What did he feel, when his father sent him and his mother away, displaced by the other half of the family: Adolescent outrage? Heart break? Fear? Did he blame his little brother, or miss him?

These are the characters in one of the most ancient family dramas, and one of the most contemporary. The names and faces change, and the cultural context, but still we recognize the family dynamics: first marriage and second marriage, children and step-children; love and jealousy, judgment and rivalry. This is a profoundly human story, fraught with all the emotional entanglements of human relationships.

And it’s not just in biological families, that we see these tensions played out, but in every family system, including the church. Have you ever been asked to help give birth to something new on behalf of the church, only to feel roundly criticized, overworked or undervalued? Have you ever heard a former volunteer say, “I’ll never do that again.” Or asked someone to take on a leadership role, only to be told, “No, thanks. I’m not a glutton for punishment.” It makes us cringe to admit, but here’s what I’ve heard you say: we can be hard on each other. Not just here; I suspect you have been part of other communities where this is equally true – we tend to take our humanity with us wherever we go. Still, in this place, which so many of us have come to cherish over the years (and others are just getting to know), in this community, which we sometimes call a family, we worry, when folks get run down.

Why does it happen? I’ve sat in leadership retreats and congregational gatherings where I’ve listened to many of you grapple with that question. There’s no one answer, but I suspect it has something to do with our attachment to this church, our wanting Saugatuck Church to flourish, and striving for perfection. We want to get it right! Which is well-intentioned – we love this church! – but impossible, and also exhausting. Plus, ‘perfect’ means different things to different people.

It’s like parenting: Everyone has an opinion about what practices are best for the baby; what strategies will lead to healthy, happy, smart and well-adjusted children. Just try to bring up one of your parenting choices in a room full of new moms and dads: “I’m making my own baby food,” or “I’ve decided jars are ok.” “We always let our baby cry it out; we don’t want to spoil her.” or “I just don’t understand how anyone could ignore their baby’s crying.” “Time-outs are necessary for good discipline.” or “Hugs are better.”

Why are parenting conversations so hard, so fraught with implied criticism? Perhaps it’s because the stakes are so high: here we are, engaged in this heart-and-soul-consuming endeavor, raising up children and trying to get it right, because we love them so fiercely. And we worry that we’ll fail. That we’ll be judged – by others or by ourselves – as having failed. That we won’t do – or be – enough.

Sarah was happier than she had ever been, when she gave birth. She named her child Isaac, which means laughter. Then she saw Ishmael bouncing Isaac on his knee. Ishmael holding the one that Sarah loved so much it hurt, and suddenly she was afraid. What would happen to him? Would Ishmael be a bad influence – child of a slave? What if Isaac came to love Ishmael more than he loved his own mother? Or what if Abraham loved Ishmael more, and Isaac less?

Before she knew it, Sarah had turned on Hagar and Ishmael, demanding that they leave and not come back. She grabbed hold of Hagar’s fate, in an effort to control her own.

We do that, too, don’t we? Sometimes? Try to control the process, maybe even control one another? Even though living in community means recognizing that others will do things differently than we do. Even though we celebrate that diversity! Still, when change is afoot, or the way forward is unclear, or we are feeling unsure about what comes next and whether it will be ok; when the stakes are high because we care so deeply, then our impulse is to try to manage the situation, to limit risk-taking – and so avoid failure. To say, for example: “We’ve never done it that way; we’ve always done it this way.” I say it, too.

The antidote to that impulse is kindness. Kindness, says theologian Stanley Hauerwas, means saying, “I have time in this world to love another in a manner that doesn’t try to control them.”

What if Sarah had been able to relinquish her fear of failing – and with it her need to control? What if she’d been able to embrace her role as aunt, celebrate the child that Hagar had brought into the world and welcome him as part of the family. What if Sarah had said, ‘Thank you,” every day to Hagar, for taking on this role on their behalf… What if she had admired more often than she nit-picked. And when Hagar made different parenting decisions, what if Sarah had said, “Ok, that’s not what I would have done, but I trust you, and I trust this family.”

Or even: “I trust God?” God had already made Sara a promise – that she would be a blessing, that her offspring would be as many as the stars. In a culture where your worth was measured by the children you bore, Sarah felt worthless. But God had said, “No such thing. You are precious in my sight. I have a plan for you.” What if Sarah had trusted in that promise? Perhaps then she could have made space in her heart for Ishmael, the child she had to share.

Kurt Byron Jones talks about living from a place affirmation rather than for affirmation. (I might have quoted him before, but this bears repeating; at least, I repeat it to myself all the time!). What if success or failure isn’t the point? What if we were to accept, in the core of our being, that God has already declared us worthy; that worthiness is our starting place, and not something we have to earn?

If Sarah had grasped that; if both Hagar and Sarah had believed that they were enough, that their value was not in jeopardy, that they were free to try and fail and learn and grow without fear of being rejected, then perhaps they might have lived together with a little more kindness, a little more grace, sisters and co-parents committed to raising up the family they both loved with all their hearts. And if they’d done that…

Maybe Ishmael and Isaac would have grown up together, brothers in the same household, playing stick ball, tending their father’s flocks, hunting birds in the wilderness; lying side by side in the family tent each night, and whispering together in the dark. What if they had shared their dreams? “Isaac: I hear the voice of the great I-am, Yahweh who led our family to this place. God says I will have descendants too many to count, and that they will be a blessing…” “And Ishmael: “I’ve heard that same voice. It whispers that I will be the father of a great nation, one that loves the One God…”

Imagine if the boys whose descendants would become the children of Judaism and the children of Islam had grown up side by side, trusting in each other’s council, laughing at each other’s jokes, weeping on each other’s shoulders. Would that have changed the family dynamics among the modern day followers of the three Abrahamic faiths: Islam, Judaism and Christianity?

We have no way of knowing. But this I do believe:

That we are better together, or God would not have called us into community. It is no way easy, but we know the good we can do, when we choose kindness, connection and grace.

We know, because we’ve done it here: we know how to nurture what is created in our midst, no matter who does the birthing; we are all midwives. We know how to cheer each other on and bear one another up.

When Craig and I were new parents, and at our wits end, there was no greater gift than a friend ready to step in: “Here, let me get that.” Not: “You should really let him cry it out.” Or “Why aren’t you doing x or y?” But, “What do you need?” or “how can I help?”

Those words are magic: “What do you need?” “How can I help?”

Also: “Thank you.” “I’m praying for you.” “What you’re doing is amazing.”

Or, when things don’t go as planned: “I’m sorry. Thanks for trying. What can we learn?”

“I’m still praying for you.” “What’s next?” “Let’s do this together.”

And most important of all, “You are enough.”

Perfectionism (says Brene Brown) is not really about self-improvement. It’s about trying to earn approval.¹ So here’s the good news: We’ve got that already. God has declared it: “You are enough and more than enough. You are precious in my sight. I have a plan for you.” We are enough when we try, and when we stumble. Together, we are enough to soar – not to be perfect, but to be perfectly blessed, and so to bless others… May it be so. Thanks be to God.

Scripture Texts

Genesis 21:1-21 – NRSV Translation

The Lord dealt with Sarah as he had said, and the Lord did for Sarah as he had promised. 2 Sarah conceived and bore Abraham a son in his old age, at the time of which God had spoken to him. 3 Abraham gave the name Isaac to his son whom Sarah bore him. 4 And Abraham circumcised his son Isaac when he was eight days old, as God had commanded him. 5 Abraham was a hundred years old when his son Isaac was born to him. 6 Now Sarah said, “God has brought laughter for me; everyone who hears will laugh with me.” 7 And she said, “Who would ever have said to Abraham that Sarah would nurse children? Yet I have borne him a son in his old age.”

8 The child grew, and was weaned; and Abraham made a great feast on the day that Isaac was weaned. 9 But Sarah saw the son of Hagar the Egyptian, whom she had borne to Abraham, playing with her son Isaac. 10 So she said to Abraham, “Cast out this slave woman with her son; for the son of this slave woman shall not inherit along with my son Isaac.” 11 The matter was very distressing to Abraham on account of his son. 12 But God said to Abraham, “Do not be distressed because of the boy and because of your slave woman; whatever Sarah says to you, do as she tells you, for it is through Isaac that offspring shall be named for you. 13 As for the son of the slave woman, I will make a nation of him also, because he is your offspring.”

14 So Abraham rose early in the morning, and took bread and a skin of water, and gave it to Hagar, putting it on her shoulder, along with the child, and sent her away. And she departed, and wandered about in the wilderness of Beer-sheba. 15 When the water in the skin was gone, she cast the child under one of the bushes. 16 Then she went and sat down opposite him a good way off, about the distance of a bowshot; for she said, “Do not let me look on the death of the child.” And as she sat opposite him, she lifted up her voice and wept. 17 And God heard the voice of the boy; and the angel of God called to Hagar from heaven, and said to her, “What troubles you, Hagar? Do not be afraid; for God has heard the voice of the boy where he is. 18 Come, lift up the boy and hold him fast with your hand, for I will make a great nation of him.” 19 Then God opened her eyes and she saw a well of water. She went, and filled the skin with water, and gave the boy a drink. 20 God was with the boy, and he grew up; he lived in the wilderness, and became an expert with the bow. 21 He lived in the wilderness of Paran; and his mother got a wife for him from the land of Egypt.