A letter from the Other
Photo by Orfeas Green on Unsplash
Genesis 16, 21
Dear Christian,
I am the stranger. I am the slave. I am the surrogate wife. I am the refugee. I am the immigrant. I am the outcast. I am the other.
You know me but perhaps you do not understand me. I am the biblical non-Hebrew matriarch. I am the mother of Abraham’s first son, but not included among “God’s chosen people.”
And yet, my story continues.
My son came through the insecure intervention of Sarai—the barren wife of the “Father of Many Nations.” Ironic or Providential? I’ve often wondered that myself. I was forced to be a stand-in for Sarai. As her slave, I had no choice in the matter, but what followed my consent was her bitter contempt. She despised me and dealt harshly with me. I was afraid and ran away. In the wilderness, I sojourned alone.
And yet, my story continues.
I was seen by God. An angel of the God of Abraham appeared to me and promised me that I would have a son and that I should name him “Ishmael” because God had heard my affliction. The angel assured me that God would further my son’s lineage, too. I—a slave woman, used and abused in the misguided attempts of my master to fulfill God’s plan—was seen by God. God knew even me.
And yet, my story continues.
I returned to Sarai and gave birth to Ishmael. In time, Sarai conceived the baby boy promised to her and Abraham. His name was Isaac. Over time, Sarai’s hatred of me grew. Though I gave my life to serve her, she regarded me as merely “the bondwoman,” and eventually sent me away with my young son. I departed into the wilderness once again, this time with my young son, Ishmael. I carried my own bread on my shoulders. I thought we would die in that wilderness. But God, once again, met us where we were.
The wilderness played a terrible role, yet a crucial role, and somehow a redemptive role... in my life. For it was there I encountered the Living God. It was there God promised me He would make my son into a great nation. It was there I realized God’s provision for even me. I have wrestled to understand my place in God’s Story. If God is the God of the outcast, is God not my God, too? If God is the God of Abraham, is God not my God, too?
And yet, my story continues.
I am the foreshadowing of the children of Abraham—the Israelites—who experienced as a nation everything I experienced alone. But what will become of my lineage? Could it be that God is making a Way for all of us?
I was enslaved...
We will one day know freedom.
I departed carrying my own bread on my shoulders...
We will one day receive the Bread of Heaven.
I was a foreigner...
We will one day be citizens of another Kingdom.
I sought refuge...
We will one day know shelter, safety, and peace.
I was exploited...
We will one day know equity and justice.
I was seen and guided by God in the wilderness...
We are seen and guided by God for all eternity.
And yet, my story continues.
There is much unknown this side of eternity, is there not? Could it be that God’s grace and mercy extends to all—even those different from ourselves? Could it be that even when we can’t make sense of things and when what is hidden seems far greater than what is revealed, God’s work of Redemption is in progress?
Who can know the mind of God? I must trust that as God made Himself known to me, He is making Himself known to my people, too. But may I ask... should you who call yourselves “Christian” not have mercy and compassion on those who are not of your faith and lineage? Is your welcome reserved for those who see God and the world as you do? Should you not extend grace to the other—the outcast, the woman on her own? Should you not remember that her situation and her children’s situation is often not due to her choices, but the choices of others and even, at times, the actions of God’s chosen people?
Oh Christian, may I, too, hear the words, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” For I have done everything asked of me. I have sought to be nothing but faithful in my position. I am a woman enslaved, of no authority, and no right to myself. I cannot do what I want to do. Do you think my life is in vain? Do you think I was the cause of trouble or the survivor of it? Do you think God has a plan for me and my children, too?
And yet, my story continues.
With Deep Recollection and Hope,
Hagar
~em