Yesterday, I preached at a church in our area that’s in pastoral transition. I’ve found preaching on Mother’s Day a bit challenging—for a couple of reasons. First—I don’t want to disinclude or neglect anyone that’s not a mother. I want to say things that are relevant to everyone in attendance. Second—while for many Mothers’ Day is a day of gratitude and thanks, for others it’s a day of discomfort and pain. Some people grew up with mothers that were a source of hurt. Because she was battling her own demons, she never could really be an effective channel of blessing. Or … perhaps a few years ago a young woman found herself in a very difficult circumstance and made the choice to terminate a pregnancy, and Mother’s Day has always caused those feelings of guilt, regret, and shame to resurface. And there are undoubtedly some women who desperately longed to become a mom, but the reality of singleness or infertility has kept it from happening. For many, Mother’s Day is a mixed bag—it’s a reminder life hasn’t gone the way we thought it would.
So what I did yesterday was share the story, from the Old Testament, of a lady for whom motherhood was not an altogether blessed experience … a mother who experienced more than her share of hurt and heartbreak, but a woman who, in the midst of her pain and suffering, experienced something of God that is beneficial to all of us. Her name is Hagar, and her story is found in Genesis 16.
Now Sarai, Abram’s wife, had borne him no children. But she had an Egyptian slave named Hagar; so she said to Abram, “The Lord has kept me from having children. Go, sleep with my slave; perhaps I can build a family through her.” Abram agreed to what Sarai said. So after Abram had been living in Canaan ten years, Sarai his wife took her Egyptian slave Hagar and gave her to her husband to be his wife. He slept with Hagar, and she conceived. (Genesis 16:1-4a)
In Genesis 15, God made a covenant with Abraham—He promised him that his progeny would form a great nation and his descendants would be as numberless as the stars. But when we get to chapter 16, it’s been ten years since the promise and Abram and Sarai are no closer to seeing it fulfilled. So they decide to take matters into their own hands. Sarai suggests Abram sleep with their slave girl—a young Egyptian maidservant named Hagar.
Given that Abram and Sarai had, in response to God, made a journey from their native land to a distant, unfamiliar place, Hagar is essentially an immigrant from faraway with no sense of belonging—an outsider … a person who was viewed as a piece of property … a nonperson who existed only to serve a purpose. She was trapped in a system where she was invisible. She had no rights, no dignity, no freedom, no choice, and no control over what happened to her. While we look at this and say, “This is despicable; Abram and Sarai forcing a slave girl to bear a child without seeking her consent is disgraceful.” But their actions were, in that day, quite normal and acceptable. That’s what people did to generate heirs—require a female slave to bear children to keep the family line alive. But it wasn’t God’s plan. And it backfired.
When she knew she was pregnant, she began to despise her mistress. Then Sarai said to Abram, “You are responsible for the wrong I am suffering. I put my slave in your arms, and now that she knows she is pregnant, she despises me. May the Lord judge between you and me.” “Your slave is in your hands,” Abram said. “Do with her whatever you think best.” Then Sarai mistreated Hagar; so she fled from her. (Genesis 16:4b-6)
When Hagar turned up pregnant, Sarah became deeply jealous and the relationship between the two went south. In fact, Sarah resented even suggesting the idea in the first place. She blamed Abram for following through and doing what was essentially her idea to begin with. Talk about messed up—she hatched a plan that involved her husband and when it went awry, she blamed him for doing what she’d suggested. It sounds like the kind of family dynamic that makes for a good episode of Dr. Phil.
Granted—Hagar’s attitude wasn’t exemplary; she flaunted her pregnancy in front of Sarai. And this, as you might expect, hurt Sarai greatly. She complained to her husband, and Abram tried to stay out of the middle of things, ultimately telling Sarai to handle it however she wanted. The end result of this breakdown is captured in a short but telling sentence: “Then Sarah mistreated Hagar; so she fled from her.” It’s an absolute mess—a disastrous, twisted, and complicated set of circumstances that not only defied an easy solution but never should have happened in the first place.
The angel of the Lord found Hagar near a spring in the desert; it was the spring that is beside the road to Shur. And he said, “Hagar, slave of Sarai, where have you come from, and where are you going?” “I’m running away from my mistress Sarai,” she answered. Then the angel of the Lord told her, “Go back to your mistress and submit to her.” The angel added, “I will increase your descendants so much that they will be too numerous to count.” (Genesis 16:7-10).
Hagar is hopeless and homeless—all alone and pregnant in a vast and cruel world. And the people who should have been helping her were the ones hurting her. Think about it—it wasn’t her decision to participate. She was just the slave girl who was summoned and told this is what she was supposed to do. But now she was being blamed for what happened and mistreated because of it. Talk about unfair and unjust? It’s no wonder Hagar got to the stage where she couldn’t take it anymore and ran. Even though she had no place to go and no one to turn to, life became so unbearable that anything seemed better than where she was. You get the sense she doesn’t know what she wants. She just knows what she doesn’t want—namely, to be treated like a non-person and related to in a scornful, disrespectful fashion.
She made her way to a spring in the desert where an angel of the Lord came to her … right where she was. God didn’t abandon her or desert her. He knew exactly where Hagar was, and exactly the moment when she’d be ready to listen. And the angel instructed her to return to Sarai—to go back into that situation that probably hadn’t changed … to return to the state of affairs that prompted her to run in the first place … to willingly put herself back in a largely toxic environment where she was viewed as a possession and had no rank, no standing, and no recourse. Talk about tough! What the angel of the Lord asked her to do was unbelievably hard—in fact, almost incomprehensible. But in that moment of difficulty, God also extended his grace to her. For she’d would give birth to a son who’d be the father of a nation—a promise strikingly similar to the one he extended to Abram in the previous chapter.
In verse 11, the angel says she’s to name her child Ishmael—a name that means “God hears.” Here is a servant girl who’s been abused and mistreated—who’s been used and more or less thrown aside. Yet God reassures her by telling her He hears … He knows what she’s going through … and He’s aware of the torment, and inward groaning, and frustration she’s dealing with. In telling her to return to Abram and Sarai, he’s saying, “I’ll be with you as you do that. I’ll strengthen you and support you. You won’t be unaccompanied in this process.”
Think about it: If God hears what’s going on in the world of an Egyptian servant girl, what does that say about His ability to tap into and understand what’s going on in your world and mine? As it relates to God, I’m convinced He hears those things that cut deep—those things that grip our heart and make us feel as though it’s being ripped out. He hears those things that are said against us—those falsehoods and lies that are totally unfair … those things that tarnish our reputation and bring our character into question. He hears and knows it all.
So Hagar would never forget this aspect of who God is, the angel said her son was to be named Ishmael—“God hears.” Even when she returned to that place of torment and difficulty, she could rest in the promise she wasn’t alone. And the neat thing is the promise of God’s nearness and closeness is available for you and me. We’re the recipients of the Holy Spirit—the One Jesus said would accompany us and be with us in every circumstance. No matter where we are in life … no matter what’s happening in our world … even if we’re totally isolated and no one knows what we are up against … we can be assured that God hears.
And then it says:
She gave this name to the Lord who spoke to her: “You are the God who sees me,” for she said, “I have now seen the One who sees me.” (Genesis 16:13)
This is not an insignificant verse, for there a number of names for God in the Old Testament. But up until this point God had been the one to reveal His names. He announces Himself as Elohim—the Creator … or Yahweh—the Covenant Maker … or El Shaddai—the Almighty. But here it’s not God who is bestowing upon Himself another name. Here it’s a person who’s doing it. And not just any person, but a runaway slave girl who’s been victimized and mistreated. Hagar refers to him as the God who sees me—a name that points to his closeness and nearness. She says, “This is the God who’s in touch. This is the God who gets it. This is the God who knows what’s going on in my life and cares greatly about what I’m dealing with.”
When our family lived in California, we had a family in our church that had a pool in their backyard with a slide and diving board, and they pretty much let us use it whenever we wanted. Our youngest son was very skittish—a ”clinger.” But our oldest was bold and daring … almost too daring! He’d never jumped off a diving board or gone down a slide into a swimming pool before, but he tried it and loved it! And the rest of the day it was, “Watch me, daddy.” Watch me, mommy.” He had on his floaties and, for most of the day, it was like a broken record—“Watch me. Watch me. Watch me.”
There is something embedded deep within us that needs to know we’re seen and noticed. That’s why those of us that are parents, or grandparents, spent countless hours at our children’s, or grandchildren’s, soccer games, dance recitals, and marching band competitions. There is something uplifting and reassuring to a child about the fact their parents, or grandparents, are watching. To be seen is to be viewed as significant … as worthwhile … as mattering. To be seen is to be loved.
Which takes me back to Hagar’s statement when she was out in the middle of nowhere dealing with the fallout of the poor treatment she’d received at the hands of Abram and Sarai. To think that an unremarkable, overlooked, oppressed, and browbeaten slave girl could say, “This is the God who sees me. This is the God who realizes and appreciates the circumstances I’m going through—that’s powerful! To be seen is to be significant … to be safe … and to be understood. And to be seen by God is to be set free.
2 Samuel 6 records the story where King David is bringing the ark back to Jerusalem. If you recall the story, you know that in the process, David became so elated that he danced in an unrestrained fashion before the Lord. The thrill and joy of the occasion overwhelmed him to where he cut loose w/out any fear or worries about what people thought. It says that his wife, Michal, witnessed what was going on:
As the ark of the Lord was entering the City of David, Michal daughter of Saul watched from a window. And when she saw King David leaping and dancing before the Lord, she despised him in her heart. (2 Samuel 6:16).
And a little bit later:
When David returned home to bless his household, Michal daughter of Saul came out to meet him and said, “How the king of Israel has distinguished himself today, going around half-naked in full view of the slave girls of his servants as any vulgar fellow would!” David said to Michal, “It was before the Lord, who chose me rather than your father or anyone from his house when he appointed me ruler over the Lord’s people Israel—I will celebrate before the Lord. I will become even more undignified than this, and I will be humiliated in my own eyes. But by these slave girls you spoke of, I will be held in honor.” (2 Samuel 6:20-22)
David doesn’t mind what the crowds think. He’s not concerned about what the slave girls think. His wife’s assessment was of no real concern to Him. For he was seen by God and was free—not free from the gaze of His loving Heavenly Father, but free under His gaze.
A relevant question for many of us is: Are we similarly free, or are we always worrying about what people think, or wondering how they see you? My sense is when we know God sees us and delights in us, we are—like David—free. When we know we are significant, valued, understood, and treasured, we can live not being bound and enslaved by what others think. That doesn’t mean we’re not accountable; it means we’re not encumbered to other people’s opinions and assessments. We can live a life free and devoted to the Audience of One. And when we do that, we can embrace the problematic and hard things of life with courage and bravery.
For Hagar, the knowledge God saw her and was in touch gave her courage to go back into the setting that was so hurtful and unkind—that setting that had prompted her to leave in the first place. May it give us courage for the antagonistic and adverse circumstances we face as well. This is the God who sees … the God who hears … the God who’s in touch and is fully aware of what’s going on.
So—no matter how ugly, difficult, complicated, or hopeless the situation you’re facing right now might seem, remember that God sees you. Just because you can’t see him doesn’t mean He can’t see you. When you face difficulties and obstacles, remember that above you, around you, beside you, and before you is the watchful eye and the vigilant presence of the God who sees and hears. And He’s acutely aware what you’re dealing with.