Count Your Not-So-Lucky Stars

Count Your Not-So-Lucky Stars Genesis 18:1-10a

The Rev. Andrew W. Walter Saint Luke’s Parish The Eighth Sunday after Pentecost July 18, 2010

It was the heat of the day, the Bible says, and Abraham was sitting in front of his tent underneath the oak trees. Perhaps he was resting after his morning chores, maybe even napping, waiting for the temperature to drop before finishing the day’s work. As he sat there, he looked up and saw three men standing near him. From the opening sentence of the text, we know one of them, or all of them, was the Lord, but it is not clear if Abraham knew. Seeing the men, Abraham ran out to meet them, and following the customs of the day, bowed down to greet his visitors. “If I find favor with you,” he said, “do not pass by. Here, wash your feet and rest under the tree. Let me bring you some bread to eat.” His new guests readily agree so Abraham hastens into his tent to find – who else? – his wife. “Sarah, we have guests. I offered them some bread. Make ready quickly three measures of choice flour, knead and make cakes.”

Several years ago while on vacation, my wife and I wandered into a little knick-knack shop to do look around. Usually I am in and out of these types of stores pretty quickly, but this time I found a framed cartoon, similar to what you might see in The New Yorker, hanging on the wall in a back corner. The cartoon’s title was “Manifest Destiny,” and it depicted a cowboy sitting atop his covered wagon holding the reins to two worn-out looking horses as they crossed a stream. In the background were high mountains, presumably the Rockies, and looking at the cartoon, I got the sense that this was the kind of strong, independent man that opened the frontier, allowing for the westward expansion of our nation. I could see the pride of accomplishment on the man’s face – here was a man that could do anything, a man that embodied the American “can-do” spirit. It was only then that my eyes drifted to the back of the wagon. There was a woman, dressed in a long frock, a bonnet tied around her head, sweat pouring down her brow as she pushed the wagon, the horses and her husband across the continent. The cartoon’s caption read: “Behind every successful man there is a woman.”

That type of language seems antiquated in this day and age. Today we might just as easily say, “Behind every successful woman there is a man,” but the old saying certainly applies to Abraham and Sarah. For thousands and thousands of years, for Christians and Muslims and Jews, Abraham has served as the gold standard of faith, the primal believer who trusted God’s promise even though he had no reason to think the promise would ever come true. Yet, we rarely hear about Sarah even though she was behind Abraham of step of the way.

Sarah’s story begins, in many ways, late in her life when the Lord spoke, not to her, but Abraham: “Go from this country to the land I show you,” the Lord said. The Bible doesn’t record Sarah’s reaction when Abraham told her they were moving, but I think we can assume there was at least an eye roll or a shake of the head when he wasn’t looking – after all, their life was pretty settled in Haran, and both of them were getting on in years. Abraham was her husband, though, and in those days the wife did what the husband wanted so Sarah packed up all their possessions and they set off. They left their home and their family and went off in search of God’s promise. Sarah had no idea where she was going. She just followed Abraham, putting all her trust in him and God.

Abraham and Sarah travelled around a good portion of the Middle East. They went through Canaan, down to Egypt and back. Along the way they became accumulated livestock, silver and gold. They endured a war. Through it all, Sarah was behind Abraham – cooking his food, washing his dirty clothes, managing the household, doing everything she was supposed to do.

Everything, that is, except have children.

In that time, a woman’s value depended on how many children she was able to bear. Children were an insurance policy, a 401(k), for old age, someone to take care of you when you no longer could care for yourself, and so not having children reflected badly on Sarah. Being barren was always seen as the woman’s fault – she was to blame – and so Sarah had to suffer the disdainful looks, the questions, the idle gossip, the disgrace.

Sarah was aware of all this of course – she couldn’t not be – and it just made the situation worse. Sarah wanted a baby, of course; for Abraham, for her parents and his parents, but most of all, for herself. She missed having the love a child would bring. Sarah had a hole her in heart. She had a hole in her life.

Over the years, Abraham kept talking about God’s promise. Once, twice, three times, four times, over and over again, he spoke of hearing the Lord’s voice. “We’re going to have lots of children,” he would say, “God told me to count the stars. That’s how many descendants we’re going to have.” But the years went by and there wasn’t the least sign of children, those descendants as numerous as the stars so Sarah’s hope diminished. It reached the point where she couldn’t even go out of the tent at night because she couldn’t bear looking up at the sky. All those stars just reminded her of what was missing in her life.

Maybe you have been where Sarah has been. You followed all the rules, did everything you were supposed to do, only to find out that the rules have changed or that there aren’t any rules. Maybe you have a hole in your heart or something missing in your life: love, perhaps, or forgiveness, reconciliation or simply a second chance; something...

At some point, you realized you should try praying so you got down on your knees and used words like “help,” and “strength,” and “guidance.” You prayed again and again. You prayed until your knees got sore, asking God for healing and wholeness, but nothing seemed to change. After a while you began thinking that God didn’t hear you, or maybe you didn’t pray right, or maybe God was just busy listening to someone else.

If you have ever felt this way, even just the tiniest little bit, then Sarah’s story is your story, and you stand there with her in the tent as the three men eat the bread she just baked.

When they finished, the visitors turned towards Abraham. “Where is your wife Sarah?”

“In the tent,” Abraham replied.

After so much time, after all the years, all the travelling, after all the praying and the hoping, the narrative of the story has finally turned to Sarah... to you. At a time and a place and in a manner you least expect it, God has found you. He knows your name. He walks into your tent, and promises to make you whole.

God can do that. God does it all the time. And now, God wants to do it for you.

If you don’t believe me, don’t take my word for it. Take Sarah’s, or her son Isaac’s, or her grandson Jacob’s.

Better yet, go outside on a clear, dark night and look up at the sky. Count all the stars you can see: the faint ones and the bright ones, the yellow ones and the white ones, the twinkling ones and the ones that shoot on by. Count them all. They are not just Abraham’s, they are also Sarah’s, and they are yours.