God Hears

The desert seemed endless. They had wandered for days, and Hagar had no idea how far they were from where they started. They could have walked in a circle for all she knew, and her master’s tents could have been over the next ridge. Not that it mattered. He had sent them away- at his wife’s orders, Hagar knew- and now it seemed that his son- her son- would die in this desert of thirst and heat.

She looked down at the boy- not far down, now, he had grown fast these last months and his tunic was too short. His father had not paid him as much attention since the baby had been born. How was this his fault? He had been the apple of his father’s eye ever since he was born, of course he was going to find it hard to adjust to suddenly being a big brother. Even if he didn’t yet understand that little Isaac had usurped his place as heir to his father, he could tell that the adults around him no longer had time for him. And he had been caught mocking the baby- as if children didn’t mock each other all the time- and even Hagar would have agreed that some appropriate discipline was called for.

But instead she and her son were sent away into the desert with nothing but a water-skin and some food. Abraham had at least looked somewhat distressed when he sent them away, but Hagar had been too angry, too worried and too busy trying to reassure her son to pay attention to Abraham's mumbled words.

And now the water in the skin was gone. She remembered how, before Ishmael was born, she had run away from his father and Sarah, and had thought she was going to die of thirst in the desert. That time there had been a spring, and a stranger had told her that her child would grow strong and have many descendants. She had believed it was a blessing from her master's God, the God who had seen and heard her. Over the years the memory of the stranger she had met in the desert had faded. It must have been a hallucination, she had thought. Deserts were strange places, and she had been dehydrated, distressed. No wonder she had imagined seeing and hearing someone who told her what, on some level, she had wanted to hear. Comforting promises that if she went back everything would be all right, that her son would have a great future. That she was not just some insignificant slave but was seen, known, heard. That someone cared.

That rang hollow now. She had gone back to her master, strengthened by the encounter with the stranger, had submitted to Sarah's jealousy for so many years for her child’s sake. And Ishmael, ‘God hears’, had been happy and healthy and his father Abraham’s acknowledged heir until Isaac had arrived. Isaac, ‘laughter’. And his mother Sarah had laughed, first in disbelief, then with joy at her son’s birth after so many years of childlessness. And then she had laughed with jealous triumph over Hagar, her rival. The son of the slave was displaced by the son of the wife. Isaac was the inheritor of the prophecy that Abraham would have more descendents than grains of sand in the desert. Well might the tiny boy and his mother laugh, while Hagar wept bitter tears. There was no way back this time.

The boy stumbling through the desert heat beside her was near the end of his endurance. He had stopped asking her for water. She felt his forehead, burning hot. She looked around, desperate for water, for shelter, for help. But there was only a carrion bird, soaring far above, shadowing their movements. Waiting.

There was a bush a short way ahead that would at least give some small shade. She led Ishmael towards it. As they reached it he stumbled, and she caught him, and gently lowered him to the ground under the scrubby branches.

“Thirsty,” he muttered, his eyes closed. Her heart bled.

“Stay here,” she told him, trying to keep her voice calm. He barely seemed to hear her, but went on muttering and sobbing quietly.

She walked quickly away, her eyes blurred with tears. She could not bear to watch him die. She sat down in the shade of another bush and sobbed, worn out, hopeless. It would have been better if she had never gone back to Abraham and Sarah, if she had died out in the desert before Ishmael had ever been born. No stranger was going to appear this time.

“The God who sees me”. Her sobs turned to bitter laughter. It had been a cruel joke. If he could see her now, did he not care that her son was dying?

And then the silence of the desert was broken.

“Do not be afraid.”

A voice, a voice that was familiar and yet which she had not heard since that last time in the desert. It seemed to come from everywhere and yet from nowhere, it was all around and yet had no source.

“God has heard the boy crying. Lift him up and take him by the hand, for I will make him into a great nation.”

Hagar looked up. Not far ahead, where she was sure had only been sand and rocks the last time she looked, she now saw a well of water. She hurried over, filled the skin, and ran back to Ishmael. Her hands shaking, she raised his head and helped him drink. His muttering stopped, and his eyes opened. “Mother?”

“It’s all right,” she said, tears streaming down her face. And somehow she knew it would be all right. “God has heard us.”



Based on Genesis 21 https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis%2021&version=NIV

The God Who Sees Me

 

The Desert. Hot, dry. Empty.

Hagar walked on, occasionally turning back to see if anyone was following. She couldn’t see anyone. She was thirsty already but she didn’t dare drink from the single water-skin that was all she had been able to take with her. It was only an hour past dawn, and it would get much hotter later on. She didn’t know where the next well might be. She didn’t know where she was going, except away.

She had left in the night, slipped out of her tent carrying the water skin and a bundle of her belongings and disappeared into the darkness. Far above the stars had sparkled in the clear, cold air.

Her master believed his god had promised that he would have as many descendents as there were stars in the sky. But Sarai, his wife, couldn’t have children. At first Hagar had felt sorry for her mistress but then Sarai had come up with a plan- Abram, her husband, would sleep with Hagar and get her pregnant instead. If Sarai couldn’t have children herself, she would have them through Hagar.

Hagar, of course, had no say in the matter. But once the tell-tale signs of pregnancy had made themselves known, something changed. For the first time in her life, she was important. She had something to bargain with, some power. And...well, now she thought about it, maybe it would have been better to keep that knowledge to herself, to hold it in reserve, waiting. But she had never had power before, and the temptation to use it, to improve her position, had been too great.

Sarai had resented Hagar's improved status. Perhaps she had felt her own position as wife and as part of her husband's future slipping. She had reasserted her power over Hagar, reminding her slave of her own superiority in a hundred small humiliations and cutting words. Hagar was stubborn. So was Sarai. Abram did not seem to care, even though his longed-for child-to-be was the cause of the trouble. Matters got worse.

In the end it was too much. To leave was defeat, in a way, but her mistress and master would never see their precious baby, and that would be some recompense, Hagar had thought, for what they had done to her. Anything, she had thought, was better than staying. Now, out in the desert in the unprotected glare of the full sun, she wasn't so sure.

By late afternoon the water in the skin was all gone. She nibbled at the food she had brought, saved from her meals and from what she could take from the cooking pans without being noticed. It would not last long, but that would not matter if she could not find water. Even if she did, it would be dark soon and the desert that seemed so empty now would fill with the howls of wild animals, using the cool of evening to search for their prey. Hagar shivered, despite the heat.

She wandered, unsure which way to go or even what she hoped to find. The desert felt so empty. Her master Abram had left his homeland to live a nomad's life, wandering from water hole to well in this land, following a promise and a call. Hagar had had no choice, given to Sarai as a slave in Egypt, forced to leave her own land and wander, with no choice when or where to go. Now, alone and free to make her own decisions, she was afraid to choose any direction in case it was the wrong one.

It was nearly evening when she saw the dark smudge of vegetation that hinted at water. By the time she reached it the light had almost gone, but there was just enough to see the spring by. She sank down thankfully and drank deeply. She had been walking for almost twenty-four hours with few rests, afraid that every moment some of her master's servants would appear on a ridge behind her and drag her back to Sarai. Now she wondered if going back would be the right thing to do- not for herself, but for the child-to-be within her.

She lay down on the sand. The child moved inside her, and she felt a rush of love. It may not have been her choice, but the child was hers, not Sarai's, however much the older woman wanted it. As many descendents as there were grains of sand, Abram's god had promised him. Well, good luck with that.

Tired out, Hagar slept until the first light of dawn was in the sky. She woke with the strange feeling that someone was nearby, but at first she could see no one. Then, suddenly, and yet as if they had always been there, she saw a person standing beside the spring. No ordinary person, either. There was something different about them.

The person spoke.

“Hagar, where have you come from, and where are you going?”

Hagar started in surprise and terror. How did this person know who she was?

“I’m running away from my mistress,” she said. There seemed little point in lying to a stranger who somehow knew the identity of someone they met in the heart of the desert. Besides, she had the strangest feeling that the stranger already knew the truth.

Afterwards, she found it difficult to remember what the stranger had looked like, or how their voice sounded, or even the exact words they used. But the meaning of those words was clear, and stayed with her ever after.

The stranger told her to go back to Sarai and Abram. Hagar opened her mouth, ready to argue, but no words came. She knew the stranger was right. One woman, pregnant, unprotected, alone- how long would she last in the desert? She did not know how to find food, she had no livestock, nothing to exchange for food even if she met other people. The best she could hope would be to become someone else’s slave- would that be any better than what she had left? And what about her child? What would happen if she were to die in bearing it? Better for the child to be born where there were people who would love and care for it, a rich man’s heir, than to be born alone in the desert.

The stranger spoke again, and this time it was a promise, to her and her unborn child. Her child would be a boy, and would be called Ishmael, ‘God hears’. Now she knew who the stranger was- the God who had made promises to Abram. But this time it was her descendants who would be too many to count.

Then the stranger was gone. Hagar looked around at the barren desert, still seemingly empty of all but rocks and wild creatures. But she no longer felt alone.

“You are the God who sees me,” she said. “I have seen and heard the One who sees and hears me.”

She filled the water skin at the spring. She would need it on the journey back.




Based on Genesis 16: https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis%2016&version=NIV

Desert Encounters

 

There’s a story behind each of these stories.

I started trying to write about women in the Bible and was drafting something on Sarai/ Sarah, wife of Abram/ Abraham, when I discovered that what I actually wanted to do was write about Hagar’s unexpected experience of God. So I did- The God Who Sees Me and God Hears- and so this became a series on deserts rather than women (that’ll have to wait for another opportunity) although I did try to include women’s points of view.

I Will Be With You is about Moses- a man remembered as one of the ‘greats’ of the Old Testament, but who really didn’t welcome the call from God when it came. Many others down the years could probably understand that. I guess it shows that it doesn’t matter how you see yourself, you don’t have to be perfect to make a difference. 

Seven Days, on the other hand, is from the point of view of Moses' sister Miriam, who got in trouble for being jealous of Moses' connection to God. I was fascinated by what could have taken her from leading praise after the crossing of the Red Sea to rebelling against Moses’ authority in the desert. This isn’t a reassuring encounter, but it is an interesting one.

Too Much For You and The Gentle Whisper are about Elijah- a person whose experience has really resonated with me this year, not least because I can identify with a lot of what Elijah seems to have felt (minus the miracles, unfortunately)- his experiences share a lot of similarity with what we might recognise as depression or other forms of mental illness today. I may have read too much of my own experience into his, but I still feel that it might be helpful for others.

And there's one more to come as an Easter surprise!


Some of the landscapes in these stories may not strictly be deserts, and not all deserts are hot!  But all I think all share that sense of wilderness, 'apart-ness' that deserts have. Deserts are obviously associated with Lent- when Western churches mark Jesus’ 40 days in the wilderness experiencing temptation and preparing for his period of teaching, miracles and eventually his death. Early Christian leaders also felt drawn to deserts to separate themselves from humanity and get closer to God, and the roots of monastic traditions can be found there. To me, there’s a season for that kind of separation, but too much of it can be unhealthy- we’re called to be God’s people in the world, not to shut ourselves off all the time. But modern day rediscoveries of retreat and ‘new monasticism’ show the power of setting aside some time and space outside normal routine. 

I’ve never been in a real desert, but the last year of Covid has definitely been outside our ‘normal’ and something of a desert time. Some have compared it to an extended Lent, where a lot has been given up. 

So whatever Lent is like for you, maybe something in these stories will resonate, will mean something to you, give you something to think about. I hope so.