THE LAUGHING CHRIST
Genesis 18:1-15, 21:1-8
Rev. Gary Paterson
Jube 15, 2008
Sarah, the wife of Abraham, was barren. No conception, no pregnancy, no children. And her heart was broken. I have known friends who were unable to conceive, and know something of their pain. Hoping… and nothing happens; consulting doctors and experts, in vitro fertilization…. and still nothing. Having a child is not every woman’s calling, but for those who feel it is, and then not being able to have a child… well, you can probably imagine how Sarah felt.
And of course she was living right smack dab in the middle of an absolutely patriarchal culture, where women were defined by their capacity to bear offspring, their ability to create family. And so Sarah was a failure, often an object of pity or scorn – and who would not be hurt by that, becoming defensive, angry, careful.
And then on top of all this, there was that small matter of God’s promise. Remember how the story began last week…. Sarah and Abraham enjoying their well-earned retirement in Ur, northern Mesopotamia, until God entered the scene, and sent them off on a journey to a new place, promising land, blessing and… children. Children! Who hadn’t appeared on the scene for the last twenty-five years. Now Sarah is ninety… this is not just post-menopausal… this is post-post-menopausal. As the text so delicately puts it … “it had ceased to be with Sarah after the manner of women….” – meaning, she hadn’t had a period for over forty years. “Now that I am so withered….” is how Sarah describes herself. It would appear that God’s promise of Sarah’s having a child was not going to happen; the promise was broken. And so what did that say about faith and hope? Was God to be trusted?
Sarah was barren; and it’s not hard to identify with Sarah – oh, not literally perhaps…. but in the broader sense of hitting a dead end, feeling that you’re going nowhere, when life feels like a pile of disappointments and broken promises; when you feel almost no capacity to bring forth new life, new anything; as if you were living in a closed system, with no fresh possibilities. A dead end job, dead end relationship; kids not calling, health slipping, depression sneaking in at the edges, same old same old. Sure... let’s not kid ourselves; we know Sarah; we’ve been there.
But this is just stage setting…. because this is a story about change; actually, it’s a story about God. Visitors arrive, three of them; and, following the norms of Middle Eastern hospitality, Abraham greets the strangers with warmth and welcome – “Let a little water be brought, and wash your feet, and rest yourselves under the tree. Let me bring a little bread, that you may refresh yourselves….” It turns out, of course, that these strangers are actually angels traveling in disguise… it’s the way angels usually travel in our world. When you offer hospitality and welcome, you might discover that you are entertaining angels… but that’s another sermon. Suffice it to way that when you welcome the stranger into your midst, you are often welcoming God… and, according to this story, you just might find yourself pregnant… reaching out to the other becomes a means of being filled with new life yourself. Strange, that!
Sarah, of course, is not in sight…remember… patriarchal culture. Sarah gets to do the cooking, prepare the food and clean up… and be invisible. Except she isn’t; she’s “listening at the tent entrance….” – and hey, if we’re talking metaphor, then where better to stand than in the doorway, the place of passage, going in or out, listening for news, for change, for something different, hoping, perhaps, to walk out of the background tent, forth into a life with new possibilities.
And indeed, that’s what she hears… the announcement that within the year she will be holding a baby in her arms. That long ago promise of children, it still holds, and in fact, is about to happen… at least according to the three visitors. Sarah is finally going to become a mother. And this is the moment I love – Sarah laughs! The English translation says, “So Sarah laughed to herself….”, but the actual Hebrew idiom suggests a belly laugh that explodes in the very middle of her being. Which, when you stop to think about it, is strange. I mean, she might simply have walked away, muttering, “What do these men know? I’ve had enough of their crazy God talk; I’m decades beyond hope.” She might have cried, forced to remember again the disappointment that sits in her heart. She might have gotten angry – “Oh right! Here we go again with all this talk of kids… and where were you forty years ago when I was desperate?!”
Instead, she laughed -- laughed at the immense incongruity between this crazy promise of a child and the reality of life and of her own body. Which often feels how God’s promises come to us…. as a contradiction of dead ends; proclamations of hope arriving in the midst of dark times; dreams of change and new life that leave us giddy, unbelieving…almost. Out of the laughter Sarah asks her question, “After I have grown old….[and we’re talking ninety years here]… and my husband is old [remember, Abraham is pushing 100, and I suspect the sap isn’t rising any too swiftly in those quarters either]… shall I know pleasure?” What a question to ask… because once again, our translators tend to be circumspect; the Hebrew clearly includes sexual, erotic pleasure as well as the sheer joy of giving birth to a new life. “Shall I know pleasure?” Think about how you might ask that question – “Will this grief, depression, boredom, frustration… will it ever end? Will I ever start the day with a sense of delight when I wake up? Will there be joy in this life of mine? Meaning? Purpose? Love? In my old age… or in my middle years… will I know what this life of mine is all about? Shall I know pleasure?”
A lot of ways to ask the question… but what Sarah hears back is another question: “Is anything too wonderful for the Lord?” Me, I would have preferred a direct answer… “Yes, you shall know pleasure!” Full stop. Reassuring guarantee! But a question… well, that seems a little open-ended; almost as if, at least in part, the outcome depends on our answer. Is anything too wonderful for God? Too marvelous, too difficult? Is anything impossible for God? Well… what do you think? How would you answer that?
There are different ways of answering. For instance, one might end up saying that there are many things that are impossible for God; in fact, God isn’t even part of the equation -- God isn’t a player in the equations of life and meaning. A modern atheism.
Or you could skate closer to the edge of a “maybe.” Last Tuesday I was part of an interesting theological discussion where Gretta Vosper was speaking. She’s a United Church minister from Toronto… sharp woman, good speaker; founder of a group called Progressive Christianity; and the author of book that’s been creating quite a stir… With or Without God. In fact, that’s why she’s out here, on the road, promoting her book. We had a brief chance to engage, and I raised up the question of the agency of God…. “churchese” for asking about God’s involvement and action in our world, in our lives. Her quick response… “No agency!” Which means, it seems to me, to be saying that it’s all up to us, and the community; so we’d better roll up our sleeves and get to work. Sarah would be a fool to trust in the promise of a child. It ain’t gonna happen.
A completely different response would be to read this story literally. That is to say – nothing is impossible for God. Ninety year old women getting pregnant? – no problem. Any time God’s wants it to happen – presto, it’s done. And if it doesn’t occur all that often, well – that’s a mystery. This would be a theology where God is in control and running the show; which holds fast to supernatural intervention; that prays for cures -- and, at the extreme, if the cure doesn’t happen, it’s the fault of the pray-er, or the one who is ill – “oh ye of little faith!”
But somewhere in the middle there is a third option – which hears the story of Sarah and her pregnancy as a profound metaphor of God working in our lives. There is a Spirit of Holiness that arises from within us – AND from beyond us. There is a Divine Energy that we experience as personal, although it isn’t a “person”. And this Holy One, in whom we live and move and have our being, is at work in our lives and in the world, never coercively, but always as invitation, stirring things up, entrancing us with a vision of greater love, creativity, justice and compassion. We are required to say “Yes!”, to offer ourselves in partnership, allowing this Spirit to flow into and through us, bringing new life… we can become pregnant with the dreams of God, so to speak. The system is never closed – that’s the basic promise. New energy will keep entering, offering, prodding, challenging, luring….
Oh, there will be times of disbelief, when doubts seem huge; when the incongruities spin us into laughter, shaking our heads… and yet, hopefully, not quite giving up. And this story of Sarah suggests that this response is understandable, part of our human condition. You see, Sarah laughs… and too often this is presented as a bad thing. I mean, after all – “The LORD said to Abraham, “Why did Sarah laugh, and say, ‘Shall I indeed bear a child, now that I am old?’” Sarah herself got frightened about possible consequences, and like any of us caught out in an embarrassing or threatening situation, quickly responds, “No, no, no, no… not me; didn’t laugh. Nope… just a cough. You misunderstood, God.” Or more formally, from the text -- “But Sarah denied, saying, ‘I did not laugh’; for she was afraid.” Many interpretations have portrayed Sarah in a bad light… leaving little room for questions and doubts… and laughter, for that matter.
But it seems to me that God doesn’t respond critically. Not really. Listen… “God said, ‘Oh yes, you did laugh.’” I guess you could hear that as a scold, with finger-shaking judgment… “Yes you did, and you’re gonna get it!” On the other hand, isn’t it just possible that God is smiling as these words are spoken, as if the Holy One knows exactly what’s going on; recognizing our human stumbling, our doubts and our anxiety, and, shaking his head, smiles ruefully; and then with a sparkle in her eye, says, “Just watch me. You think you’re laughing now, well, just wait.” Isn’t it the same energy that we discover in so many of prophetic proclamations… like those verses from Isaiah 61 -- “I am about to create new heavens and a new earth; the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind. But be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating; for I am about to create Jerusalem as a joy, and its people as a delight.” That sounds even more surprising than a ninety year old getting pregnant, and worth a full-on laugh. I know I may be sounding too anthropomorphic in talking about God this way, but doesn’t it sound as if God is enjoying herself?
And it’s contagious… remember Sarah’s final comments, a few chapters later, when in fact the promise comes true, when her son arrives. “Now Sarah said, “God has brought laughter for me; everyone who hear will laugh with me.” And of course she names her child Isaac, which in Hebrew means, “He laughs.” When we are open to the movement of the Spirit, then we discover joy, and find laughter re-entering our lives. As I was pondering this story of Sarah’s pain, doubt and double-pronged laughter, I came up with what I thought would be a great sermon title: “A Pregnant Belly Laugh” – what do you think?
Let me shift the focus slightly… because we need to recognize that this story about new life springing forth from what feels like withered wombs and dreams isn’t just about something that happened way back when; the same pattern stands true in our own times. For instance… what were you doing last Wednesday, at noon, when Prime Minister Stephen Harper stood up in Parliament, and spoke words of apology on behalf of the nation to the Aboriginal peoples of this country, an apology for all the destruction and damage that occurred because of Residential Schools? Surely our native brothers and sisters must have felt like Sarah so many times, feeling that promises were broken, that their own capacity as a people to bring forth life was compromised, limited; that the Residential School experience was a disaster visited upon 150,000 children, taken from families, homes and villages, cut off from language, culture, and support; and a horror that stained subsequent generations, many of whom had suffered sexual, physical and emotional abuse; who lost their own ability to parent, to raise children who were healthy and proud of who they were. Surely Sarah’s barrenness is an appropriate metaphor for those times and circumstances …. as is her eventual pregnancy and laughter, as we look to a future where such wrongs will be admitted, addressed and repaired.
Perhaps the most powerful moment of that apology was the moment when Chief Phil Fontaine, leader of the Assembly of First Nations, rose to respond. It was a wonder just to know that the rules of Parliament had been changed so that representatives of First Nations peoples were on the floor of the House, and were able to speak. Wearing a magnificent head dress, resplendent with eagle feathers, Chief Fontaine spoke of past pain -- “…the memories of Resdiential Schools sometimes cut like merciless knives at our souls…”; but also of future hope… and with thoughts of Sarah in my mind I could not help but be riveted when I heard him say… “[the apology] testifies to nothing less that the achievement of the impossible.”
I would call this moment the work of the Spirit – working through the courage and determination of so many aboriginal persons; through court hearings and the telling of stories, with all their tears; though the willingness of some non-natives to listen; through the struggling apologies of the churches… it was 1986 when the United Church first offered an apology to First Nations peoples, saying in part,
We tried to make you be like us and in so doing we helped to destroy the vision that made you what you were. As a result you, and we, are poorer and the image of the Creator in us is twisted, blurred, and we are not what we are meant by God to be. We ask you to forgive us and to walk together with us in the Spirit of Christ so that our peoples may be blessed and God's creation healed.What brings a nation to the moment of honest assessment of the wrong it has done, regardless of the good intentions of some? What enables a country to say formally, “We have done wrong; we are sorry; please forgive us; and let us work together into a new future.”? The good news is that change does happen; the system is not closed; there is a Spirit at work in our midst, pushing us toward greater justice and right relationships. Nothing is impossible … eventually… with God.
Last Friday I bumped into a friend, another United Church preacher – who had seen the sign outside our church, and who was puzzled by the sermon title, “The Laughing Christ”. He was struggling with the gospel reading of the day, which was all about Jesus sending his disciples out into the surrounding villages to proclaim the good news of the Kingdom of God, a commissioning that described in detail all the challenges and dangers they would be facing – “How do you get a laughing Christ out of that?” he asked. “Sarah,” I said. “It’s all about Sarah.” I have come to see Sarah as a forerunner of Jesus, the one who also discovered how to laugh even in the midst of painful reality.
Three or four decades ago the United Church commissioned a Canadian artist, Willis Wheatley, to do four sketches of Jesus… the one that I remember best was called “Christ, the Liberator”, a drawing of Jesus with head thrown back, mouth open, a face full of laughter… a laughing Jesus, as he announced the good news of God’s love, and invited everyone to experience the Kingdom of God that was breaking into their midst. Sure, like Sarah, he recognized the wild incongruity between his vision, this holy promise, and the reality that surrounded him, with Roman oppression, economic hard times, religious authorities investing far too much of their energy on maintaining the status quo, and a bunch of thick-headed disciples who never really seemed to catch the dream.. But Jesus laughed, trusting that nothing was impossible for God.
That laughter, though, was deeply challenged by the reality of crucifixion. This is not a sentimental Pollyanna story, a tale of easy triumphalism. Just as Sarah had her questions – “After I have grown old [withered]…will I know pleasure?”, so did Jesus have his as he hung on the cross, “My God, why have you forsaken me?” It would seem as if the system had indeed closed in upon itself, with death marking the end of all the hope Jesus had been talking about. Where was the promise now, when you really needed it? But God was once again doing a “new thing” – we call it resurrection, and although we may not fully understand how and when it happens, or what it looks lie, we trust God, in faith… and surely it must be in faith… so that like Sarah we will be able to say, “God has brought laughter for me…”
Many years ago I found myself in one of those human growth experiences, where you sit around in a circle, sharing your feelings and discovering yourself; it was the seventies, after all. Well, one of the exercises we were asked to do was to determine what three words we would like to have chiseled on our tombstone. Well, I moved into high gear, and came up with a predictable list that started off with sharing and caring, moving quickly on to loving, giving, friendly, faithful, father, … well, you know what I mean. But one of the participants… Simon by name, well Simon smiled and said, “Oh, that’s easy. What I want carved on my gravestone is simple: “How he laughed.” That affirmation has stayed with me for over thirty years; I’ve forgotten Simon’s last name; I probably wouldn’t recognize him if I passed him in the street… but I remember his epitaph: “How he laughed.” And I can picture Jesus and Sarah, arms linked together, smiling at each other perhaps, and most assuredly smiling at the world, at life, and with God… oh how they laughed.