God's kind of trouble
Commentary
In our society being Christian does not in itself lead to rejection and persecution. In fact, in some political circles one's Christian credentials might be of help in getting him or her elected to political office. That smugness about church relationships might take us so far from the point of our lessons that they would appear to be irrelevant to the folks in the pews.
Yet our lessons challenge us not to think merely about being Christians but about willingness to be spokespersons for God in and to a society that treats Christianity with more benign neglect than outright persecution. Are we, the church, willing to risk the people's response to Jeremiah's announcements of judgment by our confronting a society more concerned about preserving wealth than protecting the poor? Are we, the church, willing to acknowledge publicly Jesus as Christ and to risk even family relationships for the sake of his gospel? And are we, the church, willing to run against the grain by walking "in newness of life," as Paul urged the congregation in Rome?
Our lessons throw these questions at us, each one challenging us, the church, to count the costs of discipleship.
Jeremiah 20:7-13
Placed here in the mouth of Jeremiah are the words of a lament. So typical and stylized are these expressions that we must exercise caution in using them to psychoanalyze the prophet in his stressful ministry. It is possible that Jeremiah simply uttered laments that were known to him from the cult in which he grew up and worshiped all his life. It is also possible that a later editor inserted these laments into the prophet's life situation.
In any case, that such a lament would define Jeremiah's predicament is completely understandable. He had been called to be a prophet who would preach the word that plucks up and breaks down, as well as builds and plants. His plucking and breaking down did not qualify him for teaching seminars on how to win friends and influence people. Preaching the destruction of the city of Jerusalem was not only without diplomacy; it was downright blasphemy in a city that cherished a sacred tradition about its invincibility. One can imagine that if indeed these words of our pericope are stylized, they fit the situation that Jeremiah made for himself.
What connects this pericope to the gospel for the day is the dual message that (1) the call of the Lord to service leads to a great deal of trouble for the emissary, and (2) the Lord is present and does not forsake the emissary in those difficult times.
In regard to the first teaching, the lament goes so far as to say that God has misled the prophet ("enticed me" could even be "seduced me"). The words send a chill up the spine until the reader remembers that God never promised a job without trouble (see the call at 1:4-10). As a result of his faithful preaching of the Lord's word, the prophet is mocked (see Psalm 22:8 and Mark 15:29-32), even by those who used to be his closest friends.
The second point, that the Lord is present, takes on the image of a warrior coming to the rescue, shaming and dishonoring the prophet's persecutors. The prophet prays for the Lord's retribution -- deserved, he thinks, because "to you I have committed my cause."
Like most laments, this one ends with a song of praise to the Lord, confident that deliverance is on the way.
Romans 6:1b-11
This powerful paragraph of Paul's letter announces that the Christian faith is a matter of life and death, not either-or but both-and, for it is through death with Christ in our baptism that we are raised with him to life. Yet this message is not simply a matter of information or the teaching of doctrine. It is the answer to the rhetorical question with which Paul begins chapter 6: "Should we continue in sin in order that grace may abound?"
Raising the question was completely appropriate, because only two verses earlier the apostle wrote that "where sin increased, grace abounded all the more" (5:20). Having made that point, Paul needed to guard against the danger of libertinism, and he accomplished that goal by working on the character of "newness of life" (v. 4).
First, about the old life. The life of the old creation dies with Christ at baptism. That "death" occurs as the act of baptism makes present what happened on the cross. Such baptismal death means the end of living in the present age, full of sin and corruption, violence and vengeance -- in short, the stories on the front page of the daily newspapers. The present age and its values no longer control the destiny or the present behavior of baptized Christians, simply because we have been baptized into Christ's death. At baptism the old age and its powers are drowned.
The truly good news is that having died with Christ, the baptized will rise with him as well. The promise is not simply directed to the resurrection of the dead when the trumpets blast. It is an announcement of the present life of Christians as well. We already live a resurrected life, and that new existence is life under the Reign of God, a "walk in newness of life."
The logic of the argument is interesting, for Paul compares the resurrected life of Christ with the new life to which Christians are called here and now, as well as at the end. As Christ will never die again and "lives to God," so baptized Christians "must consider yourselves dead to sin and alive to God in Christ Jesus." The new life under the Reign of God consists of constant farewells -- farewell to hatred, farewell to vengeance, farewell to fear, farewell to death and its control, farewell to hopelessness, and farewell to Adam and Eve.
How is that for answering the question about continuing to sin so that grace may abound?
Matthew 10:24-39
When you finish reading this pericope, you might find yourself choking over the liturgical conclusion: "The Gospel of the Lord." If this is supposed to be good news, who wants to hear the bad?
These verses make up the continuation of last week's report about the commissioning of the twelve to proclaim the good news of the kingdom to the house of Israel and to demonstrate the kingdom's nearness by acts of healing. Jesus had already warned the disciples of the troubles they would encounter, both from religious and political groups. Now he helps them to understand that just as his ministry is the model for theirs, so his suffering and rejection will be experienced by them as well: "A disciple is not above the teacher, nor a slave above the master."
Jesus now moves the discussion into the issue of fear. He instructs them they are not to fear the ones who malign them, those who might even kill them. Rather they are to fear the One who has the power over life and death, and we can safely assume Jesus is talking about God. But his purpose here is not to make them afraid of God. He is really trying to comfort them with the message that they are precious in God's eyes, and no matter what happens to them, God is still the one in charge.
Matthew has Jesus make an argument that Christians ever since have applied to their sufferings. The logic goes like this: sparrows are of such little value that you can buy two for just one penny. Yet, valueless as they are in the human economy, they are each so distinguished by God that when one of them falls to the ground out of the clear blue sky, their fall is not "apart from your Father." The RSV rendered the somewhat obscure phrase as "not ... without your Father's will," implying, of course, that God controls, even micromanages, the destiny of every living creature. The rendering of the NRSV above, based on a literal translation of the Greek, is ambiguous enough to allow the interpretation of RSV but broad enough to imagine it refers to God's presence even in the death of a sparrow. Personally and understandably, I would prefer the latter meaning, especially since just last summer I picked an unconscious sparrow off the floor of our deck and, unable to arouse it, just set it on a nearby branch. I had great difficulty imagining God struck the little bird out of the sky just to prove some divine awareness of the little creature.
I am comforted somewhat in my judgment by Luke's version of the same speech by Jesus (Luke 12:4-7). First of all, deflation in the sparrow market must have occurred, because in Luke's community you can buy five sparrows for two pennies. But second, and more important, Luke says nothing at all about their falling to the ground and does not mention the elusive phrase "apart from your Father." Luke makes the point that even though the sparrows are of such little economic worth, "not one of them is forgotten in God's sight."
Both Matthew and Luke stress for the disciples under persecution that they are far more valuable than the sparrows and they are known so well by God that not even their barber knows better how many hairs are on their heads. Assured of that intimate knowledge of God, the disciples do not need to fear those who torment them, even if the persecution is capital.
More important, Jesus tells his commissioned disciples, than the fear of the enemy is the acknowledgement of himself in the face of others. Their faithful witnessing to Jesus, in spite of persecution, will lead to Jesus acknowledging them before "my Father" on the day of judgment. Jesus here defines his role as that of advocate before God on behalf of his faithful witnesses. That same role, although under different circumstances, is assigned to Jesus by the author of 1 John. The issue there is whether or not Christians sin after having been baptized. Apparently that question was one that plagued the author's audience. 1 John urges his readers not to sin but, aware that we are simultaneously saints and sinners, he writes, "if anyone does sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous" (1 John 2:1). Clearly this role of Jesus as our advocate before the judgment seat of God the Father provided comfort to the early church in a variety of settings.
As Jesus continues defining the cost of discipleship, the conflict becomes closer and closer to home. In fact, the conflicts are within the home, for the sword that Jesus brings cleaves a gash between family members. Jesus even insists on a love for himself that is greater than love for one's own parents or children. The speech does not go over well in family enrichment seminars.
But what a powerful statement it makes about the church! By themselves the words of Jesus at 10:35-37 seem horrendous. Yet when we read further in the gospel about the occasion when Jesus' mother and brothers came to him, we get a different picture. When Jesus learned they were standing outside, forced to stand at a distance because of the crowd around Jesus, he redefined family relationships. "Here are my mother and my brothers!" he said, pointing to his disciples. "For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother" (12:49-50).
As hard as such statements are to swallow, Jesus interprets his mission to be the establishing of the church, a community of disciples who are nothing less than sisters and brothers to himself and to one another. That gathering, a foretaste of the eschatological community, is more important than our biological family relationships, for this new family will coexist for all eternity.
To relieve some of the shock of this paragraph, the preacher might do well to remind the congregation that on another occasion Jesus cited the commandment, "Honor your father and mother," along with some others as the answer to the question about eternal life (Mark 10:19 with parallels at Matthew 19:19 and Luke 18:20). There he supported the family structure, even as a means to eternity.
Yet that other occasion cannot detract from the point in our pericope, namely, that discipleship means following Jesus to the exclusion of all that would stand in the way of faithful obedience, even our beloved kin. Jesus indeed ends this paragraph with the unconditional demand to lose life "for my sake" as the only way to find life alongside him.
Needless to say, we can all rejoice that following Jesus through death to life with him is accomplished by God through baptism (Romans 6:4).
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
By Elizabeth Achtemeier
Genesis 21:8-21
God has a way of humbling our pride. We consider ourselves in the Christian Church to be participants in the covenant people, chosen by God through Jesus Christ, to be the wild branches grafted into the root of Israel (cf. Romans 11:17-24), and thus heirs of all of the promises that God gave to Israel (cf. Galatians 4:4-7). As we heard last week, we are a specal people, a kingdom of priests, and a holy nation. And that's great. But lest we think we are better than anyone else, we encounter this story about Hagar and her son, Ishmael, in our Old Testament text for the morning.
As the story goes, Isaac has been born to Sarah and Abraham in their old age (Genesis 21:1-8), to begin the fulfillment of God's promise to them that they will be the forebears of many descendants. When Isaac is weaned from his mother, at about the age of three, there is great celebration.
But there is another child present in Abraham's camp who is also a descendant of Abraham -- Ishmael, the son of Abraham's slave woman Hagar. Abraham fathered Ishmael, in accordance with the law, when it was thought that Sarah was barren (cf. Genesis 16:3-4). So Ishmael is the firstborn of Abraham. But he is not the child of the promise. Isaac is.
The two boys -- Ishmael and Isaac -- play together, as children will, and when Sarah sees them, fear fills her heart. She is afraid that Ishmael, whose name is not given in this account, will become Abraham's heir instead of Isaac. She therefore orders Abraham to get rid of the slave woman and child. Actually, by custom, that is Sarah's right, but Abraham has fatherly love for Ishamel, as well as for Isaac, and he does not want to accede to Sarah's jealous wish. (Contrast this attitude with Abraham's indifference in the parallel story in Genesis 16:1-14.) God, however, speaks to Abraham and tells him to banish Hagar and her son, because God has other plans for them. Ishmael too will become the forebear of a nation, while Isaac will be Abraham's heir and the bearer of the promise.
In other words, as he does so often, God is here working out the fulfillment of his promise in circumstances that seem to us quite wrong. God uses even the jealousy and hatred and fear in the human heart to accomplish his purpose (cf. Genesis 45:4-8). He will not be deterred!
But God does not desert Hagar and Ishmael either. The Lord is, above all else, a Lord of love. Hagar is sent away from the camp in the early morning with only the most meager supply of food and water. And once those are gone and her child is crying with thirst, she places Ishmael under a bush and goes a distance away, because she cannot stand to see him die. But "Ishamel" means "God hears." And God hears the voice of the child. An angel, who represents God, opens Hagar's eyes to see a well of water, and Hagar is promised that her son will not die, but will become the father of a great nation. And from that time on, says our text, God is with Ishmael (v. 20). Indeed, Ishmael becomes the forbear of those nomads, who had herds of cattle, who wandered the fringes of settlements in the southern part of Palestine.
We are members of God's covenant people, yes. But that does not mean that God loves and favors us any more than he loves other people, of whatever race or status. God cares for all folk, and so we are to care for them, too. In fact, the status to which we are called is to be a servant people to the rest of humanity.
Lutheran Option -- Jeremiah 20:7-13
This passage is one of those prayers that are known as Jeremiah's "confessions." We see the prophet in desperate straits, crying out and, in fact, accusing God of deceiving (literally, "seducing") him. God commanded Jeremiah to proclaim judgment on his sinful people in the form of attack and destruction by the armies of Babylonia. But the judgment has not come. Between the years of 604-601 B.C., Babylonia does not appear, and as a result, Jeremiah has become a laughingstock of his compatriots. "Where is the Word of the Lord?" they hoot. "Let it come!" (Jeremiah 17:15). They accuse Jeremiah of being a false prophet, which can lead to the death penalty (20:10). They curse him and openly oppose him (15:10), mimic his words (20:10; cf. v. 3), and even once subject him to beating, arrest, and a night in the stocks, where every passerby can hit him and spit on him (20:1-2). The prophet therefore accuses God of betraying him. We see from this prophet that prayer need not take the form of pious phrases, but can be uttered in open frankness and realism.
Jeremiah tries to escape his dreadful situation by shutting up God's word inside of him and not speaking, but the word is too powerful for him. It becomes, says the prophet, like a burning fire, shut up in his bones, and he cannot help but proclaim it (v. 9). The Word of God is more powerful than all human will and desire. And we see here the suffering that bearers of that word must sometimes undergo as God's servants.
This prayer has the form of what we call a "lament" in the Old Testament, a form found frequently in the Psalms (cf. Psalms 3, 5, 6, etc.). And as do most of the laments, this one switches from accusation and complaint to trust and assurance of God's help. God is with him, says the prophet, like a "dread warrior" (v. 11). That is not a term that we often use of God. But God is a warrior against sin throughout the Bible, and our prophet knows deep down in his soul that God is warring against Judah's sin. In prophetic vision, he has seen that warfare (cf. e.g. 4:5-8, 19-21, 29-31). And so Jeremiah knows he has been proclaiming a true word of judgment, and he realizes that, in the end, his persecutors will be shown wrong and shamed.
We should notice very carefully, however, that Jeremiah does not take vengeance into his own hands against his opponents and persecutors. Rather, he turns his case over to the Lord. "O Lord ... let me see thy vengeance upon them, for to thee have I committed my cause." Everything is left in God's hands, and Jeremiah can get on with the fearsome task to which his Lord has called him. God, in his time, will work out his own purpose. Jeremiah's calling is simply to be the servant of that purpose.
Jeremiah's words did prove true, of course. That is the reason we have his words preserved for us in the Old Testament -- because his words were fulfilled by God, thus vindicating Jeremiah's prophetic calling. To be sure, Jeremiah suffered for that calling. When God called him in his youth to be a prophet, he was told that he would be set against the whole land (1:18), and that was true most of his life. But anyone who resolves in faith to be a servant for the Lord necessarily takes on a role that contradicts most of the ways of a sinful society. It often is not easy to be a Christian. Nevertheless, our final assurance is that God is with us and that his powerful Word and saving purpose will prevail against all the enemies opposed to them.
Yet our lessons challenge us not to think merely about being Christians but about willingness to be spokespersons for God in and to a society that treats Christianity with more benign neglect than outright persecution. Are we, the church, willing to risk the people's response to Jeremiah's announcements of judgment by our confronting a society more concerned about preserving wealth than protecting the poor? Are we, the church, willing to acknowledge publicly Jesus as Christ and to risk even family relationships for the sake of his gospel? And are we, the church, willing to run against the grain by walking "in newness of life," as Paul urged the congregation in Rome?
Our lessons throw these questions at us, each one challenging us, the church, to count the costs of discipleship.
Jeremiah 20:7-13
Placed here in the mouth of Jeremiah are the words of a lament. So typical and stylized are these expressions that we must exercise caution in using them to psychoanalyze the prophet in his stressful ministry. It is possible that Jeremiah simply uttered laments that were known to him from the cult in which he grew up and worshiped all his life. It is also possible that a later editor inserted these laments into the prophet's life situation.
In any case, that such a lament would define Jeremiah's predicament is completely understandable. He had been called to be a prophet who would preach the word that plucks up and breaks down, as well as builds and plants. His plucking and breaking down did not qualify him for teaching seminars on how to win friends and influence people. Preaching the destruction of the city of Jerusalem was not only without diplomacy; it was downright blasphemy in a city that cherished a sacred tradition about its invincibility. One can imagine that if indeed these words of our pericope are stylized, they fit the situation that Jeremiah made for himself.
What connects this pericope to the gospel for the day is the dual message that (1) the call of the Lord to service leads to a great deal of trouble for the emissary, and (2) the Lord is present and does not forsake the emissary in those difficult times.
In regard to the first teaching, the lament goes so far as to say that God has misled the prophet ("enticed me" could even be "seduced me"). The words send a chill up the spine until the reader remembers that God never promised a job without trouble (see the call at 1:4-10). As a result of his faithful preaching of the Lord's word, the prophet is mocked (see Psalm 22:8 and Mark 15:29-32), even by those who used to be his closest friends.
The second point, that the Lord is present, takes on the image of a warrior coming to the rescue, shaming and dishonoring the prophet's persecutors. The prophet prays for the Lord's retribution -- deserved, he thinks, because "to you I have committed my cause."
Like most laments, this one ends with a song of praise to the Lord, confident that deliverance is on the way.
Romans 6:1b-11
This powerful paragraph of Paul's letter announces that the Christian faith is a matter of life and death, not either-or but both-and, for it is through death with Christ in our baptism that we are raised with him to life. Yet this message is not simply a matter of information or the teaching of doctrine. It is the answer to the rhetorical question with which Paul begins chapter 6: "Should we continue in sin in order that grace may abound?"
Raising the question was completely appropriate, because only two verses earlier the apostle wrote that "where sin increased, grace abounded all the more" (5:20). Having made that point, Paul needed to guard against the danger of libertinism, and he accomplished that goal by working on the character of "newness of life" (v. 4).
First, about the old life. The life of the old creation dies with Christ at baptism. That "death" occurs as the act of baptism makes present what happened on the cross. Such baptismal death means the end of living in the present age, full of sin and corruption, violence and vengeance -- in short, the stories on the front page of the daily newspapers. The present age and its values no longer control the destiny or the present behavior of baptized Christians, simply because we have been baptized into Christ's death. At baptism the old age and its powers are drowned.
The truly good news is that having died with Christ, the baptized will rise with him as well. The promise is not simply directed to the resurrection of the dead when the trumpets blast. It is an announcement of the present life of Christians as well. We already live a resurrected life, and that new existence is life under the Reign of God, a "walk in newness of life."
The logic of the argument is interesting, for Paul compares the resurrected life of Christ with the new life to which Christians are called here and now, as well as at the end. As Christ will never die again and "lives to God," so baptized Christians "must consider yourselves dead to sin and alive to God in Christ Jesus." The new life under the Reign of God consists of constant farewells -- farewell to hatred, farewell to vengeance, farewell to fear, farewell to death and its control, farewell to hopelessness, and farewell to Adam and Eve.
How is that for answering the question about continuing to sin so that grace may abound?
Matthew 10:24-39
When you finish reading this pericope, you might find yourself choking over the liturgical conclusion: "The Gospel of the Lord." If this is supposed to be good news, who wants to hear the bad?
These verses make up the continuation of last week's report about the commissioning of the twelve to proclaim the good news of the kingdom to the house of Israel and to demonstrate the kingdom's nearness by acts of healing. Jesus had already warned the disciples of the troubles they would encounter, both from religious and political groups. Now he helps them to understand that just as his ministry is the model for theirs, so his suffering and rejection will be experienced by them as well: "A disciple is not above the teacher, nor a slave above the master."
Jesus now moves the discussion into the issue of fear. He instructs them they are not to fear the ones who malign them, those who might even kill them. Rather they are to fear the One who has the power over life and death, and we can safely assume Jesus is talking about God. But his purpose here is not to make them afraid of God. He is really trying to comfort them with the message that they are precious in God's eyes, and no matter what happens to them, God is still the one in charge.
Matthew has Jesus make an argument that Christians ever since have applied to their sufferings. The logic goes like this: sparrows are of such little value that you can buy two for just one penny. Yet, valueless as they are in the human economy, they are each so distinguished by God that when one of them falls to the ground out of the clear blue sky, their fall is not "apart from your Father." The RSV rendered the somewhat obscure phrase as "not ... without your Father's will," implying, of course, that God controls, even micromanages, the destiny of every living creature. The rendering of the NRSV above, based on a literal translation of the Greek, is ambiguous enough to allow the interpretation of RSV but broad enough to imagine it refers to God's presence even in the death of a sparrow. Personally and understandably, I would prefer the latter meaning, especially since just last summer I picked an unconscious sparrow off the floor of our deck and, unable to arouse it, just set it on a nearby branch. I had great difficulty imagining God struck the little bird out of the sky just to prove some divine awareness of the little creature.
I am comforted somewhat in my judgment by Luke's version of the same speech by Jesus (Luke 12:4-7). First of all, deflation in the sparrow market must have occurred, because in Luke's community you can buy five sparrows for two pennies. But second, and more important, Luke says nothing at all about their falling to the ground and does not mention the elusive phrase "apart from your Father." Luke makes the point that even though the sparrows are of such little economic worth, "not one of them is forgotten in God's sight."
Both Matthew and Luke stress for the disciples under persecution that they are far more valuable than the sparrows and they are known so well by God that not even their barber knows better how many hairs are on their heads. Assured of that intimate knowledge of God, the disciples do not need to fear those who torment them, even if the persecution is capital.
More important, Jesus tells his commissioned disciples, than the fear of the enemy is the acknowledgement of himself in the face of others. Their faithful witnessing to Jesus, in spite of persecution, will lead to Jesus acknowledging them before "my Father" on the day of judgment. Jesus here defines his role as that of advocate before God on behalf of his faithful witnesses. That same role, although under different circumstances, is assigned to Jesus by the author of 1 John. The issue there is whether or not Christians sin after having been baptized. Apparently that question was one that plagued the author's audience. 1 John urges his readers not to sin but, aware that we are simultaneously saints and sinners, he writes, "if anyone does sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous" (1 John 2:1). Clearly this role of Jesus as our advocate before the judgment seat of God the Father provided comfort to the early church in a variety of settings.
As Jesus continues defining the cost of discipleship, the conflict becomes closer and closer to home. In fact, the conflicts are within the home, for the sword that Jesus brings cleaves a gash between family members. Jesus even insists on a love for himself that is greater than love for one's own parents or children. The speech does not go over well in family enrichment seminars.
But what a powerful statement it makes about the church! By themselves the words of Jesus at 10:35-37 seem horrendous. Yet when we read further in the gospel about the occasion when Jesus' mother and brothers came to him, we get a different picture. When Jesus learned they were standing outside, forced to stand at a distance because of the crowd around Jesus, he redefined family relationships. "Here are my mother and my brothers!" he said, pointing to his disciples. "For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother" (12:49-50).
As hard as such statements are to swallow, Jesus interprets his mission to be the establishing of the church, a community of disciples who are nothing less than sisters and brothers to himself and to one another. That gathering, a foretaste of the eschatological community, is more important than our biological family relationships, for this new family will coexist for all eternity.
To relieve some of the shock of this paragraph, the preacher might do well to remind the congregation that on another occasion Jesus cited the commandment, "Honor your father and mother," along with some others as the answer to the question about eternal life (Mark 10:19 with parallels at Matthew 19:19 and Luke 18:20). There he supported the family structure, even as a means to eternity.
Yet that other occasion cannot detract from the point in our pericope, namely, that discipleship means following Jesus to the exclusion of all that would stand in the way of faithful obedience, even our beloved kin. Jesus indeed ends this paragraph with the unconditional demand to lose life "for my sake" as the only way to find life alongside him.
Needless to say, we can all rejoice that following Jesus through death to life with him is accomplished by God through baptism (Romans 6:4).
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
By Elizabeth Achtemeier
Genesis 21:8-21
God has a way of humbling our pride. We consider ourselves in the Christian Church to be participants in the covenant people, chosen by God through Jesus Christ, to be the wild branches grafted into the root of Israel (cf. Romans 11:17-24), and thus heirs of all of the promises that God gave to Israel (cf. Galatians 4:4-7). As we heard last week, we are a specal people, a kingdom of priests, and a holy nation. And that's great. But lest we think we are better than anyone else, we encounter this story about Hagar and her son, Ishmael, in our Old Testament text for the morning.
As the story goes, Isaac has been born to Sarah and Abraham in their old age (Genesis 21:1-8), to begin the fulfillment of God's promise to them that they will be the forebears of many descendants. When Isaac is weaned from his mother, at about the age of three, there is great celebration.
But there is another child present in Abraham's camp who is also a descendant of Abraham -- Ishmael, the son of Abraham's slave woman Hagar. Abraham fathered Ishmael, in accordance with the law, when it was thought that Sarah was barren (cf. Genesis 16:3-4). So Ishmael is the firstborn of Abraham. But he is not the child of the promise. Isaac is.
The two boys -- Ishmael and Isaac -- play together, as children will, and when Sarah sees them, fear fills her heart. She is afraid that Ishmael, whose name is not given in this account, will become Abraham's heir instead of Isaac. She therefore orders Abraham to get rid of the slave woman and child. Actually, by custom, that is Sarah's right, but Abraham has fatherly love for Ishamel, as well as for Isaac, and he does not want to accede to Sarah's jealous wish. (Contrast this attitude with Abraham's indifference in the parallel story in Genesis 16:1-14.) God, however, speaks to Abraham and tells him to banish Hagar and her son, because God has other plans for them. Ishmael too will become the forebear of a nation, while Isaac will be Abraham's heir and the bearer of the promise.
In other words, as he does so often, God is here working out the fulfillment of his promise in circumstances that seem to us quite wrong. God uses even the jealousy and hatred and fear in the human heart to accomplish his purpose (cf. Genesis 45:4-8). He will not be deterred!
But God does not desert Hagar and Ishmael either. The Lord is, above all else, a Lord of love. Hagar is sent away from the camp in the early morning with only the most meager supply of food and water. And once those are gone and her child is crying with thirst, she places Ishmael under a bush and goes a distance away, because she cannot stand to see him die. But "Ishamel" means "God hears." And God hears the voice of the child. An angel, who represents God, opens Hagar's eyes to see a well of water, and Hagar is promised that her son will not die, but will become the father of a great nation. And from that time on, says our text, God is with Ishmael (v. 20). Indeed, Ishmael becomes the forbear of those nomads, who had herds of cattle, who wandered the fringes of settlements in the southern part of Palestine.
We are members of God's covenant people, yes. But that does not mean that God loves and favors us any more than he loves other people, of whatever race or status. God cares for all folk, and so we are to care for them, too. In fact, the status to which we are called is to be a servant people to the rest of humanity.
Lutheran Option -- Jeremiah 20:7-13
This passage is one of those prayers that are known as Jeremiah's "confessions." We see the prophet in desperate straits, crying out and, in fact, accusing God of deceiving (literally, "seducing") him. God commanded Jeremiah to proclaim judgment on his sinful people in the form of attack and destruction by the armies of Babylonia. But the judgment has not come. Between the years of 604-601 B.C., Babylonia does not appear, and as a result, Jeremiah has become a laughingstock of his compatriots. "Where is the Word of the Lord?" they hoot. "Let it come!" (Jeremiah 17:15). They accuse Jeremiah of being a false prophet, which can lead to the death penalty (20:10). They curse him and openly oppose him (15:10), mimic his words (20:10; cf. v. 3), and even once subject him to beating, arrest, and a night in the stocks, where every passerby can hit him and spit on him (20:1-2). The prophet therefore accuses God of betraying him. We see from this prophet that prayer need not take the form of pious phrases, but can be uttered in open frankness and realism.
Jeremiah tries to escape his dreadful situation by shutting up God's word inside of him and not speaking, but the word is too powerful for him. It becomes, says the prophet, like a burning fire, shut up in his bones, and he cannot help but proclaim it (v. 9). The Word of God is more powerful than all human will and desire. And we see here the suffering that bearers of that word must sometimes undergo as God's servants.
This prayer has the form of what we call a "lament" in the Old Testament, a form found frequently in the Psalms (cf. Psalms 3, 5, 6, etc.). And as do most of the laments, this one switches from accusation and complaint to trust and assurance of God's help. God is with him, says the prophet, like a "dread warrior" (v. 11). That is not a term that we often use of God. But God is a warrior against sin throughout the Bible, and our prophet knows deep down in his soul that God is warring against Judah's sin. In prophetic vision, he has seen that warfare (cf. e.g. 4:5-8, 19-21, 29-31). And so Jeremiah knows he has been proclaiming a true word of judgment, and he realizes that, in the end, his persecutors will be shown wrong and shamed.
We should notice very carefully, however, that Jeremiah does not take vengeance into his own hands against his opponents and persecutors. Rather, he turns his case over to the Lord. "O Lord ... let me see thy vengeance upon them, for to thee have I committed my cause." Everything is left in God's hands, and Jeremiah can get on with the fearsome task to which his Lord has called him. God, in his time, will work out his own purpose. Jeremiah's calling is simply to be the servant of that purpose.
Jeremiah's words did prove true, of course. That is the reason we have his words preserved for us in the Old Testament -- because his words were fulfilled by God, thus vindicating Jeremiah's prophetic calling. To be sure, Jeremiah suffered for that calling. When God called him in his youth to be a prophet, he was told that he would be set against the whole land (1:18), and that was true most of his life. But anyone who resolves in faith to be a servant for the Lord necessarily takes on a role that contradicts most of the ways of a sinful society. It often is not easy to be a Christian. Nevertheless, our final assurance is that God is with us and that his powerful Word and saving purpose will prevail against all the enemies opposed to them.
