Real Freedom and the Listening Lord

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Good morning, everybody. I'm Cheruba, and I lead the Women of Prayer Fellowship.

Today's lesson is taken from the Old Testament from the book of Genesis as printed in your liturgy.

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.

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.

The angel of the Lord found Hagar near a spring in the desert.

It was a 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 am running away from my mistress, Sarai, she answered.

Then the angel of the Lord took her.

Go back to your mistress and submit to her.

The angel said, I will increase your descendants so much that they will be too numerous to count.

The angel of the Lord also said to her, you are now pregnant, and you will give birth to a son.

You shall name him Ishmael, for the Lord has heard of your misery.

He will be a wild donkey of a man.

His hand will be against everyone, and everyone's hand against him.

And he will live in hostility towards all his brothers.

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.

That is why the well was called Bir Lahai Roy.

It is still there between Kadesh and Bered.

So Hagar bore Abram a son, and Abram gave the name Ishmael to the son she had born.

Abram was 86 years old when Hagar bore him Ishmael.

The grass withers and the flowers fade, but the word of our God stands forever.

Thanks, Truba.

Let's go to the Lord in prayer.

Lord God, we pray that you would speak to us, convince us that you are the God who sees,

that that would be a comfort to us, and that you would open our eyes to see as you see.

So Lord, be honored in the preaching of your word, and would your spirit move in this place.

For Jesus' sake, amen.

So I want to start with a personal question.

The question is, have you ever felt utterly invisible and unable to do anything about it?

Have you ever felt utterly invisible and unable to do anything about it?

Overlooked, unnoticed, unthought of, uncared for, perhaps even neglected and disregarded?

Like the last player all the way at the end of the bench, the most expendable colleague,

the least worthwhile person in the room.

Have you ever felt like no one cared about your story?

Like no one ever noticed or considered the heavy things you might be carrying or even cared to know?

And then have you ever felt so unseen that you've also wondered if you and your story

were even insignificant and invisible to God?

As a church, we've been going through the first book of the Bible, Genesis.

And in the past two weeks, our focus has been on this character, Abram, and God's special promise to him

to make him a great nation, to use him to bless the world, to protect him,

and to give him descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky.

But while Abram does have a unique calling in God's redemptive story for the world,

the teaching of Genesis from the very beginning was that actually every human being, not just Abram,

is made in the image of God.

Every one of us has a unique and valuable calling and purpose in the eyes of God.

No one is insignificant.

No one is invisible to God.

And our text today, Genesis chapter 16, is a great example of this really revolutionary teaching

Genesis 16 · chapter mention

in the Christian Scriptures.

It's a reminder that as important and blessed as Abram was, he wasn't the only one who had God's attention.

He wasn't the only player that God intended to use for his purposes.

No, actually, in our text this morning, Abram actually plays a very, very passive background role

while two women in his household, they take center stage.

One, his barren wife, Sarai, and two, his wife's maidservant, Hagar.

And, you know, this is something that's incredibly unique about the Hebrew Scriptures

compared to all other ancient Near Eastern literature.

The story today begins with, and it features women, and not just as accessories to the male lead,

but as incredibly significant characters in their own right.

See, unlike other ancient writings, the Bible actually gives remarkable attention to the voices

and the agency and the emotions and the inner thoughts of multiple women,

whether rich or poor, fertile or barren, slave or free.

Women who would otherwise, and in every other culture and religion,

be virtually invisible and insignificant.

So as Genesis 16 distinctively and intentionally, like, shifts our focus from Abraham to the women in his life,

God's Spirit is inviting us to open our eyes today,

to hopefully see as God sees.

And I have four points this morning to help us see as God sees.

The burden of barrenness, the cycle of sin,

the sovereign who sees, and the glory of grace.

Right, so let's start with the burden of barrenness.

Now, Genesis 16 starts with Sarai in verse 1 saying,

Now Sarai, Abram's wife, had borne him no children.

And listen, that's not a throwaway detail here.

No, actually, that's basically her whole identity in the story of Genesis so far.

When we first meet her, her whole identity in the story of Genesis is that she is barren.

We meet her all the way back in Genesis chapter 11, verse 30,

Genesis 11:30

and it goes out of its way to tell us,

Now Sarai was barren.

She had no child.

This is the headline of her life,

the ache she probably feels when she goes to bed at night and rises each morning.

Up to this point in Genesis 16, all we know about Sarai are three things.

She's Abram's wife.

She's beautiful.

Beautiful.

And then three, the most prominent thing that we know about her,

it's repeated twice, is that she's barren.

So here in chapter 16, it's ten years later from when we met her in chapter 11,

and we're reminded once again she's still barren.

That's the frame around her life,

probably the lens through which she sees herself,

through which everyone else sees her,

beautiful but barren.

And not just barren as a biological fact,

but to her social and psychological shame,

even threatening her family's economic situation.

Remember, this was a culture where a woman's whole worth

was tied to her ability to make babies,

to produce more arrows for her husband's quiver, right?

Barrenness wasn't just a private sorrow,

it was a public shame.

When the text tells us that Sarai is barren,

it is signaling to us that in the eyes of her society,

perhaps even in her own eyes,

she is a failure of a woman,

providing far less value than what is expected of her.

So put yourself in Abram and Sarai's shoes for a second.

Abram, by the way, means exalted father, right?

And Sarai means princess or noble lady,

and yet this exalted father is childless.

And this princess,

her life seems more like a nightmare than a fairy tale.

Every day, their names probably reminded them

of their barrenness,

like a cruel joke that they could never escape.

And maybe you're thinking to yourself this morning,

well, okay, I can see how that was sad for them,

but also maybe some of us are, you know,

modern Western folk,

we're like, well, childlessness isn't so bad.

My kid was a pretty tough one this morning, right?

It's not so bad.

Or maybe you're thinking,

well, I can see how barrenness

was especially devastating in ancient times,

but good thing we're living in the 21st century, right?

But, you know, while we modern Western folks,

we might think of barrenness differently today,

though honestly, I know a lot of people in my life,

actually, who do feel Sarai's pain,

who wish that they could have children that they can't.

But even if that's not,

you want to suggest that this discussion

of Sarai's barrenness,

it's still relevant for all of us,

because, you know,

regardless of whether or not you're infertile,

what Sarai was really faced with in her society,

it's something we're all faced with,

is the question of whether or not we're enough.

The question of whether or not we're bringing value

to our families, to our society.

For Sarai, barrenness meant she wasn't bringing value

in the eyes of most people in her life.

And while the goalposts may have changed

thousands of years later,

and while our standards and values

might be different from the ancient Near East,

has there ever been a culture

that didn't have some kind of critical standard

determining who in society brought value and honor

and who brought liability and shame?

I was just speaking with a family last week

who recently moved here from a place

where it felt like people with special needs

and disabilities were liabilities

to be overlooked rather than valuable members of society.

Truly, every culture has its own definition of barrenness.

We all feel the burden of barrenness

in some way or another, don't we?

In Sarai's world, barrenness meant no children,

but in ours, barrenness might mean

you're not attractive enough,

you're not wealthy or accomplished enough,

you don't have that picture-perfect,

Instagram-worthy family.

See, every kingdom built by sinful human beings,

every culture whispers,

unless you have this, you're nothing.

You're barren.

And so Sarai's barrenness isn't just an ancient problem,

it's our problem too.

We're all dealing with some kind of barrenness,

some kind of deficit and lack

that's keeping us from satisfaction, security,

or some kind of salvation.

And so the question for us is,

what do we do with the burden of barrenness

that we all feel?

This brings me to my second point,

the cycle of sin.

And again, verse one tells us

that Sarai had born no children,

but it says what she did have

was an Egyptian slave named Hagar.

In other words, she didn't have what she longed for,

but she did have something,

something she could use,

someone she could use,

someone vulnerable,

over whom she could exert the little power

that she did have.

She had an Egyptian slave.

Now, if you were an Israelite

listening to this origin story,

you'd catch the irony immediately, right?

Wait, Sarai had an Egyptian slave?

That's what we were.

But apparently,

before the Egyptians had Hebrew slaves,

these Hebrews had an Egyptian slave.

This was a reminder to Israel and all of us

that the line between the oppressed

and the oppressor in history

is actually quite thin.

It can go back and forth quite easily.

And so now,

who was this Egyptian slave?

Her name was Hagar,

which literally means

the immigrant,

the sojourner.

It's the same word that's used

in the chapter before in Genesis 15.

We looked at that last week

when God reiterates His promise to Abram,

but also mentions to him

that His people are going to be strangers

in a country not their own for 400 years.

That word strangers,

it's the same word as the name Hagar.

Strangers, sojourners, immigrants.

And according to some Jewish traditions,

in Midrash,

Hagar may have even been a princess

in Pharaoh's household,

maybe even Pharaoh's daughter,

which if you think about it,

makes this even more tragic and twisted.

So now we have two princesses

in this story, right?

Both vulnerable in a patriarchal world,

but instead of being allies,

they become rivals

in Abram's household,

caught in a cycle of sin.

And it starts with Sarai, right?

She's burdened with her barrenness,

and yet she's unable to see herself

in Hagar.

She only sees Hagar as an object

to be used,

a tool to build her own family,

a biotechnological object

to deliver herself

from the burden of her barrenness.

As the saying goes, right?

Hurt people hurt people.

Sarai couldn't see

what she proposed to do to Hagar

was the same thing

that was done to her in Egypt.

And in case you're not familiar

with what I'm talking about,

we didn't have time to go over this

a couple weeks ago

in Genesis chapter 12,

Genesis 12 · chapter mention

but back in Genesis chapter 12,

Genesis 12 · chapter mention

Abram and Sarah,

they flee to Egypt

because of a famine.

And there,

because of Abram's cowardice,

because of his lack of faith

and the promises of God,

Abram, he lies,

and Sarah is just his sister.

So his beautiful wife,

she gets objectified,

she gets taken

into Pharaoh's harem,

she's given over

into another man's bed,

basically.

So like Sarah,

you know,

no one knew better than her

the painful feeling

of being trafficked,

of being objectified

by the powers that be.

And yet in her desperation,

in her unbelief

about the promises of God,

in her unbelief

regarding God's goodness,

His power,

His faithfulness,

she takes matters,

she takes Hagar

into her own hands.

Verse 2.

So she said to Abram,

the Lord has kept me

from having children.

Literally,

the Lord has restrained me,

has limited me.

In her mind,

just like Eve's mind,

the Lord is a prohibitive,

restrictive God

rather than a generous one.

So she says to Abram,

go sleep with my slave,

go depart from God's ideal

in Genesis chapter 2

Genesis 2 · chapter mention

of a one husband,

one wife,

marriage,

and family,

go the polygamous way

of Cain's descendants

of Lamech,

take another wife,

go sleep with my slave,

she says.

She doesn't even mention

Hagar's name

because she's just

an object to them.

And perhaps,

she says,

maybe because it's all

up to chance anyway,

not God,

perhaps we might get lucky

going this alternative route.

Perhaps,

she said,

I can build

a family through her.

If you think

that sounds funny,

I can build

a family through her.

It is,

but it's very intentional.

That word build,

it's the same word

that's used

when God built

the first family

in Genesis chapter 2,

Genesis 2:22

verse 22.

He took Eve

from the side of Adam

and he built

that first family.

But it's also

the same word

that's used

when Cain's descendants

defy God

and build cities.

It's also the same word

that's used

when the people

at Babel

build their city

to sustain

their own security.

All of them,

Cain,

the Babylonians,

and now,

even Abram's wife,

they're all trying

to build their way

out of barrenness.

And all these

building projects,

they depend on

anything

but the promises

of God.

All of these

building projects

depend upon

violence

and harshness,

oppression,

rivalry,

and selfishness.

So verse 3 says,

so after Abram

had been living

in Canaan

10 years,

Sarai,

his wife,

took her Egyptian

slave,

Hagar,

and gave her

to her husband

to be his wife.

Does that language

sound familiar to you?

She took

and she gave.

Same as Genesis

Genesis 3 · chapter mention

chapter 3.

When Eve took

and gave

to Adam,

the cycle

of sin

continues.

Abram is passive

as Adam was.

Abram takes

a second wife

like Lamech.

Sarai repeats

the oppression

once done to her.

And then verse 4 says,

Abram slept with Hagar

and she conceived.

When she knew

she was pregnant,

she began to despise

or look down upon,

even curse her mistress.

So the cycle

of sin continues.

The oppressed

Hagar,

she's proved fertile.

She's got some cards

to play now.

And now she

becomes the oppressor

looking down

on Sarai

just as Sarai

looked down upon her.

Hurt people

continue hurting people.

And this creates

more conflict

in the household,

verse 5,

than 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.

Just like Adam

and Eve, right?

Blame shifting.

No one takes

responsibility.

Verse 6,

your slave is in your hands,

Abram said,

not acknowledging

that he got to have sex.

He wasn't some

passive actor here.

He wasn't innocent.

And then,

just like Sarai,

also treating Hagar

as not,

he just callously says,

do with her

whatever you think best.

And literally,

in the Hebrew,

it says,

do what is good

in your own eyes.

Does that remind you

of anything?

Maybe of the fruit

that was nice

and pleasing

to Eve's eyes.

Also,

the book of Judges

where the refrain

of Israel's downfall

is that everyone

did what was right

in their own eyes.

Here,

Abram,

the father of our faith,

he checks out,

shrugs his shoulders

and leaves the bearer

of his firstborn child,

he leaves her hanging.

And verse 6 ends,

then Sarai mistreated

Hagar,

so she fled from her.

It could also be translated,

she afflicted Hagar.

It's the same word

that's used

of how the Egyptians

mistreated

the Israelite slaves.

So do you see

what this story

is showing us?

When we don't entrust

our barrenness to God,

when we refuse

to trust in his timing

and in his promises,

when we take things

into our own hands,

we only perpetuate

the cycle of sin

that began long,

long, long ago.

We objectify others,

we use them

rather than love them,

we misuse

what little power we have,

we look down on people,

we see them as threats

and rivals,

we shift blame.

And when it suits us,

we escape into passivity,

we shrug our shoulders

and we think

we're being so tolerant,

we think we're being

so chill and open-minded

and we say,

hey, just do whatever

seems good

in your own eyes.

But really,

we're not doing anyone

any favors,

we're merely enabling

the evildoers.

When we,

like Abram and Sarai,

experiment with

building our own ways

out of barrenness,

our pain and shame

are only compounded

and it spreads to hurt

and enslave everyone

around us,

multiplying selfishness

for generations

upon generations.

You know,

that might be

the scariest part

of all of this,

the generational ripple

effects of sin.

We're still feeling

Adam and Eve's today.

So just as Adam and Eve

thought that they were

advancing humanity,

Sarai,

she thought she was

solving her own

barrenness problem,

but her sin set in motion

a rivalry, right?

Between Hagar's son,

Ishmael,

and her eventual son,

Isaac,

a rivalry that's lasted

even to today

between the Jewish

and Arab peoples.

So a question for us

is have we reckoned

with the implications,

the consequences

of our sinful patterns?

Have we considered

their effect,

not just on us,

not just on our

immediate neighbors,

on our children

and our neighbors

and our children's

children

and our neighbors'

neighbors?

Our unbelief,

our addictions,

our short tempers,

our selfishness,

our prayerlessness,

our greed,

and lack of generosity.

What are the vices

that we are perpetuating

in this world?

And what legacy

do we hope to pass on

to the next generation?

Christchurch,

we need to deal

with sin

in our church.

As John Owen,

the Puritan wrote,

be killing sin

or sin will be killing you.

And listen,

I'll be the first one

to recognize

that sin is complex

and it often comes

from a place

of having been sinned

against, right?

I'll be the first

to agree that hurt people

hurt people who hurt people

and I know that many of us

in this room,

I'm the pastor of care here,

I know that many of you

are hurting,

that you've been

badly sinned against

and that many,

if not most,

of our sin patterns

are themselves ripple effects

from the sins

of those who've gone

before us.

Trauma is real

and it's devastating.

Genesis 16

has taught us that.

Hagar is its proof.

She didn't ask

for this story,

she didn't choose it,

she was taken

and given over,

she was used

and then discarded,

a traumatized victim

of another traumatized victim

and her whole life

was undoubtedly shaped

by this trauma

and victimization

just as many

of your lives

are indebably marked

by your own wounds.

But the danger,

the danger in our current

often trauma-obsessed

cultural moment

is that because trauma

is real

and because we long

to be seen

in our trauma,

many of us

can let our trauma

take over our identity

as if trauma

is the truest,

most important

and most essential

thing about us.

And I want to be careful

not to minimize

the pain in this room

or to suggest

that we sweep

our trauma

just under the rug.

I'm totally in favor

of people working

through their trauma,

acknowledging it,

naming it,

lamenting it.

It's all definitely

a part of healing

and of being seen.

But,

if we believe

in God's story

about the world,

if we believe

that God's story

isn't just creation

and then fall

and then,

oh man,

that really sucked,

right?

If we believe

that God's story

is creation,

fall,

and then redemption,

if we believe

that Christ is risen

as the first fruits

of a new

and incorruptible creation,

then whatever your trauma,

it is not,

it must not,

it cannot

be your truest

and final identity.

To let your trauma

be your most significant

identity

is to say

that the most significant

part of a book

is the problem

and the conflict

right in the middle

of the story

rather than

the resolution.

what if our fixation

on trauma

actually comes

from a deeper

desperation

of wanting someone

to see us

in it?

Someone to notice,

someone to care,

someone to say,

I see what happened

to you,

I see what you're

carrying,

and I feel for you,

and I will never

leave you nor forsake you.

Maybe for some of us,

airing our trauma,

it feels like

the only way

will ever be seen.

Like if I can convince

them of how terribly

I've been wounded,

then maybe,

finally,

people will have

to see me.

But don't you see

what this is doing

to us

in our society?

How it's become

a race to the bottom,

people vying for power

or credibility

by showing that

they've been

more traumatized

than others,

everyone clamoring

for a platform

and fighting

for visibility.

I love how

one of my favorite

thinkers,

Alan Noble,

puts it when he writes,

everyone is on

their own private

journey of self-discovery

and self-expression

so that at times,

modern life feels

like billions of people

in the same room

shouting their own name

so that everyone else

knows they exist,

to be recognized

and to draw the gaze

and the attention

of others.

And then trauma sharing

is quite a popular

way to do this.

And yet God's word

here in Genesis 16

has better news for us,

that we don't have

to win the trauma

Olympics to be seen.

We don't need

to out-suffer

everyone else

to be worthy

of care and comfort.

This brings me

to the third point,

the sovereign who sees.

Verse 7 says,

the angel of the Lord

found Hagar

near a spring

in the desert.

It was the spring

that is beside

the road to Shur.

So Hagar has now

fled into the wilderness

and she's at a spring

beside the road to Shur

which indicates

that she's fleeing south,

probably back to Egypt.

And she's all alone

and no one's come

after her.

Sarah's still hostile,

Abram's still passive,

but the sovereign Lord,

he is neither hostile

nor passive

toward Hagar.

No, verse 7 says,

the angel of the Lord

comes after her.

And by the way,

this isn't just any angel,

it's the same angel

of the Lord

who spoke to Moses

from the burning bush.

This is the Lord himself

entering into creation

to be present

with his people.

And what's crazy is

this is his first appearance

to anyone in history,

at least what's recorded

in Scripture.

This first person

in Scripture

to encounter

the angel of the Lord.

It isn't Abraham,

Isaac, Jacob,

it's not Moses,

not some Jewish man.

No, it's Hagar,

an Egyptian slave girl

who was used

and abused

by her masters.

And notice what he says

in verse 8.

He says,

Hagar.

He calls her by name,

slave of Sarai.

Where have you come from

and where are you going?

This is crazy, you know.

Throughout the story,

Abram and Sarai

never speak Hagar's name.

They always refer to her

as my slave,

your slave,

but God,

he says Hagar.

He knows her.

He calls her by name.

The first person

in this entire narrative

to call her by name,

treat her like a person

and not property.

And this is also

the only known instance

in all of ancient

Near Eastern literature

where a deity

addresses a woman

by name.

The God of the Bible

is a God

who sees Hagar

individually,

personally,

comprehensively,

and compassionately.

He sees her

and he dignifies her

and he dignifies her,

how?

With a promise.

Now think about that

for a second.

Think about what

a promise is.

A promise

is a binding commitment.

So here you have

this slave girl

who no one ever

made a promise to.

No one ever felt like

they owed her anything,

but the maker

of heaven and earth,

the I am,

Yahweh,

here,

he is committing himself.

He is binding himself

to her story

by making a promise

to her.

And it's a promise

that sounds a lot

like it has the same

scale as Abram's.

Verse 10,

I will increase

your descendants

so much that they

will be too numerous

to count.

See,

God is saying

everyone else

is trying to use you

for their own plans

to elevate themselves.

But Hagar,

I have a plan

to elevate you.

Your child

will be so much more

than a trauma-born baby.

Verse 11 through 12

detail how this child

will not be forgotten.

This child will be strong

and free,

independent,

and a force

to be reckoned with.

Hagar's son Ishmael,

which means God hears,

would be a reminder

to her for the rest

of her life

that God has not

shut his ears

to her misery

nor overlooked

her affliction.

And so impactful,

so transformative

is this moment.

Look how Hagar responds.

Verse 13,

it's one of the most

remarkable verses

in the entire Bible.

It says,

she gave this name

to the Lord

who spoke to her.

You are the God

who sees me.

Did you know

that this is

the only place

in all of Scripture

where a human being

gives God a name?

Normally,

it's some higher authority

that's supposed

to bestow a name, right?

But here,

Hagar is giving God

a name,

and not because

she's higher,

but because she's humbled

and she's bearing witness

to his character.

She names him El Roy,

which means

the God who sees me.

In verse 13,

it literally says,

she is calling upon

the name of the Lord

just like the descendants

of Seth.

She's naming him

according to her experience

of him.

The God who personally

found her

when she was lost

and miserable.

The God who called her

by name

and promised her

a better tomorrow.

This overwhelms her.

Like,

have I actually

just right here

gazed upon the one

who gazes upon me?

Hagar is blown away.

She is transformed

by this encounter

with the sovereign

who sees,

precisely because

he's the sovereign

who sees her,

her of all people.

A well is even

dedicated by her

to this remarkable moment,

Bir Lahoy Roy,

which means

well of the living one

who sees me,

and so transformative

is this moment for her

that she is even willing

to heed and obey

the Lord's command

to her in verse 9

to go return

to her mistress

and even submit to her

is what it says.

And listen,

this is not

a prescriptive story.

This is a descriptive one.

This isn't God saying

you should go back

to return to those

who abuse you,

but it is a story

telling us that

sometimes God

has a better plan

than what we think.

God has a distinct

and unmistakable plan

for Hagar,

and Hagar believes it

having seen the one

who sees her.

And my question is,

is this how you understand?

Is this how you view God

as El Roy,

the God who sees you,

as the God who sees

all your tears,

hears your cries,

who observes

all your affliction?

Have you experienced him

in this way?

Would you dare believe

this about him?

My really good friend,

author, biblical counselor,

her name's Esther,

she puts it this way,

the story of Hagar

throws us off

because it expands

the scope of

who matters to God.

We're not sure

we expect God

to inscripturate this story

for all eternity,

but he does care

about this seemingly

insignificant character,

maybe in part

to confound our notions

of who he cares about,

who he sees.

God cares about people

we're not sure

he would care about,

and we find hope

that maybe

his watchful regard

is for us too.

This is a word

to the Hagars

in the room,

those of us

who feel unseen,

unnoticed,

and unhopeful.

But get this,

this is also a word

to the Sarai's

and the Abram's

in the room.

The God who saw

Hagar's suffering

also saw Abram

and Sarai's sin.

He sees both

the oppressed

and the oppressor,

victims and the victimized.

That's a word

for us too.

The sovereign who sees

is both comforting

and terrifying

at the same time.

But what's even

more beautiful

than God simply seeing

is that this isn't

just God's mind

being like a massive

data collector, right?

When Hagar is calling

upon the name

of the Lord

as the God who sees,

she's not marveling

at God's knowledge

simply about her.

But she's marveling

that he knows her,

that he gets her,

that he's tenderly present

and attentive to her

and powerfully working

in her life.

And this doesn't mean

he just snaps his fingers

to transform all

her circumstances

around her, right?

Sarai's still hostile.

Abram's no advocate.

God seeing Hagar

doesn't mean giving her

exactly the kind of story

she'd write for herself.

No, he's too wise.

He's too good

to do that for her

or for any of us.

But what the sovereign

seeing God does mean

is that the sovereign maker,

the sustainer,

the maker of heaven

and earth

does not find it

too lowly

to bend down low

and to personally

and privately assure us

one-on-one,

I see you.

I hear you

and I will not

abandon you.

My promises are sure.

He assures Hagar

that her future

isn't determined

by Sarai's spitefulness

or Abram's apathy

nor even by her own trauma.

Her future and ours

are sure

just because God says.

They're sure

according to the word

and promise

of the God

who sees us.

And this is what

helped Hagar

to live another day.

And this is what

we can all find

help from

to live a new day

as well.

When we're tempted

to believe

that our stories

are too broken,

not worth living on,

because of the people

who hurt us,

the failures that haunt us,

the burdens

that weigh us down,

God says,

no, I see you.

I hear you

and your story

isn't invisible to me.

Let my promise

sustain you.

Let my promise

have the final word

and not your pain.

And my question

for us this morning

is do you think

you could believe that?

Do you think

you could believe that?

Do you want

to believe that?

Do you want

to live as though

God's good promises

were true for you

and for those around you?

Here in Genesis 16,

Sarai couldn't

and neither could Abram,

but Hagar,

she could believe that.

When Sarai and Abram

lived by technique

and human strategy

rather than trusting

the promises

of God by faith,

they chose to live

by human ingenuity.

Rather than by divine grace.

And this is where

we'll land the plane.

You see,

Genesis 16 isn't just

a touching story

about how God

sees the underdog

in Hagar.

It's a story

of the transformative

power

and the glory

of grace.

So powerful

was God's

gracious encounter

with Hagar.

So convincing

was His gracious

promise to her.

Seeing the one

who saw her

transformed

how she saw

her own circumstances.

It was no longer

a choice

between living

under the empire

of Sarai

and living

under the empire

of Egypt.

The choice

was now between

the gracious plan

and kingdom

of God

and everything else.

The choice

was now between

depending completely

on God

to show up

for her,

to see her,

to meet her,

to provide for her,

or depending

completely

on someone else

or something else

to show up

for her

and to meet her

and to provide

for her.

Grace gave her

the strange freedom

of entrusting

herself to the

goodwill

and pleasure

of God

instead of having

to engineer

her own salvation

as Sarah

was trying to do

for herself.

The glory

of grace

is that we

don't have to

bear the burden

of our barrenness

any longer.

The glory

of grace

is we don't

have to build

our way

out of barrenness

ourselves.

So ironically,

Hagar,

the slave girl,

the one Abram

and Sarah

used to try

to expedite

the plans

of God.

Hagar returns

from the wilderness.

She turns away

from Egypt.

She gives birth

to Ishmael

whose name again

means God hears

and thus Hagar

becomes a sign

and a reminder

to the people

of God,

to Sarah

and to Abram

of the way

God graciously

fulfills

his promises.

For every time

Sarah and Abraham

would hear

Ishmael's name,

they would be

reminded of the way

that they pursued

their own salvation

by works of the flesh

rather than calling

upon the name

of the Lord

who hears

and actually

are encountering

the good and gracious

living God

as Hagar had.

Hagar and Ishmael

were a reminder

to Abram and Sarah

that the promises

of God

will not be expedited

nor engineered

to fulfillment

but only divinely

delivered by grace.

And that's the gospel.

That we cannot

save ourselves

but God.

And we've beheld

an even fuller picture

of this God

than Hagar

who met

the angel

of the Lord.

We met him

in Christ.

For God

has not merely

come to us

as an angel

but as Jesus Christ

the Son

in the flesh.

He's the one

the angel

of the Lord

was pointing to

who is not only

the sovereign

who sees

he wasn't just

the one

who saw

the Samaritan woman

at another well

but he's the Savior

who suffers.

Like Hagar

he moved back

toward those

who afflicted him

out of faith

in the promises

of God

and perhaps

better than Hagar

out of love

for those

who'd crucify him.

So what do we do

with this?

Well like Hagar

we should bear witness.

We should bear witness

to what we've seen

to the one

who's seen us

and better yet

to the one

who's saved us.

That was Hagar's gospel.

That was her good news

her testimony

that she saw

the one

who saw her.

So what's your good news?

What's your gospel?

What's your testimony

about how God

has saved you

from having to save

yourself?

This is my practical

challenge to all of us

to help others

see the God

who sees

and saves us.

Let's pray.

Lord convince us

of our barrenness

and our inability

to bear that burden.

Save us,

deliver us

from the cycle

of sin.

Oh God convince us

that you are

the God who sees.

Lord lift up our eyes

to the glory

of your grace

in Jesus Christ.

We ask in his name.

Amen.