The barren landscape seemed to dance before her eyes, as she looked toward a horizon littered with debris, strewn with the rubbish of thousands of careless people who had gone this way. Filthy and dirty as it was, though, it seemed to dance before her eyes, for the sun was high above and hot; the humidity was reaching saturation proportions, and streams of sweat with their searing salt were attacking her. She could not see straight. She could not focus on what was in front of her.
But it was not only the blistering heat, not only the ugly garbage that careless people drop behind when they are hurrying on to accomplish things and get somewhere; it was also the prospect of all she had to do now. How in the name of all that's holy was she going to survive it, shoved out of the only home she'd known for fifteen years, shoved out, unceremoniously, with precious little to go on, with no job, no destination, no place to live, and not even a decent letter of credit that she could use to open the doors of some cheap shelter.
Already she felt dizzy, light-headed, and she hadn't been out in the sun fifteen minutes. No, it wasn't just the heat; it was the horrible suddenness, the dazzling finality of his decision.
What had he been thinking of, anyway? And why was there no notice? Why was there no warning? Just up and out, pack up your brat and get out of here.
Your brat! Your brat! As if her son were not also his son. As if they had not come together that night a decade and a half ago and created something beautiful. But now, you and your brat just get out of here, right now.
Of course it had to be his wife. Without question it was his wife. He had always been unable to stand up to her. Sometimes iron-willed, but sometimes coquettish and helpless; sometimes decisive and clear, but sometimes unsure and insecure … his wife had been pretty hard to deal with all these years. No picnic living in the same household with her, even though if one knew one’s place, it was possible to stay out of the way most of the time. Often she had seen his sidelong glances, and if she had seen them and had known what they meant, surely that girl-woman he was married to had seen them too.
So maybe there is no mystery as to why she was being expelled. In fact, it's a wonder it hadn't happened before; it's a wonder that when her son and his father had gone hunting with such a joy in their companionship that there hadn't been a showdown. It's a wonder that when, to everyone's surprise, the old boy and his luxury-loving wife announced, with sheepish grins covering both their faces, that they were going to have a baby … it's a wonder it hadn't happened then. And she had waited a long time for the other shoe to drop.
For a while she allowed herself to think it might work. Her teenager, who had managed to live somewhat in the shadows and in the back rooms of the house all these years, took an innocent delight in his new baby brother, or half-brother, although she had noticed that that term was never used. It was just, "Look out for the baby" or "Where is my child's blanket?"… with a certain sharp twist on the word my.
It's a wonder this showdown had not happened before, but it hadn't, and she had allowed herself to think that by now, all was settled and she would be permitted to raise her son in a quiet, careful way, at an arm's length from his father, maybe, but at least safe and secure.
But now this. This afternoon. What had done it? What had brought things to the boiling point? Just a little innocent play between two boys, one of them a gangly, almost childish teenager, and the other a chubby toddler who had really found his legs in the last couple of weeks and whose shrieks of joy were noisy testimony to the fun he was having. Why in the world would a small child's joy create such resentment in that woman? Why would the laughter of two youngsters, who shared a father and a household, be such a problem for anybody?
Now she remembered that years back, while she was carrying her son, the same thing had happened. She had felt this icy-cold personality once before, and had been shut out of the house, on the streets, pregnant, for several days, until he had been able to get control of the situation. Pretty ironic back then, because, after all, who had really driven them together anyway? Who was it who had set up the unsanctioned union in the first place but the old woman who had thought it would be better for her husband to take his pleasure elsewhere than to have to service him herself. Where did she come off being so self-righteous?
But now here it was, again, after a fifteen-year truce, in which the old wounds were never spoken of and the old battle never reopened. Imagine: sent out again, evicted, pitched out like some sort of outworn garment.
What a way to celebrate Mothers' Day! What a fix to be in at a time when life ought to be easing up a little! Where did it all come from, and what can be done about it?
Whether your mind has gone back this morning to the ancient Biblical story of Hagar and Ishmael, which I read for you a moment ago, or whether you have been thinking about the mean streets of Washington, the results are the same: sometimes mothers and more often children are treated as though they do not matter. But they do. Every mother's child matters; every mother's child matters to God.
In this ancient story elements of jealousy, shame, rejection, weakness, and grace all mingle together to speak to us on this Mothers' Day 1990, and to speak powerfully about what is happening with mothers, with children, with families, and with God's redemption mission. But through it all runs one silver thread, one banner headline: every mother's child matters.
I
First look at Mother Sarah, Abraham's wife, engineering and manipulating from beginning to end. Out of her own frustration and inadequacy she had driven Abraham into the arms of Hagar, the maidservant, years before. This is not to excuse Abraham; this is not to whitewash a man who will do the wrong thing just because he can get away with it. But those years before, when Sarah's anxious insecurities, Sarah's unwillingness to do things God's way, Sarah's impatience with God's timing, led her to shove another woman into her husband's bed … that's when one mother set up a dynamic of insecurity and jealousy that would ultimately lead to a terrible plight for another mother.
Look at Sarah, so consumed by me-ism, so wrapped up in keeping her man, that she would banish to the desert a mother without resources and a youth not yet ready for so harsh a world. Look at Sarah and see one mother who was so wrapped up in herself that she could not see that every mother's child matters.
I think of the days back in the fifties and sixties, when school segregation was being broken down, and then the days later when school bussing brought kids together across racial and social lines. Some parents screamed in anguish about their kids being tainted with "those kids" -- those from other races, those from other social settings, those whose language and whose moralities were not quite up to par. And they wanted to banish those kids to the far reaches and make sure our kids got the nice schools and the better teachers and the finer things.
We didn't understand, did we, that those children mattered too? We didn't understand that what they had to offer to our own children was an enriching experience, not just a bad influence. And we didn't ask ourselves what we could do through our own "good" kids to make a difference for those kids. We, like Sarah, forgot that every mother's child matters.
Look at Mother Sarah and remember that when we are providing for our own children we do not have to reject other children, for every mother’s child matters to God.
II
Next look at Father Abraham, jellyfish of a father that he was, agreeing to his wife's demand for an inhuman act and sending out Hagar and her unborn child to a certain death in the desert. Thank goodness Abraham still had one ear open to God and repented and brought them back.
But now here it is fifteen years later, and here is Sarah wanting to do it all over again. This time Abraham remembers and says "No", but mysteriously, amazingly, is told by God that it's all right, that it's time to go. God has other plans, and God will make a great nation out of the boy Ishmael, and so it's time to let him go, even though there's going to be some suffering involved.
You see, you and I and Abraham all have trouble remembering that hardship is not all bad, that a challenge is all some mothers and children need to get themselves going in the right way. And you and I and Abraham and a whole chunk of our society have not understood that when mothers and children live in intolerable circumstances; when mothers and children live under oppressive conditions; when mothers and children struggle against sick family situations … then sometimes the best thing anyone can do for them is to get them out and going on their own.
Every mother's child matters. Every mother's child matters to God, for God says to Hagar and to Ishmael, "You go on out into that desert. I will give you the resources you need. The desert itself, believe it or not, contains the resources; you just need to know where to look. And you just need to trust me to guide you."
Every mother's child matters to God. And for that reason, it seems to me, you and I ought to be bold enough to encourage women who have to make it on their own and raise children by themselves. You and I and the church of the God for whom every mother's child matters need to raise our voices in protest against those welfare policies that penalize mothers who will work, taking away their incentives. You and I, led by the Spirit of a God who offers water in the dry places to a thirsty child ought to fight to strengthen and extend social policies that offer nutrition and early education and other needs for dependent children.
Wouldn't it be wonderful if out of this church we could operate some kind of child care center, some sort of child protection program, that would care for the "least of these" and would say to an embittered world that "Every mother’s child matters to God"?
Look at Father Abraham and learn that there is a time when mothers and children may have to escape intolerable circumstances, and when that happens, they ought to be supported. Why? Because every mother's child matters; every mother's child matters to God.
III
Sarah, Abraham. But now look also at Mother Hagar. Hagar the rejected, Hagar who has to bear this burden alone; Hagar who is without resources and who cannot see anything but despair on the road ahead. Look at Hagar and see instead a young woman not unlike some of your mothers and grandmothers, who made do with next to nothing.
In their world, they listened with one ear to a society that told them a woman was nothing without a man at her side, but then they were forced to open wide the other ear to hear the howls of the wolves at the door and the merciless knocks of the bill collectors.
Listen to Hagar, the outcast mother, and know that such mothers matter to God, that such mothers' children matter to God. Look at Hagar, out in that wilderness, humbly and gratefully receiving a crumbly loaf of bread and a few drops of water in a shabby wineskin, and believing that it was a gift of God, that it was like a banquet at a king' s palace, that it was like the sweetest wine of the vineyard, for it was God who brought her safe thus far, and God would lead her home.
Listen to Hagar, look at Hagar, and understand that when women are empowered, great things will happen. Listen to Hagar, look at Hagar, and understand that if women are not put down, if women are given the right kind of challenge, if women are trained to know their skills and to trust themselves as worthy creations of God … that if women are empowered, then when they are in difficult circumstances, they will draw upon the gifts of God and they will do great things.
God said to Hagar, I will make of your son Ishmael a great nation. All Hagar had to do was to believe that, to play her part fearlessly, to reach out and receive what God was giving her; all Hagar or anyone of us have to do in these desert days for our children is to believe that every mother's child matters, really matters, to God.
