by sMartins » Wed Aug 02, 2023 10:41 am
The woman who laughed at God
It may sound strange but, in the Bible, when God chooses someone and entrusts him with a mission, he is usually, by human standards, at least on the surface, the most misguided person imaginable. The reader is typically led to welcome the divine election with perplexity, perhaps muttering to himself: 'Lord, choose someone else!' An invitation that, in more than one case, the chosen one himself addresses to God. In the most sensational episodes, then, the impression that God's choice is resoundingly wrong is destined to find confirmation and to become more acute during the subsequent developments of the story. To the point that the supposedly chosen one, little by little, begins to harbour serious doubts not only about whether he is up to the task, but about God's seriousness and trustworthiness. "Can he be trusted?" more than one character seems to ask.
Take, for example, the birth of the Jewish people. The most reasonable and quickest way for an entire nation to have only two founders is for a single married couple to have many children, each of whom has many children, and so on. So that, after a suitable number of generations, the amount of individuals generated reaches the proportions of an ethnic group. It would take - at least according to human common sense - a young person in the prime of life. The younger he is, the more time he has to generate many children. And being at full strength, in order to generate many children, will also have its obvious importance. He, then, should be married to a woman who is also hopefully very young and, above all, very fertile.
Well, God chooses Abraham. Abraham is seventy-five years old. And he is married to Sarah, who is barren. But let us go on, the best is yet to come. God cries out to Abraham: "Lekh lekhà!" that is, "Go away!". What is being prescribed is the uprooting, the departure from every fixed point, every certainty: "Go away from your country, from your homeland, from your father's house, to the land that I will show you. I will make you a great people'. The two elders leave the stability of their home and set out. Migrating, they arrive in the land of the Canaanites. Here God appears to Abraham: "To your descendants I will give this land," he tells him. At this point, it would seem, the destination has been reached and therefore the journey is over. All that remains is to settle there and start procreating as soon as possible.
Instead, the land of Canaan is overwhelmed by a terrible famine. So Abraham is forced to abandon it and go elsewhere. One can have doubts not only about the man but also about the place chosen by God. In any case, Abraham and Sarah settle in Egypt, even though they know they are out of their promised destination. Here Abraham begins to behave rather curiously: as if he no longer trusts God's protection and has become convinced that he must look after himself by all means. He says to his wife: "You see, I know that you are a woman of beautiful appearance. When the Egyptians see you, they will think, 'She is his wife,' and they will kill me'. The thought provokes some perplexity. Since time immemorial, it is not necessary to kill a man in order to lie with his wife; such a constraint would lead to a drastic drop in extra-marital relations or, perhaps, a tragic increase in murders. In any case, Abraham convinces Sarah to pretend to be brother and sister. Sarah's beauty must be truly remarkable. Word quickly reaches Pharaoh, who wants her in the palace and takes her as his wife. Out of consideration for her, Pharaoh hands out generous gifts to the supposed brother: goats, cows, donkeys, camels and slaves. Since time immemorial, the willing brother may have some advantage if the sister is loved by a man of power. It is no coincidence that in the Renaissance the beautiful Giulia Farnese was the lover of Pope Borgia and her brother, Alessandro, later became Pope under the name Paul III. But God does not love adultery. And so upon the blameless Pharaoh many misfortunes befell. The ruler of Egypt, in some way about which the Bible does not inform us in more detail, learns the truth and, rather displeased, asks Abraham for an explanation: 'What have you done to me? Why did you not tell me she was your wife? Why did you tell me: 'She is my sister'. So that I took her as my wife? And now here is your wife: take her and leave!" The two are escorted and taken to the border, literally expelled from the country.
Now Abraham, having got his wife back, has become a rich man "in cattle, silver and gold". And with such loot he returns to his starting point, namely the land of Canaan. The Bible, as is often the case, makes no comment. Nevertheless, it is difficult to avoid asking a few questions. And any answer seems puzzling. Did Abraham foresee everything? That is, did he foresee that, by passing off his wife as his sister, he would get rich and that then, thanks to God's irate intervention against Pharaoh, he would also get his wife back and leave Egypt unharmed? Is he really so cunning? Did he really use God as a pawn in his tortuous strategy, exploiting his wrath to his advantage? Or did Abraham not foresee the consequences of his lie, and was the wealth he received merely a reward from God? But for what merit would such a reward be bestowed? For making his wife prostitute herself?
The weirdness is bound to increase. It is time for God's third promise. All the land that Abraham can see as far as the horizon, from north to south, east to west, will one day belong to him and his descendants, who will be as numerous as the grains of sand in the desert. To us, today, this may not seem like a very attractive promise: what good is it to an individual for the fact that many people will share his blood when he is no longer on this earth? Yet, apparently, for a man of ancient Palestine, such a promise so pregnant with the future was heart-wrenching. Yet from such a promise comes the obligation of a new wandering: 'Arise, travel the length and breadth of the land, for I will give it to you'. It seems almost a mockery: the promise to possess that land in an unspecified future becomes the obligation to wander through it. Beware: not the right, the obligation. As if the promise of inheriting a house at a date to be determined became an obligation to immediately change its furnishings and furniture at one's own expense. There is no peace. So Abraham moves to the southern part of Hebron. But each town in the surrounding area is a tiny state with its own tiny king. Wars rage between these small, spiky fish. Four towns attack five others. The attackers win and raid. Among the vanquished cities is Sodom, home to one of Abraham's grandsons, Lot, who is taken prisoner. At this point, something happens that gives us the measure of how rich and powerful Abraham had become in this context of remote desert distress. From one of the defeated cities, a man comes to him and begs him to help the aggrieved. He pleads with him just as one pleads with a king. And indeed Abraham behaves like a king. He moves an army of three hundred and eighteen men against the four victors; he surprises them at night; he defeats them; he recovers the booty, freeing his nephew. On his return from the successful ambush, he meets the king of Sodom. The latter offers him to keep all the recovered wealth for himself, content to have his citizens free. But Abraham returns everything. He does not want to hold back: "Neither a thread nor a sandal shoelace".
He was brave and munificent. He deserves an award. And here comes the voice of God for the fourth time. "Your reward will be very great." Abraham looks sceptical and replies, "What will you give me?" Evidently he has already given up the promise of a son and that of a territory. He expects to hear a new promise, even one that is likely to be broken. Then he explicitly complains of disappointed expectations: he has no son and his heir will be one of his servants, a certain Eliezer of Damascus. But God contradicts him and renews the old promise: 'Not this one, but one born of you shall be your heir. His descendants will be as numerous as the stars in the celestial vault. Then Abraham, in spite of the precedent, has a surge of confidence. "He believed the Lord," says the Bible. God also renews the promise to give him the land that stretches as far as the eye can see. But too much is too much. And Abraham is assailed again by doubts: "Lord my God, how shall I know that I shall possess it?". It is a back-and-forth of surges and retreats. Abraham's faith is a heart that is constantly expanding and contracting. A roller-coaster vertigo stuns the old man.
Notice that the question is almost an accusation: "Lord my God, how shall I know that I shall have possession?". How can one trust, in short? God's answer is another promise. Only this he seems able to do: promise. Promise in a more and more solemn, more spectacular, more perturbing way. God asks in sacrifice a cow, a goat, a ram, a turtledove and a pigeon. Then the prophecy rises, tearing open the veil that hides the vision of the future. The descendants of Abraham will be strangers in a country that is not their own, enslaved and oppressed for four hundred years. But how?!? And the promise of having a vast territory for themselves? That will only come later. One day they will come out of the land of oppression bringing with them great riches. And, then, having reached the fourth generation, they will finally settle in the land that was promised to Abraham. After the prophecy, night falls and a miraculous flame passes through the quartered cow, goat and ram. All very solemn. And very convincing.
But Sarah does not seem at all impressed. On the contrary, she says to Abraham: 'Behold, the Lord has prevented me from having a progeny'. Remarkable. Not only does she not believe that God will give her a son, but she is convinced that it was He who prevented her from having one. From donor to embezzler. From builder to wrecker. From author of a miracle to nature's impediment.
So the woman takes the initiative; wanting a child from Abraham, she devises a method that is somewhere between adoption and surrogacy. She has an Egyptian slave, Hagar. She is hers: she belongs to her as an object, she considers her an extension of his body. Two more arms for housework, two more legs to go to the well to draw water. But, above all, a second womb. She commands Abraham: " Couple with my slave girl: perhaps I will be able to have children by her". But she has miscalculated. Abraham impregnates Hagar, and the pregnant slave girl now feels more important than her mistress, she has no more regard for her. She feels she is Abraham's favourite (perhaps she is now). Sarah has another body in Agar, but her second back turns her back on her, her second pair of feet puts their heels on her head. With much effort, the domestic storm is quelled and a balance is restored. The child is born and Abraham names him Ishmael. He became a father at the age of eighty-six.
Thirteen more pass without a son from Sarah. Then God proffers for the fifth time, to a ninety-nine year old Abraham, his promise, which by now is hardly credible. A command is again associated with it. This time it is not an animal sacrifice, but something more intimate and painful: a piece of his own flesh. All descendants of Abraham (at the moment still entirely hypothetical, if not phantom) are ordered to have their foreskins removed. The penalty is expulsion: 'Let the uncircumcised male, whose member flesh has not been circumcised, be eliminated from his people: he has violated my covenant'. But by now God is no longer credible; his promises appear literally ridiculous. So much so that Abraham prostrates himself before him and, taking advantage of the fact that his face is hidden, laughs. He thinks: 'To one of a hundred years old can a son be born? And can Sarah, who will soon be ninety, give birth?". Then he turns to God: "If only Ishmael could live before you!". Of having a son by Sarah he has lost all hope. He would be content with the surrogate, the son of the slave girl. It would be enough for him if God did not take him away too. So God insists: Abraham will have a son by his own wife. Perhaps in an attempt to be more convincing, he makes the promise a little less vague: he imposes the name of the unborn child. It is a very strange name: Isaac, or rather, in Hebrew, Izchàq: verb zachàq, to laugh. Isaac (Izchàq) literally means 'he laughs' or 'he will laugh'. Did God see Abraham's laughter? But was he not angered by it? Did the laughter bring the gift of a son closer instead of pushing it away? The promise is that Sarah will give birth in exactly one year's time: 'At this time next year'.
Abraham seems to regain confidence. He circumcises himself and circumcises Ishmael and all the slaves in his house. But something is still missing. God feels the need to appear and prophesy to him the birth of a son for the sixth time in twenty-four years. It is the merciless heatwave, Abraham sits at the entrance to his tent. Again, the text is obscure. First it says that God appears to Abraham. Immediately after that Abraham sees three men in front of him. How do these two statements fit together? Is God one of the men, while the other two are simply his angels? Is God one being composed of three human bodies? Again, we can only speculate.
He hosts the three (who may be one); he asks his wife to bake buns; he kills a calf; he brings fresh milk and sour milk. The visitors eat. Then an exchange of lines ensues that would baffle anyone. The three ask where Sara is. So they don't know? God is not omniscient? If he is not, how can he predict the future? How can he promise Abraham descendants as numerous as the grains of sand in the desert and the stars in the celestial vault? Abraham answers that his wife is right there, simply inside the tent. In fact he has just prepared the buns. And here is the sixth promise: "I will return to you in a year at this time and then Sarah, your wife, will have a son". Here more than one thing does not add up. Even in the previous promise, the fifth, it was said that the child would be born exactly one year from that date. So the two announcements were made on the same day? That would be the only way for both to be true. But what sense does it make for a god to appear twice on the same day carrying the same promise? Sure, it happens that an forgetful, slightly tired and confused person repeats the same sentence twice. But can God behave like that? On the other hand, the alternative hypothesis is even more disconcerting: if the announcements were not made on the same day, at least one of them is wrong.
Be that as it may, inside the tent, at the sixth pledge, almost a quarter of a century since the first, at the ripe old age of eighty-nine, Sara bursts out laughing. Yes, after Abraham, Sara laughs too. Sara laughs. And that is when the miracle takes place.
God reacts as if offended. He asks Abraham: "Why did your wife Sarah laugh when she said, 'Will I really be able to give birth while I am old'? Is there anything impossible for the Lord? At the appointed time I will return to you and Sarah will have a son". Now it is no longer possible to postpone. If God does not keep his promise, if he withdraws it in order to punish Sarah in a fit of anger, he would prove her right: we should deem him worthy of mockery. But Sara is afraid, she thinks she has gone too far. She fears the consequences and desperately tries to deny the evidence: "I did not laugh!".
This point is very important: God reacts as if he has been offended and Sarah is startled at the idea of having angered him. Hers is not a laugh of joy. It is a trivial fact, but it needs to be reiterated in order to get rid of the hypocrisies we will discuss in a moment.
Let us continue. To Sarah's words, God is forced to counter: "Yes, you did indeed laugh!". He nails her to her responsibility: but this guilt is not followed by a punishment, but by a reward; the fulfilment of the promise. After a year, Sarah gives birth to a son and names him Isaac, or Izchàq, 'he will laugh'. Here is the point I was referring to earlier when speaking of hypocrisies: at birth the mother utters a sentence that must appear intolerably scandalous to the translators, because they systematically deviate from the literal meaning in the most convoluted ways. Some examples: 'Reason for joyful laughter God has given me', or 'Object of a smile God has made me', or 'The Lord has made me a reason for joy'. In this way it seems that Sarah is simply laughing with contentment at the birth of her son, as any mother might. But she does not say so. The literal meaning of the sentence that comes out of her mouth is quite different. I would like to submit it to you by translating it word for word. We are in the book of Genesis, chapter 21, verse 6: "Zechòq (laughter) 'asàh (made, produced, caused) li (to me) Elohim (God)". "God made me laugh", this is what Sarah says; she remembers the laughter that erupted in her tent at God's sixth promise, she remembers that moment when the solemn voice seemed ridiculous to her. That moment when she offended God (or God pretended to be offended). She continues: "Whoever hears (this story), he will laugh".
Not only is Sarah's laughter inscribed in the divine plan, but anyone else who hears (or reads) the story is also expected to be moved to laughter by God's bizarre behaviour. That laughter is not simply the effect of Isaac's birth, but the cause (or part of it): it is at least the straw that broke the camel's back, the final tug that breaks the string, the spark that triggers the explosion.
Faith is considered by Christian doctrine to be a theological virtue, and the saints are often presented to us as examples of adamantine and unshakable faith. But the Bible tells us of Abraham, the patriarch of patriarchs, who passes from faith to scepticism several times, in fearful, drunken waves. It shows him defying God, provoking him, ignoring his providence by taking the initiative by his own (and improper) means. We often focus on veneration, respect, psychological subjection to God, or the priest, or authority in general. But the Bible shows us Abraham and Sarah laughing at God, and a miracle following their laughter, like a fire that needed that spark to blaze.
We do not truly love people when we idealise them, when we put them on a pedestal, when we enclose them in a shrine of perfection, when we hold them as unquestionable authorities, when we blindly rely on them. It is always necessary to fight those we love, to question their words and actions, to see their mistakes clearly, to test their limits until we feel anger melt into tenderness in our guts. Perhaps, indeed, we can only truly love someone we have laughed at. And perhaps God desires to be loved in this way by us.
Make friends with the other crabs or try to escape the bucket.
I'd hardly call anything the Bible of our times. » special thanks to MagicManICT
I only logged in to say this sentence. by neeco » 30 Oct 2018, 02:57
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