Sermon at The Church of the Holy Apostles, New York City
June 15, 2008, The Fifth Sunday after Pentecost, Year A
The Reverend Elizabeth G. Maxwell, Associate Rector
Genesis 18:1-15; 21:1-7
Psalm 116
Romans 5:1-8
Matthew 9:35-10:23

     Sarah laughed.

     In the name of God B Earthmaker, Painbearer, Lifegiver.   Amen.

     This summer, the Revised Common Lectionary is treating us to the story of the patriarchs (and to a somewhat lesser extent, the matriarchs) from the book of Genesis B that great myth of our origins as people of faith.  Beginning last week, and for several weeks still to come, we are following the story of Abraham and Sarah in their journey to the land of promise, and the unfolding of God=s covenant: AYour descendants will be as many as the stars in the sky, and I will make of you a blessing to the nations.@

   For me, these stories are wonderful, especially because the characters are so human.  They=re so flawed, and they make really big mistakes, and yet despite their fears and their failures,  through their struggles to be faithful, God does indeed act, does indeed bless.

     In the lesson that we heard this morning, 25 years have passed since the passage that we read last week, when Abraham, (then Abram), and his wife, (then Sarai), sent forth from Ur of Chaldeans to they really didn=t know where, responding to God=s call.  In that time they have meandered, they=ve had adventures and vicissitudes, they=ve acted out their fears and their jealousies and their loves, and they have come to make their home near Hebron at an ancient sacred site - the oaks of Mamre.

     That is where we find Abraham as the passage opens for today, sitting at the door of his tent in the noonday heat.  He looks up to see three unknown visitors.  But wait, actually, even before that, the narrator of Genesis says, AThe Lord appeared to Abraham at the oaks of Mamre.@  We know, but Abraham does not know, the remarkable nature of these visitors.

     At our Bible study earlier this week, Steve Fominas said, AWhere did they come from?  Did they just show up out of the blue?@  And the answer is yes, that=s pretty much how it is B they appear suddenly; we don=t know where they come from, although later we will find out where they are going.  Even more confusing: why are there three of them?  Are we meant to understand that God is appearing in human form with two angelic attendants?  Is God in all three of the strangers?  Are they all angels, messengers who bear the ineffable divine presence?
 
    Really, we don=t know.  The early Hebrew scriptures are familiar with God appearing ambiguously in human form, as when God walks with Adam in the garden.   But always, always, there is ambiguity and unknowing.  Some Christian commentators through the ages have suggested that the three are really the Trinity, and Andrei Rublev=s great icon of the Trinity from the 15^th Century shows these three mysterious strangers at table with Abraham.  This is deeply evocative, but it is not the intent of the author of Genesis.  Still, the interplay between one and three is an intriguing aspect of the passage; it adds to the sense of mystery in the encounter.  At this table, seated with Abraham, there is divine presence and power in a very unexpected, surprising guise.  As the writer to the Hebrews will say centuries later, alluding to this passage, in welcoming strangers, angels are entertained unawares. 

     Hospitality is, as one commentator writes, Athe only real virtue, the one necessity in this ancient harsh desert world.@  Travelers depend for their very survival on the kindness, the welcome of strangers.  Even enemies were honor-bound to receive a stranger as a guest for three nights.

     We might ask, in fact, whether hospitality is the only real virtue in our time as well.  We might ponder how many of our woes really come down to failures of hospitality.  To underscore this point, the strangers= reception by Abraham stands in dramatic contrast to the passage that follows this one, and to the treatment they will receive in the town of Sodom.  The infamous sin of that town has to do, not with sexuality, but with the abuse of the stranger B in fact these very strangers.

     In any case, when Abraham looks up to see these three mysterious figures in the noonday heat, he calls out to them and invites them to come and rest under a tree, wash their feet, and eat a little bread.  And after they accept, he runs to involve his whole household in preparing a much more elaborate meal than his original words had suggested.  And then he serves the visitors himself and stands with them while they eat. 

     After they finish, they ask him: AWhere is your wife Sarah?@  AThere, in the tent,@ he says.  Notice that Sarah is not out with the men.  Rather, she=s away, behind them, hidden.  First she is only talked about, and one of the visitors says, AYour wife Sarah shall have a son in due season.@  It is only now that Sarah becomes an actor in the story.

     Sarah laughs.  She says to herself, AAfter I have grown old and my husband is old, shall I have pleasure?

     This is surely one of the most amazing moments in all of scripture, not only for its frank mention of menopause and its impact on Sarah=s life, not only because it is interested, amazingly, in a woman=s pleasure B and make no mistake, the word for Apleasure@ here includes sexual fulfillment and also the deep joy of having a longed-for child.  This word=s root is the same as the root for AEden,@ so Sarah is talking about a kind of a return to primordial wholeness, to the garden.  It is not only that in this moment there is possibility of healing for Sarah B some of the people at the Bible study questioned whether this would be such good news, to have a child at the age of 90.  They thought that Sarah would more likely have run screaming out of the tent!  But in ancient biblical culture, for a woman to be childless was to have no future, so her very identity is at stake.  Not only her future and Abraham=s future, but the future of God=s promise is at stake as well.

     Yes, this is an amazing moment, not only for all these reasons, but also because Sarah=s laughter is such an intensely human reaction to an outrageous situation.  I imagine that she laughs for so many reasons: disbelief, cynicism, anxiety, maybe anger, hope, tremulous joy.  This is a laughter that comes from the same place as certain kinds of tears, and maybe it was accompanied by tears as well.  It=s a little crazy, this laughter, and it=s a little out of control.  What else is she supposed to do but laugh, hearing something like this?

     I don=t know of anyone else who laughs in this way in all of scripture, except maybe Abraham in the chapter before this one, when he also receives a revelation that Sarah will become pregnant.  Abraham not only laughs but falls on the ground.  But Abraham has fathered other children, and Sarah=s laughter carries additional impact of what she already knows in her own body, and how she senses herself.  In all these years, since it has no longer been with her in the manner of women, she has had to come to terms with the bitter reality of her childlessness, with the finality and impossibility that she will ever give birth and hold her own child in her arms. 

     The first message that comes in this story of Sarah=s laughter is the call to hospitality- hospitality, wherein is found the unexpected revelation of God=s presence and the promise of God=s gift.  In the Holy Apostle=s Soup Kitchen, of course, we have been entertaining angels unaware for some time.  I think of the interactions I have had with guests who have challenged me, who have asked me just the right question, who have called out patience and impatience and limitation and beyond limitation from me, who have blessed me in their words and just in their being.  I think how their presence has changed our whole life as a parish.  But I think also that this passage invites us to an attitude towards all of life, an attitude of hospitality in our interactions with people, and even internally B a kind of making space, a willingness to perceive the strange hidden presence of God and to be surprised by the way she comes to us.

     The poet Rumi speaks to hospitality as the central task of being human- as we might say, Athe only virtue@- in his poem AThe Guest House.@  It goes like this:

     This being human is a guesthouse.
     Every morning a new arrival.
     A joy, a depression, a meanness,
     Some momentary awareness comes
     As an unexpected visitor.
     Welcome and entertain them all,
     Even if they=re a crowd of sorrows,
     Who violently sweep your house
     empty of its furniture,
     still, treat each guest honorably.
     He may be clearing you out
     for some new delight.
     The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
     meet them at the door laughing,
     and invite them in.
     Be grateful for whoever comes,
     because each has been sent
     as a guide from beyond.