Wounded by God's People (4 page)

Now Sarai, Abram's wife, had borne him no children. But she had an Egyptian maidservant named Hagar; so she said to Abram, “The L
ORD
has kept me from having children. Go, sleep with my maidservant; 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 maidservant 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 servant in your arms, and now that she knows she is pregnant, she despises me. May the L
ORD
judge between you and me.”

“Your servant is in your hands,” Abram said. “Do with her whatever you think best.” Then Sarai mistreated Hagar …

Genesis 16:1–6

T
he summer I was seventeen, our beloved family pastor strongly encouraged my parents to send me to a two-week Christian leadership-training institute. It was located in the mountains of a spectacularly beautiful Western state. When they took his advice and sent me, I was eager to go. I found myself plunging into all of the workshops, electives, and main sessions. After years in a public school, I looked forward to the training and the like-minded friends I would make. Friends who also wanted to grow in their relationship with God and who had a passion to make Him known to others. As the days unfolded, I became increasingly skeptical of what I was being exposed to — not because there was anything unbiblical about it, but because of the disconnect between what the staff taught and what I observed in their behavior.

One of the sessions was led by a beautiful couple who were engaged to be married and had just spent the weekend together on the coast. The young woman's eyes sparkled as she told me about their intimate times in the beach house. Other sessions were led by those who said all the right words, yet their conversations outside formal sessions struck me as proud, self-promoting, and self-righteous. When I couldn't reconcile what the leaders taught with how they lived, I lost interest in the training. As it turned out, I wasn't the only one.

I quickly developed a group of friends who were equally disenchanted, and we began slipping away during evening lectures to have
fun at a nearby resort. Because I had skipped out on some of the sessions, on the last day of the institute I was confronted by one of the young women with whom I shared a suite in the hotel where the attendees were housed. She expressed the collective disappointment of the other girls, all of whom felt I had fallen far short of their expectations for Billy Graham's daughter. She then tearfully informed me that everyone in the suite was praying for me because I was so “carnal.” I wasn't sure what carnal meant, but if it was different from the judgmental girls in my suite, then that's what I wanted to be!

My expectations of the institute, the leadership, and the friends I had hoped to make crumbled as the days went by. Even now I remember the pain of the disillusionment and disappointment in the lack of authentic Christian living and loving that I had observed. I wonder if Hagar had a similar jolting dose of reality.

Hagar had no way of knowing that she had entered into a wounded family. To have a wounded family, it stands to reason that there has to be someone who inflicts the pain. A “wounder.” Abraham, the friend of God, the founding patriarch of the nation of Israel, the father of the faithful, was not only himself a wounder, but he was also married to one. Sarah was a woman in pain whose woundedness led her to wound others.

Abraham and Sarah truly loved each other but they had no children. For many years they carried the deep hurt that only childless couples really know. Abraham desperately wanted a son, someone to whom he could pass on all that he knew and owned. Sarah wanted a child just as desperately, not only for her own fulfillment, but to ease the shame that barrenness carried in her culture. In addition to her own reasons for wanting a child, she no doubt desired to give to her beloved husband the son he longed for. By the time Abraham
and Sarah acquired Hagar, the pain of infertility had already laid the groundwork for a devastating cycle of wounds.

I wonder … when did it first occur to Sarah that she had an ingenious solution to the pain in their lives? Perhaps the more she thought it through, the more logical it seemed. She knew God had promised Abraham a son, but God had not said the son would also be hers. Maybe, just maybe, God was waiting for her to do something. Surely, she thought, God helps those who help themselves anyway. And since she was past the age for childbearing—which in her mind meant the child God had promised Abraham could not possibly be her biological child —maybe there was another solution. A way out of their pain. A way to fulfill their lifelong dream and at the same time have what God promised — a child.

Sarah's solution? A surrogate mother! It must have seemed like a brilliant idea. Maybe she even wondered why she hadn't thought of it before. All of her neighbors followed the accepted custom of that day and used a servant to have the children they were unable to have, much like the way many couples use a surrogate mother to have children today. So Sarah's heart must have quickened a beat, and her eyes must have flashed with eager anticipation as she went to Abraham and shared her proposal: “The L
ORD
has kept me from having children. Go, sleep with my maidservant; perhaps I can build a family through her.”
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And that's when the cycle of pain went into its next rotation because, “Abram agreed to what Sarai said… . He slept with Hagar, and she conceived.”
²

Neither Abraham or Sarah consulted God. Deep down, they must have known what He would say about this adulterous solution. While using a surrogate to have children may have been common practice among their peers, God's Word had clearly stated from the beginning
that marriage was between one man and one woman.
³
While the Bible doesn't condemn Abraham and Sarah for what they did, it does let the story unfold, showing us that to go outside of God's principles is never a solution to a problem. It actually makes matters worse. In this case, while they may have gained some temporary relief from their pain, they made their lives much more complicated. Within a short period of time the home that had been filled with love and peace echoed with the sound of angry voices. Relationships were strained to the breaking point. More wounds were layered on top of their previous ones. And neither of them considered how this would possibly wound Hagar. How would she feel about being used as a surrogate to bear Abraham's child? So many wounds are inflicted almost without thinking, aren't they? We never sin unto ourselves. Sin invariably involves others, usually affecting those who are closest to us.

When Hagar became pregnant, perhaps her wounds weren't initially apparent. As the one who now carried Abraham's baby, her position in the household must have been greatly elevated. But then …! Did she come to the startling conclusion that she, not Sarah, would be the one to give this great man what he had always dreamed of … a son? The thought must have exploded in her mind
… Oh, my goodness. I'm carrying The Child of promise!
Did it begin to occur to her that she now had exceptional value in the household? Value that she could barter for better treatment. A more exalted position. A more luxurious tent. Servants of her own. Did her Egyptian upbringing surface in her attitude as she became arrogant and self-centered? Did her tone of voice drip with condescension when she spoke to Sarah? Did she raise her eyebrows, look down her nose, toss her hair, and dismiss her mistress as an inferior nuisance? Was she no longer
quick to serve, but slow and resentful at being asked to do anything? However Hagar expressed her superior attitude, we know that the happiness over her pregnancy was very short-lived because, “When she knew she was pregnant, she began to despise her mistress.”
⁴
Hagar obviously was of the opinion that her ability to conceive made her somehow better than Sarah.

Hagar's arrogance and growing belly must have been like salt poured into the deep wounds of Sarah's raw and tender heart. The baby might legally belong to her since Hagar was her servant, but the child would never really be hers. Sarah was still barren and profoundly wounded. In her pain and with understandable outrage, she lashed out at Abraham, who wilted in the face of his wife's wrath. And then she lashed out at Hagar.
⁵

Wounded people can very quickly become wounders, can't they? I learned this lesson in a dramatic way when I was a young girl. When my older sister left home to go to school, I inherited her toy silver poodle, Cedric, and we very quickly became inseparable. Cedric slept with me at night, stayed right beside me every waking minute, sat beside me at mealtimes, walked me to the front door in the morning when I went to school, and waited at the door to welcome me home when I returned in the afternoon. I loved that little dog!

One afternoon, my father's aide, Doug, came to take me to an appointment. I ran out the door and jumped into the car, forgetting to secure Cedric inside the house before I left. As we started down the steep, curving mountain driveway, I looked out the window and was horrified to see that Cedric was running to catch me! I urged Doug to stop the car so I could get Cedric, but instead, he thought he could just go faster and lose him. Within moments, I heard the dreaded bump-bump underneath the car and knew we had run over
my little friend. Doug stopped the car and I jumped out. Sure enough, Cedric was lying crumpled in the driveway. I rushed to gather him in my arms, only to draw back in pain and confusion when he fiercely growled and sunk his teeth deep into my hand — to the bone. And he would not let go. I had to shake him off hard to free my hand. Now we were both hurt and bleeding. Cedric was whimpering and I was sobbing!

I wrapped his broken little body in my jacket, carefully staying clear of his teeth as we rushed him to the vet. Later, with my wound cleaned and bandaged, I asked my mother why Cedric had turned on me. “Anne,” she replied, “Cedric was in pain. And when animals are in pain, you must be very careful about going near them because their pain can cause them blindly to lash out.”

I have never forgotten the lesson. Wounded animals, whether four-legged or two-legged, can become wounders when hurt. Fortunately, like Cedric, we can also recover from our blinded-by-pain “biting.” Though my little friend ultimately succumbed to complications from internal injuries a year after the accident, he remained steadfastly loyal and loving toward me to the day he died.

Perhaps the most extreme, literal example of the wounded becoming wounders is those who self-mutilate with a behavior known as cutting. People who suffer from this disorder regularly cut themselves in an attempt to release pent-up anger, fear, shame, guilt, and anxiety. They use physical pain to release emotional pain. Among the most prominent individuals who have struggled publicly with cutting is the late Princess Diana. In a BBC interview, she acknowledged cutting herself with a serrated lemon slicer, a pen knife, and razor blades. Explaining what drove her and others to harm themselves,
she said, “You have so much pain inside yourself that you try and hurt yourself on the outside because you want help.”

Hurting people hurt people. And often the one who seems to get “cut” the most is the person lashing out. They nurse their pain, anger, bitterness, frustration, unforgiveness, or resentment until those emotions become their master and they are enslaved to them. They are dominated by what Jesus described as “anger without a cause”
⁶
— anger that can erupt in a blind rage that has nothing at all to do with the person in the immediate vicinity, but is pent-up anger boiling over from within. While the eruption may bring temporary relief from the pain, the sad truth is that the “cutting” doesn't make them feel better for long. In fact, they can plunge into another type of “cutting” — self-flagellation for their uncontrollable behavior. Like picking at a scab on a physical wound, they relive again and again the situations that were so hurtful, holding imaginary conversations that never seem to end, living with the feeling of guilt that accompanies their wounding, desperately wishing they could have a do-over.

When we are wounded we need to be very careful about what happens next. Because in the aftermath we are vulnerable to the enemy of our souls who would seek to use us to wound others. Watch out!

There is no question that Sarah was hurting. And when she was wounded on top of her hurt, she very quickly responded by becoming a wounder.

Can you relate to Princess Diana or Sarah? Have you tried to release your pain through more pain? It doesn't work, does it? Wounding, at best, only temporarily releases pain. It may feel good for a few moments, hours, or days, but then it actually magnifies and perpetuates the pain. It keeps the cycle rotating in ever-widening
circles that can impact generations yet to come. So what's the God-honoring alternative?

Many years after Abraham and Sarah and Hagar, the Bible tells us of another woman who carried the same deep hurt that Sarah had carried. Like Sarah, she was barren. And, also like Sarah, she was deeply and repeatedly wounded in that very same place of hurt. Her name was Hannah.

Hannah was Elkanah's second wife. Her Hagar, or antagonist, was Peninnah, her husband's first wife, who mercilessly ridiculed Hannah for her inability to conceive and bear a child. Peninnah “kept provoking her in order to irritate her — year after year — until she wept and would not eat.” Depressed and almost non-functioning, Hannah described herself as a woman “who is deeply troubled.”
⁷
Her pain was obvious, but how did she respond to Peninnah? Did she retaliate? Did she at least lash out verbally? Did she attack and blame Elkanah for allowing this to take place within his home?

No. None of the above. The way Hannah dealt with her pain stands in stark contrast to the way Sarah handled hers. Hannah's reaction gives us a beautiful and very moving picture of an alternative response to wounding that is available to all of God's children.

Hannah prayed. In her own words, she explained, “I was pouring out my soul to the L
ORD
… I have been praying here out of my great anguish and grief.”
⁸
Hannah refused to become a wounder. The cycle of pain stopped when she chose to pray rather than retaliate. She prayed until she felt confirmed that God had heard her prayer. When she felt confirmed, immediately her depression lifted, and “she went her way and ate something, and her face was no longer downcast.”
⁹

Instead of experiencing another rotation in the cycle of pain, Hannah was blessed beyond measure! God miraculously answered
her prayer and gave her not only a very special son, Samuel, but He opened her womb so that she actually had three more sons and two daughters.
¹⁰
Hannah's refusal to be a wounder resulted in joy and delight and, ultimately, honor for her — not only in the eyes of her husband, friends, and future generations, but also in the eyes of Peninnah, her rival and tormentor.
¹¹