We humans love simplicity. We reduce intricate complexities to black and white, ignoring the nuanced enigmas of reality, and reducing the supernatural to a set of rules that would make a great board game. We do the same thing with the Bible – we paint over the whole with whatever flavor we wish to taste. The joint nature of Abraham’s blessing often escapes notice.

A Twenty-Five Year Wait

Let’s start at the end. Sarah and Abraham finally have Isaac—he’s born when Abraham is around 100 and Sarah 90. It’s a long wait—about 25 years from the initial promise. When was the last time any of us waited that long? What would it have been like? Imagine the anticipation, the sleepless nights, the aching emptiness of a childless heart.

Plan B

Rewind 14 years. Childless for a decade, Abram and Sarai (their names hadn’t changed yet) explore an alternative: a child with Sarai’s maidservant, Hagar. Today, with technology and adoption, it’s not unheard of. Back then, it was the norm – this was their surrogacy. A male heir was paramount, and infertility was blamed on women. Abraham went along with the plan. Theologians call it a faith break, but why? It seemed like a practical solution. We often judge beginnings by endings, instead of seeing the ending from the beginning.

Ishmael was born, a child of an Egyptian maidservant. The textual mention of Hagar’s Egyptian heritage is significant. It foreshadows Israel’s later servitude to Egypt, as well as the lessons Abraham’s family would have to learn about the treatment of humans.

God was strangely silent about Ishmael for over a decade. When He speaks, it’s not even mentioned. Instead, it’s a reaffirmation and expansion of the original promise. Abram becomes Abraham (“father of many”), circumcision is instituted, and Sarai becomes Sarah (“princess”). God bestows royalty on her, declaring world blessings would come through her.

After Isaac’s birth, Sarah turns on Hagar and Ishmael, forcing Abraham to banish them. God reassures Abraham that He’ll care for Hagar and Ishmael. God would watch over and bless Hagar and Ishmael. Even when the plan goes off course, God’s blessing remains unchanged.

Beyond the Spotlight

We often let Sarah play a background role in Abraham’s story. But God didn’t relegate her to the sidelines. He told Abraham, “As for Sarai your wife, you shall not call her name Sarai, but Sarah shall be her name. I will bless her, and moreover, I will give you a son by her. I will bless her, and she shall become nations; kings of peoples shall come from her” (Genesis 17:15-16). The promise was for both, and not one person but for all families of all nations. God also told Abraham that he could not call him “my” princess anymore. She was not “his”.

We crave ownership of our blessings, guarding them jealously. We then play games with people. It should be the other way – we should share our blessings and jealously guard people. Out of jealousy, Sarah would abuse and then kick out her Egyptian maidservant and child. God’s blessings rain indiscriminately. He invites us beyond our insecurities and controlling systems. Our whispered prayers and late-night cries to a god connect to a larger tapestry, a community essential to our existence. Our stories don’t begin or end with us.

God’s blessing model is about multiplication, not protection. Abraham understood this, valuing people over his kingdom. Sarah’s story wasn’t solitary; it involved a partner, community, and children. Hagar was a part of her story and so was Ishmael. Ever wonder what would have happened if Sarah had been secure in her blessing and calling? What would have happened if Hagar and Ishmael stayed? This is hypothetical, obviously, but in the course of human history, if Sarah had welcomed Ishmael, how would the Middle East look today? Choices have consequences, even when it’s thousands of years later. Our story is not our own.

Sarai, like Noah or Abraham, represents a pattern. The redemptive narrative isn’t a male-dominated story. Women are integral, their redemption as vital as men’s. This seems obvious now, but these worldviews aren’t learned through study alone. We inhabit them when we see the world through that lens.

Sarah wasn’t the only key woman in the redemption narrative: Mary enters later. In the Jewish lore from before Jesus and on, Lilith was considered to be Adam’s first wife before Eve. What happened to her? She refused submission, was banished, and became a demon. More specifically, she wanted to be on top instead of Adam. Personally, I’d have suggested to Adam, “Don’t knock ’til you try it and, also, there are more than two positions.” But we do that, we make everything into an either/or, instead of both/and.

Interconnected Stories

The dance of faith, hope, and human complexity continues. From Sarah’s endurance to Lilith’s defiance, these women remind us our narratives intertwine, our destinies shared. They remind us that these stories are about real daily life because it is in our lives that reality happens and we experience it. Let’s reexamine the biblical tapestry, recognizing the vibrant threads woven by overlooked women. Redemption’s promise is for all humanity.

Our lives aren’t isolated islands but interconnected continents. Promises and blessings aren’t for hoarding but for sharing, cultivating a flourishing garden for others. Isolation, competition, and self-gain create a barren wasteland. They are the antithesis of the Genesis and Gospel narratives.

By embracing our interconnectedness, we find profound meaning and purpose. Sarah’s story is inseparable from Abraham’s and the lineage before her, as our lives are woven into humanity’s tapestry. Let us be weavers of hope, compassion, and shared blessings.

A Shared Humanity

The male/female dynamic mirrors our interconnectedness. History, largely written by men, marginalizes women’s experiences, wisdom, and contributions. This imbalance distorts our understanding of ourselves, relationships, and the divine. It took humanity a long time to start addressing the issue. We are still having issues now that we’ve made some progress, but change is a b!+ch when we want our old, comfortable, and predictable ways. Today, men and women have work to do to reconcile the “battle of the sexes” that never needed to exist. It’s not a man or woman story – it’s always been an “us” story.

Yet, in shared meals, heartfelt conversations, real heartache, momentary defiance, dark seasons, and vulnerability, a different story emerges. Differences are honored, interdependence embraced, and the divine found in the ordinary. This is the theology “doctrine” that should reflect—born from human connection and daily life, not abstract concepts of distant futures and conceptualized metaphysics. We start with the unknown and try to make it human, making god in our image and punishing humanity as our god’s representative. It’s upside-down.

It’s time to rewrite the narrative, to include silenced voices, and to recognize the sacred in our shared journey. Only then can we grasp the promises binding us together. Our story is happening now.