Hagar was a woman and a slave. She was no saint in the ordinary, everyday sense, not above a bit of unattractive gloating, but in many ways she was a victim of her situation. She was trapped in circumstances of life far from her choosing, enslaved, forced to sleep with the husband of her mistress and then driven out into the desert by her mistress's jealousy, pregnant and alone.
Hagar was powerless to change her situation, she had no control, even over her own body. She was at the mercy of the whims of others, treated as a possession and as if she herself possessed no dignity or worth. People didn't look at Hagar, they looked through her, to the people who mattered. She was unloved, unvalued, an object to be used to fulfill the wishes of others and then to be discarded when she was no longer wanted or needed. And to a certain extent she was her own worst enemy provoking her mistress to rage by despising her infertility in spite knowing all the pain and shame and humiliation that entailed.
Hagar's story is extreme but in it I do see faint echoes of my own. I may not know what it is to be a slave, but I do know something of what it feels like to be trapped by circumstances and powerless to change them. I know something of what it feels like to be at the mercy of others and treated without compassion or dignity. I know something of what it feels like to be discarded and rejected. I certainly know what it is like to suspect my own unpleasant, ugly sin means I probably deserved most of what I got. I guess most of us do, some a little more than others.
But as it is so common to find in the stories of God's people, Hagar's story comes with a twist in the tail. She did not die in the desert, instead she discovered there that she was not alone. There was one there who did not see her as a possession, who looked at her, not through her. There was one there who saw her dignity and her value as a person made in the image of God, to whom she was not a worthless object to be used and discarded. There was one there to whom she mattered and by whom although she may have been powerless, she was not unheard.
The Lord came to Hagar and said to her, however others have treated you, however little you have been valued, I, the Lord, hear you and I, the Lord, see you. And Hagar, the woman, the slave, the sinner, the oppressed, the alone, was the first person in the Bible to give God a name.
Hagar was powerless to change her situation, she had no control, even over her own body. She was at the mercy of the whims of others, treated as a possession and as if she herself possessed no dignity or worth. People didn't look at Hagar, they looked through her, to the people who mattered. She was unloved, unvalued, an object to be used to fulfill the wishes of others and then to be discarded when she was no longer wanted or needed. And to a certain extent she was her own worst enemy provoking her mistress to rage by despising her infertility in spite knowing all the pain and shame and humiliation that entailed.
Hagar's story is extreme but in it I do see faint echoes of my own. I may not know what it is to be a slave, but I do know something of what it feels like to be trapped by circumstances and powerless to change them. I know something of what it feels like to be at the mercy of others and treated without compassion or dignity. I know something of what it feels like to be discarded and rejected. I certainly know what it is like to suspect my own unpleasant, ugly sin means I probably deserved most of what I got. I guess most of us do, some a little more than others.
But as it is so common to find in the stories of God's people, Hagar's story comes with a twist in the tail. She did not die in the desert, instead she discovered there that she was not alone. There was one there who did not see her as a possession, who looked at her, not through her. There was one there who saw her dignity and her value as a person made in the image of God, to whom she was not a worthless object to be used and discarded. There was one there to whom she mattered and by whom although she may have been powerless, she was not unheard.
The Lord came to Hagar and said to her, however others have treated you, however little you have been valued, I, the Lord, hear you and I, the Lord, see you. And Hagar, the woman, the slave, the sinner, the oppressed, the alone, was the first person in the Bible to give God a name.
She gave this name to the Lord who spoke to her: “You are the God who sees me,” for she said, “I have now seen the One who sees me.” (Genesis 16:13)
Names for God describe a part of his character, Hagar had indeed seen God as she was privileged to give him a name to reveal part of his character to the world. That name was 'the God who sees me.' God sees me. That is his name, a fundamental part of who he is, so it can't and won't change. Whoever else has failed to see who I am, God has not. Whoever else has tried to tell me I have nothing of worth to offer, God does not. Others will get me wrong, will underestimate me, overestimate me, misunderstand me, look through me to the people who matter, but not God. He sees me.
And like Hagar this seeing means blessing too. God did not merely restore to Hagar the worth and dignity she had as a human made in his image. He never does stop there, his heart is too full of love, his hand too generously full of gifts. He gave to Hagar the gift of the honour of being the mother of a great nation, a nation that would not be crushed or despised as she had been. To us of course he gives a much more precious gift the gift of the honour of being his child, found in Christ, the honour of being his beloved, clothed in Christ's beautiful righteousness, the honour of being his ambassadors to declare his name upon the earth.
There is a cry of pain from my heart that says, "Why does nobody ever see me?" It's less a reality than it used to be but the wound is still there barely scabbed over and vulnerable to break open once again when knocked about by circumstance. The damage of the past is too deep to placate that cry with reassurances that things are different now, that there are people who do hear and do see. But there is an inexpressible comfort in this, which was true in the past, is true now and will always be true: "You are the God who sees me".
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