His eye is on the sparrow (a sermon on Genesis 21:8-21)

During my first summer as a camp counselor, one of the other staff members, Crystal, had the most beautiful voice. Some nights, if the girls in my cabin quickly changed into their pjs and brushed their teeth and settled into their bunks, there would be time for Crystal to come in, after the lights were turned off, and sing us to sleep. One of her favorites was new to me that summer, the old hymn “His Eye is On the Sparrow”. The chorus goes like this:

I sing because I’m happy,

I sing because I’m free;

For his eye is on the sparrow,

And I know he watches me.

It was a good way to drift off to sleep - to be wrapped in beautiful sound, and reminded that God was watching over each of us, no matter how small or insignificant we felt. What a comfort it was, especially far from home, missing our families, out of our usual routine. 

The hymn finds its inspiration in part from a portion of today’s Gospel reading: Jesus says, “Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. And even the hairs of your head are all counted. So do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows.”


Photo by Anastasiya Romanova on Unsplash

God’s attention and care to even the smallest and most insignificant parts of creation can be seen clearly in the story of Hagar and Ishmael we heard from Genesis this morning. 

Now, to understand this story, we first need to flip back a few more chapters. Just a few weeks ago, we heard the story of God’s call to Abram and Sarai to leave their home and move to the land of Canaan, the land that God would give to Abram’s offspring. So Abram and Sarai did. But, as the years went on, they continued to be childless. And, when Abram questioned God, God strengthened the promise with a formal covenant, assuring Abram that his own child would be his heir, and his descendants would be more numerous than the stars. 

More time passed, and still Abram and Sarai had no children. How could Abram be a great nation, how could God fulfill the covenant if they had no children? Neither of them were getting any younger, and so Sarai decides that the enslaved Egyptian girl Hagar will be her surrogate. Hagar gets pregnant, which is what Sarai wanted. But, Sarai is not happy. She feels that Hagar now looks at her with contempt. Filled with hurt and bitterness, Sarai tries to make herself feel better by mistreating Hagar. Eventually she abuses Hagar so much that Hagar flees into the wilderness. 

There in the wilderness, God sees Hagar - alone, hurt, powerless. This woman, who was nobody - foreign, enslaved, pregnant but not by her own choosing - this woman receives a promise that mirrors the covenant to Abram and Sarai. God tells her to return to her mistress, promising, “I will so greatly multiply your offspring that they cannot be counted for multitude.” Her child would be a son, Ishmael, meaning “God hears.”

So Hagar returns to Abram and Sarai. As the story goes on, God renews the covenant again, and gives Abram and Sarai new names - Abraham and Sarah. Finally, despite her old age, Sarah conceives and bears a son, Isaac. Isaac, though not Abraham’s first born son, is understood to be the true heir of that covenant from so long ago. Despite their celebration and joy as Isaac grows, Sarah feels threatened by Ishmael’s presence, which brings us, finally, to today’s reading.

“But Sarah saw the son of Hagar the Egyptian, whom she had borne to Abraham, playing with her son Isaac. So she said to Abraham, ‘Cast out this slave with her son, for the son of this slave shall not inherit along with my son Isaac.’”

Though Abraham is distressed, he does as Sarah says, assured by God’s promise that Ishmael would not be forgotten. Covenant aside, God would make a nation of Ishmael, too.

Provisioned with a little bread and water, Hagar and Ishmael are sent away into the wilderness - again. Cast aside, hopeless, afraid, with nowhere to turn, mother and son wander through the wild, desert land of Beer-sheba. 

Soon, their water runs out and their fate seems certain. Unable to watch her child waste away, Hagar sets Ishmael in the shade of a bush, then walks further on, sits down, and weeps. Ishmael must have been calling out, too, for just as his name declares, God hears him. 

Though cast aside by Abraham and Sarah, though small and insignificant, Hagar and Ishmael had not been forgotten by God. “Come, lift up the boy and hold him fast with your hand,” God tells Hagar, “for I will make a great nation of him.” 

Then God opened Hagar’s eyes, and she saw a well of water. There are so many encounters at wells in the Bible, and this one is no different. It is not just a place for a cool drink in the desert, but also a sign. A sign of new life, of hope, of possibility. Assured that God sees even her - enslaved, foreign, used; assured that God sees Ishmael - unwanted, a threat, cast aside; I can imagine Hagar singing:

I sing because I’m happy,

I sing because I’m free;

For his eye is on the sparrow,

And I know he watches me.

With so many big things happening in the world, it is easy to feel like our own challenges and struggles are so small and insignificant. How could God possibly have time for us, and our hopes and fears and burdens? 

When life does not go the way we expect or plan, it is easy to feel like we are wandering in the wilderness with nothing to sustain us. 

In these moments, we cling ever more tightly to God’s promises - that we are not alone, that God sees us and hears our cries, and that God will bring forth new life. In the deep well that is the waters of baptism, we have been assured that we belong to God, and that nothing - nothing! - can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. 

When we find ourselves in wilderness places, when we feel cast aside, or hopeless, or hurting, God is there. When reconciliation seems impossible, when the future seems bleak, when all we can do is sit and weep, God is there. God sees you. Do not be afraid. 

I sing because I’m happy,

I sing because I’m free;

For his eye is on the sparrow,

And I know he watches me.


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