The God Who Widens Every Heart

While sitting at the Beer & Hymns event during Synod Assembly, drinking wine and eating nachos with people from all corners of Florida, we heard a compelling story.

A young woman shared how, when she was pregnant and in need of work, she was hired by one of the ELCA congregations in our Synod. They gave her a job and invited her to bring her baby to the church office. Imagine what would happen if we had a baby in our office every day of the week. How many of you would stop and coo over that child, hugging it, holding it, and bouncing it on your knees? We’d all do that, and so did the members of her church.

Before she got the job, neither she nor her husband were churchgoers. But because of the deeply loving welcome they received, the family became members of the congregation. Later, when the Synod office needed a new staff member, the pastor encouraged her to apply. He didn’t want to lose her valuable contribution, but he knew it was a better opportunity. Now she serves on the Bishop’s staff, and her love for that congregation was clearly evident.

She could easily have been overlooked. A young mother with a child might not have been welcome everywhere. Our first reading today tells a similar story.

Most of us know the story of Abraham, Sarah, and Isaac. But we may not remember much about Abraham’s first child. Years earlier, God had promised Abraham and Sarah a son. But as the years passed and no child came, they began to lose faith in the promise. Sarah gave her servant Hagar to Abraham, and Hagar conceived Ishmael. Yet when Isaac was finally born, Hagar and Ishmael became painful reminders of Abraham and Sarah’s attempt to force God’s promise on their own timetable.

When Ishmael is found playing with Isaac, Sarah feels threatened and demands that Hagar and her son be sent away into the wilderness. The very woman they had once used to solve their problem became the woman they cast aside.

So many of us know what it feels like to be cast aside, forgotten, widowed, overlooked, physically limited, or frightened about the future. Hagar sits down because she can’t bear to watch her son die. She has reached the end of her resources. Yet in this story, God refuses to abandon these people who have been pushed to the margins. In fact, the name Ishmael literally means, “God hears.”

This story is important not only to Jews and Christians but also to Muslims. While Jewish and Christian traditions trace God’s covenant through Isaac, Muslims trace their spiritual ancestry through Ishmael. In other words, the child God saves in this story becomes the ancestor of nearly two billion people around the world today. Whatever differences exist between our traditions, this text reminds us that both sons were loved by God. Both received blessing. Both mattered to God.

It is remarkable that God doesn’t say, “My covenant is with Isaac, therefore I have no concern for Ishmael.” Instead, God says, “I will make a nation of him also.” That little word “also” is the key. The promise to Isaac remains, but God’s compassion is not limited to Isaac.

So much of this story is reflected in today’s Psalm. We hear the cry, “Bow down your ear, O Lord, for I am poor and in misery.” That could be Hagar’s prayer. We hear, “Attend to the voice of my supplications,” and in Genesis God hears the voice of the crying child. The psalmist proclaims that God is abundant in mercy toward all who call upon God and that all nations belong to the Lord. We even hear the plea, “Save the child of your handmaid.” The resonance with this story of Hagar and Abraham’s first child is remarkable.

Today is Father’s Day and on this occasion, we often celebrate the best of fatherhood: protection, sacrifice, guidance, and love. Yet Scripture rarely gives us idealized fathers. Abraham is called the father of faith, but he is also deeply flawed. He loves Ishmael yet sends him away. He loves Isaac yet later carries him up a mountain prepared to sacrifice him. The Bible seems less interested in perfect fathers than in honest fathers—human beings who struggle, fail, trust, doubt, and sometimes wound the very people they love.

Abraham and Sarah aren’t evil people. They’re frightened people, impatient people. They’re people who, like many of us, struggle to trust God’s timing. And when fear takes over, people often make choices that wound or endanger others.

One of the treasures of the Muslim tradition is Sufism, a mystical path centered on love, compassion, intimacy with God, and the human heart. Mystics in many traditions have understood that fear narrows the heart, while love expands it. The great Sufi poet Rumi wrote, “Through love all that is bitter will be sweet.”

Sarah’s fear narrows her heart. The wilderness narrows Hagar’s vision. The psalmist cries out from a narrowed place of suffering. Then God widens everything. God widens the promise. God widens the circle of blessing. God opens Hagar’s eyes to a well that was probably there all along. God widens our hearts so that we can become wells for others.

When life becomes wilderness, we often think God has abandoned us. Yet again and again Scripture tells a different story. God hears the cry of those who feel forgotten. God sees those who have been cast aside. God opens eyes to wells that were hidden from view.

In Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus says, “Call no one your father on earth, for you have one Father—the one in heaven.” Jesus is not rejecting human fathers. He’s reminding us that no parent can bear the full weight of being our ultimate source of identity, security, and worth. Human parents are gifts, but they are not God. Our deepest identity comes from a Love larger than any human parent can provide.

Perhaps that is what the young mother in our synod experienced. A congregation saw her, welcomed her, and loved her. They became a well in the wilderness. They reflected something of the heart of God. And that is our calling as well.

On this Father’s Day, we give thanks for fathers who loved us well. We extend grace to fathers who struggled. We remember fathers we have lost. But most of all, we remember the One whom the Psalmist addresses: “You, O Lord, are good and forgiving, and abundant in mercy.”

The One who heard Ishmael.

The One who saw Hagar.

The One who welcomed the new mother through the love of a congregation.

The One from whom every child receives their deepest identity.

The One whose love is wider than our fear, wider than our failures, and who is always at work widening every heart. Amen.