Who Are You? Identity and Shame

Abram's wife was Sarai. ... Sarai was unable to have children.

— Genesis 11:29–30

BARREN. A HARSH WORD, unkind, unyielding. I shiver and wonder if there was not a gentler way to introduce this woman through whom the whole world would be blessed. The Common English Bible shares my sentiment and softens the blow with "Sarai was unable to have children." The original Hebrew, however, is much less kind: "Sarai was barren. There is no child to her" (my translation).

Why, Lord, why must this be the introduction to Sarai, Abram's beloved wife?

Not beautiful Sarai.

Not faithful Sarai.

Not strong, determined, hopeful Sarai.

Barren Sarai.

Must we really start there?

Somehow, yes. We must begin with the lack, the shame, the hopelessness. We must first accept the barrenness if we are to continue on the journey to the place God promises.

So I grapple with that barrenness. And I see that there are barren places in us all. We have spots hidden away in our souls that are without life, where hope has shriveled and all we want to do is cringe and deny the dryness. There are places of doubt, of despair, of weakness, of shame, of guilt and pain.

We are all barren.

And Sarai gives us hope.

So I'm glad the Bible does not shy away from Sarai's shame. I'm glad it starts with this almost cruel introduction. I'm glad because it tells me that Sarai's journey can be my own. God sees my barrenness and meets it with promise — meets me in the very place where I have the least hope, the most pain, the most shame.

Do I dare embrace my barrenness? Do I dare acknowledge my shame? And in doing so, might I embrace the very promises of God?

For Sarai, it might have felt something like this.

Waiting for Wonder

What would it be like, I wonder, to be described by the very thing that brings you the most shame, the most pain, the most guilt?

"This is my friend, Ann. She screams at her kids."

"This is Tony. He's an ex-con. He killed someone."

"Meet Sue, she gossips."

"Here's Jose, who can't keep a job."

"Amy, failed marriage."

"Ted, out-of-control rages."

"Lisa, molested as a child."

"John, adulterer."

"Maria, quitter."

"Bob, drug addict."

"Rachel, bigot."

"John, attempted suicide."

Sarai, infertile. She has no children.

I don't want to be identified by my failures. I don't want the first thing people know about me to be the very thing I most wish to hide. But that's how the Bible chooses to introduce Sarai. It labels her "barren," then adds "no child" to underscore her pain. The biblical description is stark, harsh.

Why does the Bible introduce her this way?

Expectations

In Sarai's day, the primary role of women was to produce children, particularly an heir. A wife's value to her husband as well as to society was directly attached to the number of her sons. The main purpose of marriage was to procreate, and children were seen as direct proof of blessing from the gods. In Abram and Sarai's faith, the idea of children as a sign of God's blessing came directly from his words to Adam and Eve recorded in Genesis 1:28: "God blessed them and said to them, 'Be fertile and multiply; fill the earth and master it.'" The blessing of children is confirmed again in Genesis 9:7 when God blessed Noah and his sons after the flood, saying, "As for you, be fertile and multiply. Populate the earth and multiply in it." In both Genesis 1 and 9, the blessing is coupled with a command to procreate.

The inability to do so was a source of not only disappointment for the ancient woman but also great shame. She could not perform her duty or call. She was without worth. Sometimes, if a man could afford it, a second wife could be taken to provide children and the infertile wife could be retained. But divorce was considered a viable option for the husband of an infertile wife. In Egypt it appears that the marriage was not even considered complete until childbirth, and the woman could be put aside at any time without a formal divorce.

In Sarai's day and throughout the Old Testament, infertile women were despised, rejected, helpless, and considered cursed.

Given the reproach and societal shame of barrenness, it becomes even more poignant that Sarai is introduced in this way. Commentator John Walton emphasizes this view, saying, "We find out that Abram's wife, Sarai, is barren, leaving the uninformed reader every reason to dismiss that line of the family."

But God does not dismiss them. Instead, he specifically calls them to be what they are least likely to be. He calls the childless, the infertile, the barren to birth a nation through whom the whole world will be blessed. The place in her life that causes the most shame, pain, and hopelessness for Sarai is exactly the place where God makes his wildest, most impossible promises. It's the very place he chooses to work.

I've seen this kind of thing from God before.

Reversals

She sits across from me at Denny's, this mother of a murderer. Tears fill her eyes. Her hands shake just a little. She bears a label that should cause shame. It does cause pain. She who could not save her own son. She who lives with the reality of loss every day. I stab my eggs with a fork. She stabs my soul with a story.

Her story, so unlike Sarai's yet so like it, too.

She speaks of a mother's worst nightmare. She speaks of a son addicted to drugs, of a broken marriage, of grandchildren far away, of broken hearts and broken dreams. She tells of prayers and weeping, of a son's suicide attempt and the institution that followed. She speaks with a pain so deep that I lower my fork, my eggs forgotten.

And then her voice softens. I hear of murder and a son's reckless escape. Arrest, imprisonment, seeking, and hurt. I hear from a mother whose son never left prison. He died there of blood cancer.

She is the mother of a murderer.

She is the mother of a dead son.

She is my friend.

And her life and ministry are filled with beauty and promise I have rarely seen. I know of her passion to reach other men in prison with the love and good news of Jesus. I know how she hugs the unhuggable and brings hope to the hopeless. I know of the men whose lives have changed because they have encountered Christ through her and come to know him for themselves. I know of a...