Rejected by Them
But Not by Him
She went on her way …
Genesis 21:14
At the beginning of this book, I shared with you the experience my husband and I had when we were rejected by our church. What I didn’t say was that the wound was intensified because it was piled on top of fresh, hurtful memories of previous rejection. A few months before my husband was voted out of his leadership position to the applause of the congregation, the board of deacons in that same church had voted to close the doors to the Bible class I had taught there for nine years. The reason? We used the Bible as our only textbook. This put my class of five hundred women in the crosshairs of the political and denominational tug-of-war that the church was caught up in. But God intervened on behalf of the Bible class — within a week of the deacons’ vote, another wonderful church of the same denomination opened its doors to us, so that we never missed a class. Even so, because the church that had rejected my class was my own church, I felt the need to respond in some way. But how? What could I do or say in response to such intentional rejection? I didn’t know. But I knew God did, and so I cried out to Him, opening my ears to what He would say as I listened with my eyes on the pages of my Bible.
At the time, I was studying Jeremiah in my personal devotions. I was impressed that God often told Jeremiah to act out his prophetic messages. As I applied the Scripture to my situation, I wondered how I might act out a message of love to the church that had closed its doors to my Bible class. I didn’t know how to do that, so I simply prayed, God, how do I do that? What would You have me to do? What is the message You would have me act out?
I was reminded that I had been raised in a denomination that practiced a form of baptism my present church did not recognize — which meant the baptism I had experienced as a young girl was not recognized by the leaders of the church I was now attending. The thought came to me that I could act out God’s message of love by offering to submit to the form of baptism accepted and practiced by my present church. From God’s perspective, I knew I didn’t need to be rebaptized. But I wanted to honor God and identify with the people He loved, and I felt one way to do that was to submit myself to baptism by immersion.
So at the age of thirty-seven, after thirty years of living out a committed Christian life, I followed through on what I believed to be God’s leading. On a Sunday evening shortly after my class had been voted out, with my father in the waters beside me and my husband and three children in the pews in front of me, I was baptized by immersion as a demonstration of loving identification with the church that had rejected my class.
While I did not expect the church deacons to reverse their decision, I did think the church members would be disarmed by my action and receive me and my gesture kindly. Instead of being kindly received, however, I was shunned. In the weeks that followed, people turned away from me as I walked down the halls and avoided me when I entered the classrooms. Rather than softening hearts, what I intended as an act of love had actually hardened them.
While I don’t know why I was shunned, there may be two explanations. Either they did not understand my gesture of love even though I had written a public letter giving the reason for my decision to be rebaptized. Or perhaps my gesture had made them feel guilty for their rejection of my husband. Maybe I had embarrassed the congregation. Maybe instead of apologizing, they simply turned their backs, hoping both of us would go away. Which we did. While many good friends stood by us and stood up for us, we knew that we had obviously become a problem for the majority. So taking great care not to split the church by forcing people to take sides, we quietly left.
But the wound of their rejection hurt. Later I found comfort as I related to the rest of Jeremiah’s testimony:
My eyes fail from weeping,
I am in torment within;
my heart is poured out on the ground … .
I remember my affliction …
the bitterness and the gall.
I well remember them,
and my soul is downcast within me.
Yet this I call to mind
and therefore I have hope:
Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.1
Jeremiah obeyed God’s instructions to act out God’s Word, but his actions were not well received either. In the end, his heart was broken, and his life was taken by God’s people who stoned him to death. Wounded! But Jeremiah was obedient, even unto death. His trust in God and his testimony of God’s faithfulness still reverberate over twenty-five hundred years later. Not only are the words of his testimony the basis for a beloved hymn sung in churches all over the world today, “Great Is Thy Faithfulness,” but that hymn was the very one that our family sang to my mother as she left this world and entered into her heavenly Home.
As hurt as I was by the church’s rejection, my relationship with God was strong enough and my understanding of His Word thorough enough to know that being rejected by the church did not mean being rejected by Him. As we walked away from the church that had been our home for over fifteen years, I had the overwhelming awareness that God walked with us. Our tears were on His face, and He bore our shame and disgrace too. God understands how it feels to be rejected by His own people.2
As Hagar walked away from the home she had known for over twenty-four years, painful memories from long ago must have resurfaced in her mind. Cries and confusion, frustrations and fears, anger and agony, turmoil and tears — all long forgotten — must have come back in a rush. Did she flash back to a day twenty years earlier when she had fled into that same desert? Now it seemed to be happening all over again! Did Hagar choke on her sobs, her breath coming in ragged gasps, as she relived the painful memories of her past? It just wasn’t fair! Where was God?
Did her flashbacks also include memories of God’s presence? Did she remember that God had been right there with her on the desert road leading to the wilderness? Hadn’t He put His arms of love around her and held her close to reassure her and quiet her sobs? But … where was He now? How could this be happening to her— again — after all these years? She had repented! She had turned back and submitted to Sarah. She and Sarah had seemed to work out a cordial relationship. How had everything disintegrated so suddenly?
Once again, Hagar found herself on the desert road — and this time it was not her choice. She’d been given no opportunity to explain herself or to have Ishmael apologize and try to make amends. She had been given no chance at all to defend herself or her son or to even discuss the situation. She had just been thrown out of the family! And once again, she must have cried out in her heart, God, where are You? Where is the One Who Sees me? Are You looking the other way and are somehow missing what is happening here? Do You see but not care anymore? Do You see and care, but You’re somehow helpless to intervene … sacrificing me and my son for some greater purpose? God, are You on their side?
At this point, Hagar could have tossed her head, lifted her chin, and emphatically decided, “No, God is not on their side. The God I know would never have told Abraham to do such a thing. Their God is not God. My God is God.” And she could have begun to worship a god she made up — a god that suited her by accommodating her point of view.
I can’t help but wonder … how many churches, and even denominations, have divided because of a similar attitude? Two factions disagreeing, with each side claiming God is on their side. In Hagar’s case, she was honest enough to see and accept the obvious — God had agreed with Sarah. He was on their side!
As Hagar trudged down the dusty wilderness road with the water jug slung over her slumped shoulder, a parcel of food clutched in her hand, and her young son by her side, I imagine she stumbled. Her vision blurred. Her gait weaved in a meandering, mindless forward motion, not knowing where to go, just knowing she had to get out of there.
Surely all she could think was, God agr
eed with Sarah. God instructed Abraham to throw me out! The consternation must have been overwhelming. It no doubt clouded her thinking, dismantled her faith, and left her feeling utterly abandoned. Had she just been rejected, not only by God’s people, but by God?
Perhaps you have had similar thoughts that led you to a similar conclusion — that if God has allowed you or those you care about to be treated in such an ungodly way by those who identify with Him, then you want no part of them — or Him.
One result of my Bible class being removed from our church, and then my husband’s subsequent rejection from his leadership role, was that we heard from others who had had similar experiences. Our rejection seemed to stir up memories of their own painful woundings. One woman who had been an active Christian for most of her life wrote, “My most severe hurts and disappointments have come from Christian believers… . Wounds from Christian swords heal very slowly.”
Wounds from a “Christian sword” heal slowly because they seem to hurt the worst and penetrate the deepest. Has your relationship with God been strong enough to carry you through the painful rejection? Have you hidden yourself in your Heavenly Father’s embrace? Buried your head on His shoulder as He has soothed your hurt with words of comfort? Have you felt the compassion of Someone who knows firsthand what it’s like to be rejected by His own people? Were you able to conclude that their rejection of you was really their problem and not yours?
Or do you find yourself feeling more like Hagar? In the face of rejection, her faith wilted and then evaporated, leaving her with what must have felt like incurable wounds. Hagar’s relationship with God, though established years earlier when she first ran away, does not appear to have developed into one that could handle this type of rejection.
As you read Hagar’s story, perhaps you are reflecting on your own … If God truly cares about me, why don’t I feel Him pursuing me? Where is He? Why don’t I hear His voice inquiring, “What’s the matter?” Where are His gentle instructions telling me what to do? Maybe this is the very reason you are reading this book. Because God is pursuing you at this moment, coming to you through the story of Hagar. Don’t let your own tears blind you or your own thoughts deafen you to an encounter with Him. Right here. Right now. You may have been rejected by them, but you are not rejected by Him.
NINE
Wandering in the Wilderness
God Is Still There
She went on her way and wandered in the desert of Beersheba.
Genesis 21:14
A wilderness is defined as an uncultivated, uninhabited, inhospitable region. At least that’s the definition I was given when I googled it. I would also describe a wilderness as dry, barren, lonely, and rocky. And it was in a spiritual wilderness that I found myself several years ago. Because it was a time in my life that was dry … seemingly devoid of the rain of God’s blessing; barren … seemingly devoid of evidence of real fruit in my life; lonely … devoid of any conscious awareness of God’s presence; and it was rocky … littered with problems and obstacles and hard things. If I could have pinpointed one particular trigger that launched me into my wilderness experience, it would have been my mother’s departure for heaven. Not only did my grief leave me with a feeling of emptiness and deep sadness, but there were many circumstances around the time of her death that seemed to drive me into a spiritually dry, barren, lonely, rocky place. Life just seemed to close in on me.
One morning, I was especially conscious of the oppression and darkness that seemed to be crushing my spirit to the point that I found breathing difficult. I slipped into the place where I meet the Lord early in the morning, intending to open my Bible to the verses on which I had been meditating the day before. But as divine providence would have it, I made a “mistake.” Instead of opening to the intended passage, I opened to a chapter that was several pages past where I had been. But before I could correct my mistake, my eye fell on this verse: “The people remained at a distance, while Moses approached the thick darkness where God was.”1 The verse seemed to be illuminated. It leaped up off the page as I heard God whispering to me through the words, Anne, most people shy away from the wilderness. They don’t like the darkness of oppression, loneliness, dryness, barrenness. They don’t like to be in a hard place. If they think I’m going to lead them there, they resist, back off, and want no part of following Me. But, Anne, Moses approached the thick darkness. Because that’s where I was. And that’s where I still am, Anne. Embrace the darkness.
Before I could answer Him, before I could even pray, almost before I could even think, I found myself turning several pages back to where I was “supposed” to have been reading. The first verse of that reading was, “While Aaron was speaking to the whole Israelite community, they looked toward the desert, and there was the glory of the LORD appearing in the cloud.”2 The desert is another name for the wilderness! That dry, barren, rocky, lonely place where I seemed to be. And I knew God was telling me, Anne, I am here. Look closely. You will see My glory in the dark cloud.
I was not consciously aware of seeing His glory at that moment. All I knew was that God had spoken to me and told me He was there. And so I bowed my head, with tears slipping down my face, and whispered to Him in response, If You are truly in the darkness, then I embrace it. I want to be where You are.
God is in the darkness and God is in the wilderness. I now know that by personal experience. But although Hagar had known God’s presence in her wilderness years earlier, she had forgotten. She did not know that now. So when she suddenly found herself thrust not only into a dry, barren, lonely, rocky physical place, she also found herself in a spiritual wilderness — alone for the first time in thirty years and burdened with the responsibility of providing for the physical, emotional, intellectual, spiritual, and practical needs of a difficult teenage boy. Hagar desperately needed help. She knew she couldn’t go back, but she had no idea how to go forward. And so she wandered … through the desert of Beersheba3 and the wastelands of her own spiritual and emotional devastation.
You don’t necessarily have to be a single mother, thrust there by an untimely death or a nasty divorce, to find yourself in Hagar’s situation. Like me, maybe life has just crashed in on you. Wounds and rejection can pile up. Perhaps you feel you have no one to turn to, no one to talk to, no one to help you. If you and I are not careful, that aloneness can cause us to wander in our spirits also. We want to get away from the darkness, to get out of the wilderness, but in our frantic effort we stumble from remorse to resentment, from self-pity to self-flagellation, from self-deception to depression, from brokenness to bitterness, from faith to agnosticism, from frustration to anger, from hurt to hardness, from hardness to helplessness. May I ask you something I have asked myself? Deep down in the hidden chambers of your soul, are you offended by God? Angry with Him even? Are you wandering from God? You thought you knew Him, but now He seems remote at best. The solemn conclusion I’ve come to is that if He is everywhere, that means He is also in the wilderness. And if I can’t turn to Him there, who can I turn to?
As Hagar stumbled through the vast wilderness, her clothing catching on thorns, her feet stumbling over the rocks, her throat choking on the dust, she lost sight of everything but her own despair. Her self-preoccupation, though understandable, blinded her to God’s presence and to God’s provision. But God was not blind to Hagar. He was still there with her and watching her every step. While His gaze never left her, His heart must have ached over her helpless, hopeless condition. Hagar, remember Me? I am still the One who sees you.4 You’re not alone. I’m right here. But Hagar was so wrapped up in her wounds that she did not look up; she did not call on God; she did not pray. With her gaze cast down, all she could do was cry.
As the desert wind blew swirling dust in her face and the sky turned brazen from the heat, her mind must have snapped into panic mode, triggered by a feeling of total helplessness. She didn’t know where she could go or where she could live or how she could support herself and her son. Up until the moment sh
e had walked away from Abraham’s household, Hagar had led a somewhat sheltered existence. She hadn’t needed to give a thought to providing the food on her table or the clothes on her back or the roof over her head. Abraham had generously supplied everything she had ever needed. Now she was suddenly on her own, responsible for finding basic necessities for herself and for her son. She must have felt totally helpless, because, humanly speaking, she was totally helpless.
Hagar’s overall realization of her completely helpless condition was pushed to the breaking point, not only by her wandering in the wilderness, but by her very real, immediate physical needs. She was desperate for water for herself and for Ishmael: “When the water in the skin was gone, she put the boy under one of the bushes.”5 Neither of them would survive much longer without water. There was almost no chance she would ever find it on her own. And it may be that it wasn’t just her body that was dehydrated, but it was her spirit that was parched because she felt utterly separated from God.
I know what it’s like to be spiritually parched and desperately dry. Thirsty for Him. Thirsty for the same One who has revealed Himself in the past to His children in the wilderness. As I have pondered the revelation that God’s glory could be seen in the desert place … in the wilderness … I have asked Him to show me. Thousands of years before, Moses had made a similar request, so I have reasoned, why couldn’t I?
So one morning, I opened my Bible and turned to Exodus 33 and 34, the account of Moses’ request for God to reveal His glory and God’s answer.6 I read that God had put Moses in the cleft of a rock, covered him with His hand, then removed His hand and allowed Moses to gaze, not on His face, but on the “backside” of His glory.
As I pondered this passage, I understood that God’s glory is not just a golden, shining light or cloud. His glory is His character.7 And then God began to “speak” to me … phrase by phrase … Anne, I have put you in the cleft of a rock. I have intentionally put you in a hard place. You are stuck there. But I have covered you with My hand, and you have felt the nearness of My presence. Then I removed My hand so that you have felt abandoned by Me. But Anne, look back. Look back! My glory can be seen if you will look back.
Wounded by God's People Page 9