Walking Ancient Paths Book Release

  
It has been in my hands two weeks now: BOOK ONE of the Walking Ancient Paths book series. (My brain is already gearing up for BOOK TWO.) This is good stuff. If readers enjoy Walking Ancient Paths: BOOK ONE even a smidgen as much as I enjoyed writing it, then they are sure to have an enjoyable journey!

Isaiah 9:6

I came across these photos today. I took them at the YMCA Three Arches Hotel in Jerusalem. Great prophetic Scripture that was fulfilled only a few miles from where it is engraved in stone.

Encounter at the Ford Jabbok

  

Today it is a polluted stream, littered with debris, its flow interrupted here and there by discarded tires being propelled downstream. Jordanians call the river by its modern name, the Zarqa, which is Arabic for “Blue.” The Bible calls it the Jabbok. It is one of the two main tributaries of the Jordan River. (The other tributary is the Yarmouk River.)

From a distance the Zarqa River is picturesque, flowing gently between lush hillsides. But years of ingesting industrial waste, chemicals, and raw sewage have taken their toll on this important waterway. Although the water is used for irrigation purposes, it is unsafe to drink. The Kingdom of Jordan is taking steps to purify the river, but the process of decontamination will take time.

Once a week, on our way to Bible studies in northern Jordan, the road we traveled descended into a deep valley. Here, we crossed over the Zarqa River by way of a modern bridge. But thousands of years ago another stranger, without the convenience of a bridge, crossed this river too. Jacob, that troubled, torn man, who deceived others and was in turn deceived by others, had to make a transition. That transition was a pivotal point in his life and it occurred on the banks of this river.

Only a couple of times did we have time to stop and walk down to the riverbank. Once, a group of covered Muslim women were sitting side by side, relaxing by the river. Apparently, none of them spoke much English and our Arabic was sparse, so we used sign language. One of the ladies put her hand in mine and wanted her picture taken with me. Her friend used her cell phone to snap the shot. I took the action as either a sign of hospitable camaraderie or excitement at meeting an American.



Thousands of years ago, Jacob had an encounter at the Zarqa River, which he called the Jabbok. But his encounter was entirely different from mine. Rather than grasping the hand of a human being as a friendly gesture, he wrestled with a divine being. My meeting with those ladies was casual and insignificant. Jacob’s meeting changed the course of his life.

Throughout history, rivers have often been remembered for their association with great battles. Two examples from America’s history are the Battle of Bull Run and the Battle of the Little Bighorn. The Battle of Bull Run was the first major military conflict of the United States’ Civil War. It was called the Battle of Bull Run because of its proximity to the Bull Run stream in Virginia. The Battle of the Little Bighorn is also known as Custer's Last Stand. On the plains of the Little Bighorn River in Montana, Lieutenant Colonel Custer met his death and the Americans suffered a brutal defeat at the hands of the Indian forces.

Some people, from birth, seem to have the odds against them. As Jacob was being born, he caught the heel of his older twin brother, Esau. Because of this action, he was named “Jacob.” This name meant “Heel-catcher, Supplanter, Deceiver.” In Bible days, a name was an integral part of who a person was. Jacob’s destiny seemed sealed from the moment his took his first breath. He would grow up parented by a mother and father who played favorites. His mother, Rebekah, loved Jacob but his father, Isaac, loved Esau (Genesis 25:28). His family was rife with dysfunction. Jacob grew up with a label on his life, a label that he did not choose, but one that he was powerless to remove. Each time someone called his name, he was reminded of who he was. Jacob…Deceiver. It was seared into his mind, infused into his very being.

Esau, as the elder brother, was entitled to the birthright. He hated it, however, perhaps because of the responsibility it represented. Jacob, on the other hand, wanted the birthright. With only a little persuasion, Esau sold it to him for a bowl of lentils.

Years passed, and it was time for Isaac to die. He told Esau, the firstborn, to go hunting and prepare meat for him to eat. While Esau was gone, Rebekah told Jacob to deceive Isaac and obtain the blessing. At first, Jacob resisted his mother’s scheme. He did not want his father to think he was a deceiver. He was unwilling to admit that Isaac had been calling Jacob a deceiver all his life. He craved his father’s approval. He wanted to be called something good, something other than “Heel-Catcher, Supplanter.” But finally Jacob’s mother convinced him to follow through with her plan.

So Jacob obtained the blessing and had scarcely left Isaac’s bedside when Esau returned. When Esau discovered what Jacob had done, “he cried with a great and exceeding bitter cry” (Genesis 27:34). Although Isaac issued a blessing to Esau also, it was a blessing laced with bitterness. Esau was destined to live by the sword and be in subjection to his younger brother Jacob.

The Bible says that “Esau hated Jacob because of the blessing wherewith his father blessed him” (Geneses 27:41.) He purposed to kill Jacob as soon as Isaac was dead. To save her son’s life, Rebekah devised another scheme. She convinced Isaac that Jacob needed to go to Padan-aram, also called Haran. This was in northern modern-day Syria, about 550 miles from Beersheba. Esau had married Canaanite women and they were a “grief of mind” to Isaac and Rebekah. So Rebekah had no trouble convincing Isaac to send Jacob to a place where he could marry a woman from their own tribe. This guise successfully saved Jacob from being subjected to the force of Esau’s wrath.

Jacob left all that was familiar to him to begin a new life. Along his journey, at Bethel, God affirmed to Jacob the promise that He had made to Jacob’s grandfather Abraham. In turn, Jacob vowed to God, “ If God will be with me, and keep me in the way that I go, and will give me bread to eat, and raiment to put on, So that I come again to my father’s house in peace: then shall the Lord be my God” (Genesis 28:20-21). This reveals what was probably Jacob’s greatest desire: Peace in his family.

During his twenty-year sojourn in Padan-aram, Jacob married Leah and Rachel, sisters. They and their handmaids bore him eleven sons. Jacob became a prosperous and wealthy man. But the prosperity came at a painful cost: Jacob and his father-in-law Laban deceived each other to get what they both wanted. It seems that Jacob’s cycle was continuing: he was both deceiving and being deceived.

In time the Lord began to make the nest very uncomfortable for Jacob. Laban was upset with Jacob and a serious family conflict seemed imminent. At this point, the Lord told Jacob that it was time to go home.

Jacob had one chief concern: his brother Esau. Esau lived in Edom, in southern modern-day Jordan. To try to appease Esau’s anger, Jacob sent him gifts of animals and servants. But Esau was not deterred. Jacob’s messengers told him that Esau was coming to meet him with four hundred seasoned warriors. Jacob stood to lose not just all he had gained during the last twenty years, but his life as well. He “was greatly afraid and distressed” (Genesis 32:7).

That momentous night, Jacob came to the Ford Jabbok. A ford is a low spot in a river that provides a place for the river to be easily crossed. Jacob sent his family and possessions across this ford in the Jabbok River, which was near Peniel, but he lingered behind them…alone. Jacob had reached the end of himself. There, as the water flowed past, he realized that he was at a dead-end street with no one to help him except God. He had exhausted his resources and his plans had failed. Esau was not deterred. Family peace seemed an impossible dream.

Suddenly, a Man appeared. And He began to wrestle with Jacob. All night they wrestled, not so much for physical pre-eminence, but as a reflection of the struggle in Jacob’s heart. There on the banks of that river, Jacob was facing the worst battle of his life. In Hebrew, Jabbok (Yabboq) has its root in “baqaq,” which means “to pour out, to empty.” Jacob’s meeting with this divine being was a time of confrontation, awareness, honesty…desperation.

Then, as dawn broke, the man asked Jacob to tell Him his name. Such a strange question. Why ask a person his name? Because Jacob’s name identified him for who he really was. No doubt from the anguish of the depths of his being, he said, “Jacob. My name is Deceiver.” Perhaps this was one of the most difficult things Jacob ever did. God wanted Jacob to admit who he was. Jacob had been wrestling all of his life with the label that had been his from birth. It was time for a change.

Jacob, I am going to give you a new name. You will have a new identity. From this day forward, your name will be Israel, “for as a prince hast thou power with God and with men, and hast prevailed” (Genesis 32:28). Jacob’s encounter at the Ford Jabbok was a turning point in his life. Not only did God mend Jacob’s relationship with his brother Esau, but He equipped Jacob with a relationship with Him that he had never before had.

That lonely river was the site of an intense personal struggle, the result of which forever altered Jacob’s identity. Jacob was never the same. He called the location of his encounter Peniel which means “the face of God.” He said, “I have seen God face to face, and my life is preserved” (Genesis 32:30). He had an encounter with God, and it is impossible to encounter God and be unchanged.

  

Tu B'Shevat

  

Two days ago, February 7th, was the celebration of Tu B'Shevat in Israel. We were in Israel this time last year. Bill went to run an errand at the back and came back to the apartment to tell me about the excitement outside.

Ben Yehuda Street was a mass of people and sights. Tu B'Shevat is Jewish Arbor Day. Although it is not biblical in origin, the holiday began as a means of gauging the age of trees for the purpose of tithing.

I doubt that most of the people on Ben Yehuda Street were thinking of the religious implications of Tu B'Shevat. God did not seem to have a prominent place in this holiday. The crowd was a blend of crunchy-chewy, earth-loving young people, moms with their kids, and young and old friends just checking out the sights.

It was a festive but not out-of-control (i.e., no alcohol and partyers) environment. Flowers and plants were for sale and trees on stilts walked among the crowd. Probably my most interesting memory of that day is Alexey Kochetkov, an amazing Russian Jewish violinist.

  

  

Middle Eastern Hummus

 

In Arabic, “hummus” means “chickpeas.” In America, chickpeas are commonly called garbanzo beans. This hearty bean is the main ingredient in hummus. Thanks to Muteib and Sandra for the pointers to help make this an authentic Middle Eastern hummus recipe.
3 cups dried garbanzo beans
1 tsp baking soda
1/4 cup hot water
6 large cloves garlic, crushed
3 tsp salt
1/4 cup tahini
1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
1/4 tsp ground cumin
1/2 cup fresh lemon juice

Soak 3 cups garbanzo beans in 12 cups water overnight.

Rinse garbanzo beans well and place in a large pot; add 12 cups water and baking soda. Cover and bring water to a light boil. Reduce to a simmer and cook until beans are soft, but not mushy, about 1-1/2 hours.

While beans are cooking, in small bowl, combine garlic, salt, tahini, olive oil, cumin, and lemon juice; set aside.

Drain and rinse beans thoroughly.

Transfer beans to a food processor. Add hot water and blend. Then, pour in garlic mixture and blend until smooth.

Refrigerate for at least an hour before serving.

Makes approximately 7 cups

~ We like to spread hummus on toasted artisan bread or pita bread, and then top it with sundried tomato spread. Absolutely delicious!!

~ Depending on the size of your food processor, you may need to make the hummus in batches.

~ I have never frozen hummus, but I have read that it can be done. Use a glass container.

Ben Yehuda and Hebrew

To those of you who follow our blog closely, this entry might look familiar to you. In past blog entries, I have written about Ben Yehuda and Hebrew. This entry, however, I have specially designed to be included in the book I am writing about Middle Eastern manners and customs.

From our apartment in Jerusalem we can see Ben Yehuda Street, Jerusalem's lively pedestrian mall. Here you can purchase anything from Cuban cigars to flowers to Judaic gifts. At night, the street becomes even livelier, as people come out of the woodwork and street musicians set up camp. A harpist frequents the plaza with her lovely music. Further down the street you might hear a clarinet or drums. A small group of young people might gather to sing a cappella. At the end of the street is Zion Square, a site that hosts political demonstrations from time to time. It is not uncommon to see a group of Haredi men plying pamphlets across the street from dreadlock-wearing hippies making a statement by strumming box guitars and singing American songs from the ‘60s.

Ben Yehuda Street in many ways is much more than a tourist trap. It is the modern expression of youthful hope and activity. The little alleys and roads that meet it beckon pedestrians to explore them. Bounded on one end by Jaffa Street and the other by King George Street, Ben Yehuda Street is a tidy rectangle of bustling activity, where friends meet for a French crepe or an elegant dinner. Since I am really a city girl at heart, I find it fun to step out of our apartment building each day, walk a few steps onto Ben Yehuda Street, and go from there to our destination. At night, voices and horns blend with the calls of cats and doves, creating quite an interesting backdrop as we close our days.

When we first arrived in Jerusalem, we were told about a Hebrew language class. Unfortunately, the level of most of the students was far beyond ours, so we did not continue with the lessons. But the elderly instructor told us something interesting. At some point in her life, she had lived with Eliezer Ben Yehuda's daughter for a while. The two of them studied Arabic together.

I had read a biography of Eliezer Ben Yehuda and became mildly fascinated with his life. He was born in Lithuania as Eliezer Titzhak Perelman. His parents were Hassidic Jews, but eventually Ben Yehuda became less religious and more politically attuned, especially in regards to Zionism. He changed his name to the more Hebrew-sounding Eliezer Ben Yehuda.

Ben Yehuda is the father of modern Hebrew. Hebrew had fallen out of use. Because Jews had been dispersed throughout the world for almost 2,000 years, many of them had adopted the language of the country where they lived, whether it was Germany, Russia, Romania or some other place. Many of them did not speak Hebrew.

In the late 1800s and early 1900s, as Zionists became more aggressive and Jews began returning to the land of Israel, Ben Yehuda knew that a united language was necessary to bond the people. He devoted his entire life to creating this language and writing a dictionary. He was opposed and persecuted by many people, even Jews, who at the time could not envision the necessity of a common language among them. He persevered, despite battling tuberculosis and bearing the grief of the deaths of his wife and several children. He was persecuted by Haredi Jews who believed that he was profaning the sacred by making Hebrew a language for common use.

Yiddish is a German-based language spoken by Ashkenazi Jews since the 10th century. It was highly influenced by other languages besides German, including Hebrew, Aramaic, and Eastern European languages. These days, it is primarily spoken by Haredi Jews. Ben Yehuda rejected Yiddish because he considered it a corrupted language.

Ben Yehuda Street is named for Eliezer Ben Yehuda. The man who endured poverty, ridicule, and rejection is now celebrated for contributing to the modern nation of Israel’s success, where Hebrew is one of the official languages. (Arabic is the other.) But in a strange twist of irony, through the years since Israel's inception in 1948, Ben Yehuda Street has become a preferred location for terrorist bombings.

One day, as Bill and I were working in the school office, we heard someone speaking Hebrew over a loudspeaker. We didn't pay a lot of attention to it, since our neighborhood is noisy, and we didn’t understand much Hebrew anyway. But a few minutes later, we heard it again so I stepped out onto the small balcony to see what was going on.

A police van was parked on Ben Yehuda Street, with a ramp lowered. As I watched, a robot came down the ramp onto the street. It was black and bulky, about the length of a motorcycle. It went down Ben Yehuda Street to “sniff” for bombs. Thankfully, the coast was clear. The next day, however, we heard a bomb explode near the central bus station, about a mile away from our apartment. Bus #74 was hit, about 20 people were injured, and one woman died. The bombing was a sober reminder to us to always be aware and cautious, especially when walking down Ben Yehuda Street and when in other congested areas.

Eliezer means “God helps” and Ben Yehuda means “Son of Judah” or “Son of Praise.” Truly, God did help Ben Yehuda and used his life to provide a unifying language for modern Jews.

When Ben Yehuda died, finally succumbing to tuberculosis at the age of 64, 30,000 people came to his funeral over a three-day mourning span. Before His death, the last word Ben Yehuda restored was “nefesh” which means “soul.” This word is used many times throughout the Bible. One of the first mentions is Genesis 2:7, which reads, “And the LORD God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul.” It seems fitting that nefesh was Ben Yehuda’s final word to study. God is truly the One who gives and takes the breath of life. He alone is the Source of life eternal. Nefesh is a reminder to us of our frailty when contrasted to God’s greatness and power.

Zephaniah 3:8 is the only verse in the Old Testament that uses all 22 letters of the Hebrew alphabet.(1) The very next verse says, “For then will I turn to the people a pure language, that they may all call upon the name of the LORD, to serve him with one consent.” The placement of these verses hardly seems coincidental. I find it interesting that “pure” in this prophetic passage translates to mean “to examine, to cleanse, to choose, to polish.” This is what Ben Yehuda did. Though modern Hebrew differs from biblical Hebrew, Hebrew is once again the language of the land of Israel, the tongue by which “they may all call upon the name of the LORD, to serve him with one consent.”

1. http://torahlawform.com/Documents/Hebrew_the_pure_language_of_Zephaniah_3_9.pdf

Photo: http://truthpraiseandhelp.files.wordpress.com/2010/01/eliezer-ben-yehuda.jpg

Aramiac

In Syria is a small village called Ma’loula. It is one of the few places in the world where you can hear people speaking Aramaic. This ancient Semitic language is related to Hebrew. It is considered an endangered language since so few people still speak it.

Most linguistic and biblical scholars agree that Jesus spoke this language. “The towns of Nazareth and Capernaum, where Jesus lived, were primarily Aramaic-speaking communities.”1 For several hundred years, including the time during which Jesus lived, the Aramaic language dominated the areas of Galilee and Samaria, where Jesus spent most of his time. Hebrew and Greek were also spoken, but Aramaic appears to have been the most common day-to-day language of Jesus’ day.

The New Testament was written in Greek, but several phrases have been preserved as they were originally spoken in Aramaic. Here are some examples: “Maranatha” is Aramaic for “Our Lord is Coming” (I Corinthians 16:22). To a deaf man, Jesus said, “Ephphatha.” This means, “Be opened” (Mark 7:34). When Jesus was on the cross, He cried out “Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?” (Matthew 27:46). This means, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”

To the little girl who was dead, Jesus said,“Talitha cumi.” This means, “Young girl, arise” (Mark 5:41). As I was studying this phrase, I excitedly recalled a monument I had seen just a couple of blocks away from our apartment in Jerusalem at the intersection of King George and Ben Yehuda Streets. The monument was the original façade of a girls orphanage and school that operated on King George Street from 1868-1948. (Eventually, in 1980, the building was demolished.) Over an arched doorway was the name of the orphanage: Talitha Kumi. The name was no doubt thoughtfully chosen to hearten young girls as they entered the building with the hope of improving their lives. How wonderful that these beautiful Aramaic words with their message of hope have been preserved in the middle of modern Jerusalem!

Some place names are uniquely Aramaic, most notably Gethsemane, which means “Oil Press” (Matthew 26:36; Mark 14:32) and Golgotha, which means “Place of the Skull” (Matthew 27:33; Mark 15:22; John 19:17).

Even some people’s names – such as Cephas (Simon Peter), Thomas, and Tabitha – were distinctively Aramaic.

Of course, as all languages do, Aramaic has evolved over time. I wasn’t naïve enough to think that modern forms of Aramaic would sound exactly like the Aramaic spoken in Jesus' time, but I wanted to hear it anyway.

We have a friend in Jordan who frequently travels north to Damascus, Syria for business reasons. He volunteered to take us with him during one of his trips. At that time, for security reasons, it was not advisable for Americans to tour in Syria. And, other than my interest in hearing Aramaic spoken, we did not have much of a reason to go there anyway, so we never crossed over. The closest we got to Syria was viewing its majestic purple mountains from the northern area of Jordan, where we went once a week to give home Bible studies to Arab Christians.

Aram was one of Shem's sons (Genesis 10:21-23). Modern Syria includes what was once called the region of Aram and historians seem to agree that it gleaned that name because it was settled by Aram. Aramaic originated in this area. Syriac is a form of Aramaic.

As I studied about the Middle East, I learned about a lady who works at St. Mark's Church in Jerusalem's Armenian Quarter of the Old City. (St. Mark's Syrian Orthodox church is one of two proposed locations of the Upper Room, where the events of Acts 2 occurred). This lady, whose name can be spelled either Jostina or Yostina, speaks Aramaic.

During our stay in Jerusalem, we went to St. Mark's Church and I was pleased to find that she was working there that day. A former 12th grade mathematics teacher, she speaks English and Arabic in addition to Aramaic. She has been living in Jerusalem for 11 years, serving as tour guide and caretaker. She told us that as she cleans the church she prays, "As I clean your church, clean my heart. Please my Lord."

I asked Jostina if she would speak some words in Aramaic and allow me to record her. She refused to speak in Aramaic, but volunteered to sing the Lord's Prayer in Aramaic for us. She closed her eyes and folded her hands in a traditional posture of prayer. Her voice was clear and her prayer-song resonated off of the stone walls. To my ears, it was a mournful tune, but it was thrilling to hear the syllables and nuances of this ancient language. The sounds seemed to resemble Arabic somewhat, due to its occasional guttural inflections, but it seemed smoother, a little more mellow than Arabic. I was thrilled that I was able to hear Aramaic spoken, and that I did not have to travel to Syria to hear it!

Jesus did not speak English, or French, or Spanish. The language of His time was one far different from ours. As I listened to Jostina singing her prayer in this nearly-extinct language that day in St. Mark’s Church, for a moment I allowed my imagination to travel back 2,000 years. Oh, what it must have been like to hear Jesus tell His parables in this language, to hear him speak lovingly to little children, and how beautiful the words “Talitha cumi” must have sounded to the brokenhearted parent of a young girl. Aramaic…it was a privileged language, blessed to be used by Jesus as He transmitted His message of hope to the world.

1. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aramaic_of_Jesus

The Blight of Barrenness

Bill and I have been married since 1993. We never anticipated that we would not have children. We both wanted children, but they never came along. From time to time, that maternal instinct tugs at my heart. Sometimes, when Bill and I are around children and young people, we talk later about how nice it would be if we had some of our own children to love, train, and nurture.

Yet, in our society it is acceptable to be childless. And it is possible to live a fulfilling life without children. We have prayed many times for God to have His will in our lives. We don’t want to push open a door that God has closed. So, at some point long ago, we subconsciously settled into a place of acceptance. We are content with life as it is, just the two of us.

God told the first couple – Adam and Eve – to be fruitful and multiply (Genesis 1:28). Jesus loved to have children around Him (Matthew 19:14). I like the word picture of Psalm 128:3, which promises blessings to a man who fears the Lord: “Thy wife shall be as a fruitful vine by the sides of thine house: thy children like olive plants round about thy table.” Psalm 127:4 is also picturesque: “As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man; so are children of the youth. Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them.” It is obvious from Scripture that bearing and raising children is God’s plan. In Bible times, deviation from this plan was the exception, not the norm.

Yet, occasionally God must have other plans. Though we do not understand His ways, we have learned to rest in His knowledge and wisdom. And since America is in the process of redefining the term “family” and altering God’s original design for marriage and family anyway, a childless couple experiences little societal pressure. In America, life without children is not considered unusual.

But it is not so everywhere. Living childless in the Middle East is an educational experience. I am often asked how many children I have. When I tell them I do not have any, people think something is wrong with me. Once I told an elderly Arab woman that I was content with my life. She looked at me like I was crazy. I don’t remember meeting even one Middle Eastern married woman without children.

Why is childbearing so important in the Middle East? Because that culture, which is vastly different from the West, follows the model of thousands of years of tradition. In their society, a woman’s worth is determined largely by her ability to marry and birth children. Thus, if a woman is barren, her worth is compromised.

In Jordan, if a child is not conceived after two years of marriage, the wife must go to a doctor to see what can be done to help her conceive. Fertility clinics are easy to find, because they serve to address a key issue in society.

Grandparents will pressure their children to give them grandchildren. Family lineage is very important. It is shameful to not provide your husband with children to carry on the family name. So boys especially are anticipated. I know one family with three daughters. They are lovely girls, but because the wife did not bear a son, it has created problems in the marriage.

In both the Arab and traditional Jewish world, barrenness is a terrible state to find oneself. Why a woman would be unmarried or married without children is unfathomable to the minds of many Middle Easterners.

This is reminiscent of biblical times. In addition to the pain of not being able to fulfill instinctual maternal longings, a barren woman endured ridicule for her shameful, childless condition. She lived, day in and day out, with a stigma. She could not provide a male heir for her husband, a man to continue the family name.

I find it fascinating that the patriarchs of the Bible – Abram, Isaac, and Jacob – all had barren wives.

When Sarai, Abram’s wife, could not conceive a child, she resorted to an acceptable custom of her time. She offered her handmaid Hagar to her husband. The custom dictated that a barren wife could adopt the child birthed by the handmaid and it could become a legal heir. (This is why, later, God told Abram to cast out the bondwoman and her son. According to God, only the child of promise, Isaac, was legitimately entitled to inherit and enter a covenant relationship with Him. See Genesis 17:19; 21:10-13; Galatians 4:23-31. God and Abram had a similar conversation about Eliezer. See Genesis 15:1-4.)

Human nature being what it is, this custom was not ideal and was not void of jealousy and resentment between the two women. Once Sarai had her true birth child (Isaac) in her arms, she no longer wanted the surrogate child (Ishmael). In the end, Sarai's attempt to control circumstances backfired on her. Rather than wait on God to fulfill His promise, she chose a human, almost businesslike arrangement, to achieve the goal. It is hard to fault Sarai, since she had no Bible to read. She was one of the Bible's first leading ladies. She was a pioneer and had no previous stories about miraculous births to bolster her faith. All she could see was the shame of her barrenness.

Listen with your heart to the words of Rachel, Hannah, and Elisabeth. These are three biblical women that lived during different time periods, but they had one thing in common: They bore the shame and reproach of childlessness.

Rachel, Jacob’s wife, pled with her husband, “Give me children, or else I die.” “Jacob’s anger was kindled against Rachel: and he said, Am I in God’s stead, who hath withheld from thee the fruit of the womb?” Here we see barrenness triggering marital conflict. When Rachel finally bore a son, Joseph, she said, “God hath taken away my reproach” (Genesis 30:1-2, 23).

Hannah had a good husband, Elkanah, but no children. Her husband’s other wife “provoked her sore, for to make her fret.” Elkanah asked her, “Hannah, why weepest thou? and why eatest thou not? and why is thy heart grieved? am not I better to thee than ten sons?” It is apparent that Elkanah loved Hannah and wanted to comfort her in spite of her inability to give him a son.

But Hannah was driven by the shame on her life. With anguish in her soul, she said to the Lord, “If thou wilt look on the affliction of thine handmaid, and remember me, and not forget thine handmaid, but wilt give unto thine handmaid a man child, then I will give him unto the Lord all the days of his life” (I Samuel 1:6,8,11). The Lord heard Hannah’s heart’s cry, and gave her Samuel, who she then committed to the service of the Lord. Thus, she was released from her shame.

When Elisabeth, the mother of John the Baptist, conceived, she said, “Thus hath the Lord dealt with me in the days wherein he looked on me, to take away my reproach among men” (Luke 1:25).

Psalm 113:9 is a beautiful verse which summarizes the role of a woman during Bible days: “He maketh the barren woman to keep house, and to be a joyful mother of children.”

Because biblical people would clearly understand the analogy, God often used barrenness to describe the nation of Israel’s spiritual condition. If Israel would follow His plan and serve Him, He promised to bless their land with fruitfulness. The women would not be barren or “cast their young” (miscarry). Their land and animals would be fruitful as well (Exodus 23:26; Deuteronomy 7:14; 28:4; Job 21:10; Malachi 3:10-11).

There is a similar principle outlined in the New Testament. As we cultivate the fruit of the Spirit in our lives, we will “neither be barren nor unfruitful in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ” (II Peter 1:5-8).

In the New Testament, the Greek word for “barren” – argos – also translates to mean “idle” and “unemployed.” (Read Matthew 20:1-7). Just as the Israelites had to be pro-active in their obedience and service to God, so we have to be willing to work in the Lord’s vineyard. In these New Testament times, it is much more shameful to be spiritually barren than it is to be physically barren.

Keeping in mind the spiritual analogy we can draw for our own lives, a fresh understanding of how biblical people viewed barrenness enables us to better understand their unique challenges. In particular, we can view with greater sympathy and appreciation the women of the Bible whose lives swung the pendulum from bitter barrenness to blessed bountifulness.