John Kitto Morning Bible Devotions: February 26

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John Kitto Morning Bible Devotions: February 26

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God Opened Her Eyes

Gen_21:19

When Sarah at length gave birth to a son, the event doubtless diffused a general gladness through the camp of Abraham. Yet the joy was not universal. Hagar, the bond-woman, beheld with sorrow of heart the frustration of the hopes she had cherished respecting her son, as the future heir of Abraham. This feeling strengthened into jealousy and dislike, which she seems to have also imparted to Ishmael, who was about twelve years old at the birth of Isaac. Sarah, also, on her part, was, by the birth of a son of her own, freed from the considerations which had probably hitherto restrained and regulated her conduct towards them; and from one so much older as Ishmael, and of a resolute and intractable character, she might reasonably apprehend some danger to the heritage, or even to the safety of her son, in case Abraham should depart from life during his nonage. These feelings on both sides came to an explosion on the occasion of a public festival, held three years after the birth of Isaac, to celebrate his weaning. The hostility and rancor of Hagar and her son were so undisguisedly manifested on that occasion, that Sarah cast off all restraint, and insisted with Abraham, that both mother and son should be forthwith sent away. But “the thing was very grievous in Abraham’s sight, because of his son.” It is not said because of Hagar—for it will be remembered that he had given up all right of control over her to Sarah; but it might be questioned that she had the right to demand that his son should be expelled from the camp; and there seems a probability that, on this point, he would have resisted his wife’s behest had he been left wholly to himself. But he was not left to himself. The word of God came to him, assuring him that this demand of Sarah, harsh as it seemed, was in conformity with the Divine purposes concerning his sons, and would be eventually best for both of them. It is, indeed, not difficult to see that much strife and danger must have arisen from the continued presence of Hagar and Ishmael in the camp. Once assured of the will of God, the patriarch no longer hesitated. He “rose up early in the morning,” and after providing them with such refreshments as they were likely to need on the journey, he sent them away.

So they went forth, and wandered in the wilderness of Beersheba. Hagar, in the blindness of her sorrow, seems to have lost her way; and the water which she had in a skin bottle, was spent long before she came to any well, or to the tents where hospitality would have been extended to her. The young Ishmael, unused to hardship and weariness, was the first to break down. He could go no further, and seemed likely to die in that hot wilderness of thirst. His mother, who had hitherto sustained his fainting steps, at length laid him down under the shelter of a shrub, and withdrew a little way off, that the sight of her irrepressible grief might not disturb his last moments. “She sat down over against him, and lifted up her voice and wept.” Did she cry to God? He had before met her in that very wilderness, and had spoken comfortably to her, and she might think that he would not forsake her now. There is not, it must be confessed, any sign that she remembered this—and too often in our extremist need, do we, like her, forget what most it behooves us to remember. But if she had forgotten God, He had not forgotten her. In that moment of her deepest despair, when she sat most forlorn of hope, a voice which she had reason to remember, called to her with paternal tenderness, “What aileth thee, Hagar? Fear not.” There was a gentle rebuke in this. Had she but faith in the promises made to her of old respecting the future destinies of her son, she might have known and felt that she had nothing to fear for him. She was then encouraged to rouse herself from this crippling despair; and bestow upon the lad the soothing attentions of her motherly love; and the promise that he should yet become “a great nation” was emphatically renewed.

At that moment, “God opened her eyes; and she was by a well of water.” All care, all trouble was over now. She hastened to fill her skin-bottle, and brought drink to her son, to whom that refreshment soon imparted new life and strength.

To the piously thoughtful mind, there is much that suggests serious reflection in the closing incident. The well was there all the time—its refreshing waters were all the time within her reach—but she saw them not until “the Lord opened her eyes.” So with us, it is our blindness that is the cause of all our grief. And our blindness is proportioned, to our unbelief. It has been most truly said, that—

“Unbelief is blind;”

but it is more than blind, it is blindness. What avails it to the blind man who is hungry, that food is close before him? he sees it not. What profit to him, when worn with long travel, that there is a resting place by the way-side at his right hand? he sees it not; and being unseen, it is the same to him as if it were a thousand miles off. What boots it to him, that when dangers surround him, and he fears to set one foot before another in dread of stumbling upon “the dark mountains,” a guide who never misleads is walking before him; and that a strong arm that will not suffer a hair of the head to perish, is stretched out over him, to watch him from all peril? Alas! he is blind. All these things are as if they were not, to him. He is athirst and hungry—not because there is not abundance of meat and drink, but because he sees not his Father’s storehouses and barns; because he considers not that his Father’s cattle are upon a thousand hills; and because his world-shaded eyes behold not the fountains of living waters which spring up throughout his Father’s land, to quench all thirst, and to refresh all weariness.

He feels ready to perish because of the long and weary way—not because there is not rest, but because he sees not the beckoning hand, because he hears not the hailing voice—“Come unto me, all ye that are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest!”—not because there is no safe path among the sands, but because the guide is not seen, and the voice is unheard that cries, “This is the way; walk ye in it!” He lives in terror of soul for the dangers around him—not because there is no safety, no deliverer, no tower of hope, but because these things are hidden from weak and unbelieving eyes. The fortress of our strength is to such eyes invisible: although it rises gloriously upon the hills, strong in bulwarks, and beautiful with banners. But men pass trembling on, not seeing the glorious citadel. They are blind, and they are also deaf; for they hear not the strong but silvery voice that rings clearly through all the valleys, “Turn to the stronghold, all ye prisoners of hope.”

May God open our eyes, and keep them open. Ah! what sights should we behold; what assurance against all the trial, and doubt, and fear that sadden life, should we possess, were our eyes anointed with spiritual eye-salve, that we might see. Should we not, with Hagar, behold wells of refreshing water in the wilderness? Should we not, with Jacob, see the angels of God ascending and descending on errands of mercy to mankind? Should we not, like the servant of Elisha, behold the hosts of heaven engaged for our defense? Should we not, if we could look up steadfastly to heaven like Stephen, see the glory of God, and Jesus standing at his right hand? And were our eyes thoroughly opened, as faith can open them, might we not view, as distinctly as did the disciples, that Jesus loved “that great city, the holy Jerusalem,” in which not only the “abominable,” but “the fearful and the unbelieving” can have no part.