“When Life Falls Apart” - Fr. Pete's Sermon for June 21st, the Fourth Sunday after Pentecost

Several weeks ago, we all watched as the Kona Low storms drenched the islands. Streets flooded. Cars stalled. Homes were inundated. Neighborhoods dealt with water where water wasn't supposed to be. Lots of people found their lives upended, and wondering what the next day would bring. They’re still trying to figure out how or whether they will rebuild.

Most of us weren’t really affected. We experienced inconvenience more than catastrophe. But even so, these kinds of storms remind us how quickly life can change. One day things seem normal. The next day familiar routines are disrupted and the future suddenly feels uncertain. Grace and Logan can tell us what that feels like, after their building caught fire a couple of weeks ago!

After major fires, floods, hurricanes, or wildfires, reporters often interview people standing amid the aftermath. Logan was interviewed by Hawaii News Now! But years ago, after one such disaster, a woman stood in front of what had been her home, looking completely stunned, and said something very simple:

"I just keep thinking... this was not supposed to happen."

That line has stayed with me. Because at some point, almost everyone says it.
This was not supposed to happen.

The diagnosis was not supposed to happen. The marriage ending was not supposed to happen. The estrangement from a child was not supposed to happen. The betrayal. The loss. The grief. The future that suddenly looks nothing like the one we imagined.

And perhaps nowhere in Genesis does that feeling echo more painfully than in the story from Chapter 21 that we heard this morning.

Over these summer weeks, we’re traveling together through our "Summer Sermon Road Trip: Following God in Real Life." Two weeks ago Abraham heard God's call and stepped out into the unknown. Last week Sarah laughed because God's promise seemed impossible. And now this week, just as the promise finally begins to come true, everything falls apart.

What!? But isn’t that so often how real life works?

Today’s story is uncomfortable. Sarah sees Hagar and her son Ishmael—the servant woman and Abraham’s older son—and she wants them gone. Abraham is upset, but after some prayer and hesitation, he sends them away into the wilderness with only a little bread and a skin of water.

There are no real heroes in this story. Only wounded people making fearful decisions. And at the center of it all are Hagar and Ishmael, wandering in the desert until their water runs out. The future disappears. Hagar even places her son under a bush because she cannot bear to watch him die. It is one of the bleakest scenes in Scripture. And maybe one of the most honest.

Because sometimes life really does fall apart, doesn’t it? And not in ways that make any immediate sense.

Now today is also Father’s Day, which can be complicated in church. For some, like me, it is joyful. For others, painful. Some carry gratitude. Others carry grief, regret, anger, or absence.

And this morning’s reading certainly does not offer us a sentimental portrait of fatherhood. Abraham is one of the great figures of faith, yes—but he is also flawed and frightened and deeply human.
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The Bible never really idealizes families, to be honest. Especially in Genesis. Genesis is full of sibling rivalry, favoritism, fractured relationships, deception, jealousy, and pain. Which means if your family has ever felt messy, you are officially biblical!

And then comes this beautiful detail: “God opened [Hagar’s] eyes, and she saw a well of water.” The well was apparently already there. She just couldn’t see it. And I think that may be one of the deepest spiritual truths in this story. When life falls apart, our vision narrows. Fear does that. Grief does that.

Exhaustion does that. All we can see is the wilderness. The absence. The loss. And yet sometimes, slowly and painfully, grace begins to appear—not because the suffering was unreal, but because God was present even there. Not always removing the wilderness immediately. But sustaining us, carrying us, within it.

In our Romans scripture this morning, Paul speaks about the gift of life in Christ. And that can sound abstract until you place it beside a story like this one. Because eternal life in Scripture is not simply about heaven someday. It is about the persistent life of God breaking into places that feel consumed by death. A wilderness. A failed future. A dried-up hope. And suddenly: water.

I think this story matters especially right now because we are living in a world where many people feel as though something is unraveling.

There is anxiety and anger everywhere. And underneath so much public anger is actually grief. A grief that quietly says: This was not supposed to happen.

But the witness of Scripture is that God does some of God’s deepest work precisely in wilderness places. Not because God causes suffering, but because no wilderness is godforsaken.

That may be the most important thing Hagar discovers. She is not invisible. In fact, earlier in Genesis, Hagar becomes the first person in Scripture to give God a name: El-roi — “the God who sees me.”

The God who sees me!

And now here again in the wilderness, God sees. God hears. God provides.

Not through easy triumph. Not through instant rescue. But through presence. I think many of us can look back on seasons of life that felt like wilderness. Times when we truly were not sure how we would keep going. Times when the future seemed frighteningly uncertain. And yet somehow, there we found water in the desert.

Maybe not literal water! But a friend who called at the right time. A community that carried us. A strength we did not know we possessed. A small grace that helped us make it through one more day. Not always dramatic. But enough. Enough for the next step.
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And that is what faith often looks like. Not pretending everything is fine. Not denying heartbreak. But trusting that even here—even now—God is present. Even in the wilderness. Even when life falls apart. Even when the story has taken a turn we never would have chosen.

As we continue this summer journey together, the stories are not going to become tidier. Jacob is coming, and Jacob is a mess. Joseph’s family becomes spectacularly dysfunctional.

But that is exactly the point. The Bible is not a collection of polished success stories. It is the story of God remaining faithful to imperfect people in a complicated world.

Which means it is our story too. And perhaps today, if life feels uncertain or
broken or frighteningly dry, this is the word we most need to hear:
God sees you.
God hears you.

And even in the wilderness, there is water to refresh us just ahead.
Amen.