Abraham and Sarah (45 page)

The leader, an old and much respected elder, bowed slightly and said, “Certainly, for you are an honored prince of God among us.”

Another prominent old man interrupted, “We will consider it a privilege to have you choose one of the very finest sepulchres.”

Abraham felt joy rising in him as he remembered Sarah’s last words: “He always waits until there’s no way around or through and then He acts.” Abraham looked around at the men and saw they were sincere, and he bowed
low before them as was the custom. He couldn’t imagine what had changed their minds, but he was not going to ask questions; he was merely going to be grateful.

“Since you understand and want to help, would you ask Ephron, the son of Zohar, to sell me the cave of Mach-pelah down at the end of this field? I will of course pay the full price for it, and it will become a permanent burial place for my family.”

The cave of Mach-pelah was a large cave going back into a hillside. The field in front of it was a pleasant place with old olive trees giving shade and some almonds still in bloom. The ground was bright with iris and anemones. It was a lovely place, and to the eyes of one who had spent much time in the barren Negev, it was a paradise.

Abraham insisted on paying Ephron four hundred pieces of silver so there would be no mistake that this cave and piece of land where Sarah would be buried belonged to him. The whole transaction took place at the city gate so it would be recognized as official.

It was late afternoon when Abraham returned and found the women had prepared Sarah’s body and wrapped it in the finest linen for burial. It was the men’s business to attend to a burial and so, carrying the precious burden on their shoulders, they wound their way out through the city gate and down to the place of the cave. Small children, villagers, and shepherds who knew Abraham followed, and women dressed in black—the city’s public mourners— followed close behind, weeping and wailing and beating their breasts.

Abraham and Isaac led the way into the cave and saw the body placed on a shelf that had been carved out of the rock. It was difficult to leave, and the two men knelt and prayed and wept, reluctant to turn and face their new life without Sarah.

“We will all be brought here,” Abraham said at last to Isaac. “I will be placed there beside Sarah, and you and your family will also be here. Though we have owned no place in life, our God has provided for us in death. He is faithful. He keeps His promises.” Reluctantly they turned and retraced their steps.

Outside in the soft glow of the afternoon sun, they saw a large caravan approaching by the upper road. There were many young men on mules and several regally attired camels.

One stood out from the rest with its silver trappings and linen curtains,
suggesting a great lady within. Beside the camels walked men holding long feathery fans, and servants carrying water skins and ebony boxes of necessities. The group at the tomb watched with amazement as the procession wound its way down to where they stood.

One mule with tasseled headpiece and silver appointments came ahead and stopped at the edge of the garden. A young man dismounted and came directly toward Abraham. “Father,” he said, “I hope I have come in time.”

Abraham immediately recognized Ishmael, though he was now dressed in all the regalia of an Egyptian prince. “Ishmael!” Abraham exclaimed, his voice catching with emotion. “Did you know then that Sarah died?”

“As soon as news reached me that she was ill and dying, I insisted on coming. She was my mother, a loving, indulgent mother, the first mother I knew. I had to come. Such ties are not easily broken.”

Abraham was deeply touched by all that Ishmael told him. Then he asked, “And who are these you have brought with you?”

“They are my sons. All twelve have come with me to honor Sarah.” At that he motioned to the young boys who had ridden up with him on their mules. The tallest and oldest was Nebaioth, the next Kedar, then Adbeel, followed by Mib-sam, Mishma, Dumah, Massa, Hadad, Tema, Jetur, Naphish, and last of all a young boy in his nurse’s arms called Kedemah. Ishmael presented them all to his father and watched with pride as Abraham stretched out his hand and blessed each one.

“And the camels. Who else of such rank and importance has come with you?” Abraham asked.

“One of them carries my wife, the Egyptian my mother found for me, and the other carries my mother, Hagar.”

“Even Hagar has come?”

“I must warn you, she is no longer the young woman you remember. She has become a woman of means and substance. She is the princess she was born to be.”

Abraham moved toward the camel to welcome Hagar, but Ishmael detained him. “She is all the things I have said, but you must remember, much time has passed. She is still arrogant and proud but, well,” he hesitated, then added, “you will see.”

The camel knelt at the young driver’s command. The curtains of the gilded litter gave off a subtle odor of sandalwood as they parted. Abraham
looked with astonishment at the woman inside. She was thin and wrinkled and quite old, but dressed in starched and pleated linen; a golden pectoral with lapis lazuli rested heavily on her narrow shoulders. She wore an elaborate wig with the headpiece of gold with wing feathers, but no serpent at the crest. Nothing reminded him in any way of the young woman who had shared his tent and had borne him his first son.

He could think of nothing to say. She seemed elegant, foreign, and very old. It was only when he noticed her eyes, now more deeply ringed in kohl, that he had any sense of remembering. On seeing him she squinted as though pained by the bright light, then smiled, and held out one bejeweled hand. “You are quite old,” she said, “not at all as I remember you.”

He bowed to hide the amusement he felt. It was like the old Hagar to speak honestly.

Abraham and Isaac went with Ishmael into the cave. “I wish I could have come sooner,” Ishmael said. “I would like to have given her the costly gifts that she deserved and that I can well afford.”

“You hold no bitterness.”

For a moment he turned away, unable to speak. “I didn’t understand,” he said finally. “Only later my mother explained everything.”

“It is a good woman who views the mistakes of the past kindly,” Abraham said.

It was a bittersweet time as they mourned for Sarah and yet renewed their almost forgotten family ties. “You must come and spend this time of mourning with us,” Abraham said finally. It had softened the loneliness he was already feeling. He wanted to embrace each of these newly discovered grandsons and relish the joy of such bright, healthy children. He wanted to ask Ishmael many questions. He could see that he had prospered. He seemingly had come easily by the very things that had been promised Abraham—many sons, wide lands to administer, and amazing wealth. “You have everything and I am pleased,” Abraham said at last.

“Everything,” Ishmael said, “but to live in the tent of my father and learn his wisdom and faith.”

As it turned out Ishmael was on his way to Hazor in the far north with a message from the pharaoh and could spend only a few days with his father and brother. When the time came for them to leave, Abraham brought the two brothers together and said, “My blood runs in both your veins equally, and my wish for you is that there will always be peace between you. Ishmael, you speak the greeting of Salaam and Isaac of Shalom but both mean peace. May there always be peace between you.”

Then lifting up his eyes and stretching out his hand, he blessed Ishmael, closing with these words: “Blessed are you, oh Lord, who has blessed us and sustained us and allowed us to reach this time.”

Ishmael left, promising to come again and begging Abraham to visit and instruct his grandsons in the faith. As they moved off down the road, Abraham stood looking after them as long as they were in sight. When they had disappeared around a bend in the road, he let Isaac lead him back to the house and the deserted courtyard.

He insisted they leave the city and return to the comfort of the tents as quickly as possible. He entered only partially into the old routine. He took no joy in the new lambs or the evening gathering of the men. He was silent and preoccupied so that soon everyone began to worry about him. “Why look,” they said, “how Sarah’s tent is still standing just the way she left it.”

When Abraham heard them, he replied, “I’ll leave it standing for Isaac’s bride.” His words made them all wonder when that would be and how it would come about.

Urim was especially concerned. He thought often of their escape from Ur and the years that had followed. He watched Abraham closely and ached to see him so alone. With these thoughts buzzing around in his head, Urim determined to find an excuse to talk to Abraham.

It was on a late afternoon some months after Sarah’s death that he approached Abraham’s tent with some fine rounds of smoked cheese. He had timed his visit so there would be no visitors and he could talk to Abraham alone. He stood in the tent opening and waited to be recognized and welcomed. He was surprised that Abraham spoke without even looking up from mending a leather quiver, “Urim, I see you have brought cheese, but what’s on your mind?”

Urim was taken aback to realize that Abraham saw through his excuse of bringing the cheese. He hesitated and then came in and squatted down beside
him and quietly watched the laborious process. His mind whirled around and over the question he wanted to ask. He knew it was bold and brash to ask such a thing, but he would have no peace until he knew.

Abraham lay the unfinished quiver on the mat and took the cheese. “How fortunate we have been all these years,” he said, “to have one such as you providing us with such a delicacy.”

Urim beamed and grew brave in his resolve to ask thequestion. “My lord,” he said, “we have been on a long journey together. It has been an adventure with many promises and few answers to all your prayers and sacrifices. What do you make of it? Were you right to leave Haran and your father’s home and family?”

Abraham pushed back his turban and leaned back among the cushions. He was obviously taking Urim’s question very seriously. He took a long time to answer, and when he did, it was as though he was merely thinking out loud. “I was promised descendants as the stars, and I have only two sons. I was promised land, and I own only one grave site and one well. But I have been blessed above all men to have walked among kings and to have known as a friend the Elohim, the Creator God. I can now see that the Elohim is about far bigger things than I had imagined.”

“I had not thought of it that way,” Urim said. “Perhaps you’re right. From my point of view you’re a happy man.”

“And you, Urim,” Abraham said, “are you sorry you came along?”

Urim stood up and tucked his thumbs into his belt. “I wouldn’t have missed it. Staying in Haran would have been tedious and dull compared to where I’ve been and all I’ve learned.”

The cheese maker left, and Abraham had a feeling that what had been said between them encompassed everything that had happened across the years. Abraham had left Haran a brash and confident young man, eager to see God’s promises fulfilled, but his understanding had been so narrow and so limited. God had a plan far grander than Abraham had ever imagined. Perhaps it would take all eternity to grasp what Elohim had in store for His children.