Abstract
The theological problem underlying environmental and gender injustice is the pathological assumption that “the rest of” creation is available for use and commodification by a select group of privileged image bearers. An adequate response to this assumption requires re-examining appropriate relationships between creatures. The story of Hagar’s relationship to water provides the foundation for such a response. An ecomimetic interpretation of Genesis 16:1–16 and 21:8–21, focused on the character of water in these passages, uncovers the basis for an appropriate human relationship to water that challenges the ways in which both water and women have been commodified.
Because women around the world and across cultures are primarily responsible for providing their families with the basic necessities of water and food, women are disproportionately impacted by changes in local water supply and quality. Climate change negatively impacts this relationship between women and water by contaminating water sources through both salt water infiltration and flooding, and by increasing the number, duration, and severity of droughts. When nearby water sources become unusable, women must travel greater distances to fetch water for household use. The U.N. estimates that women around the world spend 16 million hours a day collecting drinking water, while men spend approximately one third that time (World Health Organization: 9–15). Not only does this cost women the opportunity to be engaged in other economically beneficial activities and result in physical strain from the arduous task of carrying water, but women are also more at risk for sexual assault when they have to travel great distances to obtain water or to use the toilet (UN Water). Constrained by cultural taboos, women are also more at risk than men for death during floods, often remaining at home and waiting for appropriate accompaniment rather than evacuating, and being less likely than men to be able to swim (World Health Organization: 9–15).
James Cone argues that earth justice is inseparably related to racial justice, and his argument can legitimately be expanded to include gender justice as well. As he explained, the fights against these different injustices cannot be separated “because they are fighting the same enemy—human beings’ domination of one another and nature,” which he described as “a mechanistic and instrumental logic that defines everything and everybody in terms of their contribution to the development and defense of white world supremacy” (Cone: 291). If Cone is correct, a better theological anthropology alone cannot solve these justice problems. There is another theological question that lies at the heart of abuse of both the environment and oppressed human beings: the pathological assumption that “the rest of” creation is available for use and commodification by a select group of privileged image bearers.
Although the Christian tradition has contributed to such anthropocentric utilitarianism, it also provides resources for resisting this pathology and re-examining appropriate relationships between human beings and other creatures. Ecomimetic interpretation enables readers to recover these resources. Building on the method for ecological hermeneutics proposed by the Earth Bible Team and the Society for Biblical Literature’s Consultation on Ecological Hermeneutics, ecomimetic interpretation is an interpretive strategy that begins with the assumption that other creatures are theologically significant, ascertains how the tradition has treated (or failed to treat) these creatures, identifies with one such non-human character, and brings the insights from that identification into conversation with the tradition (Habel 2000: 25–37; Habel 2008: 1–8). This essay engages in an ecomimetic interpretation of Genesis 16:1–16 and 21:8–21, focusing on the characters of water presented in these passages, particularly in relationship to the young woman, Hagar. These characters have been marginalized in the original narrative and neglected by traditional interpretations. Sustained attention to them provides both an example of mutualistic, non-exploitative relationships between human and non-human creatures and a theological condemnation of the ways in which both water and women have been commodified.
Ascertaining the Tradition
Hagar has not fared well under the dominant practices of interpretation in biblical studies, and the character of the water in these stories has been generally ignored. Traditional interpretations neglect the characters of Hagar and the water as they are presented in the text, focusing instead on the underlying sources from which the canonical texts derived, or on the characters of Sarah and Abraham. More recently, liberationist interpreters have proven willing to engage the problematic nature of the drama by focusing particularly on Hagar, who is marginalized by other approaches. Despite the importance of water, both to women generally and to Hagar in these two narratives, traditional interpretations have widely neglected the “characters” of water in these pericopae.
Source and redactional interpretations trace the narratives’ pre-histories in order to distinguish between different strands of tradition that have been woven together in the present canonical formulation. These approaches treat Genesis 16:1–16 and Genesis 21:8–21 as two different versions of the same narrative derived from different sources (with some interpolations from a third source), undermining any attempt to read them with narrative continuity in their canonical forms. The first pericope is mostly credited to the Yahwist, or J, source, while the second is attributed to the Elohist, or E, source. Critics attribute Genesis 16:3 and 15–16, along with some editing of Genesis 21:14, to the Priestly, or P, source (Von Rad: 191 & 234; Speiser: 117–19 & 156; Skinner: 284–85; Yoo: 215–35). The different characterizations of Hagar and Abraham in the two pericopae are then explained as deriving from their different source traditions, rather than as any kind of narrative development. These readings use the character of Hagar as evidence for the literary divisions offered, and therefore fail to incorporate either her character or that of the water into a unified reading of the two passages together. Although the presuppositions and conclusions of these interpretive methods have come under increasing scrutiny, they continue to influence other readings today (see Dozeman & Schmid; Carr).
Without disputing source critical conclusions, other interpretations engage the stories as they are presented in scripture without much attention to questions of sources and redactors. Instead, they read the pericopae in their canonical unity in order to uncover the text’s theological implications for communities of faith (Brueggemann: 3). Hagar’s story enters Christian thought through the Pauline lens of allegorical interpretation set forth in Galatians 4:21–31. According to this interpretation, Hagar is Mount Sinai, and her children are children of the old covenant, born of the flesh, while Sarah’s children are those of the new covenant, born of the promise (Betz: 243; Dunn: 242–59; Martyn: 447–57). This reading, which marginalizes Hagar and her child, continues to shape modern theological interpretation. For example, even though Walter Brueggemann acknowledges that Genesis 16:1–16 “is structured as a Hagar story” and “only by inference is this story concerned with Abraham and Sarah,” he nevertheless treats it as Abraham and Sarah’s story, arguing that the tension underlying Genesis 16:1–16 turns on the issue of Abraham and Sarah’s failure to trust that God would fulfill God’s promises to them (Brueggemann: 151–52). Such interpretations minimize the ethical problems created by Sarah’s and Abraham’s abuse of Hagar. Instead, they justify it by appealing to the Code of Hammurabi and the Nuzi documents to defend Sarah’s behavior in turning over her slave girl to her eighty-five-year-old husband (Brueggemann: 151; von Rad: 191; Niditch: 20). Such interpretations often go on to use Genesis 16:4 to place Hagar in the wrong, characterizing her as “tactless,” and “proud” (Speiser: 120–21; von Rad: 191). Setting aside the interpersonal ethical problem of sexual abuse, these interpreters instead focus on the theological problem introduced by Sarah and Abraham’s failure to trust in God’s promise to provide them with descendants (Gen 15:5), and their presumption in acting to fulfill that promise themselves. The remainder of the story is treated as an etiological attempt to explain the name of the spring, Beer-lahai-roi, and as evidence that God’s care extends beyond the elected Abraham and Isaac to include Ishmael and Hagar as well (Von Rad: 189; Brueggemann: 152).
Feminist, womanist, and other liberationist readings of these stories oppose traditional Christian interpretations that have ignored the harms inflicted upon Hagar and that have tried to place her in the wrong. They do so by empathetically identifying with characters oppressed within the biblical narrative and marginalized by the interpretive tradition. As a resident alien, a slave, and a woman, Hagar suffers from tripartite oppression on the basis of her nationality, class, and sex. Phyllis Trible notes that “As a symbol of the oppressed, Hagar becomes many things to many people. Most especially, all sorts of rejected women find their stories in her” (Trible: 28). Despite this oppression, liberationist interpreters note that Hagar exercises many of the same prerogatives that the patriarchs do (Sherwood: 291). She meets God, and alone among humans, names God. She names an important landmark (namely the well, Beer-Lahai-Roi). She receives “a double of the Abrahamic promise: descendants too numerous to count” (Sherwood: 291–92). She chooses a wife for Ishmael, and an Egyptian wife at that (Sherwood: 291–92; Trible: 28). United in lifting up Hagar’s accomplishments, these interpreters reach differing conclusions about what her story reveals about God.
Liberationist interpreters address the problems that plague these texts, including God’s permitting the sexual abuse inflicted upon Hagar, sending her back to be further afflicted by Sarah (Gen 16:9), approving of her banishment from the camp (Gen 21:12), and responding to Ishmael’s—but not Hagar’s—cry in the wilderness (Gen 21:17). Furthermore, they note that the promise she receives for her offspring is ambiguous at best, for although God promises to “make a great nation of him,” (Gen 21:18), her son “shall be a wild ass of a man, with his hand against everyone and everyone’s hand against him; and he shall live at odds with all his kin” (Gen 16:12). Approaching the texts from the social situation of an African-American woman, Delores Williams informs her reading with the experiences of black female slaves in the United States. She does not excuse either Sarah or Abraham for the sexual surrogacy they inflict on Hagar (Williams: 60–71). Despite its legality, Williams notes, “More than in the areas of nurturance and field labor, coerced surrogacy in the area of sexuality was threatening to slave women’s self-esteem and sense of self-worth” (Williams: 67). Similarly, Phyllis Trible notes the ways in which Sarah uses the power available to her as the first wife of a patriarch to abuse the woman under her (Trible: 9–10). Despite having experienced sexual betrayal herself when her husband passed her off to the Pharaoh in Egypt (Gen 12:10–20), Sarah betrays Hagar’s youth and sexuality by giving her over to the eighty-five-year-old Abraham (De La Torre: 173). Rather than viewing Hagar’s supposed contempt for Sarah as an illegal usurpation of the first wife’s prerogatives, Williams explores other possible explanations:
Did she lose pride and status because of Sarai’s betrayal of her virginity? Could it be that Hagar’s argument with Sarai had nothing to do with her wanting to take over Sarai’s position with Abram, but that Hagar’s resentment was because Sarai’s betrayal of her would become obvious when her pregnancy by Abram became obvious?… Could it be that in the consciousness of foreign slaves like Hagar there was no particular value assigned to female slaves on the basis of their reproducing babies who became the property of the slave owners [Williams: 17–18]?
These questions are not addressed by interpreters who assume that the legality of sexual surrogacy in patriarchal times resolves all moral issues raised by Sarah’s and Abraham’s behavior.
Following Hagar through the first pericope, Williams does not find a God of liberation, but rather lifts up Hagar as “the first female in the Bible to liberate herself from oppressive power structures” (Williams: 19). By running away, Hagar frees herself, and the divine role is limited to ordering her back into bondage, with an accompanying promise that her son would live to grow up. At best, Williams concedes that God might have been concerned with the survival of Hagar and Ishmael, and that this command to return guarantees them the resources of Abraham’s wealth necessary to survive their most vulnerable years (Williams: 21).
In the second pericope, Williams notes that Abraham and Sarah force Hagar into the unenviable position of becoming a homeless single mother, trying to provide for her small family with no resources of her own. Once again, God’s concern seems aimed more towards survival than flourishing or liberation. By revealing the presence of the well to Hagar, “God gave her new vision to see survival resources where she saw none before” (Williams: 32). In these stories, liberationist readers find something other than the importance of passively awaiting the fulfillment of God’s promises. First, Hagar’s flight from Sarah’s abuse indicates that there is an important role for human initiative in liberation—an interpretation that contradicts theological readings focused on Sarah and Abraham that view this episode as the unfortunate consequence of what happens when humans interfere with God’s plans. Second, if God cares for Hagar then God is concerned with something other than the freedom (or liberation) that has long been central to Christian theology. Hagar’s return to the relative safety of slavery with Abraham demonstrates the complexity of God’s purposes, which cannot be conveyed with one word (like liberation), no matter how powerful that word is in the human imagination. Hagar’s survival had to be secured before her flourishing or her liberation could be attained. Finally, according to this interpretation, God’s provision can often be more of a vision than an active intervention. God did not cause water to flow from a rock in order to save Hagar and Ishmael. Instead, God gave Hagar the vision to see the resources that were already available to her.
Liberationist readers of these stories demonstrate that traditional interpretations can be critiqued, challenged, and fundamentally reshaped by paying attention to the perspectives of previously marginalized characters. Their work provides a fresh perspective on the relationships between Hagar, Sarah, and Abraham, while also recognizing that “liberation” may be an overly-simplistic characterization of the divine intentions for creation. Like more traditional interpretations, however, these readings tend to overlook non-human characters, particularly the water presented in these two pericopae.
Laura Hobgood-Oster provides one of the few interpretations (if not the only one) of Genesis 16 and 21 that focuses on the characters of water in these narratives (Hobgood-Oster: 187–99). She sets the stage for adopting a truly ecomimetic approach, asking, “Can the wells as central characters provide insight as we seek a new understanding of Scripture from the perspective of the Earth?” (Hobgood-Oster: 187). Hobgood-Oster reads Hagar’s story in conversation with the ecojustice principle of resistance, arguing that “wells provide life-giving water for the most oppressed, the slaves, the banished ones” (Hobgood-Oster: 194). Her interpretation elevates the status of the water from that of mere set-piece to active hero in the ongoing drama in the desert. Hobgood-Oster’s examination of the well raises further questions regarding the ability of human beings to perceive the agency of the Earth. Abused and abandoned, Hagar was unable to see the well until God opened her eyes, prompting Hobgood-Oster to ask, “Do oppressors block the view of the oppressed by reserving the resources for themselves?” (Hobgood-Oster: 194).
By treating the wells and springs of water as characters of their own, Hobgood-Oster invites the reader to begin to perceive them and the theological questions they raise. However, her reading does not treat them fully as subjects, as ends unto themselves. In her essay, Hobgood-Oster praises water for its life-sustaining capacities. She notes that “In the beginning water arose for all of life” and that “water brings life to all” (Hobgood-Oster: 193 & 194, emphasis added). This recognizes the importance of water to human beings, as living creatures, but it does not enter into the perspective of the water itself. That task requires further identification with the water, a task to which we will now turn.
Hydrogeology of the Ancient Near East: Identifying with Water
Before examining the more complicated issue of bodies of water in the Ancient Near East, it is helpful to rehearse the knowledge about water that contemporary interpreters bring to the hermeneutical task. Water molecules, as children are taught, comprise two hydrogen atoms bonded with one oxygen atom, an idea so pervasive that H2O is commonly used synecdochally to mean water. This most basic and seemingly undeniable fact about water, however, is experientially false. It implies an isolation of water molecules from other molecules, a type of purity that we do not encounter in the natural world and can rarely find even among human-produced artifacts. Our tap water contains intentionally-introduced fluoridated compounds, as well as a variety of other impurities ranging from minerals like calcium, iron, and zinc, to herbicides like glyphosate, that have entered the water system without being intentionally introduced by human agents (Cohut; Patterson, Pehrsson, & Perry: 46–50; EPA). The bodies of water we encounter—oceans, lakes, rivers, springs, and wells—contain varying amounts and kinds of organic compounds, minerals, and inorganic compounds, not to mention microorganisms and larger forms of life. Even the water in human tears is mixed with lipids, proteins, and various minerals (Cwiklik: 2421–430; Frey, Desota-Johnson, Hoffman, & McCall: 559–67). H2O does represent a water molecule, but it falls far short of the multitude of different mixtures of molecules, minerals, and other things that make up the actual water we encounter daily.
In addition to assumptions about the composition of water, interpreters most likely possess a basic understanding of the water cycle. Water moves through the world in a drama that involves both animate and inanimate characters. Water is consumed, used, and secreted by everything that lives. It can be stored in impermeable containers, including natural formations underground. When it is exposed, it evaporates, adding moisture to the atmosphere. In this form it can move from one area to another before being deposited on the earth again in the form of precipitation. Different areas receive different amounts of precipitation at different times of the year. Identifying with the characters of water presented in Genesis 16:1–16 and 21:9–21 requires a better understanding of both the physical and cultural effects of this cycle in the particular geographical setting of the stories.
Genesis 16:1–16 and 21:9–21 are set in the southernmost regions of Palestine, in and at the border of the Negev desert. Although there is little surface water available during most of the year, heavy rains can fall during the winter season, causing flash floods and recharging underground water stores. Hydrogeologist Arie Issar describes the ground of the northern Negev as a combination of impermeable chalks and silts, along with permeable fractured limestone, sand, and gravel layers (Isaar: 83–84). This formation creates subterranean water storage along dry streambeds, permeable pockets that can be recharged during the heavy rains of winter (Isaar: 84). Such pockets of water may be fresh, brackish, or saline, depending on the conditions of the chalk and gravel over which the water has run (Isaar: 86–87). In some areas, the ground water naturally finds its way to the surface in seepages and springs, creating areas that sustain perennial vegetation (Isaar: 85). Such free flowing water is available for consumption by humans and other animals, nurturing the plant life on which both depend, evaporating into the atmosphere, or being reabsorbed into the subterranean water table. In other areas, the water does not find its way to the surface but remains stored in the rocky ground. The weather patterns and geological formations of this area lead to the formation of different “communities” of water—some fresh, some saline, and some brackish—all located in close proximity to one another, and most of them invisible from the surface.
Where streams and springs are non-existent or insufficient to support human endeavors, human beings dig wells in order to access fresh water accumulated below the surface of the ground for both personal and pastoral use. However, the hydrogeology of the Negev makes well-digging a challenge. Where the chalk layers have fractured, water can penetrate and form a channel through the gravel layer. Water from the gravel layer is drinkable, while water trapped within the chalk level is saline (Isaar: 86–87). Provided that a well-digger hits water at all, it may or may not be potable (Isaar: 87). The rocky terrain means that digging wells in biblical times involved a significant amount of manual labor and required intimate knowledge of the terrain—and probably a healthy dose of good luck. Digging wells to improve the water supply for the herds is one of the few investments nomadic people make in “improving” their territories (Spooner: 15). Given the effort involved, the person who dug the well would commit its location to memory, but would hide it to prevent its depletion by others (Spooner: 15, see also Gen 21:25–31, 26:17–22). The location of such resources became part of the tribal unit’s ecological knowledge, shared with insiders but hidden from outsiders (Spooner: 17; Hobbs: 123–46). A foreigner might very well sit down near a well and yet remain oblivious to its existence.
Indispensable to human life, water itself appears in different communities and configurations. In Genesis 16:1–16 and Genesis 21:8–21, it appears as a spring, in a water skin, as the tears of Hagar, and as a well. The water described moves from one community to another as it is consumed and secreted by living beings, falls as precipitation, and is removed from its natural cycle and reserved for future private use.
Resulting Dialogue: Water, Women, God, and Commodification
Interpretive identification with the characters of water in Genesis 16:1–16 and Genesis 21:8–21 offers at least four contributions to theological and ethical reflection on the status of water and women. These contributions are particularly relevant in a time of water precarity induced by global climate change. As rising sea levels infiltrate fresh water sources and droughts spread famine and instigate more climate migration, these stories acconplish the following:
they emphasize the importance of sanctuary for migrant populations who are seeking the basic necessities of life;
they condemn failures of hospitality that amount to a death sentence;
they acknowledge the mutual relationship of water, human beings, and the divine; and
they teach that the commodification of creation for personal enrichment violates the natural order of God’s good creation.
They Emphasize the Importance of Sanctuary
The spring on the way to Shur is both a destination and a sanctuary, offering Hagar the hospitality that other characters, both human and divine, deny her throughout these stories. A spring of flowing water would have been a resource for travelers to refill their supplies and for pastoralists to water their livestock as they moved about in search of ample vegetation. There would have been an underground source of water that found its own way to the surface, where it was available for consumption, evaporation, or reabsorption into the ground and the subterranean water table. God does not give or reveal this spring to Hagar. She flees from Sarah to the spring, and there the angel finds her. As an Egyptian, Hagar may have been aware of this oasis before she came into Sarah’s possession, or the caravan may have stopped there while she was traveling with Abraham and Sarah. However she found it, Hagar fled a situation of oppression and reached a location that offered water for vegetation and animal life alike.
Nomadic populations, like those that inhabited the regions of these stories, recognize strict responsibilities for providing both asylum and hospitality. Brian Spooner notes, “Generally any stranger must be fed and rested for a certain minimum time, often three days. During this period he may not be pressed to reveal either his identity or the purpose of his journey. When he leaves, his safety is his host’s responsibility for a certain minimum period” (Spooner: 38). Further, if anyone reaches another’s tent seeking asylum, the host “is honor-bound to defend him against his pursuers with all he possesses and to take his part in any dispute, so long as he remains” (Spooner: 38–39). The spring abides by these provisions, demanding no information from Hagar and offering all that she needs while she is there. The messenger of the Lord does not. Violating the code of hospitality, the messenger asks Hagar, “Where have you come from and where are you going?” (Gen 16:8). Hagar answers that she is fleeing Sarah, but offers no indication of her future plans. Although Gerhard von Rad interprets Hagar’s half answer as her failure to answer for her own future, perhaps Hagar ignored the second question because she was not planning to go anywhere (Von Rad: 189). She had reached her destination, a sanctuary of sustenance and safety far from the manipulations of those who objectified her. The messenger further violates the rules governing asylum. Rather than taking Hagar’s part, it commands her, “Return to your mistress and submit to her” (Gen 16:9), or as Trible translates the verse, “Return to your mistress and suffer affliction under her hand” (Trible: 16). The messenger’s violations of custom create a stark contrast to the character of the spring. In this passage it seems that life called to life, the unrestrained water and the self-liberating woman found one another in the desert.
They Condemn Failures of Hospitality
Hagar’s banishment from Abraham’s camp in a foreign land with no more than a skin of water for herself and her son is a violation of the basic requirements of hospitality, and places the lives of both Hagar and Ishmael at risk. When Abraham and Sarah finally banish Hagar from their camp in Genesis 21:14, their actions violate both law and custom. Although many interpreters appeal to custom and examples of family law from surrounding communities to justify Sarah and Abraham’s sexual abuse of Hagar, both law and custom prohibited their abandoning her in this way (Speiser: 121; Deut 21:14). Furthermore, Hagar’s behavior when banished reveals a further injustice they inflict upon her that is particularly relevant as we contemplate increasing numbers of climate refugees today. Whereas she fled to the spring in Genesis 16:3, here, Hagar does not go straight for a known oasis or seek out provision for her small family. In the years since her first excursion, this nomadic community has wandered out of the realm of Hagar’s ecological knowledge. In a foreign land, she does not know where the water is, or necessarily even how to procure it if she could find it. The fact that Hagar sits down by a well and is unaware of its presence indicates that she is in an unknown land. The well is not Abraham’s, or else, as the member of his household most likely responsible for provisioning the main family, she would have known its location. It was dug by, and belongs to, someone else. Despite the divine assurance that God would make a nation of Ishmael (Gen 21:13), Sarah and Abraham placed Hagar and Ishmael in mortal peril by removing them from the places they knew and then abandoning them. Provisioning them with a single skin of water would not ensure their survival in the wilderness. At best it meant they would travel some distance from the camp before dying, easing Abraham and Sarah’s consciences but not relieving them of their moral culpability. As discussed above, nomadic codes of hospitality make the stranger’s safety the responsibility of the host even after they have left the host’s camp. Abraham and Sarah abdicated this responsibility.
They Acknowledge the Mutuality of Relationships
In her dual naming of both God and the spring, Hagar establishes and acknowledges her relationship to both. Examining the complex verbal maps created by Bedouin naming practices, Joseph Hobbs notes that place names convey information about the presence or absence of water, the quality and quantity of water likely to be found at different locations, and the people associated with those places (Hobbs: 123). Names of families or individuals can be incorporated into place names, indicating a special relationship between the named human beings and the place and adding a level of conservation-protection to the place (Hobbs: 133 & 142). This provides an additional lens for reading the naming stories in Genesis, including Adam’s naming of the animals and Eve in Genesis 2:19–20 and 23, as well as the naming of landmarks throughout the patriarchal narratives. Rather than being simply an exercise of power or ownership, naming a place or living creature indicates a special relationship between the one doing the naming and the one named, while also offering protection to the one named. In Genesis 16:13–14, Hagar names both God (El-roi) and the spring (Beer-lahai-roi). Interestingly, with the naming, the spring of Genesis 16:3 becomes a well in Genesis 16:14. Hagar and the water have formed a lasting relationship. Because it is her name for the deity (rather than her own name) that becomes a part of the place name, Hagar also incorporates God within this relationship of woman to water and invokes God’s particular care for both.
They Expose the Evil of Commodification
When the well is revealed in response to Hagar’s tears, both the water in the well and the woman are finally liberated from their status as commodities. If the water of the spring in Genesis 16:3 could be understood as free, living water, the water of a hidden well could be considered bound or domesticated. Both Hagar and the water have been objectified, manipulated for the purposes of others, and then abandoned. Hagar’s womb and the well’s water have been turned into the property of another, commodified. Tracing the character development of both Hagar and the water from Genesis 16:1 to Genesis 21:21 yields a subversive indictment of legal processes that allow the commodification of water and women alike. Ownership and abuse steal away Hagar’s initiative, transforming her from a self-liberating woman to a dejected and abandoned former slave. Ownership and exclusion sequester the well’s life-saving potential. The jealous guarding of property rights to wells by concealing their presence nearly costs Hagar and Ishmael their lives. Nevertheless, both Hagar and the well retain their life-giving capacities, hidden within, even after their abandonment. When Hagar releases her own body’s water in the form of tears, offering them back to the endless cycle of evaporation and precipitation that funds all life, the well is revealed to her. This final exchange in Genesis 21:16–19 reverberates with Hagar’s previous encounter with the spring, underscoring the mutuality in the relationship between this woman and the water.
Enduring Ethical and Theological Considerations
This investigation raises important ethical and theological questions regarding water today. Salt-water infiltration that inhibits food production and reduces access to potable water and the increasing severity of both floods and droughts are stealing the livelihoods of millions of people who will need to go somewhere. In light of Hagar’s experiences, what are the demands of hospitality and sanctuary in a world facing increasing pressure from climate change? Will more fortunate communities demonstrate the hospitality of the spring, sharing resources with all who are in need, or will they adopt the self-interest demonstrated by Abraham and Sarah, exiling those for whom they have no further need? In a time when migrants are crossing the southern deserts of North America at great risk to their own lives, will the hospitality of those providing water, food, and medical assistance be praised or criminalized? Lacking either divine condemnation of Abraham and Sarah’s behavior or praise for the hospitality of the water, these pericopae do not answer these questions directly. Attention to Hagar’s plight and the water’s response, however, should encourage readers to reconsider the obligations that those possessing an excess of resources owe to those perishing because they lack the resources necessary to survive.
This leads to another persistent contemporary question: to what extent will our societies continue to allow the commodification of water? When God revealed the location of the well to the wandering slave woman, God showed a flagrant disregard for established legal and custom-based property rights. God disclosed proprietary ecological knowledge to one who had no hand in developing the resource. Hagar’s only claim to the water was that she was a person in need of it. This divine intervention heightens the narratives’ critique of objectification and commodification of God’s creation—both human and other-than-human—a critique that has been largely ignored in traditional interpretations of these passages. As local governments wrestle with the ethical dilemma of crafting appropriate responses to non-payment of water bills, and private companies continue to profit by diverting community water sources to bottling facilities, religious communities can advocate for new ways of protecting and preserving potable water that also respect the human rights of individuals and families.
Interpretive focus on the water in these stories challenges and fundamentally reshapes traditional interpretations. It demonstrates a mutualistic, life-enhancing relationship between a human being and what is often treated as an inanimate resource. Paying attention to the relationship between the water and Hagar produces interpretations that contradict the “mechanistic and instrumental logic that defines everything and everybody in terms of their contribution to the development and defense of white world supremacy” (Cone: 291). Such a reading takes passages that have long been understood as criticizing human attempts to hasten the fulfillment of God’s promises and recasts them as a prophetic condemnation of social structures that com-modify water and women alike.