On Faith, Divorce and Quiet Erasure of Women’s Stories.

Since my divorce, I’ve stayed away from the community and my cousins. Fewer have stayed in touch.
The dynamics of my divorce were layered and complex. To this day, I don’t know how I’m seen—how people make sense of the complexities of the life and mind I carry. I see things I cannot unsee. I feel deeply. I read between the lines…the things not said, but loudly meant.

Still, I love the Church.
My lineage is built on missionaries and teachers—those who gave up comfort to preach the Word in mountains and far corners.
They raised their children with scripture, believing it was meant to nourish and protect.

Last weekend, I walked into a wedding service convinced I could handle it.
Hopeful, even. This time, I had Thomas—my partner of ten years—by my side.
We watched vows exchanged, promises made, prayers offered.
And I listened closely. Maybe too closely.

Then came the sermon.

The priest seemed different from the rest—his buzz cut, fluent English, and polished delivery.
For a moment, I allowed myself to be impressed.
And then, all at once, I wasn’t. I remembered why I stopped showing up.

He congratulated the families for raising a heterosexual couple.
As if that were more valuable than raising children who are kind, honest, brave.
As if that were a choice!

He spoke of marriage as a means to an end: children.
Not love. Not partnership. Not shared purpose. Just procreation.
The message was clear: You marry to birth. Full stop.

And then came the part that burned.
He spoke about divorce—“too easy these days,” he said.
As if choosing survival over shame is a trend.
As if walking away from pain, betrayal, or abuse is simply poor commitment.

He mocked those who leave “a week into the marriage.”
With the smug detachment of someone who’s never had to beg God for escape.

And then, he brought up Hagar.

Hagar. A slave ordered to sleep with her master.  

Handed over by Sarah, assigned to Abraham—not by choice, but duty, pressure of a culture that equated worth with wombs.

Hagar was not wooed. Not asked. Not a temptress. She was no “other woman” in the Abraham-Sarah narrative. She was assigned. A servant woman with no choice caught in the machinery of someone else’s desperation. Then sent away. Twice. First pregnant. Then again, with a child on her hip.
Both times, into the wilderness.

But here’s what hurts most:
The priest spoke of Hagar as disruption, as though she were a moral warning.

Let me say this clearly:

• When women are told their worth lies in producing children, Sarahs lose their voices.
• When women are reduced to property, Hagars lose their humanity.

Women without agency, a moral warning?!

The disconnect
We preach Abraham as Father of Nations yet flatten the women around him into warnings. We forget that every “biblical hero” had agency; they had a choice, while the women rarely did.
We elevate the fathers and forget the forsaken.

And still—I love my faith.
My lineage runs deep with missionaries, teachers, and believers.
I love the church. But loving something means holding it accountable.

If the Gospel is good news, it must be good news for everyone:
For the Hagars.
For the Sarahs.
For the modern-day divorcees like me sitting in pews.
For the parents of children, and the children themselves, regardless of whom they choose to love.

My ask
Dear clergy:
Before you cite Hagar as a detour in a man’s destiny, remember:

• She is the first person to name God.
• God met her in exile, not the sanctuary.
• Her cry was heard. Ours should be too.

And if you can’t preach that?
Maybe sit with her story a little longer.
Because the wilderness still holds better theology than some pulpits.