Genesis 24:15–21

Genesis 24:15 — "Before he had finished speaking" The narrative pivot is breathtaking in its precision. The servant's prayer in vv. 12–14 had barely closed when Rebekah appears. The Hebrew tarem killâ ("before he had finished") signals not coincidence but immediate divine response — God had, in a sense, already dispatched the answer before the prayer was fully voiced. This is the narrator's literary and theological signature: the Lord acts ahead of human expectation. Rebekah is immediately identified by her full genealogy — daughter of Bethuel, granddaughter of Nahor (Abraham's brother). The detail is far more than a family register; it establishes that she belongs to the covenant family, a woman of the correct lineage to become the mother of the promise. The pitcher on her shoulder is a domestic detail that grounds the theophany in the ordinary — God's providence arrives in the guise of a young woman doing household chores.

Genesis 24:16 — "Very beautiful to look at, a virgin. No man had known her." The double qualification (betulah — a virgin — reinforced by "no man had known her") is significant in the ancient Near East, where the purity of a prospective bride was both a social and religious matter. But the narrator's emphasis goes beyond propriety: this is a woman set apart, untouched, available entirely for the specific role she is about to enter. The Church Fathers would read the Virgin Rebekah typologically. She descends to the spring — a liturgically resonant detail — fills her vessel, and ascends. The rhythm of descent and ascent prefigures sacramental imagery that will echo through Scripture.

Genesis 24:17 — "Please give me a drink" The servant "ran" to meet her — his haste reflects divine urgency beneath the human surface. His request is deliberately humble: na' ("please"), a little water (me'at mayim). He does not demand; he asks. This small courtesy mirrors the servant's character as a type of the Holy Spirit, who invites rather than coerces. The request at a well echoes through the whole of salvation history: Moses meets Zipporah at a well (Ex 2:15–21), Jacob meets Rachel at a well (Gen 29:1–12), and supremely, Jesus asks the Samaritan woman for a drink (Jn 4:7). The well is always a place of encounter, covenant, and new life.

Genesis 24:18 — "Drink, my lord." She hurried. Rebekah's response is immediate and courteous. She addresses the stranger as 'adoni ("my lord"), an act of instinctive respect. The verb mahâr ("she hurried") appears here and in v. 20, forming a bracket of urgency around her generosity — this is not reluctant duty but eager charity. She lowers (vatored) her pitcher from her shoulder to her hand — a graceful, practiced gesture that makes the gift easier for the traveller to receive.

Verses 19–20 — Watering the Camels Here the typological significance intensifies. A single camel, after a long desert journey, can drink 25–30 gallons of water. The servant had ten camels (v. 10). Rebekah potentially drew upward of 250 gallons of water — running back and forth, emptying, drawing again. This is not a polite offer; it is an act of strenuous, self-giving love that far exceeds what was asked. The servant had prayed for a woman who would offer to water the camels (v. 14); Rebekah does not merely offer — she executes the task with energy and completeness. This superabundance of service is the mark that the servant had asked to distinguish the divinely chosen woman from any other.

Genesis 24:21 — "The man looked steadfastly at her, remaining silent" The Hebrew mishtaeh carries the nuance of gazing intently, almost in wonder. The servant's silence is theological: this is the silence of someone in the presence of an answer to prayer, afraid to break the moment, waiting, discerning. He holds the question — has the Lord made his journey prosperous? — in careful suspension. This verse is a model of the discerning soul: active attention combined with interior stillness, watching for God's confirmation before acting.

Catholic tradition reads Rebekah as one of Scripture's most developed types of the Church and, in a distinct but related stream, of the Virgin Mary. St. Augustine in De Doctrina Christiana and Origen in his Homilies on Genesis both identify the servant of Abraham as a figure of the Holy Spirit — sent by the Father, acting on behalf of the Son — who seeks a Bride for Isaac (a type of Christ). Rebekah, the virgin who comes freely to the well, who gives generously beyond the request, and who will leave her homeland to journey toward the bridegroom she has not yet seen, is a figure of the Church that responds to the Spirit's invitation with faith and charity.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches that "the Church is the Bride of Christ" (CCC 796), and this spousal imagery has its deep roots in the patriarchal narratives. Isaac's bride must come from outside Canaan — the Church is called from among all peoples — and she must come freely (v. 58 will make consent explicit). Rebekah's freedom of response is not incidental; it is theologically essential.

St. Ambrose (De Isaac et Anima) takes the allegory further: the soul itself is the Rebekah who descends to the waters of baptism, fills herself from the divine spring, and rises to offer refreshment to others. The superabundance of her gift to the camels becomes the superabundance of the baptized soul's charity in the world.

The servant's watchful silence in v. 21 also illuminates the Catholic theology of discernment. St. Ignatius of Loyola, building on this contemplative tradition, would recognise the posture: acting, observing the fruits, waiting in interior quiet for divine confirmation. The servant does not leap to judgment; he watches the sign complete itself.

This passage offers a profound model for how Catholics can receive answered prayer. The servant's experience — prayer immediately followed by an unmistakable answer — can tempt us to overlook v. 21: he still watches in silence, waiting to be sure. Contemporary Catholic life often moves too fast past the moment of discernment. When something seems like an answer to prayer, the servant's example counsels neither immediate euphoria nor anxious doubt, but attentive stillness — letting the sign complete itself before drawing conclusions.

Rebekah's superabundant generosity (running back and forth to water ten camels) also challenges the minimal-compliance instinct in modern charity. She was not asked to water the camels; she volunteered, then delivered far beyond the initial offer. For Catholics engaged in corporal works of mercy — in parishes, schools, charities — she is a patron of the extra mile: not giving until it hurts, but giving past the point where anyone would notice or require it. Finally, her arrival "before the servant had finished speaking" is an invitation to trust that God hears us mid-prayer, and that answers are already forming before our words are complete.