A Narrative Lectionary Sermon on Genesis 27:1-4 and 15-23; Genesis 28:10-17
Genesis 27:1-4
When Isaac was old and his eyes were dim so that he could not see, he called his elder son Esau and said to him, “My son”; and he answered, “Here I am.” He said, “See, I am old; I do not know the day of my death. Now then, take your weapons, your quiver and your bow, and go out to the field, and hunt game for me. Then prepare for me savory food, such as I like, and bring it to me to eat, so that I may bless you before I die.”
Genesis 27:15-23
Then Rebekah took the best garments of her elder son Esau, which were with her in the house, and put them on her younger son Jacob; and she put the skins of the kids on his hands and on the smooth part of his neck. Then she handed the savory food, and the bread that she had prepared, to her son Jacob. So he went in to his father, and said, “My father”; and he said, “Here I am; who are you, my son?” Jacob said to his father, “I am Esau your firstborn. I have done as you told me; now sit up and eat of my game, so that you may bless me.” But Isaac said to his son, “How is it that you have found it so quickly, my son?” He answered, “Because the Lord your God granted me success.” Then Isaac said to Jacob, “Come near, that I may feel you, my son, to know whether you are really my son Esau or not.” So Jacob went up to his father Isaac, who felt him and said, “The voice is Jacob’s voice, but the hands are the hands of Esau.” He did not recognize him, because his hands were hairy like his brother Esau’s hands; so he blessed him.
Genesis 28: 10-17
Jacob left Beer-sheba and went toward Haran. He came to a certain place and stayed there for the night, because the sun had set. Taking one of the stones of the place, he put it under his head and lay down in that place. And he dreamed that there was a ladder set up on the earth, the top of it reaching to heaven; and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it. And the Lord stood beside him and said, “I am the Lord, the God of Abraham your father and the God of Isaac; the land on which you lie I will give to you and to your offspring; and your offspring shall be like the dust of the earth, and you shall spread abroad to the west and to the east and to the north and to the south; and all the families of the earth shall be blessed in you and in your offspring. Know that I am with you and will keep you wherever you go, and will bring you back to this land; for I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.” Then Jacob woke from his sleep and said, “Surely the Lord is in this place—and I did not know it!” And he was afraid, and said, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.”
The Message
Every time I read this story, I find myself wanting to give my little sister the evil eye. Like —just try to take my birthright. I dare you.
This account of Isaac blessing his son, Jacob is a lot like the binding of Isaac that we explored last week in that it doesn’t feel good to read. It might feel good to watch if it were turned into a soap opera. No—a reality show. I’d bet that the amount of drama and hyperbole wrapped up in this Abrahamic lineage could last a minimum four seasons with plenty of offshoots and promotional opportunities. These characters would put the Kardashians to shame, easy. I don’t know about you, but I would tune in to see someone cover themselves in goat skins and actually get away with making their dad think they were someone else. How ridiculous is that premise?
But this is not a soap opera. This is not a reality show. This is a canonized piece of the living Word of our God.
So, we have to sit in this discomfort.
At the center of everything we have Esau and Jacob, two brothers who have literally been competing—fighting—since before they were born. Their mother (and Isaac’s wife), Rebekah, was having a difficult pregnancy, and she went to God in prayer to ask what was going on. God said to her:
“Two nations are in your womb,
Genesis 25: 23 (NRSV)
and two peoples born of you shall be divided;
the one shall be stronger than the other,
the elder shall serve the younger.”
So, from the beginning, we as readers are dealing in a kind of black-and-white thinking. We know that trouble is coming. We know that conflict is inherent in this brotherhood. Destined. Here’s a fun fact: The name “Jacob” is a play on the Hebrew root for “supplanting,” or “grabbing by the heel.” Jacob was born clinging on to Esau by the foot—like he was trying to hold Esau back and race him into the world.
Here we are, so many years later, entrenched even more deeply in this rivalry, watching Jacob holding Esau back and racing him for something else: the family inheritance. The first-born son’s birthright. The family blessing.
Our liturgy tells us most of that story, and then, it makes a very interesting move. It pivots to the passage most of us call “Jacob’s Ladder,” where a vision comes to Jacob in a dream. This vision lifts up a different blessing—a blessing directly from God. The ladder that connects the earthly realm and the heavenly realm represents a constant, relational, and climbing exchange between us and the divine. It indicates God’s never-ending presence in our lives.
As you can imagine, many scholars and pastors looking for God’s promise in this pairing of passages will gravitate toward this idea of God’s presence. The notion that God will always be there with us and for us, even when we’re on the run. Like Jacob was. Even when we’re in hiding. Like Jacob was. Even when we’re isolated and confused. Which Jacob definitely was.
As you can imagine, many scholars and pastors looking for God’s promise in this pairing of passages will drive home the point that God will be there with us and for us, even when things are so rough that we’re using stones as pillows. God will give us visions of things we haven’t seen before, and imaginings that renew our bodies and our spirits, alike.
I think that makes sense. I think the text tells us that, directly and clearly. And our service this morning supports that line of thought—that focus on God’s presence. We opened our worship this morning by echoing Jacob, saying, “Surely the Lord is in this place! How awesome is the presence of the Lord. This is the house of God. This is the very gate of heaven.” Our first hymn was centered around the idea of our souls meeting God. Being literally alongside God and drawing strength and life from God.
But I’m left feeling a little empty at that idea. It’s nice to know we’re not alone, it’s comforting even, especially when things are hard. But I can’t help thinking: what about Esau? What does God’s presence do for him? Or maybe, for those of us who feel like him some days? Overlooked. Overworked. Destined to be second. Maybe hairy and gross? What does God’s presence do for us?
Because we skipped a significant number of verses in Chapters 27 and 28, there is a lot we missed in the development of this plot line.
We missed Jacob putting up a fight with his mother, Rebekah, when she hatched the plan for him to fool his father, Isaac. We missed Jacob telling her that there was no way they were going to pull this off—that Isaac would end up mocking him instead of blessing him and that this deceit would cause a rift in the family. We missed when Esau came to Isaac’s bedside, fresh off of a hunt, savory soup in hand and ready to receive his blessing. We missed Esau and Isaac discovering, together, that they had been fooled, and mourning and weeping. We missed Esau’s growing resentment. We missed his vow that, after his father passed on from this life, Esau would kill Jacob, himself. We missed Rebekah overhearing this pledge, and giving Jacob instructions on how and where to flee; who he should look to for help and who he should marry; how and where to set up a life in hiding until Esau’s fury passed. We missed Esau vindictively doing all of the things that Rebekah told Jacob not to do, just because he knew they made her unhappy. We missed entire relationships unraveling.
All of the verses that we left out this morning chip away at the black and white thinking that often acts as the backdrop for Esau and Jacob.
It’s usually easy to say, “God foretold Jacob’s success, and God had a plan to work through Jacob. We always knew that Jacob was the chosen one.” It’s easy to justify Jacob’s behavior using God’s favor, and it’s easy to celebrate his victories because we know that they align with what God wants to do. But now that we see Jacob struggling with the weight of a decision that determines the trajectory of an entire family system…now that we see him putting up resistance, he’s humanized in a new way. Should he really be doing that? If God is going to bless him no matter what, does he really need to swoop in and deprive his brother of a blessing?
It’s usually easy to think of Esau as an unfortunate, neutral character. I always feel a bit of preemptive sympathy for Esau, because through no doing of his own, he was destined not to be chosen. But now that we see the toll this lie takes on Esau, the pain that it causes him, he’s humanized in a new way. He’s a grown man—a strong, fierce man—weeping and wailing. He can’t control his rage. He makes violent and abusive decisions that hurt other people and himself. He doesn’t seem so innocent anymore.
It’s usually easy to assume that Isaac would understand betrayal better that most. His own father bound him to sacrifice him to God without any hesitation. You would think that he would try harder to reverse his mistake and to find some justice for Esau. Do right by him. But here, Isaac comes off as vulnerable and bumbling. You can tell that he loves both of his sons deeply. That he knows them. But he isn’t doing much to participate in or guide their relationship. In fact, he foretells some trouble and some conflict of his own. He tells Esau,
“By your sword you shall live,
GEnesis 27:40
and you shall serve your brother;
but when you break loose,
you shall break his yoke from your neck.”
And Rebekah. Oof. It’s easy to read Rebekah as the true villain in this story. She truly doesn’t seem to care about Esau at all. Not only does she come up with this deception scheme—she does all of the work to make it happen. But when she’s telling Jacob to flee, we get a glimpse into where all of this comes from. It’s love. It’s pure love. She wants him to live fully and genuinely; safely and with integrity. It’s not that she isn’t worried about Esau; it’s that the only thing we see is her anxiety for Jacob.
Black-and-white morality and standing goes out the window when we read this story through. And friends, I think that means that a status of “chosen” or “not chosen” disappears, too. All of these characters are full people with full lives experiencing a full spectrum of emotions. The good ones aren’t always good, the bad ones aren’t always bad, and regardless of what was destined for each of them, they all present differently from that destiny in day-to-day life. All of these characters are messy. Complex. Subject to their circumstances. They’re trying to reconcile a divine promise with an earthly existence. They’re trying to live as people of faith.
S,o our promise this morning is not simply that God will be present for us in suffering because God was present for Jacob in suffering. Our promise this morning is deeper than a like-to-like transfer.
Our promise this morning is that when status disappears; when messiness reigns supreme; when we go back to basics and have our existential crises and realize that we aren’t always good; we aren’t always bad; when make decisions we shouldn’t; when our reconciliation doesn’t seem to be working; God will show up knowing that. God will show up understanding that. God will show up saying “I’m the one who created space for that.” God will show up saying “I can do so much with that.”
In the very first verse we read today, we heard a word we know—a Hebrew word—hinnae. Pastor Wade gave us a great definition of hinnae last week. It’s not so much an attendance-taking as it is an assurance. Hinnae. “I’m here.’ I’m fully and intentionally present.
We’ve heard this word spoken from people to God, as a response to a call. We know the power of this word when it’s spoken from people to God. Abraham spoke this word when he was being put to the test, preparing to sacrifice his beloved and promised son. Hinnae. I’m here, God.
We’ve heard this word spoken from people to other people. It’s in our reading this morning: Jacob, or as I like to call him, fake Esau, calls out to his father, Isaac, and Isaac responds, hinnae. I’m here, my son. I’m ready to bestow my blessing, which is my whole life. My whole livelihood. I’m here, son.
The story of Jacob’s ladder is the story that reminds us that this word has been spoken from God to people since creation. God might not say hinnae, explicitly, but God says hinnae through miracles. Through covenants. Through nature. Through migrations. Here, in this fantastical dream, God says to Jacob:
“I am with you and will keep you wherever you go, and will bring you back to this land; for I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.”
Genesis 28:15
Friends, God is here for us. God will keep us wherever we go, and will bring us back to where we need to be. God will not leave us. Period. Jesus is the embodiment of hinnae. Jesus is God breaking into our messiness and taking it on alongside us.
I went to a Jesuit university, which means that I learned a lot about St. Ignatius of Loyola. His mantra—the posture that informed the Society of Jesus—was simple: “God in all things.” Surely, friends, God is in all things. God is in all places. God is with all of us all of the time. Surely, God is in this place, whether or not we know it.
Amen.
This sermon was authored and delivered on September 26, 2021.
Helpful influences included:
“#460: Jacob’s Dream” episode of I Love To Tell The Story: Working Preacher Narrative Lectionary Podcast (September 19, 2021)
P A S T O R ( I S H ) 