7th Sunday after Pentecost Sermon

Throughout the summer we’ve been reading stories from the Old Testament about the patriarchs and matriarchs – those fathers and mothers through whom God created the nation of Israel, through whom comes the story of God’s redemption, through whom comes Jesus, through whom comes the church, through whom comes St. John’s, Gig Harbor. It all goes back to Abraham and Sarah and their offspring.

These are our stories – generation after generation built on what came before. It’s the same in our own lives. Who we are – our sense of self, our values and preferences – they’re all rooted in (or reacting to) the family and culture we were born to, just as our parents were formed by their parents and culture, and so on and so on forever.

That’s the way life works.

So these stories are foundational to Judaism, to Christianity, to Islam – as well (you can say) to all of western and middle-eastern culture.

But here’s the thing about these Biblical stories and their characters: We may revere the Bible. We may deck it out in gold and parade it down the center aisle with torches and genuflecting. But as soon as you open it up and start reading the stories there – whooie! – these people are a mess! That’s what I love about the Bible, though. That’s what makes me trust it so much. These people are real, with real problems and weaknesses, including the heroes, the patriarchs, the founders of the faith – they’re all such normal people.

And nowhere is this more the case than with Isaac and Rebekah and their twin sons, Esau and Jacob. I’m not sure what went wrong there. Their story starts with such sweet optimism in their newlywed love for each other. Of all the patriarchs, these two are the only ones who maintained a monogamous marriage. Later, there’s even a story where Isaac is seen caressing his wife in public. (Really, it’s right there: Genesis 26:8). But despite it all, they’re lousy parents who raise some pretty messed-up sons.

What went wrong? I don’t know. Isaac’s father bound him up as a teenager and nearly killed him as an offering to God. Did that mess him up a little bit in the head? Maybe. Rebekah was barren for twenty years. Did that make her strangely obsessive when she finally did have children? Perhaps. Whatever the case, there are moments in each of the parents’ lives that – when you read it – make you go, “Wait a minute: You did what!??”

Even before the twins were born, they’d already begun fighting in the womb. The Hebrew word used here translates literally, “they crushed” each other. And as the story will play out over several chapters, these brothers were fighting for supremacy. Well poor Rebekah’s so miserable with this ongoing wrestling match inside her that she just wants to die. So she goes to God, presumably with a “What’s up with this?!” kind of prayer. And God tells her that these fighting boys shall always be divided and that from them two nations will be founded, and that the elder will serve the younger.

Not exactly what a first-time mother – or any mother – wants to hear. Surely, she was hoping for the “Be a good mama and these boys will grow up to be best friends” kind of encouragement from God. But, no. She got, “Yeah, you’re miserable now. And it’s gonna get worse.”

And that’s just what happens. They keep on fighting in the womb and when they’re born, the younger son is grasping on to the older son’s heal – like he’s trying to yank his brother back inside so that he can be the first one out. And so, from Day 1, these boys were assigned roles and identities they were never able to escape.

The first one came out all hairy and red, so his parents named him Esau, which scholars think means “Hairy” (not Harry like “Prince Harry”, but hairy like “Animal Hairy”). Later they called him “Edom” which means “red.”  It’s as if the first impressions they had of him when he was born are what stuck for the rest of his life. He was their hairy, little red barbarian. What hope did this kid have that he’d ever be anything other than that? And that’s certainly the man he became. He’s uncultured, uncivilized. He likes to hunt (which, from a Biblical perspective, is kind of low brow). He has no respect for family values and traditions. When he’s hungry, he’s got no problem selling off his birthright for a bowl of lentils. “Grr. Feed me.” (Again, the Hebrew word used here implies a kind of animal-likeness.) Despite the family lore about his dad going to all lengths to find a wife from the “right people,” Esau goes off and marries two foreign women, who (the story later tells us), were a source of grief to his parents (Gen. 26:35).

The second boy out of the womb is grasping his brother’s heal. So they name him Jacob: “Holder of the Heal” or “Supplanter.” And like his brother, his identity was established from the start: he’s going after his brother to get everything he can. It doesn’t help of course, that his mother had the oracle from God that “the elder would serve the younger.” Unlike his barbarian of a brother, Jacob preferred to spend his time in the tent. It’s a typical depiction of a nomadic shepherd. But he’s also described as “quiet” – which scholars take to mean he was cultured and civilized. And he certainly did show respect for the family tradition. But despite the smooth exterior, he was shrewd and calculating and manipulative. In this story, he takes advantage of his brother when he’s weak from hunger and manipulates him out of his birthright – which will give him twice the inheritance of his brother, as well as all the prestige and responsibility for the family when their father dies. Jacob’s whole life is filled with drama and crisis, all rooted in the fact that he was – basically – an absolute punk.

And then there’s the whole issue of parental favoritism. Rebekah loved Jacob over Esau. It says so plainly. She’s the one who, later in the story, will help him to deceive his father outright in order to steal the blessing that Isaac intended to give his firstborn whom he loves more. And why did the father love Esau more? Because Isaac was fond of game; he liked the food his son gave him.

I’m telling you, this family isn’t right. Parents choosing favorites. The kids at continual odds with each other. Each son destined from the outset for his own form of destruction. And the thing of it is, the Bible makes no attempt to whitewash this family – to clean ‘em up for posterity’s sake. Every story about them shows a train wreck of a dysfunctional family.

And yet: behold the family of God. Behold the fathers of nations.

Esau will become the father of Edom, a long-standing enemy of Israel. Jacob will become the father of twelves sons who will become the Twelve Tribes of Israel, thus fulfilling the covenant God made with his grandfather Abraham. It has nothing to do, though, with Jacob’s character. Nor is it because of his shenanigans to secure the birthright and the blessing. (That was nothing but greed and pride, for which he will suffer.) The covenant is fulfilled… because… God fulfills it. God said it would be and so it was.

We, as people, have the opportunity to work with God or to work against God. We can join God in caring for this world and all its inhabitants or we can be selfish and scheming. We can know the soul pleasure of being part of “making good” or we can know striving and despair. But what we cannot do, is thwart God from being God and fulfilling the ultimate divine intention for this creation. If God wants to love and redeem us – as seems to be the case – then nothing can stop that from happening. Not only will sinners be unable to stand in God’s way, those same sinners are often the ones through whom God may be at work.

What a mystery is the great mercy of God. As a later story in Genesis concludes, “What you intended for evil, God intended for good” (Genesis 50:20).

There will be many times in our lives when we follow the footsteps of our “lesser ancestors.” We will pass on the bad habits and blind spots from the families in which we were raised. We will be boorish and crude like Esau, failing to understand or appreciate the intrinsic glory and dignity of being humans made in the image of God. We will be conniving and deceitful like Jacob, justifying our behavior by some sense of entitlement or “doing what it takes to reach some worthy end.” We will be like Rebekah and Isaac, screwing up as parents – showing favoritism or just plain stupidity.

And when we follow these paths, there will certainly be consequences. And they may be awful. And there will be amends that need to be made.

But my point is this: God is not thwarted. And God is not done. Mercy and redemption shall be the final word. When I sit at someone’s deathbed and pray with dying, imperfect people, what remains at the end of life is truth – the essential truth of who that person is and who God is. All that is false – the sins, the mistakes, the failures – those are the things that we forgive and can let fade away with their final breath. What remains is their truest and best self. That is the part that carries into eternity.

God is not done with us until God has forgiven every sin and restored us to be the woman and man – the child of God – we were born to be. Which is another way of saying, “God is never done, for we are God’s beloved forever.”

The secret to living this life well is when we discover this “end” – this mercy from God and our union with God – can be our “present now.” We can choose to let go of lesser things and discover just how free it can be to step forward into the way of Christ: Love God. Love your neighbor and believe in their humanity and worth. Be generous. Forgive often. Seek the other’s good. Yes, there shall be great mercy in the end. But the way of Jesus is to choose his path of mercy today.