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When Somebody Has Your Number: The Trauma of
Identity Theft
A sermon by Dr. Scott Spencer
First Baptist Church, Richmond, Virginia
Sunday, July 1, 2007
We’ve been looking the last couple of weeks at the couple
Abraham and Sarah and their adventures and misadventures in some cases. We now
come to the wonderful and complex stories of their grandsons, twin boys, Esau
and Jacob. Starting with Genesis 25 & verse 27. “When the boys grew up, Esau was
a skillful hunter, a man of the field, while Jacob was a quiet man living in
tents. Isaac loved Esau because he was fond of game, but Rebekah loved Jacob.
Once when Jacob was cooking a stew, Esau came in from the fields, he was
famished. And Esau said to Jacob, ‘Let me eat some of that red stuff for I am
famished.’ Therefore he was called Edom. Jacob said, ‘Well first, sell me your
birthright.’ And Esau said, ‘I’m about to die of what use is a birthright to
me?’ Jacob said, ‘Swear to me first.’ So, he swore to him and sold his
birthright to Jacob. Then Jacob gave Esau bread and Lentil stew and he ate and
drank and rose and went his way. Thus, Esau despised his birthright.’
Over to chapter 27, the story continues, verses 30 through
41, Genesis 27:30, “As soon as Isaac had finished blessing Jacob, when Jacob had
scarcely gone out from the presence of his father Isaac, his brother Esau came
in from his hunting. He also prepared savory food and brought it to his father
and he said to his father, ‘Let my father sit up and eat of his son’s game so
that you may bless me.’ His father Isaac said to him, ‘But, who are you?’ He
answered, ‘I’m your first born son, Esau.’ And then Isaac trembled violently and
said, ‘Well, who was it then that hunted game and brought it to me and I ate it
all before you came and I blessed him. Yes and blessed he shall be.’ When Esau
heard his father’s words he cried out with an exceedingly great and bitter cry
and said to his father, ‘Bless me, me also father.’ But he said, ‘Your brother
came deceitfully and he’s taken away your blessing.’ Esau said, ‘Is he not
rightly named, Jacob, for he has supplanted me these two times. He took away my
birthright and look now he’s taken away my blessing.’ Then he said, ‘Have you
not reserved a blessing for me?’ Isaac answered Esau, ‘I’ve already made him
your Lord. And I have given him all his brothers as servants and with grain and
wine I have sustained him what then can I do for you, my son?’ Esau said to his
father, ‘Have you only one blessing, father, bless me, me also father.’ Esau
lifted up his voice and he wept. Then his father, Isaac, answered him, ‘See away
from the fatness of the earth your home shall be and away from the dew of heaven
on high. By your sword you shall live and you shall serve your brother. But when
you break loose, you shall break his yoke from your neck.’ Now Esau hated Jacob
because of the blessing with which his father had blessed him and Esau said to
himself, the days of mourning for my father are approaching and then I will kill
my brother Jacob.” Serious stories, sibling rivalry. But, may the Lord bless the
study of his stories this morning.
Last year, I received an interesting—and rather
worrying—phone call at the seminary office. As usual I answered with my name,
and the professional male voice on the line responded: “Well, Mr. Spencer, I
didn’t think you were in Belgium.”
No, No... I’m right here in Richmond. Where
are you and who are you? He informed me he worked for my bank and had recently
noticed a suspicious credit card withdrawal on my account from an ATM in
Brussels. Suspicious indeed. Someone had accessed my account and PIN numbers
and was proceeding to divest me of all my financial assets.
Thankfully, no major damage was done, except to
my pride. The scam had been caught early. My card was duly cancelled and
another one issued. But as it happened, I was responsible for this mess. Like
a dummy I had recently “confirmed” my PIN number on a fake Amazon.com e-mail.
It looked so “official, it really did” and I had safely purchased books from the
real Amazon for years. Let the e-mailer beware.
It doesn’t make me feel any better, but the
fact is I’m hardly unique in this experience. Recent reports estimate 10
million cases of identity theft per year worldwide—mostly through computer
and telephone fraud. In fact a new tactic is to rig your caller ID so it shows
your bank’s real phone number, while a false representative tries to “confirm”
personal information. So great—now the guy who calls you about suspicious use
of your account may be the perpetrator. Just don’t answer the phone anymore,
that’s what it amounts to. A whole new kind of “identity crisis” in this
techno-crazy cyber-age we live in.
But you don’t need computers or
telephones to get somebody’s number, to steal their identity. It’s been going
on a long time. Different tools of the trade—savory stews and hairy
goatskins—but the results were the same. Wily Jacob stole the identity and
fortune of his elder twin brother Esau.
More specifically Jacob cheated
Esau out of his rights and privileges as Isaac’s firstborn son. Ancient customs
of primogeniture entitled the firstborn male to a special “birthright” and
“blessing” from the family patriarch—which amounted to receiving the largest
inheritance and assuming headship of the family after the father’s death.
Big, big perks fell to the
firstborn son, and number 2 son, Jacob, wanted them all. He was so close—only
seconds behind Esau emerging from his mother’s womb. In fact, he came out
grabbing Esau’s heel—and by hook or crook he’d been trying to grab everything
Esau had ever since.
When Esau finally realized what
Jacob had done and what all he had lost, he was devastated. Identity theft or
loss is a very personal and traumatic experience. When something that defines
you—an account number, a job position, a family role, a social status, a beloved
possession, other things—when that defining element is stripped from you,
suddenly, it can leave a terrible, terrible scar. That wound cut deep for Esau.
There was no canceling the initial birthright and issuing a new one. The deal
was done. His brother permanently supplanted him as heir-apparent to his
father’s wealth and authority.
Despite his traumatic identity
crisis, however, Esau has received, really, little sympathy from interpreters
throughout the ages. The New Testament cuts Esau no slack at all: “Jacob have I
loved; Esau have I hated”—Paul says in Romans, quoting Malachi; and Hebrews
brands Esau, quote: “an immoral and godless person.” He got what he deserved—a
classic case of blaming the victim. A lot of this negativity stems from the fact
that, although God did not applaud Jacob’s methods, God had willed all along
that Jacob would carry on the line of God’s covenant people.
Now later, I’ll come back to the
critical issue of God’s role in this family soap opera, but first I want to look
more carefully at the story from Esau’s perspective. I want to give him his
due—good, bad, in between—but with understanding and reflection rather than
labeling and assumption.
Now from the start, we must
indeed appreciate Esau’s fault in all of this. He does bear responsibility,
especially in that first scene where he forfeits his birthright. Here he
doesn’t just accidentally give his “number” away: he knows exactly what he’s
doing.
Esau was an outdoorsman, a
skilled hunter, a man’s man—his father’s pride and joy; whereas Jacob was more
of an indoor type, a homebody, a mama’s boy. Jacob liked to cook and apparently
made a mean lentil stew in some kind of thick red broth. And one day while he’s
whipping up a batch, Esau comes in from the field ragged out and ravenous and he
asks for some of this stew—but not very articulately. A literal translation
would be something like: Let me gulp, I beg, from this red-red, because
tired—me. Nouns and verbs aren’t Esau’s strong suit—at least not when he’s
hungry. He sort of grunts—“Red-Red”—without saying stew or pottage; he just
identifies it by its color, twice.
Earlier in the story we learn
that Esau was red-headed and, apparently, everything else. He emerged from the
womb, we’re told, not just red-skinned and wrinkly like most babies—but fuzzy
red all over—“all his body like a hairy [red] mantle.” We have this cozy red
afghan on our sofa at home that I oddly started associating with Esau this week
(we may have to get rid of it now). Anyway—no surprise that Esau came to be
known as “Edom” or “Red”—like “Red” Skelton or “Red” Adair or “Red” Rover. Now I
doubt being red-haired gives you a particular affinity for red foods—tomatoes,
apples, strawberries—but Esau is powerfully attracted to this “red-red” stew.
He would give anything for it—including his birthright. And Jacob knows this.
He initiates the bargain—my red, red stew for your birthright. And Esau
bites—I’m dying here of hunger; who cares about a lousy birthright; you can’t
eat that! And so he sells his birthright for a measly “mess of pottage,” as we
use to say.
Not a good trade by any
estimate. A classic case of belly over brain, as one writer puts it—one time
when “going with your gut,” as is sometimes encouraged, is just stupid. Esau has
no sense of proportion here. He’s not going to die if he doesn’t eat something
in the next five seconds. A moment’s gratification is not worth a lifetime of
blessing. And, you know, in a way, Esau could have “eaten” his birthright
because it entitled him to the family’s best goods for the rest of his life. A
really dumb deal. That’s easy to see—in hindsight.
But there’s really something
primal—“gut”-level—about the human condition revealed here. Our most basic
desires—for food, for love, for safety (and other things)—are essential to life
and enormously satisfying when met—properly, proportionately. But when our good
and necessary God-given desires get out of balance, they can turn sour and
self-destructive. It’s as primal as Adam and Eve, the very first couple in the
Bible. Esau, really, is just following in his ancestor’s footsteps—especially
Adam’s. At base level, the “fall” of humankind was over food. Now make no
mistake: God likes food. God placed the first people in a luscious garden with
“every tree that’s pleasant to the sight and good for food.” And God wanted
humans to enjoy this paradise: “You may freely eat of every tree in the
garden”—except one. But only one: the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.
God does not throw a thick tome of prohibitions at Adam and Eve. Just one
no-no, but an important one. There is a limit to consumption beyond which
satisfaction turns to destruction; there’s a line between good and evil that we
cross at our peril. But we don’t have to: God has provided more than enough joy
and goodness on this side of the line. But of course, that’s not sufficient for
the first couple. It starts with Eve, of course. The wily, serpent-tempter
gets to her first—but not, I submit, because she’s the easiest mark; quite the
contrary, she’s the toughest nut to crack.
Eve has a very intelligent
conversation with this smart serpent. She carefully analyzes the situation in
terms of its nutritional, aesthetic, and educational value: she sees the tree
is quote “good for food, a delight to the eyes, and a source of wisdom.” She’s
no fool—although she makes the wrong choice. Although already blessed with God’s
bountiful and beautiful gifts to last for all eternity, Eve crosses the line,
eats the forbidden fruit, and in an instant forfeits her eternal birthright.
And then, “wicked woman”—she brings Adam down with her….not exactly. Here’s all
the story says (it’s amazing what you discover when you actually read the story
and not with all of our embellishments). Here it is, quote, “and she also gave
some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate.” That’s it. Adam’s really
quite disappointing here, I think. He’s been there all along listening
(presumably) to this debate between Eve and the serpent—but he says nothing,
asks no questions, offer no objections—he’s just a lump on a log or potato on
the couch. She offers the fruit and he takes eats—period.
Assuming (as we might) the
proverbial apple, if Adam uttered anything at all at this critical moment—it
probably was little more than, “Red-Red.” When he finally speaks out
after realizing what he’s lost, it’s only to blame God and Eve: “Lord, the
woman You gave me made me do it.” Way to step up there, Adam. Way to set a
good model for your descendants—like Esau…returning to our main story….But
that’s not Esau’s full story. Whereas it’s hard to generate much sympathy with
Esau over “eating away” his birthright—although we consumerist children of Adam
and Esau have all been there—in the case of losing his father’s blessing, it’s
hard NOT to feel sorry for the guy.
He is completely snookered here.
Isaac knows his days are short: he’s old, he’s blind, he’s weak and frail—and
it’s time give a final “blessing” or last will and testament. The prime
blessing customarily went to the firstborn son, and evidently—even without the
birthright—Esau remains in line for this special inheritance. Now Isaac, who
still favors Esau, charges him to go hunt for some choice game, prepare it in
that “savory” way that Isaac loves (there’s food again), bring it to him, and
receive the patriarchal BLESSING. And off Esau goes to grant his father’s final
wish.
But in the meantime, mother
Rebekah overhears all this, and she and Jacob “cook up” an alternative
plan—literally. They prepare Isaac’s favorite dish and outfit Jacob in Esau’s
clothes and strips of goatskin so he’d be hairy and smelly like Esau. The only
thing they don’t have covered is Esau’s voice, they don’t know what to do with
that—but hey, maybe the old guy’s hearing is also failing and we’ll get away
with that. A clever, clever plan, if not a nice one (it’s a pretty dirty trick,
actually). But it works—even though Isaac does sense there’s a little bit of a
different voice there, but he doesn’t worry to much about that and at the end of
the day—he gives his blessing to Jacob, all the while thinking it’s Esau. But
just as costumed Jacob leaves his father’s presence; the real Esau comes in from
hunting and goes through the whole routine—preparing the food, bringing it to
Isaac, expecting to be blessed. This would be farcically funny if it weren’t so
tragic. It doesn’t take Isaac and Esau long to figure out Jacob’s scam. Isaac
“trembles violently,” we’re told, but sticks with the blessing he gave. Jacob
may have tricked him, but he will not go back on his word. And how does Esau
respond? Well, whereas before he could care less about his birthright, this loss
rips him apart; and so he pleads in anguish: “Father, have you only one
blessing? Don’t you have something for me? Isn’t there something left, father,
bless me, me also” There’s a pathetic tinge here—almost a childlike whining, as
he begs as a grown man, for his father’s approval.
Well, Isaac does have something
left for Esau, though it’s not exactly a “blessing.” It’s more a warning, a
warning of a life of hardship and violence, struggling to break loose from
Jacob’s domination. Well, it doesn’t take very long for that rage to ignite
within Esau. Anguished pleading gives way to angry plotting. After mourning my
father’s passing, I’m going to hunt Jacob down and kill him, just like that
animal my father wanted (and then rejected). And the chase is on—which we’ll
talk more about next week. But for now I want to keep the attention on Esau. Is
there anything we might say to Esau here? Or anyone who feels he’s lost his
identity (or hers) for whatever reasons? What might God say or do about this?
For the most part throughout these stories, God is sort of behind the scenes he
just lets matters take their course. Jacob presumptuously invokes God’s name to
Isaac one time during this little trick, “Oh, the Lord your God granted me
success, father, in swift hunting.” Jacob has a lot of gall; I’ll give him
that. But God at no time authorizes this particular scheme.
But early on, when the twins were
already scrapping in Rebekah’s womb (it started right in the beginning), God
does determine their surprising fates: He says this is the way it’s going to be,
elder Esau will serve younger Jacob; the younger will carry on the chosen line.
God rarely follows the worldly order of things, especially when it comes to
power. This is not the first or last time in Genesis God backs younger sons.
Isaac was Abraham’s number two son; the favored Joseph will be the next to last
of Jacob’s 12 sons. And overall (if you think about it)—the tiny, struggling
nation of “Israel” would not be most “gods’” first choice of a people. Nope,
the God of Israel looks out for the underdog, for the underprivileged, as does
God’s Son and Israel’s Messiah, Jesus. “The first shall be last; the last shall
be first” was at the heart of Jesus’ mission statement. And closely
related—“Whoever saves his life will lose it; and whoever loses his life will
save it.” Nonsense? Double-speak? I don’t think so. It may be just what Esau
and we need the most. Like Esau, we can become so wrapped up in one part of our
identity—some job, perhaps, some family role, some social or economic status we
attain or aspire to—that if we lose that part for whatever reason—nothing’s left
of us, we feel. We have nothing; we are nothing. We don’t know what to do,
we’re just a shell of ourselves.
But that’s a terribly small way
to live. That approach reduces us to what we do or what we have when we ARE so
much more as dynamic beings, human beings, made in the very image of God.
Perhaps if we let go, if we “lose” those identity markers—or at least relax our
vice grip on them a little bit—perhaps we would “save” ourselves; we would find
a larger and fuller life than we ever dreamed possible in fellowship with our
Creator, the God of the Universe.
I close with a passage from a
quirky little book but its got a nice passage at the end, entitled, Golfing with
God: (of all things) A Novel of Heaven and Earth, by Roland Merullo. The main
character has this driving obsession throughout the book with being a great
professional golfer. And playing golf with God throughout the book who somehow
has problems with his putting. (I said it was quirky—helps this man move toward
his goal. And at the end of the book, on the cusp of becoming a world champion,
he realizes (with God’s help of course) what life is truly about. He And he says
this, he says,
This is most important…Great champion or no, what I
want now is to be fully and unabashedly myself. I want only to claim my
birthright and my destiny as a full human soul [person] who has attained—I
say this in all humility—some degree of intimacy with the divine intelligence we
refer to as God.
Our
birthrights as full human souls, human persons, capable of knowing(of all
things) of knowing our very Creator—Now, that’s a birthright we all can claim
and, folks, no one can take away from us. We continue our service come now to
observe the Lord’s Supper and commemorate Christ’s life and death—which in many
respects, by the way, is a story of Christ’s giving up his identity, really,
so that we may encounter God more intimately—as FLESH and BLOOD—as God
Incarnate. Listen to these words from an early Christian hymn in Philippians
that’ll be familiar to you:
Christ Jesus—who, though
he was in the form of God [the very identity of God], did not regard equality
with God as something to be grasped and clung to—But emptied himself [of that
identity], taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. He humbled
himself and became obedient unto death—even death on a cross.
Surrendering his heavenly
identity and eventually his earthly life that we may find true human identity
and eternal life. Surrendering his BODY—BREAKING it open for us. And also
surrendering his BLOOD—POURING it out for us. Surrendering his identity so that
we might life.
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