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Clash Reunions: Putting Your Best Hip Forward
A sermon by Dr. Scott Spencer
First Baptist Church, Richmond, Virginia
Sunday, July 8, 2007
Genesis 32:3-12, 22-30
We all know the experience of encountering
long, lost friends and relatives we haven’t seen for some time. Wide distances
and busy schedules cause us to lose touch. But finally, an opportunity arises
for us to get together again—a family or class reunion, perhaps.
Normally these reunions are happy
affairs—full of hugs and kisses and exuberant (though not a little painful)
cheek squeezes from Italian aunts (Ouch). And, of course, there are those
classic exclamations.
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It’s great to see you again!
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Let me look at you!
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My, how you’ve grown—which makes you feel proud and mature if
you’re a kid; not so much if you’re an adult when most of the “growth” occurs in
undesirable regions.
Still, renewing old acquaintances is typically
an enjoyable experience—but not always. Absence makes the heart
grow fonder? Depends who the absentee is.
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I never liked that mean, bratty cousin when we were 10—so I’m not
that keen on seeing him again forty brattier years later.
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And “Miss Congeniality” in High School—Please . . . more like Miss
Flirty, Two-Faced, Snake-in the-Grass, Break-Your-Heart--iality. Lord knows
what she’s like now in middle age. (Just a random example ... ahem)
All kidding aside, reunions can be tense,
painful experiences. Sometimes family members and former friends drift far apart
because of some bitter conflict not easily forgiven or forgotten—setting the
stage for a clash reunion.
This is the kind of meeting Jacob
anticipates with twin brother Esau. Decades had past since their acrimonious
split. As we saw last week, Jacob cheated Esau out of their father’s special
blessing and birthright, sparking Esau’s vengeful rage. Simply put: he aimed to
kill Jacob.
So Jacob packed his bags and fled
north to his mother’s family—specifically her brother and his uncle Laban.
There he worked for many years, married Laban’s daughters, settled down, built a
family and fortune.
However, Jacob eventually wears
out his welcome there, too, by shrewdly taking over his uncle’s best livestock.
Jacob just can’t help himself it seems. Always the wheeling-dealing
trickster—doing very well for himself but not making many lasting friends along
the way.
And so—Jacob decides to leave his
uncle’s estate and return to his native land, the “promised land” of father
Isaac and grandfather Abraham. He loads up all his family and belongings and
heads out. But a couple of thorny security problems soon arise.
One—Laban soon tracks him down to
settle some old accounts and grievances. But Jacob manages this negotiation
fairly easily. Not a big crisis there—but a whopper looms further down the
road—the ominous prospect of encountering brother Esau.
Jacob is on full “Red”-alert. As
far as Jacob knows, red-headed Esau’s red-hot anger had only intensified through
the years. No telling what he would do now to Jacob and his wives and children.
This is one of the problems of
taking advantage of people—exploiting them for your own ends. Intensely
personal as well as moral issues come into play. People really don’t like being
scammed and used; and when opportunity knocks, they just might bite back.
A little addendum to Jesus’
“Golden Rule”: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you—because given
half a chance they will do unto you what you’ve done to them—often
with extra mustard on top.
Jacob knows this, and he’s scared
to death. So that sets him to more scheming. That’s what he does
best—and in this crisis he has a multi-pronged strategy.
Plan A is a preemptive
diplomatic strike. Jacob sends messengers ahead to “my lord” Esau
(notice the deferential title), informing Esau that Jacob’s coming with a host
of livestock and servants he amassed while living as an “alien” in
Laban’s land.
The “alien” reference is telling: “I may have made
a fortune, Esau, but I’ve been toiling a long way from home staying out of your
angry way.” And the mention of Jacob’s animals and attendants provides some
negotiating chips: “I know I took your inheritance, but I can now repay you for
any hardship I may have caused you.”
We’re not told Esau’s verbal
response to these messengers. All we know is this report back to Jacob, “Esau
is coming to meet you [might be promising]—but not by himself: he’s bringing
Four Hundred men with him.” That’s not good. If Jacob was scared before,
he’s terrified now.
Any other bright ideas?—Plan B.
This is a tactical rather than diplomatic strategy: Divide and Conquer. Well
at least the “divide” part. It’s more like Divide and Survive. Jacob divides
his vast household and herds into two companies, with the idea that when Esau
attacks and destroys one, the other can escape. It’s called “cutting one’s
losses,” I believe. I wonder which company Jacob will put himself in.
This is obviously Jacob’s
last-ditch plan. But he still has another trick or two up his sleeve. Plan
C comes back to the bargaining table. Jacob hopes to appease Esau with
lavish gifts—the kind of gifts Esau appreciates most.
Esau, you’ll remember, was a
hunter and outdoorsman—the kind of man who liked animals—preferably the kind you
can eat. Jacob had bought him off before with just a bowl of stew; offering him
droves of livestock ought to really soften him up.
So Jacob organizes five teams of
animals tended by servants—there’s the goat group, sheep group, camel group, cow
group, and last and probably least—the donkey group. And he dispatches them to
Esau in stages to maximize the effect.
First comes the goat team—200
female goats and 20 males. The attendants tell Esau: “Your servant
Jacob” (notice the language again) has sent these animals ahead as a welcoming
gift—a peace offering, if you will. Your servant Jacob is back there
behind us—can’t wait to see you.”
Then, after Esau travels a little
further, here comes the sheep brigade and then the camel corps and so on as we
get closer and closer to the showdown—hopefully with Esau in a happier mood.
But the narrative leaves us hanging a while longer. We don’t know how Esau
responds to these appeasement tactics. And then night falls. We must wait till
morning’s light for the brothers’ fateful reunion.
And what a night it proves to be
for Jacob.
Before we deal with that,
though—before we “wrestle” with that momentous night—we need to consider one
more aspect of Jacob’s advance strategy.
Plan D—a rather different
approach. Jacob prays to the God of grandfather Abraham and father
Isaac. Jacob wants to ensure all the bases are covered. He has his schemes and
stratagems all in place, but it couldn’t hurt to bring God into the game.
Here’s the gist of Jacob’s
prayer: “Lord you know I’m in a heap of trouble here. I’m afraid Esau is going
to get me this time—and kill my family as well. You gotta save me Lord. I
mean—remember, Lord, you promised earlier You would ‘do me good’ [Jacob mentions
that twice—as if God’s memory were a little shaky] and bless my offspring
immeasurably.”
Although it’s nice to see Jacob’s
turning to God at this critical juncture, it’s hard to know how sincere he
really is. That’s the problem with a trickster like Jacob—you’re never quite
sure what he’s up to.
I’m sure part of him genuinely
pleads for God’s protection, but prayer seems to be just one option among
others in Jacob’s grand scheme. We don’t get a strong sense of Jacob’s
wholehearted dependence on God.
There is as much self-reliance as
God-reliance, as much plotting and tricking as praying and trusting. Jacob’s
what we might call a “control freak.” He needs to call the shots. Jacob hasn’t
forgotten God—after all, God has been very useful to him along the way in
helping him accumulate his fortune.
But Jacob hasn’t quite realized
yet that God does not exist for Jacob’s use. God is not another mark like
father Isaac, brother Esau, and uncle Laban for Jacob to manipulate for his own
ends. God is God, and Jacob’s finally about to learn that lesson—painfully.
God responds to Jacob’s plea—but
not the way Jacob had hoped. He’s worried about his explosive meeting with
Esau. Well, first, he has a clash reunion with God that’s more
intense than any human encounter could ever be.
It’s the middle of the night, and
Jacob finds a quiet place by himself near the Jabbok River—no doubt pondering
his impending meeting with Esau. But in fact he’s not alone. We’re told
that “a man” pounces on Jacob and wrestles with him till daybreak. Jacob knows
he’s in the fight of his life—but he’s not sure with whom.
Is this Esau with a surprise
ambush? Esau’s a strong man—but not this strong. And the arms and body don’t
seem all hairy like Esau’s.
So who is it? It’s not a bird;
it’s not a plane; it’s more like . . . “Superman” . . . or “Super-angel” or
“Super-demon”—it’s hard to tell.
Or is it? . . . Nah . . .
couldn’t be! Or could it? Yes it could. Yes it is. It slowly dawns on Jacob
(and us) that he’s wrestling with God in some physical form. No wonder
he’s losing the match. But what’s God up to here? What kind of God is this
that wrestles with humanity?
This is not the kinder, gentler
God who visited Jacob on another night years ago when Jacob first fled from
Esau. There at a spot Jacob called “House of God” or “Bethel”—God appeared in
a wonderful dream and assured Jacob: “I am with you and will bless and keep
you wherever you go, and will bring you back home to this land.”
That’s a kind of God you can warm
to. But this rougher, wrestler God? Not so pleasant—can’t be the same
Bethel-God!
Oh but it is!!! One and
the same God at this new nightspot Jacob ultimately calls “Peniel”—the same “El”
suffix, meaning “God,” as Bethel. “Peniel” means “Face of God.” But God
is clearly a God of many faces and expressions—combative and
confrontational as well as soothing and comforting.
God appears in different forms, some more
shocking than others, knocking us off balance, ever challenging our cozy and
tidy little worlds.
Harvard psychiatrist, Robert Coles, studied a
group of children drawing God’s face. That was their assignment. Coles
became especially intrigued with the work of a girl named Betsy—who was
clearly advanced beyond her peers, but not because of her artistic ability.
She first outlined God’s face,
and then supplied eyes, mouth, nose, ears, and a full beard. Then she
announced—“I think I’ll give God a smile—he seems too serious”—which prompted
Coles to inquire, “Do you think God has different moods?”
Betsy answered abruptly: “Well, if we do, he
must too…If God knows you, He knows your good days and your bad days. Granny
says she has both, and she’s sure God watches her all the time. It may be
tiring a little, but He’s God.”
As she drew other pictures, Coles observed
that, unlike most children, Betsy sketched different images of God. Once
she colored God’s face brown, but remarked that if she were black,
like some of her classmates, she would paint God’s face black “all the
time.” But then hedged a bit: “I’d want to make him white some of the
time, because we’re white as well as black—don’t you think?”
At a young age, Betsy grasped what some of us a
lot older still don’t fully appreciate—the depth and mystery of God—the
God of light and darkness, darkness and light; the smiling God and the frowning
God.
It wasn’t until that night at Peniel well
into adulthood that Jacob realized God’s profound depth and mystery. Up to
this point, Jacob had God pegged as a smiling, “blessing” God for his personal
benefit. Even at the end of his wrestling match, Jacob still tries to hold on
to this narrow image of God: “I won’t let you go until you bless me.”
Come on,
God. Just work with me here and help me out, like you usually do. Oh, and I’d
especially like to know that special name of yours—so I can better
identify you; so you won’t catch me so off-guard next time; so maybe I can use
that name in difficult situations. It’s bound to come in handy. A
schemer and manipulator till the end—our Jacob.
But God is not in a very accommodating
mood on this occasion. No disclosure of his special name (that comes later with
Moses). And while God does bless Jacob, it’s not what Jacob had in mind: No
more sheep and goats, wives and children; no more guarantees of peace and
prosperity. Now—God blesses Jacob by dislocating his hip and changing his
name.
Some blessing, huh? Actually it
is—exactly what Jacob needs. He needs a whole new identity—his own identity
(not the one he’d stolen from Esau)—a whole new way of perceiving himself in
relation to God and to others.
Even the wily, wealthy Jacob was
vulnerable. He had met his match, and the rest of his days he would walk with a
limp and bear a new name—no longer Jacob—“heel-grabber, trickster,
cheater”—but Israel—“God-struggler, God-struck, God-subjected.”
So, what happens now? Jacob’s in
no shape to fight Esau— he would seem to be rather easy prey. In the morning
Jacob looks up and sees Esau and his 400 men running toward him. Oh Lord . . .
Esau clenches Jacob around the neck—and then . . . starts crying and kissing
him. Wow—didn’t see that coming—years of bitterness and estrangement giving way
to peace and reconciliation.
This may surprise us—but it
suddenly makes sense to Jacob. It all comes together. He sees a clear
connection between this joyous encounter with Esau in the daylight and the
tumultuous encounter with God the night before. He tells Esau: “Truly to see
your face is like seeing Peniel—the face of God.” Coming
face to face with God and being transformed in the process, Jacob is finally
ready to face his brother in sweet reunion.
How many times in strained
relationships have we felt, “Well, if they would just change, we’d be
fine? God, if you would just change them.” More often than not God
says, “How about we start with you first; get you off your high-horse and down
here in the struggle with the rest of humanity?” For it’s in that common
struggle—where we all limp along and lean on each other—that we come face to
face with one another as fellow children of God—reflecting God’s face, God’s
image, back to us.
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