Introduction to the reading from Hebrew Scriptures
Those of you who were here last Sunday morning will remember Judith McKinlay preached on the Genesis reading for the day – part of the extensive Jacob narrative to be found in Genesis. Judith referred to a conversation amongst scholars, where it was suggested that Jacob’s family might find a place on the Oprah Winfrey show. (I’d even venture to suggest that the Jacob narrative competes for soap-opera awards – it’s real-life Oprah and barely believable Coronation St, Shortland St, Home and Away – all rolled into one. And, perhaps even, not that different from some of our real-life experiences.)
The Lectionary compilers have set down for today another juicy episode of the Jacob narrative. Perhaps not quite as salacious as it might have been; in fact, rather sanitised, for a family audience. This episode is about how Jacob meets Rachel, the love of his life; how he works seven years to earn her in marriage, only to be unkindly tricked by his father-in-law into marrying her older sister. A further seven years of labour are demanded before Jacob can marry the woman of his dreams. But, in this sanitised snippet, the lectionary compilers have omitted so much. The reading we are encouraged to hear today doesn’t take in the complexities of these relationships, which are spelt out in surrounding verses. No mention in today’s reading of the deeply painful, understandably competitive, relationship between Rachel and Leah – not to mention their maids, Bilhah and Zilpah, each of whom also bore Jacob’s children. Today’s suggested and rather sanitised reading, doesn’t act easily as a stepping stone towards next Sunday’s challenging account of Jacob wrestling with God. The torment and anguish found in next Sunday’s part of the narrative, only make sense if we understand the depths of cunning, trickery and pain that are part of the missing episodes. We need to get a sense of hurt, anger and betrayal intermingled with the delight and joy from love and the trickery underlying it all. The narrative loses meaning if we miss the episodes that describe the jealousy and the celebration; the honesty and the deception; the running away and the turning towards each other – all parts of life we each experience – to one extent or another – in our living and loving – in our attempts to be fully human.
I’ve chosen a different reading for this morning – one that occurs a few chapters on. It’s after Jacob has fallen out of favour with his father-in-law Laban – after Rachel and Leah have not only felt betrayed by each other, but also become disillusioned and resentful towards their father. This episode comes after Jacob, his household and flocks have cleared out – escaping without his father-in-law knowing – while Laban was out shearing sheep. Top drawer family betrayal.
This morning’s reading comes immediately on the heels of Laban’s desperate pursuit of his family. When he catches up with them, Laban says to Jacob: “What have you done? You’ve deceived me and carried away my daughters like captives of the sword. Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to go away? I could have sent you off with a farewell party. Why didn’t you let me kiss my children and grandchildren goodbye?” And Jacob replies: “I was afraid – I thought you’d take your daughters from me by force.”
Laban is furious – Jacob has taken more than he was entitled to.
Not knowing that his beloved Rachel has stolen Laban’s household gods, Jacob gives permission for a full search. Keeping the gods hidden in the camel’s saddle, Rachel remains seated on them – excusing herself for not standing up when her father enters her tent “for the way of women is upon me” she explained.
How do loving people get into such fixes? How do you deal with such deceit, betrayal and anger?
Listening for the Word in the Hebrew Scriptures: Genesis 31:36-55
Hymn “O three-fold God of tender unity” words William Wallace
Sermon: In the name of the one in whom love is born and people are reconciled[1]. Amen
We started out on this service this morning acknowledging that here in this place – with these people around us – here, we recognise the presence of the One whose love makes transformation possible. It’s here, we said, that we celebrate possibilities – here, we celebrate the One who weaves the future with love. ‘God in your grace, God in your mercy’, we sang, ‘turn us to you to transform the world.’[2]
As we have sung and prayed and listened together, each in our own way has expressed our yearning for that which we often cannot name – that which we sometimes name as ‘God’.[3] The goal of our longing – the Whither of our journeying[4] – more often than not, seems way beyond our reach. Oh yes, here in this place, we can sometimes catch a vision that takes us into new possibilities; sometimes we can find that mustard seed of possibility dwelling within the depths of being; sometimes we even feel that our lives are nurturing amazing new growth. But then, our daily lives get in the way of it all. All that we have brought with us from our daily living – and all that we will return to as we leave the service this morning – all our hurts and hopes, cloud the horizon of Holy Mystery – closing down the possibilities of what might be.
We’ve come from a week where some of us have acknowledged how incredibly difficult it is to live on this life journey. For some of us, the letting go of all that we have held dear – and all that we might have hoped for – has been unbearable. We’ve experienced too much pain and loss; we’ve seen too much despair and hopelessness; we’ve been plunged too deep into the depths of ethical complexity. And, yet, in this same week, some of us have buzzed along with inconceivable joy and hope; life has never been so good. For some of us, love has burst into the winters of our lives with astounding delight.
Whether it has been a week of joy or sorrow – or, more likely, a mix of both – a question for all of us, might be: have we been alive and open to the presence and purpose of God[5] – i.e. have we been aware of our longing for the Holy Mystery; have we lifted our hearts to the Whither of our journeying, or have we been so constrained by the living out of our lives in their daily drama that we have forgotten the bigger story in which we dwell?
As we consider this question, it may be helpful for us to put our life dramas alongside those who feature in the Jacob narrative. Perhaps, some of us will identify with Jacob: we too, with cunning and trickery, have blazed out a trail for ourselves which, amazingly, has still brought much blessing – even if it has been at the expense of personal contentment or the rights and happiness of other people.
Others of us will recognise our lives in this week’s off-stage presence, of Esau – the cheated one – still waiting for the reconciling moment, which hovers hopefully on the horizon of a later episode.
Sisters Rachel and Leah - or their maids - offer other points of identification – each caught up in complex webs of relationship, violently see-sawing from ecstasy to misery as love and jealousy intertwine; joy and sisterhood challenged by destructive hurt and bitterness.
Others of us might share Laban’s bewilderment and pain in his desertion – betrayed by everyone, even his beloved children – when all he was trying to do was to be fair – weighing up his decisions and taking risks not to play favourites - providing even his not-very-lovely-older daughter a chance in life.
It’s very difficult to remain untouched by this deeply human drama, which plays out on the pages of Genesis. All the anger, all the hurt, all the loss reverberate through this morning’s reading. “What have I done that you’ve pursued me?” Jacob, self-righteously and angrily demands of his father-in-law. Laban’s response wrenches the heart: “but these are my daughters and their children”.
The outcome of this deeply painful encounter could be violence. Jacob reckons himself to be within his rights – he’s entitled to all that he has taken. What more has Laban to lose? His daughters, his hard-working son-in-law, his slaves, his animals, his livelihood – and even his household gods – have all been snatched from him. Laban’s cry echoes our own cries: “But what can I do today about all this?”
Somehow, from the depths of their pain, Laban and Jacob choose not to take the path of violence. Instead, they look to the horizon beyond the drama of their lives: Let’s make a covenant together, they decide, a heap of witness, which will be a sign of our commitment in the name of God not to do harm – even when we are absent from each other.
It’s through this commitment, this covenant, that Laban is able to set his children and his grandchildren free; to bless them and to return home.
The pain has not necessarily disappeared, but in the letting go, seeds of hope and possibility for a transformed world have been sown. And, isn't that what we do - each time we come together in worship - we too create a "heap of witness" - a covenant of reconciliation and love between us - a reminding symbol of “Life’s great unknown that binds and sets us free: felt in our loving, greater than our thought, ... the mystery found, the mystery sought.”[6]
And so, as we go into this next week – encountering our many joys and sorrows, let’s take courage from this Jacob narrative – remembering that we too can lift our hearts to that Great Mystery, which reaches out in longing for us, offering us hope, possibility and transformation. Even in these wintry days, the kin-dom seeds are growing. Thanks be to God. Amen
[1] From “O Three-fold God of tender unity”
[2] Shirley Murray, “Love is your way” Hope is our Song
[3] “agnosticism which knows it doesn’t know ... is the way God is experienced today” Karl Rahner, quoted in Elizabeth A Johnson Quest for the Living God
[4] See earlier sermons based on Elizabeth Johnson
[5] “Sung Response: “David Manton, “Alive to the presence and purpose of God”
[6] William Wallace, “O three-fold God of tender unity” Alleluia Aotearoa
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