Today we’re continuing in our sermon series on the stories of Genesis. Last week, Dan preached on the meeting of the child of the promise, Isaac, and his future wife, Rebekah. This week, we read the story of Isaac and Rebekah’s children, Esau and Jacob. The story is found in Genesis 25 and 27. It is a long story, which means we won’t be able to read it all. I encourage you to open your Bible to page ? of the Old Testament section so you can follow along as I summarize the first part of the story.

We begin in verse 19 of chapter 25. Like Sarah before her, Rebekah is barren. For 20 years she and Isaac wait and pray for a child. Finally, she conceives. But the long-awaited child causes problems even before birth—Rebekah’s pregnancy is so difficult, she wonders why she is even alive.

It turns out she is pregnant with twins, and their struggles with each other have already begun. When the children are born, the struggle seems to continue, for the first twin, Esau, has barely managed to get out of the womb first: his younger brother, Jacob, is actually grasping his heel as they emerge from Rebekah’s body.

The boys grow up. Esau becomes a skillful hunter, and his father’s favorite. Jacob is a quiet man who sticks close to the tents and is his mother’s favorite. He is shrewd, as we shall see, and self-promoting. One day, when Esau comes in from the field, famished, he asks Jacob for some of the red stew he is cooking—we’re in verse 30.

In Hebrew, the text actually reads, “Esau said to Jacob, let me gulp down some of this red red, for I’m famished!,” a way of letting the reader know Esau is not the brightest bulb in the chandelier—he “gulps” rather than eats and he can’t even think of the word for stew. Jacob, in sharp contrast to his appetite-prone and dull-witted brother, replies, “First sell me your birthright.”

The birthright was a double share of the inheritance granted to the eldest son upon his father’s death. Esau, thinking he is so hungry he is going to die if he doesn’t eat something that instant, sells his birthright to Jacob, who then gives him the stew.

Now we move to Chapter 27. Isaac is old now, and blind. Knowing his death is drawing near, he calls Esau to him and tells him to go to the field with his quiver and bow and hunt some game. Then — in verse 4 — he says, “make me a dish of the kind I love and bring it to me that I may eat, so that I may solemnly bless you before I die.” I’ll talk more about this blessing later. For now, it’s enough to note that the blessing is different from the birthright that Jacob has already obtained from Esau.

In verse 5 we learn that Rebekah is listening to Isaac’s instructions to Esau, and when Esau goes out to the field to hunt for the game, Rebekah finds Jacob, her favorite son, and reports his father’s words. She then instructs Jacob to go to the flock, choose two choice kids, and bring them to her so she can prepare a savory dish for Isaac. Then, she says to Jacob (in verse 10), “You shall bring it to your father and he shall eat, so that he may bless you before he dies.”

Jacob objects: “But Esau is hairy, and I’m smooth-skinned. What if my father touches me and I seem a cheat and bring on myself a curse, not a blessing?”

Rebekah replies, “Let your curse be on me, my son. Just go and do as I tell you.”

So Jacob goes and gets the kids, and Rebekah makes savory food from them. She dresses Jacob in Esau’s best clothes and uses the kidskins to cover Jacob’s smooth hands and neck. Then she gives him the food she has made and he takes it to Isaac.

Isaac recognizes Jacob’s voice, and is apparently confused when Jacob says he is Esau, returned from the field with tasty game for Isaac to eat. He touches Jacob, noticing the hairy hands of Esau. Jacob serves Isaac the food and wine, and Isaac eats and drinks. Isaac instructs Jacob to draw near and kiss him. When Jacob does so, Isaac smells Esau’s clothes and is finally convinced that this son is indeed his firstborn.

He blesses Jacob with the things of the earth—grain and wine, fertility, prosperity, well-being; with political power—not only his brothers but the nations of the earth will bow down to him; and with protection—he calls down curses on any who curse Jacob and blessing on any who bless him, an echo of God’s blessing of Abraham back in Genesis 12. In short, the blessing Jacob receives is, to quote Walter Brueggemann, “massive and unqualified.”

We’ll pick up the story in verse 30 of chapter 27 and read through verse 38.

Read: Genesis 27:30-38.

Why does Isaac tremble when Esau comes in, and he realizes he has given the blessing to Jacob? Why is Esau so distraught over this discovery? Why can’t Isaac just rescind Jacob’s blessing, especially since he used such deceit to receive it, and give the blessing to Esau instead?

As I said earlier, the blessing is different than the birthright. The birthright was the prerogative of the oldest son, passed to him from his father. The blessing, on the other hand, could be given to anyone, by anyone in a position of authority—a father, a mother, a priest, God.

This blessing combines what Walter Brueggemann calls “the primitive power of a spoken word with the high theological claim of special vocation for its addressee.” In other words, the blessing has the power to shape the life of the one who receives it. It is a world-transforming word with genuine and abiding power. To quote Brueggemann again: “Spoken words have a substance.

They mean what they say. They are a means toward life or death.” We live in a culture in which words are cheap and plentiful, so I don’t think we can fully comprehend the importance of this blessing.

But let’s think for a moment. Do you remember something someone said to you long ago that still has the power to make you feel capable of taking on the world? Or maybe you recall words that still have the power to sting you and make you feel smaller than you were only a moment ago.

When I was 15 or 16, an older woman whose opinion I greatly esteemed told me, “You really shouldn’t wear that skirt. You just don’t have your sister’s legs.” Ouch. I can laugh about it now, but I spent the better part of a decade convinced I was not thin enough—because of that one comment.

On the flip side, my English teacher my freshman year in high school told me I was an excellent writer, “a wordsmith,” and encouraged me to submit my writing for publication. Because of her words, I began to see myself as a writer, and I continued writing even when it was hard, even when I got rejection letters, even when I knew I’d never make much money at it.

So while we may not fully grasp the import of this blessing Isaac wants to give to Esau and ends up giving to Jacob, we do have experiences in which spoken words have the power, for good or ill, to shape our lives, our sense of ourselves, and thus our futures. The difference is that we would not consider these words binding—they have power over us only insofar as we allow them to. I, for instance, no longer think I’m not thin enough. That woman’s words have ceased to have power over me.

In this story, however, the blessing was not contingent on the recipient’s acceptance or rejection of it, and it was irrevocable. Once spoken, its power was released into the world: it could not be retracted; it would work on the recipient whether he or she wanted it to or not; and it would work regardless of the intent of the speaker.

So Isaac cannot retract his blessing of Jacob, no matter how much he might want to, and no matter how much trickery and deceit Jacob employed to receive it. The blessing stands. Jacob, who lied and cheated his way into receiving it, gets to keep it. And Esau, for whom it was intended, doesn’t get it at all.

Every time I read this story, even now, having read it a couple dozen times in the past two months, my heart aches for Esau, especially his two cries of “Bless me, me also, father!” They’re such poignant words, so heart-wrenching and desperate. The first few times I read the story, I actually got teary. This story was hitting a nerve: Esau’s words to Isaac are the cry of my heart, too.

I imagine Esau, who is portrayed in these stories as being a bit simple, if not outright stupid, often felt like he’d missed something, especially in comparison to his clever younger brother.

I can understand that. I’m an older sister, too, and growing up — even into my 20’s — I often felt inferior to my beautiful, clever, and funny younger sister. I wanted to make people laugh the way Jen did. I wanted to be the beautiful sister. I wanted to be popular and have every second boy in school be mad about me.

Instead, I was shy, especially around boys who seemed like alien creatures that I did not comprehend. I craved Jen’s limelight, but would have run away in terror had it ever shone on me because I mostly felt lost in social situations, like a kid in a mall on the day after Thanksgiving with no idea where my parents were or how I might find them. So I understand Esau, constantly being shown up by his younger brother.

Now, my sister didn’t steal my blessing, but it seemed like she was stealing something from me, even if I couldn’t name what that was. My sense as a child, a teen, and a young adult was that my sister’s beauty and popularity somehow made it impossible for me to be beautiful and popular too. My husband calls this “life as a zero sum game.”

But life isn’t a zero sum game. To live like it is is to live a lie. My sister’s beauty in no way meant that I was not or could not be beautiful, too. Her popularity in no way precluded me from having a bevy of friends and boyfriends. Her ability to make people laugh did not mean that I could not be funny, too. There is enough beauty, enough love and friendship, enough humor and laughter to go around.

Jen didn’t have the corner on these things. I only thought she did. I thought God was like Isaac, the father with only one blessing and that He had given these things to my sister and not to me.

But God is not like that at all. Where Isaac knows of only one blessing, God knows of many, as many blessings as there are people.

To understand this, let’s look at Isaac’s words to Esau when Esau cries out for a blessing. We find this “blessing” in verses 39 and 40.

“See, away from the fatness of the earth shall your home 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.”

Not much of a blessing, is it? More like an anti-blessing. But this is to be expected. In Isaac’s economy, there is only one blessing, and he’s already given it to Jacob, so Esau gets this anti-blessing.

But Isaac is wrong. If we look at what happens to these brothers down the road, we’ll see just how wrong.

Esau, after leaving his father’s tent, vows to kill Jacob as soon as Isaac dies. Rebekah gets wind of this plan and convinces Isaac to send Jacob to her brother, Laban, in Haran. 20 years pass and Jacob, now wealthy beyond belief, with four wives, 12 sons, and a daughter, returns to Canaan. He is afraid of the encounter with Esau, wondering if Esau still wishes to kill him. Jacob bows down seven times to his brother—a great irony, given that in Isaac’s blessing to Jacob, Esau was to bow to him.

Genesis 33:4 says, “But Esau ran to meet him, and embraced him, and fell on his neck and kissed him, and they wept.” Who does this remind you of? It reminded me of the father in the story of the father who welcomes back his prodigal son with no word of reprimand, only joy that he has returned. That loving father is one of our most familiar and comforting pictures of God.

Jacob must have sensed Esau’s likeness to this loving God, too, for he says to Esau, “truly to see your face is like seeing the face of God—since you have received me with such favor.”

Prior to their meeting, Jacob had sent hundreds of goats, camels, cows, bulls, and donkeys ahead of him, presumably as a way of bribing his brother into not killing him. But Esau doesn’t want them. “I have enough, my brother,” he tells Jacob. “Keep what you have for yourself.” So much for Isaac’s prediction that Esau will live far from the fat of the land. He has ample grain and wine and livestock, so much so that he eventually leaves Canaan for Seir, the hill country to the south and east, because the land can no longer support both him and Jacob. His descendants, the Edomites, drive out the native Horites and establish themselves in the land.

In Deuteronomy 2, as the Israelites are preparing to enter Canaan after their years of slavery in Egypt, Yahweh tells them not to engage in battle with the Edomites. “For,” He says, “I will not give you even so much as a foot’s length of their land, since I have given Mount Seir to Esau as a possession” (verse 5).

My point in chronicling this history is this: Isaac’s “blessing” of Esau was flat-out wrong. Esau did not live far from the fat of the earth—he amassed a great deal of wealth in the form of cattle, livestock, and property. He did not live by the sword—in fact, he eschewed the sword and chose the path of forgiveness. And he did not serve his brother; indeed, his brother bowed down to him. So while Isaac thought he had only one blessing to give, God did not.

God, who is abounding in steadfast love and mercy, blessed both brothers. Jacob, it is true, was the one chosen to father the Israelites, God’s chosen people, through whom God planned to bless all people. But Esau, too, was blessed. He became the father of a nation, a nation whose land God refused to give even to His chosen people. What is more, he became for his brother — and for us — a glimpse into the face of God, who embraces us with love and rejoicing when we least deserve it.

And let’s face it, these brothers did not deserve God’s blessing. Jacob is a liar and a cheat. He most certainly doesn’t deserve to be blessed. And though my heart is rooting for Esau, when I am objective, I see that he doesn’t deserve the blessing either. After all, he sold his birthright for a bowl of soup. That shows a slavishness to the needs of his body that makes him stupid and short-sighted. The bottom line is that neither brother is worthy of the blessing. And that’s the point.

We don’t—we can’t—earn God’s blessing. It is a gift, a grace. This blessing falls on the unjust, the cheat, the liar. It falls on the short-sighted, the simple, the slave to the flesh. It falls on the envious older sister and the flirtatious younger one. It falls on the tight-fisted and the profligate, on the one who runs away and the one who stays home. It falls on the all of us. God is not like Isaac. God is like that other father, the one Dan read about, the one who loves all His children and who longs to give good gifts to us all, whether we deserve them or not.

I expect there are places in your life where you feel like Esau in today’s passage, bereft at your Father’s feet; where you feel God’s blessing has simply passed right over you; where you are crying out to God, Bless me, me also, Father.

Here’s the good news: God is not like Isaac. God has more than one blessing. In fact, God has infinite blessings. God has more blessings than we can comprehend. God is limitless possibility, and God longs for us to enter into that limitlessness, that unbounded love, that incredible abundance. In God’s economy, there is more than enough. There is room for everyone to sit at the table, to feast on the fat of the land, to drink the dew of heaven.

Amen.