Fugitive Blessing

When​ ​she​ ​turned​ ​80​ ​years​ ​old,​ ​the​ ​grandmother​ ​of​ ​my​ ​good​ ​friend,​ ​Gwenie,​ ​invited​ ​her  ten​ ​grandkids​ ​to​ ​tell​ ​her​ ​in​ ​a​ ​note​ ​what​ ​they'd​ ​like​ ​to​ ​have​ ​from​ ​her​ ​house,​ ​when​ ​the​ ​time  came​ ​for​ ​her​ ​things​ ​to​ ​be​ ​divided​ ​up.​ ​​ ​To​ ​a​ ​one​ ​these​ ​ten​ ​grandkids​ ​love​ ​Grandma​ ​Macy  and​ ​would​ ​never,​ ​ever​ ​want​ ​her​ ​to​ ​think​ ​them​ ​greedy​ ​or​ ​demanding.​ ​​ ​And​ ​to​ ​a​ ​one,​ ​each  and​ ​every​ ​one​ ​of​ ​them​ ​asked​ ​for​ ​that​ ​special​ ​hand​ ​tool​ ​she​ ​had​ ​in​ ​her​ ​kitchen​ ​for​ ​slicing  potatoes​ ​into​ ​waffle​ ​fries.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​#1​ ​on​ ​all​ ​ten​ ​lists!​ ​​ ​

Grandma​ ​Macy's​ ​feelings​ ​were​ ​just​ ​a  little​ ​hurt​ ​that​ ​no​ ​one​ ​wanted​ ​anything​ ​more​ ​than​ ​a​ ​potato​ ​slicer.​ ​​ ​But​ ​that​ ​was​ ​twelve  years​ ​ago​ ​and​ ​she's​ ​totally​ ​over​ ​it​ ​now.​ ​​ ​And​ ​she​ ​won't​ ​say​ ​who​ ​is​ ​getting​ ​the​ ​potato  slicer.​ ​​ ​A​ ​potato​ ​slicer​ ​or​ ​a​ ​million​ ​dollars​ ​we​ ​can​ ​get​ ​our​ ​heads​ ​around,​ ​but​ ​an  inheritance​ ​of​ ​words​ ​makes​ ​little​ ​sense​ ​to​ ​us.​ ​​ ​We'd​ ​say,​ ​“Well,​ ​that​ ​didn’t​ ​count!!”  

Seems​ ​like​ ​Isaac​ ​ought​ ​just​ ​to​ ​take​ ​it​ ​back​ ​–​ ​have​ ​a​ ​do-over​ ​with​ ​Esau,​ ​once​ ​he'd​ ​realized  he'd​ ​been​ ​tricked.​ ​​ ​But​ ​word​ ​was​ ​more​ ​than​ ​gold​ ​to​ ​them.​ ​​ ​Word​ ​spoke​ ​reality​ ​into​ ​being.  Word​ ​and​ ​gesture​ ​were​ ​the​ ​very​ ​activity​ ​of​ ​creation​ ​–​ ​the​ ​blessing​ ​could​ ​no​ ​more​ ​be  taken​ ​back​ ​than​ ​an​ ​arrow,​ ​shot,​ ​can​ ​be​ ​unshot. 

It​ ​makes​ ​my​ ​stomach​ ​hurt​ ​to​ ​read​ ​how​ ​Rebekah​ ​and​ ​Jacob​ ​had​ ​this​ ​plan​ ​in​ ​place.​ ​​ ​How​ ​as  soon​ ​as​ ​they​ ​heard​ ​Isaac​ ​say​ ​to​ ​Esau,​ ​"It's​ ​time,"​ ​they​ ​were​ ​ready.​ ​​ ​I​ ​trash-talked  husbands​ ​last​ ​week.​ ​​ ​But​ ​Rebekah​ ​–​ ​Rebekah​ ​is​ ​as​ ​bad​ ​as​ ​Abraham.​ ​​ ​She​ ​all​ ​but​ ​wishes  one​ ​son​ ​dead​ ​–​ ​and​ ​treats​ ​her​ ​husband​ ​disgracefully. 

And​ ​I​ ​know​ ​you’ve​ ​read​ ​your​ ​homework,​ ​so​ ​I​ ​know​ ​that​ ​you​ ​know​ ​that​ ​this​ ​jealousy​ ​and  favoritism​ ​between​ ​the​ ​boys​ ​is​ ​old​ ​as​ ​they​ ​are.​ ​​ ​Jacob​ ​is​ ​mean.​ ​​ ​Esau​ ​strikes​ ​me​ ​as​ ​more  trusting​ ​than​ ​bright.​ ​​ ​Jacob​ ​has​ ​schemed​ ​against​ ​Esau​ ​since​ ​birth.​ ​​ ​He's​ ​coveted​ ​the  blessing​ ​since​ ​they​ ​were​ ​old​ ​enough​ ​to​ ​build​ ​a​ ​fire.​ ​​ ​The​ ​blessing​ ​is​ ​the​ ​Promise​ ​itself  given​ ​to​ ​Abraham​ ​from​ ​God​ ​–​ ​the​ ​promise​ ​of​ ​descendants​ ​numerous​ ​as​ ​the​ ​stars,​ ​and  land​ ​to​ ​belong​ ​to​ ​them. 

The​ ​blessing​ ​–​ ​the​ ​promise​ ​–​ ​was​ ​everything.​ ​​ ​But​ ​what​ ​Rebekah​ ​and​ ​Jacob​ ​heard​ ​(I​ ​guess  –​ ​I​ ​don’t​ ​really​ ​know​ ​what​ ​they​ ​thought​ ​the​ ​blessing​ ​consisted​ ​of.​ ​​ ​Maybe​ ​they​ ​wanted​ ​it  mostly​ ​because​ ​they​ ​couldn’t​ ​have​ ​it​ ​–​ ​but​ ​I’m​ ​imagining​ ​they​ ​imagined​ ​it​ ​as​ ​wealth,  control​ ​of​ ​so​ ​much​ ​wealth):​ ​​ ​The​ ​Promise​ ​was​ ​enormous​ ​–​ ​more​ ​than​ ​a​ ​person​ ​could  fathom.​ ​​ ​And​ ​yet,​ ​it​ ​passed​ ​from​ ​one​ ​generation​ ​to​ ​another​ ​in​ ​such​ ​frail​ ​ways.  Remember​ ​how​ ​Sarah​ ​and​ ​Abraham​ ​panicked​ ​and​ ​ended​ ​up​ ​with​ ​Ishmael​ ​too?​ ​​ ​In​ ​this  case​ ​there​ ​are​ ​the​ ​words​ ​and​ ​touch​ ​of​ ​a​ ​bedridden,​ ​blind​ ​man​ ​who​ ​believes​ ​himself​ ​at  death's​ ​door.​ ​​ ​He​ ​is​ ​not,​ ​in​ ​fact.​ ​​ ​He​ ​will​ ​live​ ​two​ ​or​ ​three​ ​more​ ​decades.  

He​ ​calls​ ​his​ ​good-hearted,​ ​but​ ​not​ ​the-sharpest-tool-in-the-box,​ ​son​ ​to​ ​his​ ​side​ ​and​ ​says,  "It’s​ ​time.​ ​​ ​Go​ ​kill​ ​and​ ​cook​ ​our​ ​last​ ​meal,​ ​so​ ​we​ ​can​ ​eat,​ ​and​ ​I​ ​can​ ​speak​ ​to​ ​you​ ​the  blessing.”​ ​​ ​Meanwhile​ ​the​ ​other​ ​two​ ​spring​ ​into​ ​action.​ ​​ ​Jacob​ ​gets​ ​on​ ​his​ ​costume​ ​and  practices​ ​his​ ​lines.​ ​​ ​Rebekah​ ​thaws​ ​the​ ​roast​ ​and​ ​bread​ ​she’s​ ​had​ ​ready​ ​for​ ​months.​ ​​ ​Isaac  knows​ ​something​ ​isn't​ ​right,​ ​but​ ​either​ ​he​ ​doesn't​ ​have​ ​the​ ​strength​ ​to​ ​discern​ ​for​ ​sure​ ​or  he​ ​doesn't​ ​have​ ​the​ ​heart​ ​to​ ​admit​ ​to​ ​himself​ ​what​ ​is​ ​happening​ ​–​ ​to​ ​admit​ ​to​ ​himself  what​ ​his​ ​own​ ​wife​ ​and​ ​child​ ​are​ ​doing.​ ​​ ​He'll​ ​risk​ ​the​ ​blessing​ ​before​ ​he'll​ ​admit​ ​that. 

It​ ​is​ ​sickening​ ​to​ ​listen​ ​to​ ​Jacob​ ​lie​ ​to​ ​his​ ​father.​ ​​ ​And​ ​worse​ ​to​ ​watch​ ​Esau​ ​weep.​ ​​ ​It’s  called​ ​pathos​ ​–​ ​this​ ​aching,​ ​sickening​ ​sorrow​ ​between​ ​the​ ​father​ ​and​ ​the​ ​son.​ ​​ ​Without  pathos​ ​we'd​ ​have​ ​a​ ​very​ ​skinny​ ​Bible​ ​–​ ​and​ ​hardly​ ​any​ ​literature​ ​at​ ​all.​ ​​ ​The​ ​parent​ ​failed  to​ ​keep​ ​one​ ​brother​ ​from​ ​doing​ ​his​ ​best​ ​to​ ​kill​ ​the​ ​other,​ ​and​ ​the​ ​injured​ ​brother​ ​is  devastated.​ ​​ ​The​ ​injury​ ​can't​ ​be​ ​undone​ ​or​ ​taken​ ​back.​ ​​ ​The​ ​daddy​ ​comforts​ ​the​ ​injured  one​ ​as​ ​best​ ​he​ ​can,​ ​already​ ​planning​ ​how​ ​to​ ​protect​ ​the​ ​lying​ ​child​ ​from​ ​the​ ​weeping​ ​one,  knowing​ ​that​ ​grief​ ​is​ ​going​ ​to​ ​turn​ ​to​ ​murderous​ ​rage​ ​really​ ​soon.  

Jacob​ ​inherits​ ​everything​ ​and​ ​becomes​ ​a​ ​fugitive.​ ​​ ​Through​ ​him​ ​the​ ​promise​ ​will  continue.​ ​​ ​Fleeing​ ​back​ ​to​ ​his​ ​mama's​ ​people,​ ​although​ ​he's​ ​never​ ​met​ ​them,​ ​where​ ​Esau  hopefully​ ​cannot​ ​follow.​ ​​ ​Genesis​ ​28:10-17​ ​is​ ​the​ ​centerpiece​ ​text​ ​of​ ​the​ ​Jacob​ ​narrative,  the​ ​stairway​ ​to​ ​heaven​ ​dream​ ​in​ ​which​ ​he​ ​receives​ ​the​ ​same​ ​promise​ ​his​ ​grandfather  received​ ​–​ ​directly​ ​from​ ​God. 

I​ ​love​ ​how​ ​Frederick​ ​Buechner​ ​wrote​ ​it​ ​in​ ​his​ ​Who's​ ​Who​ ​of​ ​Bible​ ​characters.​ ​​ ​The  hardest​ ​part​ ​of​ ​the​ ​Jacob​ ​story​ ​is​ ​the​ ​same​ ​hardest​ ​part​ ​of​ ​the​ ​David​ ​story​ ​and​ ​the​ ​Peter  story​ ​–​ ​and​ ​the​ ​Paul​ ​story:​ ​​ ​Jacob’s​ ​a​ ​jerk;​ ​he's​ ​a​ ​crook;​ ​he​ ​really​ ​is​ ​truly​ ​awful​ ​–​ ​and​ ​God  is​ ​on​ ​his​ ​side.​ ​​ ​Jacob​ ​wishes​ ​his​ ​brother​ ​dead,​ ​he​ ​steals​ ​from​ ​his​ ​dying​ ​father,​ ​he​ ​hightails  it​ ​out​ ​of​ ​town​ ​–​ ​and​ ​God​ ​blesses​ ​him​ ​double.  

It​ ​makes​ ​me​ ​crazy.​ ​​ ​I​ ​want​ ​the​ ​Bible​ ​to​ ​make​ ​sense​ ​–​ ​not​ ​just​ ​any​ ​sense,​ ​but​ ​the​ ​sense​ ​I  like,​ ​where​ ​the​ ​good​ ​things​ ​happen​ ​to​ ​good​ ​people​ ​who​ ​make​ ​good​ ​choices​ ​to​ ​be​ ​kind​ ​and  generous​ ​to​ ​everyone​ ​all​ ​the​ ​time​ ​–​ ​people​ ​who,​ ​when​ ​they​ ​get​ ​bored​ ​or​ ​scared,​ ​don’t  turn​ ​selfish​ ​and​ ​jealous​ ​and​ ​conniving​ ​and​ ​mean.​ ​​ ​But​ ​of​ ​course​ ​that​ ​can't​ ​be​ ​how​ ​things  work,​ ​since​ ​that​ ​isn't​ ​how​ ​people​ ​are.​ ​​ ​What​ ​could​ ​God​ ​get​ ​done​ ​only​ ​using​ ​people​ ​who  only​ ​ever​ ​make​ ​good​ ​choices?​ ​​ ​Practically​ ​nothing,​ ​I​ ​suspect. 

Years​ ​ago​ ​a​ ​certain​ ​boy​ ​was​ ​really,​ ​really​ ​terrible​ ​to​ ​one​ ​of​ ​my​ ​girls.​ ​​ ​He​ ​was​ ​a​ ​year​ ​or  two​ ​ahead​ ​of​ ​her​ ​in​ ​high​ ​school.​ ​​ ​I​ ​fantasized​ ​about​ ​running​ ​over​ ​him​ ​with​ ​my​ ​car.​ ​​ ​My  daughter​ ​said,​ ​"Let​ ​it​ ​go,​ ​Mom.​ ​​ ​The​ ​universe​ ​will​ ​take​ ​care​ ​of​ ​him.”​ ​​ ​Here's​ ​the​ ​thing:  when​ ​it's​ ​not​ ​my​ ​life​ ​and​ ​not​ ​my​ ​kid,​ ​especially​ ​when​ ​it's​ ​a​ ​story​ ​on​ ​a​ ​page,​ ​I​ ​can​ ​see​ ​that  faith​ ​in​ ​God​ ​can​ ​only​ ​happen​ ​in​ ​the​ ​ordinary​ ​flow​ ​of​ ​ordinary​ ​human​ ​existence,​ ​in​ ​the  course​ ​of​ ​how​ ​people​ ​truly​ ​live​ ​and​ ​behave​ ​–​ ​not​ ​how​ ​they​ ​ought​ ​to​ ​behave​ ​or​ ​should  behave,​ ​but​ ​how​ ​we​ ​actually​ ​DO​ ​behave​ ​in​ ​the​ ​messiness​ ​of​ ​being​ ​alive​ ​and​ ​being​ ​related  to​ ​other​ ​human​ ​beings. 

It​ ​was​ ​God's​ ​idea​ ​to​ ​arrange​ ​us​ ​into​ ​families​ ​in​ ​the​ ​first​ ​place.​ ​​ ​When​ ​it​ ​works,​ ​it's  awesome.​ ​​ ​But​ ​even​ ​when​ ​it​ ​works​ ​it’s​ ​not​ ​awesome​ ​every​ ​day​ ​–​ ​amen?​ ​​ ​Some​ ​days​ ​stink  –​ ​amen?​ ​​ ​And​ ​for​ ​clarification:​ ​​ ​by​ family​​ I’m​ ​talking​ ​about​ ​people​ ​who​ ​are​ ​blood​ ​kin​ ​to  each​ ​other.​ ​​ ​I’m​ ​also​ ​talking​ ​about​ ​people​ ​who​ ​just​ ​sort​ ​of​ ​fall​ ​in​ ​together​ ​and​ ​end​ ​up  calling​ ​each​ ​other​ ​​family.​ ​​ ​I​ ​am​ ​also​ ​talking​ ​about​ ​church:​ ​​ ​folks​ ​with​ ​nothing​ ​in​ ​common  but​ ​faith.​ ​​ ​It​ ​is​ ​all​ ​family. 

But​ ​every​ ​single​ ​family​ ​that​ ​ever​ ​was​ ​or​ ​is​ ​or​ ​will​ ​be​ ​has​ ​one​ ​thing​ ​in​ ​common.​ ​​ ​For  better​ ​or​ ​worse,​ ​we​ ​are​ ​what​ ​God​ ​has​ ​to​ ​work​ ​with.​ ​​ ​How​ ​families​ ​ought​ ​to​ ​act​ ​and should​ ​act​ ​may​ ​seem​ ​obvious.​ ​​ ​It​ ​just​ ​isn't​ ​very​ ​relevant​ ​when​ ​it​ ​comes​ ​to​ ​God’s​ ​will  getting​ ​worked​ ​out​ ​in​ ​the​ ​world. 

Jacob​ ​was​ ​a​ ​trickster​ ​and​ ​a​ ​crook.​ ​​ ​But​ ​he​ ​had​ ​nothing​ ​on​ ​his​ ​Uncle​ ​Laban.​ ​​ ​(You’ll​ ​read  about​ ​him​ ​in​ ​this​ ​week’s​ ​homework.)​ ​​ ​Uncle​ ​Laban​ ​swindled​ ​Jacob​ ​out​ ​of​ ​14​ ​years​ ​of  labor​ ​before​ ​Jacob​ ​knew​ ​what​ ​hit​ ​him.​ ​​ ​Jacob​ ​eventually​ ​caught​ ​on​ ​–​ ​and​ ​caught​ ​up​ ​in​ ​the  swindling​ ​business.​ ​​ ​He​ ​swindled​ ​Laban​ ​right​ ​back​ ​and​ ​then​ ​had​ ​to​ ​run​ ​away​ ​again,​ ​this  time​ ​with​ ​his​ ​four​ ​baby​ ​mamas:​ ​​ ​two​ ​wives,​ ​two​ ​concubines,​ ​as​ ​many​ ​as​ ​two​ ​dozen​ ​kids,  servants,​ ​flocks​ ​and​ ​herds.​ ​​ ​It​ ​was​ ​a​ ​slow​ ​train. 

And​ ​guess​ ​where​ ​they​ ​were​ ​headed?​ ​​ ​Back​ ​to​ ​Esau​ ​–​ ​about​ ​whom​ ​he​ ​had​ ​no​ ​idea:​ ​​ ​will​ ​he  take​ ​us​ ​in​ ​or​ ​kill​ ​all​ ​of​ ​us​ ​on​ ​sight?​ ​​ ​He​ ​has​ ​nowhere​ ​else​ ​to​ ​go.​ ​​ ​Plus,​ ​the​ ​Promise​ ​sends  him​ ​there.​ ​​ ​I​ ​like​ ​thinking​ ​God​ ​could​ ​be​ ​generous​ ​with​ ​young​ ​Jacob,​ ​because​ ​God​ ​knew  what​ ​the​ ​universe​ ​had​ ​planned​ ​for​ ​him​ ​over​ ​the​ ​next​ ​thirty​ ​years.​ ​​ ​If​ ​God​ ​could​ ​move​ ​the  promise​ ​from​ ​one​ ​generation​ ​to​ ​the​ ​next​ ​only​ ​when​ ​folks​ ​were​ ​acting​ ​right,​ ​it​ ​would  have​ ​never​ ​gotten​ ​past​ ​Abraham​ ​and​ ​Sarah. 

And​ ​I’m​ ​convinced​ ​it’s​ ​not​ ​by​ ​default​ ​either,​ ​as​ ​if​ ​God​ ​is​ ​settling​ ​with​ ​less​ ​than​ ​what​ ​God  wishes​ ​for​ ​us.​ ​​ ​But​ ​rather,​ ​God​ ​knows​ ​it​ ​is​ ​very​ ​difficult​ ​to​ ​be​ ​a​ ​human​ ​being​ ​related​ ​to  other​ ​human​ ​beings.​ ​​ ​Most​ ​of​ ​us​ ​are​ ​calculating​ ​and​ ​covetous​ ​on​ ​our​ ​best​ ​days.​ ​​ ​The​ ​only  faith​ ​we​ ​have​ ​is​ ​the​ ​faith​ ​God​ ​gives​ ​us.​ ​​ ​And​ ​this​ ​is​ ​what​ ​God​ ​has​ ​to​ ​work​ ​with​ ​–​ ​by​ ​God's  own​ ​design,​ ​mind​ ​you,​ ​but​ ​still,​ ​this​ ​is​ ​it.  

It's​ ​true​ ​that​ ​Jacob​ ​got​ ​the​ ​blessing,​ ​but​ ​I'm​ ​not​ ​sure​ ​Esau​ ​didn't​ ​have​ ​the​ ​happier​ ​life.​ ​​ ​He  certainly​ ​had​ ​less​ ​drama.​ ​​ ​Everything​ ​terrible​ ​Jacob​ ​did​ ​to​ ​his​ ​own​ ​daddy,​ ​was​ ​paid​ ​back  to​ ​him​ ​tenfold​ ​by​ ​his​ ​own​ ​sons.​ ​​ ​They​ ​were​ ​horrible​ ​brothers.​ ​​ ​And​ ​also​ ​next​ ​to​ ​inherit  the​ ​blessing,​ ​then​ ​lose​ ​it​ ​for​ ​the​ ​next​ ​400​ ​years,​ ​obliterated​ ​from​ ​their​ ​memories.​ ​​ ​The  very​ ​ground​ ​you​ ​lie​ ​upon​ ​shall​ ​be​ ​yours​ ​and​ ​your​ ​descendants’,​ ​is​ ​what​ ​God​ ​said​ ​in  Jacob's​ ​dream.​ ​​ ​Jacob​ ​could​ ​reach​ ​out​ ​his​ ​hand​ ​and​ ​touch​ ​it.​ ​​ ​And​ ​yet,​ ​it​ ​wasn’t​ ​to​ ​happen  in​ ​his​ ​lifetime.  

Turns​ ​out​ ​the​ ​fugitive​ ​isn't​ ​Jacob​ ​after​ ​all.​ ​​ ​The​ ​fugitive​ ​is​ ​the​ ​blessing​ ​itself​ ​–​ ​forever  slipping​ ​between​ ​the​ ​petty​ ​coveting​ ​and​ ​the​ ​calculations​ ​of​ ​brothers,​ ​generations​ ​of  brothers​ ​–​ ​and​ ​a​ ​sister​ ​here​ ​and​ ​there​ ​–​ ​who​ ​simply​ ​cannot​ ​trust​ ​the​ ​Father's​ ​love​ ​for  them.​ ​​ ​A​ ​blessing​ ​the​ ​fulfillment​ ​of​ ​which​ ​is​ ​always​ ​moving​ ​further​ ​and​ ​further​ ​away​ ​in  time​ ​and​ ​space​ ​than​ ​Jacob​ ​ever​ ​could​ ​have​ ​dreamed,​ ​the​ ​night​ ​he​ ​dreamed​ ​it​ ​on​ ​his​ ​stone  pillow.​ ​​ ​This​ ​promise​ ​he​ ​covets​ ​and​ ​cannot​ ​take​ ​care​ ​of:​ ​​ ​400​ ​years​ ​it’s​ ​buried​ ​in​ ​Egypt,  utterly​ ​forgotten​ ​by​ ​Jacob's​ ​great-grandchildren's​ ​children,​ ​until​ ​a​ ​baby​ ​in​ ​a​ ​basket  comes​ ​floating​ ​down​ ​a​ ​river​ ​to​ ​be​ ​discovered​ ​by​ ​a​ ​princess​ ​who​ ​carries​ ​it​ ​home​ ​and​ ​says,  "Can​ ​we​ ​keep​ ​him,​ ​Daddy?”​ ​​ ​Having​ ​no​ ​idea​ ​there​ ​was​ ​a​ ​fugitive​ ​promise​ ​in​ ​the​ ​basket  too,​ ​that​ ​very,​ ​very​ ​naïve​ ​daddy​ ​–​ ​he​ ​told​ ​her​ ​​yes. 

​Would​ ​you​ ​pray​ ​with​ ​me?