Seventh Sunday after Trinity 2023

 

The Old Testament reading for this Sunday, Genesis 28:10-19a, continues the story of Jacob.

Last Sunday, we read the beginning of the Jacob story. Jacob is born gripping onto his twin brother Esau’s heel. Esau goes on to make a reputation for himself, but when he comes to the end of his resources he must surrender the life that is his by right, to receive life back from his brother as gift. I suggested that Esau is a type, or representative, for us and our desire to make a name for ourselves in the world; and that Jacob is a type for Jesus, the brother who will not let us go and who holds out his life in us as gift to all who will surrender the life they cannot keep.

This Sunday, we find Jacob in the wilderness, having left his family home. When night falls, he sleeps, and dreams, and in his dream he sees a ziggurat reaching to the heavens. This is the same structure known as the tower of Babel, the first concerted human effort to build a lasting renown. In his dream, the Lord comes and stands next to him and promises never to leave him, wherever he goes, and to bring him home, and to give him many descendants.

I want to suggest that this points us to the temptations of Jesus, where immediately after he is baptised in the river Jordan, Jesus goes into the wilderness and is tested by the satan, or counsel for the prosecution in the heavenly court. Jesus is offered the rule over all earthly kingdoms, but turns this down, choosing instead to trust the Lord God to be with him wherever he goes (even descending into hell) and give him hope of many descendants in the land of the living.

Jacob awakes from his dream and declares that the Lord was present in this place, and he had not known it. God is present in every place—and perhaps especially the places of our failure, our vulnerability, and our wrestling with our motives—but God is only known to us by divine self-revelation.

Where have you been surprised to encounter the living God?

Where do you need to encounter God today?

 

Sixth Sunday after Trinity 2023

Lectionary readings: Genesis 25:19-34 and Romans 8:1-11

The Old Testament reading this Sunday introduces the story of Father Abraham’s grandsons. Twin boys, they wrestled with one another even before they were born.

Esau was the first to break out from the confines of their mother’s womb, a man in a hurry to prove himself. But his brother Jacob refused to let go of him, arriving in the world gripping his brother’s heel.

As they grew up, Esau earned a public reputation as a skilful hunter, a man whose exploits fed bellies and hungry imaginations; while Jacob was a quiet man, a private person, easily overlooked by the wider community.

But the day came when Esau returned from the hunt exhausted and famished. Utterly at the end of himself, his strength, and his resources, to the point of believing he was about to die. Jacob was cooking a stew. Esau asked for some, to revive him. Jacob replied that it would cost Esau his birthright, as the firstborn. Esau responded that his birthright was of no use to him in this moment; but Jacob insisted, and Esau agreed. Then Jacob gave his brother bread and meat, and drink, because Esau had surrendered his right; and Esau was revived and went on his way.

Esau surrendered his life as right and received it back as gift.

And from that day on, whatever Esau did was attributed to Jacob in him.

This account points to Christ, and our relationship with him.

We are Esau, desperate for independence, to earn a reputation, to be master of our own life. “What do you do?” we ask one another, and “Where are you from?” How far have you come from where you started out?

This is the life we build.

Yet, quietly, God and life and circumstance trick us out of the independence we prize. Our bodies age, our strength fails us. As any parent will tell you, just as they have figured out how to parent a three-year old, she is six, or twelve, and the goal posts have moved and keep moving. One step ahead of us.

Saint Paul, writing to the church in Rome, called it living according to the flesh.

‘The flesh’ is a term the Scriptures employ to describe unaided human effort. The flesh is not inherently bad—we are made in the image of God, God’s good creation in whom God delights. But the flesh is inherently compromised—sin invades and affects us like long-Covid. It is perfectly possible to live according to the flesh, for a long time—perhaps even a lifetime—especially with the kinds of resources—the privileges—many of us have, as highly-educated middle-class professionals; and it isn’t a bad thing…but, sooner or later, it will kill you. Eventually, we will run out of ourselves.

Esau says to Jacob, the brother who would not let go of him, ‘Give to me of the food you have prepared.’ But Jacob will not be ignored, turned to only in crisis: “Oh, God, if you only do this one thing for me, I will go to church every week, for ever!” You cannot bargain with God. Jacob has what Esau needs, but for Esau to receive it will cost him his self-sufficiency.

This is the life we surrender.

Jesus is the brother who will not let us go, whose grasp on us will not be broken, though we pass from the womb to the world, or the womb of this world into the world to come. This Jesus possesses the food that revives both body and soul, and it is ours to have. This is both a free gift, and a prize that costs us everything. For though we cannot buy this food, it is ours when we surrender the life that is ours by right—

a life that is dying, and of no use to us—

in exchange for the life of God. The Spirit of God that raised Jesus from the dead—

when he laid down the life that was his by right—

living Christ’s life in us.

This is the life we receive.

That’s a hell of an heavenly exchange.

Until you run out of yourself, you will have no need for God. I don’t mean that until you run out of yourself, you won’t perceive your need for God. I mean, you won’t need God. God has built enough blessing into creation. But when you come to the end of yourself, you arrive home at last. To the aroma of home-cooking, and a choice to make.

Come and eat. Everything is ready. We were just waiting for you.