Tension and Presence, Sermon July 13 2014

Sermon July 13 2014 

Genesis 25:19-34 

Psalm 119:105-112 

Romans 8:1-11 

Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23 

“Tension and Presence" 

I've met lots of families over the past 15 years or so as a pastor. And they all have interesting stories to tell. Some of the stories are hilarious—especially to the families who are living them and telling them. Some are just funny to a few within that family, while the others seem embarrassed. Some of the stories I've heard families tell are tragic. Some seem to go on and on without much point other than those stories establish an identity or a way of belonging within a family or community. We tell stories that are beautiful. We tell stories that are painful. And some people tell stories that are beautiful and painful at the same time. Actually, many of our family stories are like that last one, beautiful and painful. Sometimes the beauty takes time and sometimes the pain remains for a long time, what feels like forever.  

The most real stories, the ones that touch us the most deeply often are those beautiful painful stories—even when we know that they aren't strictly factual, but they convey something that is incredibly true. My father told stories like that, not strictly factual, but true somehow. The truth may be about humanity in general or a truth about something very personal to us. And sometimes our favorite stories reveal something to us that we always needed to know as truth, reassuring us, giving us hope, and encouraging us in some way to try, knowing that we could succeed.  

This is the beginning of the story of Isaac and Rebekah's two sons, Esau and Jacob, here we are reminded how different the two boys will be. I mean from the very beginning. As soon as Rebekah feels them moving inside her, she feels them struggling . . . wrestling. The twins were the answer to Isaac's prayer, the answer, the text implies of twenty years of prayer. And now that she's pregnant, all is not rosy. But that's how family stories go isn't it? Often wonderful events have their own sets of complications . . .  the fears, the doubts, the worries.  

This family story (the story of God's people) is just beginning, and Abraham's son, Isaac, is God's fulfillment of a promise. The promise is that God make Abraham's and Sarah's descendants number like the stars in the sky, like the sands on a beach.  

Scripture says that Rebekah prayed to God about the struggle of her pregnancy, even wondering if it's worth her pain. The word from God tells of the future, tells her that her sons will be nations, but separate nations, and that the older will serve the younger in some way. The distinctions between the boys and the story of their family mysteries and shadows grow as their birth story is told. Esau was born first, the older, with red skin and hairy, that’s what Esau. Jacob was born holding onto Esau's heel, and heel in Hebrew implies some kind of treachery or supplanting Esau's place. We are told here, what will happen. We are told here where the story is going.  

As the boys grew up, Esau became a great hunter, an outdoorsman; Jacob was more of a homebody, staying near their dwellings. Isaac related well to Esau because he enjoyed the meat Esau hunted; Rebekah was closer to Jacob. The boys were divided by the stories of their birth and by the preferences of their parents. We could probably all tell stories like this one--sometimes in good humor, sometimes with painful truth.  

Then we hear of the incident that will divide them for years, well, I think that it's a warning story of the event that will divide them. Picture it. Jacob, the hunter, came in from the fields, maybe hunting, maybe farming. He was sweaty and hot, dirty from the day of work. And Jacob was cooking a stew. It was red--like Esau. And it was Esau's favorite.  

(Since I know the rest of the story, I sometimes wonder if Jacob was waiting with Esau's favorite food on purpose on a day he knew Esau would do anything for food. Here, Jacob is established as a trickster and almost, but not quite a cheater and kind of a smooth talker. Of course, later he meets his match.)  

Esau was desperately hungry, like young men get hungry—like they can never be filled. Jacob had his favorite food and wanted Esau's birthright—the elder son's share of the father's wealth. So he took it. Later he would take more, but the story of their lives together and apart was set from this early story of their lives as brothers and because their division was determined many years before.  

Family stories let us into the stories of humanity. And family stories about our family of faith bring us into humanity's relationship with God—and they are just as complicated as our family stories, the ones we've lived in the here and now. We can understand our stories in the same way, as experiences of faith. And when we understand our stories as stories of faith, as stories about our relationship with God, our connections to others, we can see our relationships with others, family, friends, and strangers differently.  

The story of Jacob and Esau is an example of how people don't love one another when they use one another to get what they want. Though I'd say that Esau wasn't very wise or have much foresight, he still used Jacob because he just wanted the stew. More to the point, I'm sure that Jacob used Esau because he wanted his share of Isaac's estate, the elder son's birthright.  

This is a scene in a book by one of my favorite authors, he writes fantasy novels, but often has a deep insight into humanity and our relationship to the divine and one another.  

An old woman (who happens to be a witch) and a priest are sitting by the road having a conversation. 

(The conversation starts on the classic subject of "how many angels can dance on the head of a pin?") 

"Sixteen!" "You've counted sixteen?" said Oats [the priest] eventually. "No, but it is as good an answer as any you'll get. And that's what you holy men discuss is it?" "Not usually. There is a very interesting debate raging at the moment on the nature of sin, for example." "And what do they think? Against it, are they?" "It is not as simple as that. It's not a black and white issue. There are so many shades of gray." "Nope." "Pardon?" There's no grays, only white that's got grubby. I'm surprised you don't know that. And sin, young man, is when you treat people as things. Including yourself. That's what sin is." "It's a lot more complicated than that--" "No it ain't. When people say things are a lot more complicated than that, they means they're getting worried that they won't like the truth. People as things, that's where it starts." "Oh, I'm sure there are worse crimes-" "But they Starts with thinking about people as things…"1 

Love's impossible if we don't think of people as people instead of things. Love is impossible when we believe we can use another person--spouses, children, friends, employees. Love begins when we see people as subjects of our love and subjects of God's love--and Granny Weatherwax (that’s the witch in the previous story) is right, we can't treat ourselves as things either, or let others treat us that way.  

What we can do is learn from the stories of our families, the stories we tell and the stories we hide. The tension in our stories and the stories of our faith can prod us to seek love, seek the presence of God within those stories.  

And who is God to us? How does God treat us?  

Jacob, the trickster and sometime cheat, became the father of twelve sons. Though Esau was seen as the loser, he, too, became the father of a nation, though the Israelites—Jacob's descendants—were their rivals.  

I don't recommend their relationship as a model for our own family relationships—but the way that God relates to them is commendable. Like the parable, God's love is strewn over them all like seeds on the road, on the rocks, on the weeds, and on the fields. Like in Jesus's story, God's presence was indiscriminate—the realm of God can be glimpsed anywhere that love overwhelms sorrow and anywhere that people continue to seek justice for the oppressed, feed the hungry, house the homeless, heal the sick, and find worthy work for all.   

The stories we tell, the stories we live, make us who we are to a certain extent. Yet we can choose which stories we hold onto and which stories we forgive. We can view the stories through the eyes of love--God's generous eyes and hear them through God's ears. Knowing God's heart to be generous, seeding God's word of love over everyone within range, we, too, can be generous with our love.  

Life is still complicated—and some folks aren't easy to love. In my opinion, Jacob as he's described is one of those people that is hard to love. And maybe Esau wasn't easy to love either, I don't know. The stories of our lives are peppered with people that are hard to love—maybe we are those people. To some of “those people” I know I can be "those people."  

Our differences can be opportunities to show how expansive God's love is. Instead of projecting some kind of judgment, we have the opportunity to recognize and love the differences we find. We can find out, like a children's story I once read, that within each of us is a shard of God's presence and love and the more we recognize and help reveal, the more complete our picture of God.2 So "those people" are God's people, just like we are, just like I am and you are.  

God is still with us—God's presence is still with us. In the tension that exists within our differences, God is there. God is there with the outdoorsman, hunting in the fields and God is in the tents with the cook. God is with us at tense family meals, in the frantic pace of everyday life, in the confusion and the anxiety of aging and youth, in the sameness and in diversity.  

Knowing the stories of the bible helps us know that God is present, too, in the stories of our own lives and families. The lives of our ancestors in faith are just as messy as our own and though we don't know everything about them or all of their stories, they still help recognize God in our messiness.  

To the glory of God--revealed to us in the messy beauty, in the stories we tell and in the people we meet. Amen. 

1 http://blog.gaiam.com/quotes/authors/terry-pratchett/58647 

2 Old Turtle and the Broken Truth, Douglas Wood