Then Jacob gave Esau bread and pottage of lentils, and he ate and drank, and rose and went his way. Thus Esau despised his birthright. — Genesis 25:34 (RSV)
Here’s one of those Scriptures you’ll never see quoted out of context on a t-shirt or refrigerator magnet. I like those. I’ve never been a fan of the practice of picking inspirational Scriptures and applying them to whatever little thing we have going on, as if Paul was really thinking about high school football when he dictated Philippians 4:13. UGH. But I digress.
Esau has been on my heart and mind a lot recently, particularly after a conversation with my priest, during which the slim odds of my success in the ordination process were made known (or at least implied). I have always recognized this as a possibility. My dismissal from my first and only pastoral position was bound to have far-reaching consequences, and it seems that my being honest about it still won’t do me any favors. While I knew in my head it was a possibility that this was something to which I may never be able to return, the reality of it didn’t hit my heart until after that conversation. I very well may have despised my birthright and lost my blessing, all for something immeasurably inferior.
Esau is the firstborn child of Isaac and Rebekah, and therefore, according to ancient near eastern custom, he is entitled to the blessing of the firstborn, endowing him with the promise made to Abraham. Further, he would be the one to inherit his father’s house. God, however, predicts that Esau will be supplanted by Jacob, and (surprise!) the Lord was right. Esau stupidly expresses willingness to trade all of that blessing and honor for a bowl of soup. Later on, his brother takes advantage and steals that blessing, leaving Esau to weep and pick up the pieces.
I think we are all, at one time or another, Esau. We all have moments in our lives in which we trade our holy calling as children of God for something unremarkable that seems worth it at the time. Sometimes, we are just too dull to see that this is what we are doing.
At this point, I know I have motivated you enough (sarcasm). In all seriousness, though, there is good news. Esau still receives a blessing, though not the primary one, which means there is hope for you and I as well. We are not Esau, at least not entirely, and so we are free to look at this story and learn from it before we stumble headlong and lose it all. What we must do is both simple and difficult. Namely, we must start allowing God to touch every aspect of our lives.
Are we sexually unhealthy and dependent? We need to invite God into that uncomfortable space. Do our politics reflect our fears and selfishness more than our faith? We need to let God into the voting booth with us. Do we blame those who suffer rather than offer them our hand? We need to start making offerings to God by giving of our abundance, and asking him for the compassion of Christ. Do we harbor feelings of guilt, shame, or resentment? We need to allow God’s forgiveness to prompt our own, whether toward ourselves or others. As in my case, do our plans seem to lead us back to the same place of despair? We need to seek the will of God for our lives and keep our eyes open for the blessing he yearns to give us.
The truth is that we are children of God (Ephesians 1:5), co-heirs of the promise in Christ Jesus. We are promised salvation, not just in the future, but here and now. Take it from us (me and Esau), and don’t let the pull of worldly (read “temporary”) success, prosperity, comfort, and desire lure you from the Kingdom of God. Bring this teaching with you into every interaction, and ask yourself whether or not what you are about to say or do will bring you closer to the footsteps of Christ.
I wish I had known to do this sooner, but then again, perhaps it was meant to be this way. Perhaps I am meant to warn and encourage you this day. I hope I have done just that.
Peace be with you!