A Tale of Two Blessings: Jacob's Quest, Part II

Twenty years had passed since the day Jacob set foot in Paddan-Aram with nothing more than his shepherd's staff. At least seven of those years had flown by as if in a matter of days as he worked to wed the love of his life, Rachel. The next seven passed in a web of intrigue and rivalry as he still worked for Rachel, having been tricked into first marrying her older sister, Leah. What was Laban thinking? After that first week of shock and disgust had passed and he had married Rachel, too, things just kept getting worse and worse because Rachel couldn't have children. The drama was endless. Leah had borne him six sons before Rachel had any. But he still loved only Rachel. It wasn't his fault Laban had tricked him into marrying Leah, was it?

Meanwhile, both Leah and Rachel--in round after round of competition for his affections--had given him their handmaids, Zilpah and Bilhah, to wed. First one and then another bore him children until he had almost gotten confused on all their names. The emotional warring weakened his nerves, until one day he snapped at his lovely Rachel, who blamed him, of all things, for not giving her a son. How exactly that was his fault when Leah had six, he had no idea. Watching his two sister-wives play out the wrestling match he had known since his mother's womb with Esau had worn down his patience more than he realized. Rachel wasn't going to pin this one on him.

When Rachel finally had a son, Joseph, Jacob decided it was time to show him off to his father Isaac back home in Canaan. Unbelievably, his fragile father was still alive. What about his precious mother? Strange that he hadn't heard from her in all these years. Memories of her began to haunt him. Her precious smile and the mischievous twinkle in her bewitching eyes . . . how her eyes had lit with an angelic glow as she said she would take Jacob's curse if Isaac discovered their scheme. Had she--? Jacob swallowed his pride and approached leathery, moody Laban on a day when he seemed to be in a good mood. Would he be able to head back home to see his family after all these years? Jacob remembered Isaac telling him that his own father Abraham had forbidden him even to set foot in Haran. It really was a weird place with all sorts of creepy idols and foreign customs. He was afraid these would rub off on his children.

Besides, Jacob was beginning to feel like a slave after fourteen years with nothing to show for it but his wives and children. Not that they weren't important, but how was he supposed to provide for them? And what about the blessing of Isaac and the prosperity that went with the blessing? Jacob watched Laban's shifty eyes as he finagled him into staying. In a feint of generosity, he told Jacob if he stayed, he could name his own wages. Jacob for some reason fell for this idea, taking the high road and denying any wages other than the castoff speckled, streaked, spotted, and brown stragglers in Laban's flocks and herds. Laban licked his lips deliciously and agreed. Then he separated all the misfits into his own arena just to be sure Jacob couldn't trick him into some newfangled breeding scheme.

But one night Jacob had a dream, and God revealed to him exactly what to do. Jacob tried it and it worked. The flocks bred just as the Lord had said, and their offspring were peppered with spots and speckles. There was no denying it. Jacob knew without a doubt that God had been watching in the shadows all these years. Six more exhausting years had passed, and Jacob was beginning to feel like an old man. Come to think of it, he was almost as old now at 97 as his grandfather Abraham had been when Jacob's father Isaac was born. His yearning for home had only deepened in the past six years, and now his ache could not be denied. But he knew what Laban would say. No. Laban wasn't stupid. Jacob had seen his eyes glitter with malice and greed every time the flocks birthed speckled, spotted, streaked, or brown. Laban's sons had even just accused him yesterday of stealing their father's flocks away from him. Jacob wouldn't do something like that.

But Laban's eyes had turned black with rancor. Jacob knew that baleful look all too well. His mind flashed back to that desperate night when Esau's eyes blazed at him as he tightened his grip on his knife. Jacob must flee. God would be with him. He had already commanded Jacob more than once to "get out of this country." This must be the same urgent Voice Abraham had heard all those many, many years ago. It was strange how close by his grandfather sometimes seemed. Jacob vividly remembered those sacred stories he used to tell--the one about his father Isaac on the altar, and the one where God had changed Abram's name. He had been told he was a lot like him, peaceable, diplomatic, dodging conflict, using strategy where a show of strength might be misunderstood. How he missed him! The spirit of the patriarchs stirred in Jacob's soul as he determined to follow his own God. He left Paddan-Aram.

To be exact, he fled. Just like he had Beersheba all those years before. On a forced march, he took all his wives and children and all his mass possessions--his rightful wages, which Laban had changed ten times in twenty years--and headed for the mountains of Gilead. His wives and children were afraid, but Jacob assured them this was God's will. There was no turning back. Seven days went by. Then Jacob heard the hoofbeats coming. Laban was driving his band straight up the hillside. The showdown had arrived. Laban played the victim as he always did whenever he couldn't have his own way. He even went so far as to say that every single thing Jacob owned belonged to him--not only his flocks and herds but also his wives and even his children. He even sneered that Jacob's God was "the God of your father." It was almost as if Jacob didn't even exist! But this showdown had had twenty years to ripen, and Jacob in front of a band of witnesses laid out his case and won. His anger flared as Laban pried through all his things to find his stolen gods. Gods? There is no God but one, Jacob glared.

"May the Lord watch between us" was not a blessing but a barrier. Jacob's bridges had been burned. But in a burst of nostalgia he couldn't explain, Jacob looked ahead by looking back. He would reach out to Esau. No, he didn't need to pass through Seir, but Esau should know he was coming. Jacob should make the first move and reach out in good faith. After all, it was the least he could do. He sent messengers before him to Esau, calling him "my lord Esau" from "your servant Jacob" (Genesis 32:3). This might do it. He even instructed the messengers to tell Esau all he had, "that I might find favor in your sight" (Genesis 32:5). Was he implying a forfeit of the blessing? Jacob asked himself. No reply. Just the inscrutable news that Esau was coming to meet him with 400 men.

Jacob began to tremble and was "greatly afraid and distressed" (Genesis 32:7). Quickly, he separated his family into two companies like a battlefield. If one dies, at least the other might escape, his mind raced. All he could see before him was Esau's face that night he took his blessing away . . . his bloodshot eyes in his rugged, red face. His chilling cries of agony and bitterness still called out to Jacob's soul on a frosty night among the sheep. He had had no idea Esau would care that much. After all, he had despised his birthright all those years ago. But something about that helpless cry compelled him, like a gnashing of teeth that would not be denied. "Have you only one blessing, my father?" Esau had pleaded like a man condemned to die. "Bless me, even me also, O my father!" (Genesis 27:38). How many years had Jacob felt the same way. And all these years since then, that lost and desolate cry had wrenched the joy out of one sweet and suspenseful hour--the hour Jacob had stolen his father's love and favor when Isaac thought Jacob was Esau.

He knew Isaac had blessed him only because he couldn't see his face. He had hurt his blind father deeply, too--made a fool of him, made the most sacred rite of passage a charade, shaming his father, really, that he had so forgotten his own father's God that he almost gave the irrevocable blessing of Abraham to the wrong son. And for that one hour of his father's misplaced and yet long overdue affection, Jacob had endured exile for twenty years. He had lost his mother--the news had filtered back to him by now--he had lost . . . He couldn't even pinpoint all he had lost. But he knew he really hadn't won. Yes, the God of his father had been with him, as He promised at Bethel. But something just wasn't right.

And Jacob didn't know what it was. He was losing time thinking like this--but, really, it had all happened so fast--fear of Esau had triggered all this emotion welling up from somewhere deep inside him, seizing him in a few electrified seconds of guilt and shame. He had better shake this off and get with it. He would think like Esau. What he would do. What he might want. What was the next move on the chessboard-turned-war-camp? There was no way he could win this time. And for the first time in his life, Jacob started looking at himself from the viewpoint of the brother he had outsmarted. And then he got to thinking about just what it meant to be called "Jacob." He fell on his knees.

In the first recorded prayer of his life, Jacob prayed, "O God of my father Abraham and God of my father Isaac" (Genesis 32:9). He quoted God's command to return to Canaan. He quoted his promises from Bethel. He confessed his unworthiness, "I am not worthy of the least of all the mercies and of all the truth which you have shown your servant. Deliver me, I pray, from the hand of my brother, from the hand of Esau; for I fear him, lest he come and attack me and the mother with the children" (Genesis 22:11). And he closed abruptly quoting the promise of Abraham. Then he tried to settle down to rest in the camp--the camp full of angels when he had first arrived (Genesis 32:1-2). This was a good prayer, Jacob reflected. It should work.

But let's be sure. Jacob got back up. He prepared a present of multiple droves of flocks, herds, and cattle--wave after wave of concession and contrition. "I will appease him with the present that goes before me . . . perhaps he will accept me" (Genesis 32:20). That strategy ought to work. What next? Then Jacob took his two wives and his two maidservants and his eleven sons and crossed over the ford of Jabbok. He sent over all he had. And Jacob was left alone. He really needed to get to the bottom of this. He didn't feel any better at all. Was he getting sick?

And then out of the pitch-black darkness, a man grabbed him and threw him to the ground. This must be Esau in the flesh after all these years. Funny I didn't hear him coming, skillful hunter that he is. Jacob clenches his jaw and flips his opponent in seconds. We'll see about this. Wow, he's a lot stronger than I thought, but I'll get him. What happened to all those angels I saw when we first arrived? Don't I get any backup? Jacob fights for dear life, emotion and adrenaline rivaling for the upper hand. Stay calm. And all those kind thoughts I've just been thinking. I should have known. Esau never forgets. Well, I haven't been wrestling wild beasts all these years for nothing. Ha! I remember moving that enormous stone off the well when all those lazy bums just stood there and looked at me as Rachel arrived on the scene. But that was twenty years ago.

This goes on for hours. Even the longest wrestling matches of history usually don't last longer than thirty minutes. This is uncanny. I wish I could see his face. Wait, this isn't Esau. How could I have forgotten? Esau is hairy all over. This is a total stranger. So far, so good. I'm not winning, but at least I'm not losing. But I sure have met my match. What time even is it? It's so strangely quiet, so dismally lonely, in the frostbitten air. Flat on his back at the moment, Jacob can almost count all the stars. A dim memory of Abraham's promise stirs the dead stillness of the air. And then it happens. Out of nowhere, excruciating pain wrenches Jacob's hip socket. In the embrace of crippling pain, Jacob clings to his opponent.

And then in an instant, it all makes sense. A flood of relief rivals a new rush of fear. Is this God? "Let me go!" the unknown Assailant pleads with Jacob. I've heard that Voice before! In an epiphany of insight, Jacob cries, "I will not let You go unless You bless me!"  This he cries not even seeing his Aggressor's Face. As if an unseen host of angels ascends and descends the stairs of Bethel's dream so long ago--that dream that nearly faded with the painful years--the light of heaven begins to break. Jacob utters up his wrenching cry again, "Bless me, even ME, oh, my Father!" Scarcely does he even know what he is saying. Esau's cries, "Have you only one blessing, my father?" rend the air of Jacob's mind. Bethel was so very long ago. And God had stood above the stairway to heaven, never even once speaking Jacob's name.

"What is your name?" this mighty Man of mystery and authority demands. The voice of Isaac's question stabs Jacob's stricken soul. He scarcely knows what he is saying. "Jacob" slips from his parched and dying lips. The whisper seems to echo across the distant hills now glowing in the morning light. Something is broken. Jacob rests in breathless joy and shame, knowing he has been pinned. And He said, "Your name shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel; for you have struggled with God and with men, and have prevailed” (Genesis 32:28). Amazement floods Jacob's soul.

Not quite blessed but still bewildered, Jacob asks, "Tell me Your Name, I pray."  Oh, the exquisite irony. The Stranger embraces Jacob tenderly, "Why is it that you ask about My Name?" beaming strength and healing as faith dawns in Jacob's eyes. "And He blessed him there." Jacob weeps with cleansing peace. "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." Jacob turns to rise, but the Man is gone. Wounded and exhausted after a sleepless night, Jacob stares long minutes at the very spot. "Jacob." There let him lie. Did Jacob know in "Israel" a nation had been born?

"And Jacob called the name of the place Peniel: 'For I have seen God face to face, and my life is preserved.' Just as he crossed over Penuel the sun rose on him, and he limped on his hip" (Genesis 32:30-31). Jacob bows seven times, limping along the way. "But Esau ran to meet him, and embraced him, and fell on his neck and kissed him, and they wept" (Genesis 33:4). A miracle of forgiveness a lifetime in the making has been wrestled from the Throne of Grace. The supplanter has lost the match and the Prince has prevailed, wrestling out the anguish of Jacob's tortured soul in the arms of his father's God. Jacob and Esau part ways in peace.

Jacob wends his imperfect way back to Canaan, stopping in Shechem for a while--too long, really--perhaps to heal. There he builds his very first altar and names it El-Elohe-Israel--God, the God of Israel--his father's God now embedded in his name . . . . Think of it! God's Presence supporting Israel as he winds his years toward heaven, leaning on His Shepherd's staff through all the dark and tangled nights that lie ahead, his quest fulfilled.