by C. A. Gray
“Twenty years ago,” I murmured aloud to the Lord in the silence, “when I fled from my brother, You met me at Bethel. You promised me You would give this land to me and to my descendants. You said You were with me, and would keep me wherever I go.” Was I reminding Him, or myself? I listened to the chirping of the cicadas as the last of the light faded from the sky. Something in me prompted me to add, “And I told You, if You would do these things for me, and bring me back to my father’s house in peace, then You would be my God, and not only the God of my fathers.” Silence again.
I closed my eyes. At daybreak tomorrow, I would learn whether or not God would keep His end of that bargain.
I’d gotten myself into this mess, I knew. My twin brother Esau was the elder of the two of us, so the birthright and our father’s blessing should have belonged to him. But I had come out of our mother’s womb grabbing at my brother’s heel, as if in a struggle to precede him. That was how I’d gotten my name: Jacob. The name meant heel-grabber, trickster, or supplanter.
I cannot recall a time when it was not apparent to me that I was our mother’s favorite, but I was ten when I learned the reason why.
“The Lord told me this, when you and your brother were still in my womb: ‘Two nations are in your womb, two peoples shall be separated from your body; one people shall be stronger than the other, and the older shall serve the younger.’ You are the younger, Jacob,” she had added with a gleam in her eye. “You will rule over your brother, and he will serve you. The Lord has decreed it.” I’d thought of this very often in those days, priding myself upon the implications of my name, as my mother seemed to take pride in it on my behalf. I was clever. I got what I wanted, even if I had to manipulate others to get it.
Decades later, my brother was out hunting while I stayed near my mother, making a stew from our flocks. I was an excellent cook, if I do say so myself—my mother had taught me well how to find and prepare herbs for seasoning. So the tents were fragrant with the scent of that red stew when Esau returned, after long hours in the field. He had taken no food with him, and his clothing clung to him with sweat as he collapsed upon the ground beside me.
“Give me some of that red stew—I’m starved!”
I had no premeditated designs in that moment, but I had spent years preparing for just such an opportunity. I glanced up at my brother as I stirred, and said casually, “Will you sell me your birthright for it?”
My brother was a practical man; very in-the-moment. The exchange of an intangible future benefit for something tangible, and for which he had a great present need, would be no contest. Sure enough, he huffed, “I’m starving! What good is a birthright if I’m dead?”
I smiled inwardly, but kept my face impassive. “Swear to me as of this day.”
“I swear it, my birthright is yours, just give me a bowl of that stew!”
“Gladly,” I grinned at him, spooning a ladle into an earthen bowl. The thick red broth spilled over the edges of it, staining his hairy hands as he greedily took the bowl from me and slurped it down.
Our relationship changed after that day. Once Esau’s hunger had abated and he paused to consider what he had done, he resented me. I didn’t care. It was his own fault; he should have considered the long-term consequences of his choice at the time. I was now the firstborn by rights.
Even so, my father did not recognize this. Typically the father’s blessing enforced the birthright and inheritance—and while I had the prophecy the Lord had given my mother, and Esau’s own word against him, my father remained unconvinced. I think this was because though my mother preferred me, Father preferred Esau. Esau was a hunter, a man’s man. I, on the other hand, clung to my mother’s apron strings, tending flocks and helping her to prepare meals. My appearance wasn’t in my favor either: while Esau was brawny and hairy, I was smooth-skinned and fair. He looked the part of the elder, stronger brother; I the younger and weaker.
Fortunately for me, or so I thought at the time, my father went blind in the latter part of his life. When my father was old and believed himself to be near death, my mother overheard him speaking to my brother. He told Esau to go out into the field, kill game and bring some of it to him to eat, and then he would give him the blessing of the firstborn. When Esau had done this, my mother told me to venture into our flocks, kill two goats, and she would prepare it just the way my father liked. Then I would dress in my brother’s clothing, cover my smooth skin with goat’s hair, and claim that I was Esau, in order to steal the blessing of the firstborn.
Though Father was skeptical at first, eventually he believed that I was Esau and blessed me with the blessing intended for my brother. When Esau found out, he vowed to kill me for my treachery. My mother told me to flee Canaan to her brother Laban, and that she would send word to me when Esau’s fury had cooled.
Twenty years later, I still had heard nothing from her. But by then, I was forced to flee from my uncle and father-in-law Laban, and the Lord had told me to return to the land of Canaan.
So here I was, back in Canaan with my wives and children, male and female servants, flocks and herds. When I entered the land, I caught my breath as I beheld an army of glorious warriors, standing at attention as if to welcome me. I had seen such creatures once before, many decades earlier. As before, these seemed transparent to me, yet they were also so vibrant that they seemed more real than I was. I rushed forward to greet them, but as I approached I could no longer perceive them.
Buoyed by this welcome, I sent word to Esau that I had returned a wealthy man. I hoped that I would find his anger had cooled, and my mother had simply failed to inform me of it.
Unfortunately, that was not to be. My messengers returned to me to inform me that Esau was coming to meet me—with four hundred men.
I panicked. That was an army. He was coming to kill me, and my family too!
I thought quickly, as always, separating out all of the flocks and herds that I possessed: two hundred and twenty goats, two hundred ewes, twenty rams, thirty camels and colts, forty cows, ten bulls, twenty donkeys and ten foals. Then I instructed the servants to send them as gifts to Esau one by one, in succeeding waves, so that with each gift, Esau’s heart might soften toward me a little more. This lordly present was surely equal to, if not greater than the inheritance I had stolen from him, as I hoped he too would recognize. Last of all, I sent my family ahead of me.
And now, here I was. I’d fled from Canaan empty-handed and alone twenty years ago, and despite all the prosperity the Lord had given me in the intervening years, I now found myself in exactly the same position.
“Deliver me, I pray, from the hand of my brother, from the hand of Esau,” I whispered earnestly. “You told me to return to Canaan. You told me that You would deal well with me here.” After a long pause of silence, I reminded Him, “You said, ‘‘I will treat you well; I’ll make your descendants like the sands of the sea, far too many to count.’”
As I whispered this, I lifted up my eyes and saw a figure in the distance coming across the ford of Jabbok. He was alone, but I could see at once that he was young, tall, and well-muscled—and, was he back-lit by a light source I could not perceive, or was he himself radiant? No sooner had I thought this, I realized that this warrior must be one of the angelic host I had seen upon my arrival in Canaan… but the way he strode toward me was not friendly. It was determined. Purposeful.
Terrifying.
I stood to my feet, my heart like stone in my chest, and forgot all about Esau. I was going to die, right here, right now.
When the Man was right in front of me, without warning, He ducked and lunged. It knocked the wind out of me, and I landed hard on my back. But I was not one to give up. If the Lord, or the Lord’s angel, or whoever this was, intended to kill me, I would not go down without a fight.
With all my strength, I heaved Him off of me, and pinned Him down by the throat for all of half a second. He twisted out from beneath me effortlessly, and took
my arms at an awkward angle so that I cried out in pain. I writhed out of His grasp, kicking at the air. Angry now, I lunged back at Him—and He laughed! He put a hand out to my head, spinning me around like we were dancing rather than wrestling. I let out a roar of frustration. I was ninety-nine years old. There was no contest between us, but did He have to mock me before He killed me?
Yet if He planned to kill me, what was taking Him so long? I was soaked in sweat, exhausted, and had no idea what the point of all of this was. As long as He intended to fight with me, though, I would not yield. I may have lost my flocks and herds; I may have lost the birthright I’d stolen, and I may even have lost my family.
But I was Jacob. I was in control of my own destiny. I would get what I wanted, no matter what I had to do to get it. I was… I was…
Utterly spent. I lifted up my eyes to the first glimmer of dawn on the horizon. How was it dawn already? How long had we been at it?
With yet another surge of fierce determination, one which might well be my last, I lunged back at the Stranger. In response, He took hold of my hip, and wrenched it out of its socket. I let out a wail of pain, yet I still clung to Him with all my strength.
“Let Me go,” the Stranger spoke at last, “it’s daybreak.”
What was daybreak to Him? It mattered to me, though; I did have to cross the ford and meet my brother at daybreak.
Esau! All at once I remembered with a wave of dread what I feared this day might bring.
“I’m not letting you go until you bless me!” I cried. This man did not intend to kill me, or He would have done so already. He had dislocated my hip, the symbol of my strength, and left me in weakness on the day of the greatest challenge of my life. I needed His blessing, if I intended to survive this. For once, I could not rely on my own wiles. I had none left.
“What is your name?” was the Stranger’s bizarre reply.
I knew He knew the answer, and yet my eyes widened as the real meaning of the question hit me.
“Jacob,” I gasped, as if at the same time I had spoken aloud all of its meanings: Heel-grabber. Supplanter. Schemer. Trickster. Swindler.
The Stranger met my gaze, and I saw that His eyes burned with an amber fire. “Your name shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel,” he pronounced. “For you have struggled with God and with men, and have prevailed.”
Israel , I thought, tears springing to my eyes. The name meant, He will rule as God .
I released Him. “What is Your name?” I whispered, already knowing the answer.
The Stranger knew I knew. He smiled at me and said, “Why is it that you ask about My name?” Then He lay a hand on my head, and repeated the blessing He had bestowed upon me at Bethel, two decades before: “Your descendants shall be as the dust of the earth; you shall spread abroad to the west and to the east, to the north and the south; and in you and in your seed all the families of the earth shall be blessed.”
Then He vanished. I blinked, staring all around me, trying to see where He had gone. Then I realized how ridiculous this was. He had blessed me with the same words God Himself had used at Bethel—only then, it had been a vision. This Man was very real, and I had the limp to prove it.
“I have seen God face to face, and my life is preserved!” I whispered in wonder. “I will call this place Penuel.” The name meant the Face of God . Bethel had been God’s house; this was far more intimate.
As the sun crested the horizon, I limped over the ford of Jabbok, now Penuel. I reached my family in the early morning light, though I looked beyond them to see the approach of Esau’s four hundred men. I ran a hand through my hair, my heart pounding in fear all over again—though at the same time, I felt strangely peaceful.
“All right,” I said, in a louder voice, so that all my family heard. “Separate into three groups. Bilhah, Zilpah, and their sons should go to meet him first. After them, Leah and her sons. Rachel and Joseph and I will come last.”
Everyone looked thoroughly displeased by this, except for Rachel. Leah turned away in tears, and all ten of my other sons besides little Joseph glared at me and gnashed their teeth. But at that moment, I could not care. Bilhah and Zilpah were mere servants, so of course their sons were less to me. I’d never meant to marry Leah; I was tricked into that by the girls’ father. Rachel was always my choice, and I had never made a secret of this. Now that all our lives were potentially at stake, I certainly wasn’t going to allow their feelings on the matter to influence my decision of whom to protect.
I gave the signal to each group, waiting long enough to see what became of the maidservants and their sons when they encountered Esau’s men before I signaled Leah and her sons. I was encouraged to see that they did not meet with violence, though it occurred to me that Esau might be waiting to kill the last party, knowing that they would be the individuals I cared for most. With this terrifying thought, I told Rachel and Joseph, “You two go on without me. That way if Esau intends to attack the last party, it will consist only of myself.” I kissed them, hoping it wasn’t goodbye, and watched them walk toward the army as if they were my own heart.
At last, I limped on alone. As I went, I stopped to stoop down and bow to the ground seven separate times, hoping that the exaggerated gesture of peace would communicate for me long before Esau could actually hear my voice. The sixth time I did this, someone at the front of the army broke ranks and hurried toward me. My heart flew to my throat in visceral terror, and I scanned the man’s silhouette for a weapon. But then I made out the burly stout build I remembered from childhood, all red and covered in coarse hair. The eyes crinkled at the sides with deeper lines than when I had last seen him, but—he beamed at me! And—was he weeping ?
“Jacob!” Esau boomed out across the countryside when he was within shouting distance. I struggled to my feet, and tried to speed toward him, though the limp made it difficult. In a few seconds, my brother fell upon my neck in a rough embrace, kissing my cheek. Stunned, I hugged him back, tears of relief springing to my own eyes.
When he had controlled himself, Esau pulled back to inspect my face with more tenderness than I had ever seen from him before in our lives. Then he turned to see the women and children. “Who are these with you?”
“These are my family,” I told him, “and yours.” I gestured for them to come forward in their companies, and they each bowed down before my brother as I presented them. Esau graciously greeted them, and I noticed his admiring glance as he met Rachel. Something in my chest swelled with pride. She was indeed a beauty.
Esau pressed me to keep the presents I had sent on before me, which stunned me all over again. Since when was my brother so magnanimous? But I was so grateful that I insisted, and Esau finally accepted my gifts. The Lord would bless me with increase again, I knew.
When my brother and I at last parted company, and my family and I entered the city of Shechem, I pitched tents and set them up comfortably first. Then I went off by myself to meet with the Lord alone.
I built an altar of uncut stones, as I knew my grandfather Abraham used to do to commemorate his encounters with the Lord. I would have liked to have built it at Penuel, but this was the first opportunity I had since then.
“I will call this altar El Elohe Israel,” I murmured when I had finished, looking up to heaven. The name meant God, the God of Israel. My new name. No longer was He just the God of Abraham and the God of Isaac.
Now, at long last, He was my God as well.
Afterword
Jacob’s journey, I think, is something of a prodigal son story. Unlike the son in Jesus’ parable (Luke 15:11-32), Jacob did not squander his wealth on hard living—but he was out only for himself for the majority of his early life.
This was probably at least in part Rebekah’s fault. When the Lord gave her a prophecy during her pregnancy that the older of her sons would serve the younger (Genesis 25:23), she made a similar mistake to that of Abraham when he took Hagar to his bed
and begot Ishmael: she took matters into her own hands. Rebekah’s expectations might have influenced her choice of name for Jacob—yes, he came out grabbing Esau by the heel, but the name means more than just that. It saddled her younger son with the identity of a schemer and a trickster, which she apparently encouraged. True to his name, Jacob swindled his brother out of first his birthright and then the blessing of his father, which produced such hatred that Esau intended to kill him. This was why Jacob fled for his life, and remained abroad for twenty years. It’s interesting that something as simple as mere words (the vow wrenched from Esau and then the blessing of Isaac) could occasion such hatred—our culture today would consider this silly. But in those days, people understood the power of words to bless or to curse (Matthew 12:36-37, James 3:1-5, Proverbs 18:21). As Isaac said, “I have blessed him—and indeed he shall be blessed” (Genesis 27:33).
Even so, was any of this necessary? God was the one who gave Rebekah the original prophecy, and God was the one who would bring it to pass. In the end, the prophecy to Rebekah would be fulfilled when God gave Jacob an open vision of heaven at Bethel, and offered the same covenant to Jacob that He had previously given to Abraham and to Isaac (Genesis 28:13-15). This had nothing to do with birthright or blessing. And as Dutch Sheets points out in his book, The Pleasure of His Company , the first time God offered it, Jacob wasn’t even sure he wanted to accept (Genesis 28:20-22)! Jacob’s response to God was essentially, “we’ll see—if You bless me and meet all my needs, then You will be my God.” And indeed, for many years after that, he and others continued to refer to God as the God of Abraham and Isaac, but not yet the God of Jacob (Genesis 31:5, 29, 42, 53; 32:9). As far as Jacob was concerned, God was still on trial.
When Jacob fled, Rebekah had promised to send word to Jacob and tell him when Esau’s wrath cooled, so that he could return home (Genesis 27:44-45). She expected this to take a few days. Twenty years later, word had never come, yet God told Jacob to return home anyway. When Jacob arrived in Canaan, he saw into the spirit realm for the second time. Perhaps this was what encouraged him to send word to Esau. After all, God told him to return, and then an army of angels greeted him upon his arrival.
