We continue our journey through the Narrative Lectionary. We started a couple weeks ago in Genesis chapter one—the first creation story, the creation poem—and heard about God’s creating power and our place with God, invited to be co-creators with God. And we especially noted how God creates in this unique way where God invites, and then makes room for, creatures in creation to grow. And then God blesses that creation.

We talked last week about how the book of Genesis is full of these epic stories of the relationship between God and humanity in which God is continually reaching out—and unfortunately, humanity continually turning away. And then we focus in. We go from, like, the big picture—where God is trying to relate to all people—to God saying, “All right, let me just pick one. Let’s just pick one person. Let’s pick one family.”

Here’s this guy Abraham. I’ll promise him and his wife Sarah that they will have a child, even though they’re advanced in age, and this child will be a blessing to them and be a blessing to all the nations. And even then, Abraham grows impatient and ends up having a child with Sarah’s handmaid, Hagar. But then eventually, the promise is fulfilled and Isaac is born.

And then we have this story of God asking the unthinkable of Abraham—his son Isaac—and take him up the mountain where he would be a sacrifice to God. And at the last moment, the whole scene is rescued, and Isaac is spared, and a ram appears. And we move on from there.

And today we follow the story now of Isaac, who went from those traumatic beginnings. And now he is in his old age. And Isaac himself has children—twin sons, Esau and Jacob. And Esau is the eldest, because he was born just a little bit before—just a few minutes before. And Jacob gets his name—in Hebrew, Jacob means “heel”—because even in birth, Jacob grasped at Esau’s heel as he was being born, because Jacob wanted to be first.

And that drama plays itself out the rest of their lives. They’re always competing. And Esau ends up being Isaac’s favorite, and Jacob ends up being his mother Rebekah’s favorite.

And in our scene today, Isaac is old, and his sight is poor. And Jacob and his mother Rebekah conspire to steal—to deceive—Isaac into giving Jacob the blessing that rightfully belongs to his barely older brother Esau.

Genesis 27:1–4, 15–23 & 28:10–17

When Isaac was old and his eyes were dim so that he could not see, he called his elder son Esau and said to him, “My son,” and he answered, “Here I am.”

He said, “See, I am old; I do not know the day of my death. Now then, take your weapons, your quiver and your bow, and go out to the field, and hunt game for me. Then prepare for me savory food, such as I like, and bring it to me to eat, so that I may bless you before I die.”

Then Rebekah took the best garments of her elder son Esau, which were with her in the house, and put them on her younger son Jacob. And she put the skins of the kids on his hands and on the smooth part of his neck. Then she handed the savory food and the bread that she had prepared to her son Jacob.

So he went in to his father and said, “My father,” and he said, “Here I am; who are you, my son?”

Jacob said to his father, “I am Esau your firstborn. I have done as you told me; now sit up and eat of my game, so that you may bless me.”

But Isaac said to his son, “How is it that you have found it so quickly, my son?”

He answered, “Because the Lord your God granted me success.”

Then Isaac said to Jacob, “Come near, that I may feel you, my son, to know whether you are really my son Esau or not.”

So Jacob went up to his father Isaac, who felt him and said, “The voice is Jacob’s voice, but the hands are the hands of Esau.”

He did not recognize him because his hands were hairy like his brother Esau’s hands, so he blessed him.

Jacob left Beer-sheba and went toward Haran. He came to a certain place and stayed there for the night, because the sun had set. Taking one of the stones of the place, he put it under his head and lay down in that place.

And he dreamed that there was a stairway set up on the earth, the top of it reaching to heaven; and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it.

And the Lord stood beside him and said, “I am the Lord, the God of Abraham your father and the God of Isaac; the land on which you lie I will give to you and to your offspring, and your offspring shall be like the dust of the earth, and you shall spread abroad to the west and to the east and to the north and to the south, and all the families of the earth shall be blessed in you and in your offspring.

Know that I am with you and will keep you wherever you go and will bring you back to this land, for I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.”

Then Jacob woke from his sleep and said, “Surely the Lord is in this place—and I did not know it!”

And he was afraid and said, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.”

For the Word of God in Scripture,
For the Word of God among us,
For the Word of God within us,
Thanks be to God.

***

You know, I think we take the Bible too seriously.

That may be a surprising statement coming from your pastor. But let me be clear what I mean by this. I do not mean by this that the Bible is unimportant or that we should ignore its witness. What I mean is that too often, I think, we miss the humorous parts of the Bible because we don’t expect to find humor in the Bible.

But like any book—or more precisely, collection of books—there are various forms of writing within scripture. There are poems, there are songs, there are histories and letters. And we spent a good part of this past summer exploring Revelation and apocalyptic literature. And just like all of those, it makes a difference in how you hear and receive the story when you know what to expect. Is it a history? Is it a poem? Is it a letter? Is it an apocalypse? What kind of writing are we reading?

So I have this theory that there are parts of the Bible—stories in particular—that are meant to be humorous or catch us off guard. For example, sometimes Jesus uses a turn of phrase that makes his listeners giggle and think. And Jesus was famous for telling parables, which are stories that are meant to catch you off guard. And surprise is a necessary element in humor.

And so I wonder sometimes: are there more parts of the Bible that are funny, but you and I just don’t realize it because we don’t expect it?

Added onto this, of course, is the issue that humor doesn’t really translate well across languages and cultures. But the main obstacle, I think, is that we don’t expect the Bible to be funny.

But take today’s reading, for example. What difference would it make if we approached this story as more of a comedy?

Okay? I’m already starting to hear some giggles. Are you with me? All right.

So, you’re going to go to a very dangerous place—which is in my head. Because when I read this story, in my mind, the role of Isaac is played by Harvey Korman, and the role of Jacob is played by Tim Conway.

How many of you remember the old Carol Burnett Show?

All right, so for those of you who don’t, if you remember nothing else from today’s service, I am glad to introduce you to what I believe is one of the best comedy sketches that’s ever been on TV, and that is Tim Conway playing a new dentist, and Harvey Korman playing a man who comes to this dentist with a toothache, okay?

(SKETCH SHARED)

So it ends with him pulling the light down and accidentally knocking his tooth out and charging him $20.

But do you see what I mean? Can you not reimagine the scene with Isaac and Jacob and Rebekah putting the fur on him—and just the physical comedy that could happen? That’s what happens in my head sometimes when I’m reading scripture.

And I say this not just because it’s fun to laugh, but because I really think that when we approach scripture expecting sometimes the unexpected, it strikes us in a different way.

But we also need to acknowledge that humor is a tricky business, right? What’s funny to some is not always to others.

I’ve always been somebody who enjoys a good laugh, and I enjoy making people laugh, but sometimes jokes can get you in trouble. We’ve seen that recently with current events, haven’t we?

And I can remember a few times when I’ve upset someone with my humor. They took offense. And to make matters worse, instead of taking the offense seriously, I probably said something like, “Oh, I was just kidding.”

In one of these instances, a friend pulled me aside to say, “Mark, you really should be more careful. Sometimes your jokes cut a little too close.”

And to this day, I’m grateful to that friend for their caring comment. I think—and I hope—that I’ve learned from that, and I’ve done better since.

Humor is a tricky thing.

Even a humorous reading of the Jacob and Esau story can sting once we realize that the author intends us to identify with that trickster Jacob. We are meant to consider, in the reading of this story, the ways that we scratch and claw and climb our way over others to get what we want.

As we read this story—and as we laugh, but then realize that maybe the joke is on us—we are meant to think: What ridiculous thing are we willing to do? Who are we willing to deceive? And even more poignantly, who are we willing to betray?

Sometimes humor softens us up for what is unexpected that comes next. And our laughter quickly turns to objections when we realize that the sharp end of the story is pointed at us.

Because ultimately this story is about all the ways that you and I fight for what is already given.

Jacob feels aggrieved. Esau was born first, but only by a matter of minutes. Why should he get everything and Jacob have to submit to him? What’s wrong with a little trickery to improve one’s standing and prospects?

But what Jacob fails to realize—and what we too often fail to realize—is that it’s all a gift in the first place. And this gift is not earned; it is given.

And that’s the whole point of the ladder dream that follows right up from this scene. What does one do on a ladder? You climb it, right? Up, up, up. But what happens in the ladder? The angels come down.

We think we need to climb the stairway to heaven, but what if the stairway to heaven is there so that God can come down to us?

Speaking of humor, Fred Craddock, in his folksy way, tells the story of a unique encounter with a dog. He writes:

I’ve never been to the greyhound races, but I’ve seen some of the races on television. They have those beautiful dogs, and they run that mechanical rabbit around the ring, and those dogs just exhaust themselves chasing the rabbit.

When the dogs get to the point that they can no longer race, the owners put out an ad in the paper to see if anybody wants to adopt one for a pet. You can have these dogs for free. Otherwise, if no one takes them, the dogs are put down.

Craddock says, I was in the home not long ago where the owners had adopted a racing dog. He was a big, spotted greyhound, and he was lying there in the den. One of the kids of the family—just a toddler—was pulling on its tail. And a little older kid had his head on the dog’s stomach, using it for a pillow. And the dog just seemed to be so happy.

And so I said to the dog, “Hey, are you still racing?”

“No, no,” the dog said. “I don’t race anymore.”

I said, “You miss the glitter and excitement of the track?”

“No,” he replied.

“Well, what’s the matter? Did you get too old to race?”

“No, I still have some race in me.”

“Well, what then? Did you not win?”

He said, “I won over a million.”

“Well, what, did they treat you poorly?”

“Oh no,” the dog said, “they treated us royally.”

“Did you get hurt?”

“No.”

“Well then, why?”

He said, “Well… I just quit.”

“You quit?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I just quit.”

“Well, why did you quit?”

“Well, you know, I discovered that what I was chasing wasn’t really a rabbit. And so I just quit.”

The dog looked at him and he said, “All that running and running and running… and what I was chasing wasn’t even real.”

Friends, do we ever stop to think whether what we’re chasing after is real?

Or—like Jacob—is the joke on us?

What if our faith is less about striving for something and more about recognizing the blessings that are already ours?

What if it’s not about earning God’s grace, but sharing it?

Did you notice what happened to Jacob in the story?

He did everything to receive a blessing—and in the end, he was told to be a blessing.

And what does that mean for our daily lives?

How often do we treat others as competitors?

And what if, instead, we thought of them as brothers and sisters?

And what if this stairway to heaven isn’t there for us to climb?

What if our own faithlessness and fickleness and trickery all pale in comparison to the love of God… that is already ours?

Amen.

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