Our reading this morning comes from Exodus chapters 33 and 34. This is the follow-up to what we read two weeks ago, where Moses was up on the mountain talking with God. The people were down waiting for Moses to return with a word from God. And it was taking longer than they expected. So they turned to Aaron, Moses’ brother, and said, “Moses and God seem to have abandoned us. Please fashion for us another God that we can worship.”

Aaron said, “Give me all your jewelry” and melted it down, made a golden calf, and the people worshiped. God looked down and saw what the people were doing and said to Moses… This really upsets me. And I think I’m just done with these people, and I’m going to just wipe them out like we did with the flood. And Moses reminds God of God’s promises and faithfulness to God’s people. At the end of the passage, we find out that Moses has changed God’s mind. God decides not to visit destruction upon the people again. But this is what happens next:

Exodus 33:1–23; 34:4–9                                                                                                                  

The Lord said to Moses, “Go, leave this place, you and the people whom you have brought up out of the land of Egypt, and go to the land of which I swore to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, saying, ‘To your descendants I will give it.’ I will send an angel before you, and I will drive out the Canaanites, the Amorites, the Hittites, the Perizzites, the Hivites, and the Jebusites. Go up to a land flowing with milk and honey, but I will not go up among you, or I would consume you on the way, for you are a stiff-necked people.”

When the people heard these harsh words, they mourned, and no one put on ornaments. For the Lord had said to Moses, “Say to the Israelites, ‘You are a stiff-necked people; if for a single moment I should go up among you, I would consume you. So now take off your ornaments, and I will decide what to do to you.’ ” Therefore the Israelites stripped themselves of their ornaments, from Mount Horeb onward.

Now Moses used to take the tent and pitch it outside the camp, far off from the camp; he called it the tent of meeting. And everyone who sought the Lord would go out to the tent of meeting, which was outside the camp. Whenever Moses went out to the tent, all the people would rise and stand, each of them, at the entrance of their tents and watch Moses until he had gone into the tent. When Moses entered the tent, the pillar of cloud would descend and stand at the entrance of the tent, and the Lord would speak with Moses. When all the people saw the pillar of cloud standing at the entrance of the tent, all the people would rise and bow down, all of them, at the entrance of their tent. Thus the Lord used to speak to Moses face to face, as one speaks to a friend. Then he would return to the camp, but his young assistant, Joshua son of Nun, would not leave the tent.

Moses said to the Lord, “See, you have said to me, ‘Bring up this people,’ but you have not let me know whom you will send with me. Yet you have said, ‘I know you by name, and you have also found favor in my sight.’ Now if I have found favor in your sight, please show me your ways, so that I may know you and find favor in your sight. Consider, too, that this nation is your people.” He said, “My presence will go with you, and I will give you rest.” And he said to him, “If your presence will not go, do not bring us up from here. For how shall it be known that I have found favor in your sight, I and your people, unless you go with us? In this way, we shall be distinct, I and your people, from every people on the face of the earth.”

The Lord said to Moses, “I will also do this thing that you have asked, for you have found favor in my sight, and I know you by name.” Moses said, “Please show me your glory.” And he said, “I will make all my goodness pass before you and will proclaim before you the name, ‘The Lord,’ and I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious and will show mercy on whom I will show mercy. But,” he said, “you cannot see my face, for no one shall see me and live.” And the Lord continued, “See, there is a place by me where you shall stand on the rock, and while my glory passes by I will put you in a cleft of the rock, and I will cover you with my hand until I have passed by; then I will take away my hand, and you shall see my back, but my face shall not be seen.”

So Moses cut two tablets of stone like the former ones, and he rose early in the morning and went up on Mount Sinai, as the Lord had commanded him, and took in his hand the two tablets of stone. The Lord descended in the cloud and stood with him there and proclaimed the name, “The Lord.” The Lord passed before him and proclaimed,

“The Lord, the Lord,
a God merciful and gracious,
slow to anger,
and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness,
keeping steadfast love for the thousandth generation,
forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin,
yet by no means clearing the guilty,
but visiting the iniquity of the parents
upon the children
and the children’s children
to the third and the fourth generation.” 

And Moses quickly bowed down to the ground and worshiped. He said, “If now I have found favor in your sight, my Lord, I pray, let my Lord go with us. Although this is a stiff-necked people, pardon our iniquity and our sin, and take us for your inheritance.”

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.

***

The older I get, and the longer I have been in this gig of talking about God for a living, the more and more I am convinced that those that speak of God the loudest, those that speak with the most certainty and authority of eternal matters, those that claim the mantle of faithful and true, are actually most likely to be worshiping an idol of their own creation.

The god they proclaim is so often small and unworthy of the title. This god only cares for some people, not everyone. The god they proclaim is bound by formulas that make little sense and force God into making decisions that are cruel and capricious. The god they proclaim offers salvation by syllables: if you say the right words in the right order, forgiveness and mercy and salvation are yours, no matter what you have done or said previously. That magic incantation is like an eternal get-out-of-jail-free card.

This god is available to those who are willing to turn off their ability to think critically and freely, and just believe certain things to be true. If you call on the name of this god or pray in a certain way, this god will always answer.

Just listen to them and ask, “How big is this God, really?” And does this sound like the God we encounter in scripture? Barbara Brown Taylor makes it plain that it is not. She writes, “Only an idol always answers.”

The God that we encounter in the Bible is no idol. And let me be very clear, I am not talking about idols like the Hebrews built with Aaron, a statue made of their gold jewelry. I am talking about the kind of idol that we make with our minds, false gods of our own making.

Now, to be sure, we all make God in our own image to one degree or another. Recognizing the human proclivity to idolatry is, perhaps, the first step to a more authentic and robust faith. That is why the Bible talks about it early and often. There is little that makes God angrier than idolatry. But again, not for the reasons we may have been led to believe. It is not because God has such a fragile ego that God must be worshiped alone and given credit for everything. Again, what a small god that is. Rather, it is because making God in our own image is the first step into us believing that God is in our corner and on our side, which can be used to justify all sorts of atrocities. Anne Lamott reminds us, “You can safely assume you’ve created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do.”

Passages like the one we just read remind us of the dangers of such idolatry, not only because they explicitly tell us so, but because they present us with a God which does not fit neatly into any of our boxes or preconceived notions. The God of Exodus is not a divine therapist sent to make everything in our lives better. The God Moses encounters is wild, free, and not subject to any limits we might set on the divine.

In today’s passage, Moses continues to argue with God over what should be done with the Hebrew people in the wilderness. Let me offer a quick recap up to this point. The people found themselves captive in Egypt, slaves to Pharaoh. Sent by God who heard their cry, Moses frees the people and leads them into the wilderness, where they wander for generations, guided by their hope in the promise of a better life.

But when things take longer than they expect, when they are hungry and tired, when they start to lose faith in Moses and question what kind of God would bring them out into the wilderness just to let them starve to death, they begin to hedge their bets. They start to crave a god who will do what they want them to do.

The biblical witness tells us that when people start to take matters into their own hands, when they start to remake God in their image, God gets angry with them. And not just angry, but furious. So much so that in the passage we read two weeks ago, Moses has to convince God not to wipe the people out. You may remember that Moses won the argument, and the text tells us that God changes God’s mind about the fate of the people. But the story goes on.

In today’s passage, God is still mad, and so while God has decided not to destroy the people, neither does God want anything more to do with them. God tells Moses, “Fine, they can find their own way to the promised land. I am done with them.” Again, Moses intervenes—this time listening to both sides, like a mediator.

Here is how one commentator summarizes what happens: “By the end, God and Israel seem to accept one another as they are. The people confess they are stiff-necked, but God commits to being with them in spite of their shortcomings. Likewise, God reveals a divine Self that is anger as well as compassion. This relationship is messier than we might like, but God and the people remain together in the messiness, committed to a future together.”

That’s all well and good, but what are we to do with this mess? How does it help us in our faith today?

Rabbi, professor, and leader of the U.S. Civil Rights Movement, Abraham Joseph Heschel, distinguishes between the God of wrath and the wrath of God. He writes, “When I consider the violence my own country, my elected officials, and my tax dollars now inflict on the world, I think of divine wrath. Divine wrath is the cry of the mother whose child has gone to war, to prison, to poverty, to hatred. It is the ache in the heart of the universe—when love is mocked, when power crushes the weak, when truth is twisted into a weapon, when life is thrown away like trash.

“I am told that wrath is not the final story, that God does not give up on us. That beneath the fury, there remains love—fierce and aching. A love that grieves what could have been and should have been, and works toward what still can be, even amid the tragedy. But we must taste the wrath in order to know the hope. We must feel the burn of divine pain before we can feel the balm of promise.”

Passages like those we are reading in our Disputing with God series, like the one we have read today with Moses and God, show us that our relationship with God is not a one-way street, but God invites our whole selves, including our brains and our experiences, into the relationship. Look again at our passage. God is displeased with the people who think of God as a far-off dictator. God is pleased with Moses, who feels free to disagree with God. As Richard Rohr reminds us, “The people who know God well—mystics, hermits, prayerful people—always meet a lover, not a dictator.”

Friends, this summer I invite you to shed the image of God as a taskmaster in the sky, the god who cares more for formulas of sin and righteousness, the god who needs you to change before you can be loved and accepted.

Moses shows us that the God we find in the Bible is a God of relationship. It is the God who loves us. All of us. Period. No qualifications and explanations. That is the beginning and end of everything. In between, there is a whole lot that matters too. God does not want us causing harm to one another. God does not want us taking creation for granted or damaging the world we inhabit and on which we depend. God cares about these things not because God cares about some arbitrary rules, but because God cares about us, about how we live together and treat one another.

This type of faith may be messier than we would like. It does not offer the comfort of certainty. True faith humbles itself before a mystery. To paraphrase Paul, “It is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way.”

What I think we will notice as we continue this series of Disputing with God is that it is the image of God that we carry with us that needs to change. It is not God, but our version of God, that is the problem. The move, counterintuitively, may be toward more doubt and less certainty. After all, which takes more faith?

As Barbara Brown Taylor reminds us, “Only an idol always answers.” The God of Moses, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the God of Jesus Christ, the God of you and me, is not an idol, but a partner. This God invites us into a relationship that is messy, yes, but is full of love and truth. Amen.

The post Disputing with God: Repairing Relationships appeared first on Roland Park Presbyterian Church.

Discussion Questions:

1. Recognizing Our Images of God:

• Pastor Mark says, “The god they proclaim is so often small and unworthy of the title.” What are some ways people, including ourselves, can make God too small?
• How can we tell the difference between the living God we encounter in scripture and an idol we have created in our own image?

2. Idolatry and Certainty:

• The sermon reflects on Barbara Brown Taylor’s line, “Only an idol always answers.” How does this challenge the desire for certainty in faith?
• Have you ever experienced a season when God felt silent, mysterious, or hard to understand? What did that season teach you?

3. Moses and Honest Relationship with God:

• In Exodus 33:1–23; 34:4–9, Moses argues with God and acts as a mediator for the people. What does this suggest about the kind of relationship God invites us into?
• Pastor Mark says, “God is pleased with Moses, who feels free to disagree with God.” How might disagreement, questioning, or wrestling become part of a faithful life?

4. Wrath, Compassion, and Repair:

• The sermon describes God’s anger not as fragile ego, but as grief over harm, injustice, and broken relationship. How does this change the way you understand divine wrath?
• What does it mean to say that God remains committed to relationship, even in the messiness?

5. Faith Beyond Formulas:

• Pastor Mark invites us to shed “the image of God as a taskmaster in the sky.” What images of God do you need to release in order to trust more deeply in God’s love?
• How does the idea that God loves us “period” — with no qualifications or explanations — shape the way we treat ourselves and others?

6. Applying the Sermon:

• This week, where might you practice a faith that is more honest, humble, and open to mystery?
• How can RPPC continue to be a community where people are free to ask questions, repair relationships, pursue justice, practice hospitality, and engage curious faith?

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We continue in our journey through the Narrative Lectionary here at Roland Park Presbyterian Church. We follow something called the Narrative Lectionary, which takes us through the narrative arc of scripture.

In this new year, we are in the Gospel of John. We’ve been there for several weeks now, and we’re getting used to John’s world and John’s view of things—and the various themes that John uses in the stories.

And in particular, for today, how focused John is in telling the story of Jesus—how often it is through the vehicle of one-on-one relationships. We saw this over the past several weeks.

The Sunday that we missed was the Sunday with Nicodemus. And then last Sunday was the woman at the well. And those were meant to be kind of read in comparison and contrast. And it’s striking to me how often the relationship in John’s Gospel is the focus.

John 4: 46-54

Then he came again to Cana in Galilee, where he had changed the water into wine. Now there was a royal official whose son lay ill in Capernaum. When he heard that Jesus had come from Judea to Galilee, he went and begged him to come down and heal his son, for he was at the point of death. Then Jesus said to him, “Unless you see signs and wonders you will not believe.”  The official said to him, “Sir, come down before my little boy dies.” Jesus said to him, “Go; your son will live.” The man believed the word that Jesus spoke to him and started on his way.¹ As he was going down, his slaves met him and told him that his child was alive. So he asked them the hour when he began to recover, and they said to him, “Yesterday at one in the afternoon the fever left him.”  The father realized that this was the hour when Jesus had said to him, “Your son will live.” So he himself believed, along with his whole household.  Now this was the second sign that Jesus did after coming from Judea to Galilee.

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.

***

‘It’s a radical claim we Christians make—that Jesus is the Son of God, fully human and fully divine,” writes my friend (and former golf partner before he rudely moved out of town), the Reverend Roger Scott Powers. He continues, “Without Jesus, my view of God remains a blurry abstraction—God as mysterious, invisible, creative life force behind the universe. But with Jesus, that blurry, abstract God comes into greater focus. God becomes clearer and more concrete to me. He makes the invisible visible, the infinite finite. With Jesus, I feel closer to God and the divine.”

Now, all four of the Gospel writers claim that Jesus is, as it has been said, a mirror of our humanity and a window into divinity. In other words, Jesus is clearly like us. He has friends and family. He eats and drinks. He travels and talks to people. He experiences emotions.

But they all claim that he is something more as well—that when he speaks, he reveals the mind of God, and when he acts, he shows us the character of God.

We know of John’s fondness for signs. What the other Gospels call miracles, John calls signs. The first occurred at the wedding at Cana. It wasn’t planned, but circumstances—and his mother, if you recall—dictated Jesus’ actions.

When the wine runs out at the wedding, Jesus has them fetch the jars of water for handwashing, and then he instructs the steward to draw water out from the jug. And when he does—it is changed into wine.

And John calls that the first sign.

In today’s reading, Jesus returns to Cana, where a royal official approaches him and asks him to follow him home so Jesus can heal his son.

Jesus tells the man to return home—that his son will indeed live. And the man heads home, only to be met by servants running to tell him the good news—that his son is better after all.

Then, just to make sure that we get it, John tells us that the father asked when the boy’s fever broke—only to find out that it’s precisely the time when he was talking to Jesus.

What are we to make of this?

Healing stories are tricky, aren’t they? Because not all fevers break. Not all sons recover.

Which makes us wonder—is there a criterion for healing? Do we have to have a strong faith? Live the right kind of life? Is it random? Just plain luck? To be in the right place at the right time?

Honestly, the Gospel writers don’t give us much help with these questions. They seem to be just as lost as the rest of us. But they certainly seem to want to take our merit out of the equation.

In other words, they view healing as a gift, not an achievement.

When it does not occur, it does not mean that God withdraws God’s love and care. Quite the opposite—as we’ll soon encounter in John’s Gospel when Jesus’ own friend Lazarus is not spared, and we are told: Jesus weeps.

What stands out to me in this story—and in many of the healing stories we encounter in the Gospels—is that it is often someone else who approaches Jesus on behalf of the one needing healing.

And it’s rather blatant in today’s story, right? Because the boy isn’t even present—far from it. It sounds like he’s about a day’s travel away.

But the father approaches Jesus on behalf of the son. He intervenes. He advocates for him.

And it’s plain to see why—his well-being is wrapped up in his son’s. What impacts that boy impacts the father.

And we see this pattern in the first sign story as well—thinking back to the wedding at Cana. Jesus never touches the water. He never touches the jars. Heck, it wasn’t even his idea in the first place. It was his mother’s idea. Then the servants and stewards did what was asked.

If Jesus is a mirror to our humanity and a window to God’s divinity, then what does this say about God?

Presumably, God can get along just fine without us. But God chooses not to be God without us.

We are brought into the equation not because we are necessary, but because we are God-loved.

In his Letter from a Birmingham Jail, Martin Luther King Jr. writes:

“Human progress never rolls in on the wheels of inevitability. It comes through the tireless efforts of those willing to be co-workers with God. And without this hard work, time itself becomes an ally of the forces of social stagnation. We must use time creatively, in the knowledge that the time is always right to do what is right.”

Friends, we don’t have to save the world. It’s not our job.

But it is our job to love one another—and in so doing, to be co-workers with God for the healing of the world.

It is a radical claim that we Christians make—that God so loved the world that God sent his only Son, not to condemn the world, but that we might have life, and have it abundantly through him.

You know, I don’t know about you, but I used to get really hung up on that title: Son of God—until I realized two things.

The first is that Jesus was not the first one to walk around with that title.

It was the title for Caesar.

So as an early Christian, to claim that Jesus is the Son of God means that Caesar is not.

The other thing I eventually realized is that the title reveals a theological reality, not a biological one.

In that sense, we are all sons and daughters and children of God—even Caesar.

We can acknowledge that someone is broken—and that they are still loved by God.

We can see someone who is so blinded by hate—and still respond in love and kindness, without being a doormat.

Sometimes, the most loving thing to do is simply to ignore someone.

Other times, we must speak the truth in love—and demand accountability.

Friends, we’ve seen evidence that racism and sexism and all sorts of prejudice and hate have made it to the highest office in our country—not for the first time, and maybe not the last.

It’s true, the most recent manifestation seems particularly poignant in our hyper-connected world.

It can feel at times as though the very fabric of our society is being pulled apart.

And what is particularly alarming for me as a person of faith is that it’s all being cloaked in Christianity—a Christianity that I do not recognize, that looks nothing like the Jesus I read about in the Gospels or have experienced through the various communities of faith that have shaped me, including this one.

So friends, what I want to say to you today is really very simple:

Thank you for all the ways that you have been co-workers with God in building up a beloved community in this time and place—and through it, advocating for a more just world.

Furthermore, I want to offer a word of encouragement for us to all keep working.

Keep on loving and advocating for others.

It does make a difference. It does matter.

We must continue to work with God until the day when we all fully recognize, beyond the shadow of any doubt, that every one of us—every last one of us—is a son, is a daughter, is a beloved child of God.

Amen.

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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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