9/21/25 - Sermon written and preached by Leigh Rachal @ FPC Abbeville

Violence Does Not Get the Last Word

Genesis 27:1–4, 15–23; 28:10–17 & John 1:50–51

Series: Finding Ourselves in God’s Story

We are surrounded by stories.

Many of the stories that surround us are told on our screens,

shaped by headlines and hashtags,

and carefully crafted by ads and algorithms.

These stories are trying to shape us—by telling us who matters.

They tell us what to fear.

And they tell us where power lies.

But God is telling a different story.

As we take a walk through the story of scripture we find:

A story that began with “Let there be light,”

and continues to show us where and how light shines in the darkness.

The story of scripture is one where God speaks, and it is so.

It is a story where God sees, and it is good.

Where God blesses, and life takes root.

Over and over, God provides what is needed and separates life from death.

Throughout the story, God continually calls God’s good world back to God’s holy peace.

Through these stories of scripture, we are invited to find ourselves in God’s story.

And this week we find ourselves in the story of Jacob and Esau.

If you ever thought that your own family stories were too messy, too messed up, or too dysfunctional, then this story is for you.

Because THIS is a messy story.

Isaac is old and blind. He and Rebekkah have twin boys.

Esau, the elder by mere seconds, is supposed to inherit the blessing.

But Jacob and his mother (surprisingly enough!) devise a plan

to deprive Esau of his blessing,

by tricking their father into blessing Jacob instead.

And so, Jacob sneaks in while his older brother is away,

dressed in his brother’s clothes, with his hands covered in goat skins to fool his father (because apparently Esau was a very hairy man!).

And their father isn’t quite sure.

The voice is Jacob’s voice, but the hands feel like Esau’s…

But ultimately Isaac is deceived.

The blessing is spoken, and once it is spoken, it cannot be taken back.

Esau’s cry fills the tent when he discovers what has happened.

He weeps bitterly.

And then, as is often the case, his sadness turns to anger.

And soon he is burning with rage.

Esau resolves to kill his brother.

And Jacob must run for his life.

Even if your family isn’t quite this dysfunctional, it doesn’t take much imagination to see ourselves in this story.

We have all known rivalry and resentment.

I’ve scarcely ever heard of a person with a large estate dying that hasn’t raised at least some resentments about who receives what.

And beyond our own families, our news is full of families being torn apart by rivalry and resentment.  

and our headlines tell us of the story of our whole country being torn apart

by rivalry, revenge, and this, of course, leads to

threats of violence and

way-too-often actual violence

that seem to be happening every which way we look.

Yet it is in the wilderness, with nothing but a stone for a pillow,

that Jacob dreams a dream.

In his dream, he sees a ladder, reaching from earth, clear up into heaven.

 With angels ascending and descending on this ladder.

And God standing beside Jacob, saying:

“I am the Lord, the God of Abraham and Isaac.

The land on which you lie I will give to you and to your offspring.

Your offspring shall be like the dust of the earth.

All the families of the earth shall be blessed in you.

Know that I am with you and will keep you wherever you go.

I will not leave you until I have done what I promised.”

Notice how wide the promise stretches—“east and west, north and south.”

The blessing isn’t just for Jacob, but for all the families of the earth.

We hear an echo of this every time we come to the table,

proclaiming that people will gather from east and west, north and south, to sit at Christ’s banquet.

What was scattered is reconciled.

What was broken is made whole.

Jacob wakes up and he is shaken. And he proclaims: “Surely the Lord is in this place, and I did not know it! How awesome is this place. This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.”

The story that began in rivalry and deceit is not the end.

Because God is writing a story where violence does not get the last word.

Jacob ran away expecting only fear and loss.

He knew he deserved Esau’s anger. He knew the harm he’d done.

Perhaps it is ironic that Jacob had gone to so much trouble to get his father’s blessing.

And yet found himself running for his life, with only a stone for a pillow.

I wonder if Jacob was questioning his life choices in that moment when that stolen blessing seemed to be doing him no good at all.

At this point, the same God who spoke light into the darkness, speaks promise into Jacob’s dark night.

Notice what God does not say:

God doesn’t say, “Jacob, you messed it up, and now it’s over.”

God doesn’t say, “Jacob, you stole what didn’t belong to you, and I’m taking it back.”

God doesn’t even say, “Jacob, you owe your brother an apology!”

God says, “I am with you. I see you. I will keep you and bless you.

I will guide you on the path of life and light and away from death and destruction.

And I will not leave you.”

That’s the God of creation and re-creation at work.

It is God who sees Jacob even when his earthly father, Isaac’s, eyes fail.

And God blesses Jacob even after Jacob steals and misuses the blessing he already got.

God promises a future for Jacob even when Jacob has nothing but a stone for a pillow.

The God who separates life from death and light from darkness

turns Jacob’s flight from death

into the beginning of a new chapter of abundant life.

On that stone pillow,

Jacob went to sleep in fear. But he woke up with awe.

He went to sleep with guilt but he woke up with a promise.

He went to sleep alone but he woke up in the presence of God.

This is what I mean when I say God is writing a story

stronger than deceit and rivalry,

stronger than anger and violence,

a story where none of that will get the last word.

The Gospel of John picks up the thread from here.

Jesus meets Nathanael and says, “You will see heaven opened, and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.”

Jesus is, of course, referencing Jacob’s dream.

But the ladder is no longer just a dream in the desert.

The ladder is now flesh and blood.

John is making the point for his readers that Jesus himself is the meeting place of heaven and earth.

John wants us to see that, in Jesus, God is present with us.

The God who spoke creation into being now speaks blessing through Christ.

The God who saw Jacob in the wilderness now sees Nathanael under the fig tree.

The God who provided a promise to Jacob when he was a fugitive now provides bread for the hungry and living water for the thirsty.

The God who separated life from death in the beginning now goes through death and brings forth life.

This is the story God is writing.

It is a story where violence tries again and again to end the story.

But where God again and again intervenes to show that violence will not, and cannot, be the end of the story.

The light shines in the darkness and the darkness cannot overcome it.

And friends, we need that story.

We need to know that we are part of that story.

Because the stories on our screens and in our newspapers are filled with violence.

Every day we read stories about:

Another war. Another shooting. Another child lost.

Like Esau, our world burns with anger and the threat of revenge.

But violence does not get the last word.

Jacob and Esau’s story bends toward reconciliation.

Jacob must have been terrified when he saw Esau coming toward him with 400 men.

And he had every reason to believe the end had come.

But instead of revenge, Esau ran to embrace him.

The one wronged becomes the one who offers peace.

This part of the story sounds a bit like Jesus’ parable of the prodigal son.

In this case the brother, not the father, who is running to embrace the one who had betrayed him.

But in both cases, it is a story of reconciliation that only God can write.

And in Christ, heaven and earth embrace not in a dream, but on a cross.

God bears the world’s violence in his own body.

He takes into himself all of our rivalry and deceit,

all of our anger and vengeance.

And from that place of death, he brings forth life.

That is the story we are called to live in.

Not the story of fear or scarcity.

Not the story of rivalry or revenge.

But the story of God who creates and re-creates,

who blesses and provides,

who separates life from death,

and who in Christ is writing a story stronger than violence.

So, when we feel like Jacob, running in fear, uncertain of what’s ahead

or when we feel like Esau, angry and betrayed,

we can know that God is still blessing us,

still at work to bring reconciliation and forgiveness.

Because the truth is that at any moment, we may feel like either one of these twins.

But any time we feel like the world is spinning out in violence,

God’s story reminds us that God is building a bridge,

a ladder, a meeting place where heaven and earth come together in peace.

We find this in Jesus, who is our Lord and Savior.

Our rock for a pillow has become our redeemer.

Thanks be to God. Amen.