The Consumption of Crumbs- Genesis 25, 27

We were born into this fight, my brother Esau and I.

I look at the Scriptures and I see how it’s easier to crawl under the table and consume the crumbs than it is to stand and be seen and demand to be blessed in the hard place.

I sit down slowly across from God and I throw my burdens down on the table, all of them, and I point my finger and I demand a reckoning.

This is anger.

We keep giving God the pain of the present moment, but what He also wants are our hurts from the past.

The broken, tender and untouched places that we cover up.

Most anger has roots that go back to our first day on this wounded planet, when we were born into a disadvantage that was never ours to choose.

Ours is always second place, even when we are sure we will come out on top.

We hoard and protect our brokenness because it gives us great power- the power to beg, cry, weep, accuse and cover up our wounds with offense. The power to avoid healing.

Anger disguises our fear of being born into a 

starving world filled with lack.

We barter with our Creator for the crumbs from His table, when really, there is a place set for us right next to Him. But instead we crawl around on our hands and knees, weeping and asking for even a tiny remnant of our brothers’ blessings.

What we need to do is stand up, brush the dust off our knees, take a seat directly across from God, look Him straight in the eye, shake our finger and determine to be blessed in the broken place.  We need to slide our pain across the table and tell Him to take it all back.

He wants us to give our anger to Him, so that He can heal it.

So let’s get up off the ground where we consume the broken crumbs of lost dreams. It is time to toil and labor for a crop of well-worn, hard-learned wisdom.

This week I was reminded that the Bible is a complicated mess.

Confession- I am starting to fall in love with all the broken misfits in Scripture.

So far this year I have walked with Cain, Hagar, and Abraham’s servant. This week I had the privilege of meeting Esau.

His story is delicious.

Esau is one whose brother wronged him, deceived him, and took away the things that should have been his. Esau also made the terrible mistake of showing careless contempt for his own birthright. He threw it all away without realizing.

He was born into a world full of opposition and lies, where love is war.

Love is war.

And the temptation is to hate that brother whose abundance exposes our lack. And we stick around and scheme while desperately consuming the crumbs of others success.

Some of us are like Esau. We cry ““Oh God, give me one blessing to hold onto, just one. That’s all I ask now. Is there anything left of what I thought I wanted in this place? I’m starving.”

See, us God, here on our knees crying for leftovers. Begging for the opportunity that was never ours to have.

We are angry at You, God 

for putting this hunger in our heart.

We inherit the strife of our ancestors, the ones who snuck in through the backdoor of Scripture. The ones who aren’t qualified to be there. The ones who lose everything because of stupid mistakes and revealed unhealed brokenness.

God. These are my people.

And we did not ask for this- it was handed to us from birth. Ours is an inheritance of human flaws and failure. This is unfair.

God. I’m angry.

We demand a reckoning.

But if someone shows you who you really are, 

remember that they are probably right.

I stand in line with all the misfits of Scripture, my beloved messy ancestors. We are a broken race of image-bearers. Our stories are the ones that won’t get a place of honor. These are the stories that nobody wants to share, the ones best left to their own devices.

To lay claim to the lineage of Esau is to be overlooked circumstantially.

This is nobody’s fault, really, except

 the fault of the entire Universe.

And we are afraid to aim our hate at the Almighty Creator.

So instead, we aim it at each other.

And then we weep because we are starving for love.

The seed of these hungry beggar tears is anger. It lays the table for all subsequent events to come. We water this seed as we bide our time here, hoping helplessly for a fresh outpouring of blessing while settling for scraps from around the feet of blind superiors who dine above us.

All the things that made Esau feel small and disadvantaged from birth were handed to him by the Universe without consulting his opinion. He was dropped into his life without any say about his own introduction.

Esau faced insignificance

from his first day on earth.

So pull up a seat and let’s read Esau’s story together now, shall we?

Genesis 25:

“Isaac pleaded with the Lord on behalf of his wife, because she was unable to have children. The Lord answered Isaac’s prayer and Rebekah became pregnant with twins. But the two children struggled with each other in her womb. So she went to ask the Lord about it. ‘Why is this happening to me?’ She asked. And the Lord told her, ‘The sons in your womb will become two nations. From the very beginning, the two nations will be rivals. One nation will be stronger than the other; and your older son will serve your younger son.’ And when the time came to give birth, Rebekah discovered that she did indeed have twins! The first one was very red at birth and covered with thick hair like a fur coat. So they named him Esau (hair). Then the other twin was born with his hand grasping Esau’s heel. So they named him Jacob (heel/deceiver)."

--v21-26

This is where the struggle begins- Esau is born into a circumstance he did not choose but which chose him, and his world is defined by lack-

there is not enough love to go around.

We are small, unknowing, and so young.

We adapt.

We avoid.

We excuse ourselves from the table and step outside.

“As the boys grew up, Esau became a skillful hunter. He was an outdoorsman, but his brother Jacob had a quiet temperament, preferring to stay at home.” v28

We don’t ask questions, we just move through the situation as best we can with what we know so far, which is very little.

We observe the world around us.

“Isaac loved Esau because he enjoyed eating the wild game Esau brought home, but Rebekah loved Jacob.” v28

And though we are children, we are becoming aware that we must either produce or quickly consume whatever crumbs that we can.

We must be the strong one and let others take the seat of honor.

We internalize the pain.

This is a world of lack, and so

we put on a protective mask of apathy.

We become cynical and careless.

We self-sabotage.

“One day when Jacob was cooking some stew, Esau arrived home from the wilderness exhausted and hungry. Esau said to Jacob, ‘I’m starved! Give me some of that red stew!’ ‘All right,’ Jacob replied, ‘but first trade me your rights as the firstborn son.’” ’Look, I’m dying of starvation!’ said Esau. ‘What good is my birthright to me now?’ But Jacob said, ‘First you must swear that your birthright is mine.’ So Esau swore an oath, thereby selling all his rights as the firstborn to his brother, Jacob. Then Jacob gave Esau some bread and lentil stew. Esau ate the meal, then got up and left. He showed contempt for his rights as the firstborn.” 

--v29-34

And now at the table that the Universe has laid, our insecurities become the centerpiece.

We feast on “it’s complicated”, sticky-sweet dishes that we cannot identify but which wound and defeat us slowly from within, without our conscious awareness. Meals without nourishment.

This is where all Creation serves up harsh reality in abundance.

It is the people closest to Esau that become the greatest teachers of his pain.

“One day when Isaac was old and turning blind, he called for Esau, his older son, and said, ‘My son.’ ‘Yes, Father?’ Esau replied. ‘I am an old man now,’ Isaac said, ‘and I don’t know when I may die. Take your bow and a quiver full of arrows, and go out into the open country to hunt some wild game for me. Prepare my favorite dish, and bring it here for me to eat. Then I will pronounce the blessing that belongs to you, my firstborn son, before I die.'"

--27 v1-4

We leave the table and go outside, where we can often be found, because it’s just easier that way.

We give up our seat of honor, completely unaware of the cost.

“But Rebekah overheard what Isaac had said to his son Esau. So when Esau left to hunt for the wild game, she said to her son Jacob, ‘Listen. I overheard your father say to Esau, "Bring me some wild game and prepare me a delicious meal. Then I will bless you in the Lord’s presence before I die." Now, Jacob, listen to me. Do exactly as I tell you. Go out to the flocks, and bring me two fine young goats. I’ll use them to prepare your father’s favorite dish. Then take the food to your father so he can eat it and bless you before he dies.’” --27 v5-10

And minding our own business, while aiming our arrows at innocent beings in the distance, we’ve no idea that our birthright is being taken from us at that very moment.

Others are in discussion about us behind our backs, determining our fate and preparing our demotion. 

And those who decide our fate, they are blind to reality.

We lift the bow and arrow, narrow our gaze, find the perfect target, and release.

And our inheritance is destroyed while we are away shooting at small game.

“Then she took Esau’s favorite clothes, which were there in the house, and gave them to her younger son, Jacob. She covered his arms and the smooth part of his neck with the skin of the young goats. Then she gave Jacob the delicious meal, including freshly baked bread. So Jacob took the food to his father, ‘
My father?’ he said. 
‘Yes, my son,’ Isaac answered. ‘Who are you- Esau or Jacob?’ 
Jacob replied, ‘It’s Esau, your firstborn son. I’ve done as you told me. Here is the wild game. Now sit up and eat it so you can give me your blessing.’ 
Isaac asked, ‘How did you find it so quickly, my son?’ 
‘The Lord your God put it in my path!’ Jacob replied. 
Then Isaac said to Jacob, ‘Come closer so I can touch you and make sure that you really are Esau.’ 
So Jacob went closer to his father, and Isaac touched him.
'The voice is Jacob’s, but the hands are Esau’s,’ Isaac said. 
But he did not recognize Jacob, [because he was blind]. So Isaac prepared to bless Jacob. 
‘But are you really my son Esau?’ He asked. ‘
Yes, I am,’ Jacob replied.  
And when Isaac caught the smell of his clothes, he was finally convinced, and he blessed his son.” 
v15-27

The seed of self-sabotage, planted so long ago before we were even born, has now taken root and grown beyond our control. This is the moment when we reckon with our past, regret our choices, and grasp desperately for our future.

We enter the room totally unaware of what is about to pass. We are proud of what we bring to the table. Our innocence is our undoing.

Our ignorance is about to be consumed.

“As soon as Isaac had finished blessing Jacob, and almost before Jacob had left his father, Esau returned from his hunt. Esau prepared a delicious meal and brought it to his father. Then he said, ‘Sit up, my father, and eat my wild game so you can give me your blessing.’ But Isaac asked him ‘Who are you’ Esau replied, ‘It’s your son, your firstborn son, Esau.’ Isaac began to tremble uncontrollably and said, ‘Then who just served me wild game? I have already eaten it, and I blessed him just before you came. And yes, that blessing must stand!’” 

v30-33

The blessing is gone forever.

It’s gone.

So we deny the truth.

We still desperately believe that we can change the past.

“When Esau heard his father’s words, he let out a loud and bitter cry. ‘Oh my father, what about me? Bless me, too!’ he begged. But Isaac said, ‘Your brother was here and tricked me. He has taken away your blessing.’ Esau exclaimed, ‘No wonder his name is Jacob (deceiver), for now he has cheated me twice. First he took my rights as the firstborn, and now he has stolen my blessing. Oh, haven’t you saved even one blessing for me?’” 

v36

Oh God, give me one blessing to hold onto, just one. That’s all I ask now- a crumb! Is there anything left for me here? Not even the scraps from the table?

If sheer will-power could erase the regret, all would not be lost.

So we strive against the forces of fallen nature.

“Isaac said to Esau, ‘I have made Jacob your master and have declared that all his brothers will be his servants. I have guaranteed him an abundance of grain and wine- what is left for me to give you, my son?’” v37

Those who have hurt us, they are so very sorry, but it’s not really their fault. After all, they are blind, so it couldn't be helped.

It’s the fault of the Universe-

the loss is circumstantial.

Yet the holy part of us, the piece of our soul that knows it bears the image of the Creator, the royal and divine essence of our being, that voice inside us rises up and demands a reckoning.

Esau pleaded, ‘But do you have only one blessing? Oh my father, bless me, too!’ Then Esau broke down and wept.” v38

We are broken. Oh my God.

We were born into this fight,

my brother Esau and I.

The opposite of love is not hate. The opposite of love is apathy.

To be unseen is the ultimate form of dehumanization.

So we kneel and beg for a remnant. We wait for a handout. We try to give sight to the blind.

But the blessing we receive is not going to be what we hoped for.

"Finally, his father, Isaac, said to him, ‘You will live away from the richness of the earth, and away from the dew of the heaven above. You will live by your sword, and you will serve your brother. But when you decide to break free, you will shake his yoke from your neck.’” v39-40

We did not choose this.

We are angry, but we hide our anger from God and give it to our brothers instead.

And anger is the reason we stick around and scheme.

We plot and war against our brothers to cover up our wounds inflicted by the circumstances of the Universe, the wounds inflicted by our own contemptuous choices and masks of apathy.

“From that time on, Esau hated Jacob because their father had given Jacob the blessing. And Esau began to scheme: ‘I will soon be mourning my father’s death. Then I will kill my brother, Jacob.” v41

And so Esau will not see his brother for twenty years. They must part ways for all that time, because forgiveness is a process that cannot be rushed.

Reconciliation is a long hard journey, not a destination.

It takes time, so much time to heal.

Forgiveness takes a lifetime.

So for a long while afterwards we hoard and protect our anger, clutching it to our hearts, because it gives us great power- the power to beg, cry, weep, accuse and cover up our brokenness.

Hatred disguises our fear of being born into a fearful world full of lack.

And it has come to this- we hang around and barter with our superiors for the crumbs from their table.

And they are unseeing, blind to our plight- it is not their fault that they are blind, and they are so very sorry.

But the blessing is gone.

In the grief shall we miss the opportunity that is rising up from the ashes of defeat?

What is this strange poetry that we have been given?

Isaacs’ blessing leaves more than crumbs to grasp upon- there is a richness here, a hard-worn hope that stands out in stark contrast against Esaus’ weeping.

~*~

“You will live away from the richness of the earth, and away from the dew of the heaven above.”

This is the blessing of searching inwards.

First the thoughts will rove through a hard wilderness of denial, keeping far away from either the heights of joy or the depth of hurt.

We will retreat to consider our options. Our thoughts will wander among the remnants of the past. We will need to fight for purpose and meaning, rather than receive them effortlessly. Any nourishing thing we consume in this place will require the hard labor of effort and persistence, endurance and maturity.

~*~

“You will live by your sword, and you will serve your brother.”

This is the blessing of love as war.

Our thoughts will be volatile for a time and we will cast blame on others, enslaved to all the stages of grief.

We will need time to grieve- to pass fully through all the stages of sorrow and loss. This cannot be rushed or forced- it must be endured patiently and consciously. We must honor the pain of lost love. We have trusted and been hurt, but we can trust again. But first we must allow ourselves to be angry and grapple with what our anger means. We must face down our demons in order to defeat them. This internal warfare is the eventual path to acceptance, as we begin to face the reality of what cannot be undone.

~*~

“But when you decide to break free, you will shake his yoke from your neck.”

This is the blessing of freedom from offense.

When we forgive, we will victoriously rise above the grief.

The servitude to suffering is temporary, should we choose to do the long hard work and make a conscious change. If we can learn to adapt to the wilderness of regret, learn the discipline of forgiveness, wage warfare against hate, then we can break free from the angry and offended thoughts. But we must get up from where we now crawl around on our hands and knees, weeping and asking for even a tiny remnant of our brother’s blessings. This is the place of letting go.

We must release our pain through forgiveness of self and others.

But how do we know if we have truly forgiven?

Because our view of the world is no longer filtered through the past. We stop striving to change what has already happened. We accept the loss, we dwell in it, we make peace with it.

~*~

Someday we will fully forgive .

This is the blessing we are given now.

~*~

That brother who has wronged Esau, deceived him, taken away the things that should have been his. That brother who took away his blessed future, his very existence now tempts Esau to hate and scheme and strive.

We will someday have the strength and healing necessary to forgive- and therefore we are blessed.

This is the brother whose crumbs of success we are tempted to follow after and consume.

But this brother, the one who hurt us, he has his own story to tell, and it's a perspective to which we ourselves are blind.

The blind cannot lead the blind.

And so we must let him go in order to break free.

Our stories must diverge

in order to heal.

We must accept where we are today without criticism.

We must say goodbye to the past.

I am drawn to the story of Esau because I have inherited his spirit. These are my people, my ancestors, my birthright fathers and mothers- Cain, Hagar, Esau. The broken, doubting and angry ones- those who search for belonging. The outcast, the overlooked, the less-than, the small minions moving the plot along in the hidden background.

We feel so small because our stories go unseen-

but we are not invisible.

Here in Scripture are all the stories nobody else would tell except for God Himself- stories of the unseen, the forgotten, the ones whose thoughts rove through a barren wilderness, engage in warfare with hate and anger, and then break free through the power of forgiveness after a long hard struggle.

God gives me and my people a stage and a microphone, a social media platform and a pulpit, and He is our audience and His presence fills the entire auditorium. He sits in every pew, every chair, takes every seat. He listens intently and reads our every word. He hangs onto every sentence, supporting and encouraging and being present with us as we heal.

He does not abandon us in our time of vulnerability. 
Jesus will never send us away from His table.
He saves a special seat for his beloved.

He loves all of it, especially the uncomfortable chapters of our story that nobody else wants to touch. He is not threatened at all. He is enraptured with our stories- He values them for the treasures they truly are.

He cares deeply and truly about every word we think, write or speak.

And after we are done telling everything we ever needed to say, with a standing ovation and thunderous applause, God puts out a hand, smiles into our eyes and extends the invitation to you and to myself-

"I am so proud of you.

Now give to Me your anger and your pain,

beloved."

Because somewhere inside we must admit- we are angry at Him for our being born into a broken world filled with lack.

And there is nobody to blame, really, except the entire Universe which conspired against us from before the birth of our story.

We were born into this fight, my brother Esau and I.

I look at the Scriptures and see how it’s easier to crawl under the table and consume the crumbs than it is to stand and be seen and demand to be blessed with forgiveness in the hard place.

I want to fight for my blessing of forgiveness in the way Esau did- brazen, broken, desperate, determined and vulnerable.

Somewhere along the line I lost track of which things are

 my fault and which faults belong to others. 

It all gets muddled up in the scraping and striving.

And He asks us, “Give me your anger, child, give it to me. Let me transform it for you. Stop consuming crumbs around the feet of unseeing superiors. Set down your anger, push it across the table and give it all to Me. I want all of it.”

We can consume the broken crumbs of lost dreams or we can get up off the floor to work and labor for a crop of well-worn wisdom.

My friends, today let’s settle down into this wilderness where we have been roving. Let us begin to wage war against the lies we tell ourselves, and begin to break free from pretending the past can be any different than it already is.

When we learn to draw nourishment from the hard place where we dwell here and now, then we will no longer have a taste for the broken crumbs of regret.

And someday we will dine together with those who have hurt us, the broken misfits with embarrassing stories, and those who are blind. We will come together as brothers and sisters who are lacking nothing, bringing an abundance to the feast, because

we are all welcomed

to consume the blessing of forgiveness as equals

around the table of our King.

Cheers, my tiny tribe of readers! A toast to the lifelong journey of reconciliation.

Consume His promises today and be fully satisfied.

May all beings be peaceful and happy. Amen.

~*~

With deepest gratitude for all my readers-

Rebecca

To read Pearls and Presence, click here.

To read my story, click here.