Wrestling or Colt Loses More Than Chest Hair Fighting Tang Lung

A fter recounting Abraham’s story with fairly extensive detail, Scripture coughs Isaac’s name into its hand like that annoying frat brother who’s always looking for a cheap laugh. After all the buildup, Isaac almost immediately takes on a supporting role. To this point, all we know about him is his Fonzie-like coolness. There’s no doubt that after the trip to Moriah in Genesis 22 his street cred went through the roof. The guy is definitely his father’s son. But in case you want DNA evidence, Genesis 26 lays out a narrative more compelling than a Maury Povich paternity test. The uncanny storyline plays out like this: There’s a famine, Isaac travels to Philistia, God passes on the Abrahamic covenant, Isaac pitches his tent in Abimelech’s backyard, Isaac pretends his wife, Rebecca, is his sister (vv. 1-7). Sound familiar? You’re not the only one who thinks so. Abimelech is experiencing déjà vu, but, like Homey D. Clown, he don’t play that. He’s been down this road before and is quick to accost Isaac with some straight talk (vv. 8-10). And while Abimelech doesn’t treat him with the same level of respect as he did Abraham, his Roy Neary experience (see Gen. 20:3-7) keeps him humble and he wisely renews his insurance policy (vv. 28, 29).

Another eerie similarity in Isaac’s storyline is that, like Sarah, Rebecca is barren. But just when you’re starting to feel stupid for buying into another bad sequel, the plot shifts. Thanks to his dad’s experience, Isaac knows better than to invite another woman into the bedroom. In Genesis 25 he takes the Commissioner Gordon route instead, relying on a red phone conversation (v. 21). God doesn’t put him on hold. The drama is cut short when in vitro fertilization is brought out of its trial phase. Next thing you know Rebecca’s oven is preheated to 375^° and cooking up bickering twins Chad and Alex Wagner, who immediately start swapping blows in the womb. Disturbed by the twenty-four-hour cage match taking place inside of her, Rebecca gets an ultrasound from God and learns “the older shall serve the younger” (vv. 22-24). Now that’s what I call advanced technology.

Even at birth the twins don’t stop fighting, with the oldest edging out the youngest in a photo finish. Isaac and Rebecca’s firstborn is covered with so much hair it appears they have a baby Wookiee on their hands (v. 25). They name the child Esau, but affectionately refer to him as Chewbacca. The youngest arrives right on his heels—as in literally holding on to his brother’s heel as he emerges (v. 26). He all but demands a recount with his first breath. He’s given the name Jacob. The text says Esau grows up to be an outdoorsman, skilled hunter and lifelong Field and Stream subscriber, while Jacob stayed home (v. 27). Hundred bucks says he was a gamer. More importantly, he’s identified as “wholesome,” the kind of guy your mom wants you to date. Meanwhile, Esau is known around town as Leon Phelps. It’s like the difference between Alfred and Tristan Ludlow. Scripture says Isaac favors Esau “because he had a taste for game” (v. 28). It’s an unusual reason for favoritism, but then parents have loved their kids for a lot less. Isaac is a meat and potatoes kind of guy and likes eating the game Esau brings home. It’s that simple. But Rebecca, debatably affected by the butterfly effect of God’s prediction, favors Jacob and is always looking for an opportunity to advance his status.

As adults, Jacob and Esau’s feud becomes a race for Uncle Joe McTeague’s blessing, with Jacob getting the better of his brother at every turn. I guess he was unfamiliar with the general rule: always let the Wookiee win. On one occasion, Esau comes home after a long day in the deer stand and asks Jacob for a bowl of his famous chili—the “red stuff” (v. 30). Seeing his brother’s hunger as an opportunity, Jacob proposes a deal. But he doesn’t ask Esau to hand over his Troy Aikman rookie card—he goes right for the big money prize: “First, sell me your birthright” (v. 31). Esau agrees without putting up a fight and doesn’t even pull the classic big brother ploy by reneging on the deal once he’s had his fill: “My birthright for a bowl of chili? Do I look stupid to you? Where do you think this meat came from, Kroger? I killed this deer last Thursday. Nice try, little brother.” Nope. That’s not what he does. He spits and shakes on it without a second thought.

Jacob outwits his broheim once again in Genesis 27. Isaac’s getting older and has all but lost his eyesight, so he summons Esau and instructs him to go hunt and prepare a meal so he can bless him (vv. 1-4). Rebecca overhears and, with Sarah Connor’s knowledge of the future, is willing to go to militant extremes to ensure Jacob gets the title God predicted. Like Elwood Blues she’s on a mission from God. Problem is, God only revealed what would happen, not how it would come about. As the Oracle within the Matrix would say, “Ohh, what’s really going to bake your noodle later on is, would [it have happened] if I hadn’t said anything?” Rebecca doesn’t stop to ask that question. She cooks up Isaac’s favorite meal and disguises Jacob in his brother’s clothes, even going so far as to cover his skin with goat hair. She’s gotta do something. Esau’s hairiness makes Teen Wolf look like an Olympic diver. As Joshua Faraday would say, “I believe that bear was wearing people’s clothes.” Isaac may be blind, but he’s not stupid. Once the costume is complete, Jacob approaches his father pretending to be Esau. There’s a moment when his voice almost gives him away, but when Isaac feels the hair and smells his clothes he’s reassured (vv. 20-23 and 27). If it feels like a goat and smells like a goat, it must be Esau. On that basis, Isaac goes on to bless Jacob with the inheritance of the firstborn.

Unaware of what’s happened, Esau returns and presents himself to his father. Like Dave Kujan, Isaac puts the pieces together a moment too late (v. 33). He’s clearly troubled by the outcome, but doesn’t revoke the blessing or reprimand Jacob for his trickery. What’s done is done. Much like the indisputable Massey prenup, his words can’t be reversed. Esau wails like the Silver Banshee when he gets the news (v. 34). Isaac offers a consolation blessing, but Esau has already adopted a Commissioner Dreyfus eye twitch and spends the next three days sharpening his knife. He now views hunting with a General Zaroff mindset. From now on he’ll be hunting the most dangerous game. When Rebecca hears his plan, she encourages Jacob to visit her brother Laban until Esau cools off (vv. 41-44). She makes it sound like an invitation to appear on The Dating Game when she poses the idea to Isaac, stating her dislike for the local girls as the primary reason for Jacob’s trip. Unaware of the threat from Esau, Isaac agrees and, in Genesis 28, sends him to look for a wife among the daughters of Laban (v. 2). Jacob even receives the coveted “blessing of Abraham” before leaving, making him the irrefutable covenant heir (vv. 3, 4).

With nothing more than an extra pair of Underoos, Jacob slips out the backdoor when his brother isn’t looking and heads for Haran. On the way he stops at Moriah, a location he’s likely heard his dad mention in a dramatic tone a thousand times before. Scripture simply describes it as the “place,” assuming modern readers will pick up on the less than Google-friendly reference (v. 11). Jacob spends the night and winds up having a dream of Doctor Parnassus magnitude. In it he sees a ladder ascending into the far reaches of outer space with angels going back and forth. I know what you’re thinking, but it doesn’t appear to be a hallucination brought on by an experimental military drug Jacob received in Vietnam. God appears to him and passes on the covenant he made with his father and grandfather (vv. 13-15). The dream is so vivid Jacob wakes up thinking he’s been through the Stargate—and he certainly sounds like a guy who’s visited the future when he exclaims, “How awesome is this place” (v. 17). Before leaving, he offers a tribute to God, which includes setting up a stone monument and playing Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven” on his boom box.

He reaches the outskirts of Haran a few days later. Genesis 29 says he comes across some local shepherds tending sheep. After receiving some basic information about his uncle from them, he proceeds to question their work ethic (v. 7). This doesn’t earn him any new friends. The shepherds inform him they’re waiting for backup to arrive, so they can remove the large boulder from the community well. About that time Laban’s daughter, Rachel, shows up with her father’s flock (v. 9). When Jacob sees her, it’s love at first sight. He practically has a choreographed Tom Hansen “You Make My Dreams Come True” moment.

Rachel’s arrival inspires him to slap some chalk on his hands and give the boulder the old heave-ho. Despite his past as a shut-in, Jacob is stronger than he appears. Instead of blowing out his O-ring in a failed attempt, he shows up all of the guys standing around waiting for help by rolling the boulder from the mouth of the well all by himself (v. 10). Then he kisses Rachel. Talk about a Rico Suave move. It’s too bad he has to have a good cry afterwards (v. 11). That puts an asterisk on his manly credentials—but Rachel doesn’t mind. She likes her men strong and sensitive (and yes, related. We’re in kissing cousins territory again). Running ahead, she tells her dad the news and Laban rushes out to greet his nephew. The last time he saw someone from this side of the family it was like Christmas morning (see Gen. 24:53), so when he discovers Jacob isn’t handing out presents from a red velvet bag, he’s a little nonplused.

The smitten Jacob stays with Laban and works out a deal with him to earn the right to marry Rachel: “I will serve you seven years for your younger daughter Rachel” (v. 18). Today that’s equivalent to buying a girl three beers at Applebee’s. Laban is quick to agree to the terms. Jacob gets to work and Scripture says the years “seemed to him but a few days because of his love for her” (v. 20). It sounds like Jacob has found his Buttercup. For all of the grandsons out there wondering if this is a kissing book—yes, it is. Brace yourself, kids. Once the obligation is complete, Laban throws a wedding feast for the happy couple, but gets tricky afterwards by substituting his older daughter, Leah, in Rachel’s place. Leah is the big sister who can’t get a right swipe on Tinder to save her life, so when Daddy throws Rachel’s wedding dress at her she’s desperate enough to play along with the ruse and Jacob, unaware of the switch, sleeps with her (v. 23). It would appear Rachel spends the night locked in the trunk of her father’s Buick LeSabre. It’s the only thing that explains her silence. As for Jacob, he’s up against a face veil, darkness and a screaming libido. Yeah, that seven-year wait may have only seemed like a few days to his heart, but his hormones are singing a different tune. He wakes up the following morning to find Leah wrapped around him like Gloria Cleary. Karma just caught up to Jacob. Looks like he’s got a stage-five clinger on his hands now.

Understandably upset, he confronts his uncle, who agrees to release Rachel as soon as he gets back from his honeymoon with Leah. That’s when Laban’s motive becomes clear: “[Y]ou shall serve with me for another seven years” (v. 27). Never has a man wanted his honeymoon to end so quickly. At the end of the week Laban delivers Rachel and Jacob finally has his dream girl. For Leah the honeymoon is over in more ways than one, because once her sister enters the picture, she becomes the other Boleyn girl (v. 30). The good news for Leah is God has an affinity for underdogs and contributes to her cause by sprinkling a little Miracle-Gro on her ovaries, while Rachel carries on the legacy of infertility (v. 31).

Jacob is suddenly a very busy man. After working for his uncle all day, he comes home to two competitive wives dressed in Nomi Malone’s work clothes and playing Boyz II Men on a loop. As a result, Leah has four sons: Reuben, Simeon, Levi and Judah. When Rachel sees her sister popping out kids like Michelle Duggar, her husband’s love is no longer enough. In Genesis 30, she takes a page out of Sarah’s old playbook by giving Jacob her maidservant, Bilhah, to bear children in her stead (v. 3). Bilhah births two sons, Dan and Naphtali. Not to be outdone, Leah hands over her maid, Zilpah, who also births two sons, Gad and Asher. Jacob’s life has officially turned into an episode of Sister Wives. With four wives now on the premises every night becomes a “Who’s on First?” routine. On one occasion, the sisters even barter for sex, with Leah greeting Jacob that evening, saying, “You must come in to me, for I have surely hired you” (vv. 14-16). Jacob plays along. He doesn’t seem too worried about being viewed as a piece of meat. Or maybe he’s just too tired to argue. Leah goes on to birth three more children: Issachar, Zebulun and a daughter, Dinah. But things finally turn in Rachel’s favor when God remembers her (v. 22). You know what that means. Something hasn’t suddenly occurred to God out of the blue. Scripture says he remembers, not because he’s old and suffers from Alzheimer’s, but because he’s waiting for the right moment to act. Rachel’s number just came up. The result is her first child, Joseph.

At this point, Jacob’s ready to pack up and head home, but Laban knows a good thing when he sees it and begs him to stay (vv. 25-28). The two men strike a deal, but when Jacob benefits more than expected, Laban becomes a regular David Harken, promising promotions he awards to himself. He clearly earned his diploma from the Lawrence Garfield school of thought: “Whoever has the most when he dies, wins.” Jacob tires of the horrible boss routine, but continues to prosper.

Things don’t come unglued until Genesis 31. After getting word from God, Jacob calls a family meeting (vv. 3-9). Rachel and Leah aren’t their father’s biggest fans—“he has sold us, and has [spent] our purchase price”—and readily agree to leave without saying goodbye (vv. 14-18). This doesn’t go over well with Laban. He calls the War Boys when he gets the news and rides after them like Immortan Joe (vv. 22-24). Upon catching up, he confronts Jacob with a big this-isn’t-how-you-treat-family speech, which has nothing to do with his principles or why he gave chase in the first place. All he really wants to know is, “[W]hy did you steal my gods?” (v. 30), an exaggeration since he’s only missing one. Pat-Pat, Surly and Enoch are all accounted for, but Little Eddie Dentures is apparently his favorite and Jacob, unaware Rachel pilfered her father’s prized idol on the way out the door, announces the thief “shall not live,” setting up a tense scene as Laban ransacks the camp (v. 32). Rachel hides Little Eddie Dentures by sitting on it and claiming a code red (vv. 34, 35). Back then a woman’s period made her more untouchable than Eliot Ness. When his uncle comes away empty-handed, Jacob gives a speech of his own (vv. 36-42) and Laban, having been told by God in a dream to keep his sidearm holstered, reluctantly signs a peace treaty with his nephew before parting ways.

Jacob is feeling pretty good about things. God has spoken to him, he’s encountered more angels than Mark Gordon and when he asks his Magic 8-Ball if everything’s gonna work out, it reveals: “Signs Point to Yes.” So, in Genesis 32, he sends messengers ahead to seek favor from his brother as he nears Canaan. It’s been two decades since their falling out. He feels certain Esau has forgiven him by now. But when the messengers return they report Esau still wants to kick his little brother’s ass (v. 7). Jacob immediately takes defensive measures. He splits everyone and everything into two camps (v. 8), then sends hundreds of animals from his flocks in waves to meet his brother as gifts, instructing his herdsmen to tell Esau, “These are from Jacob. He’s sorry about the whole birthright thing” (vv. 17-22).

That night, Jacob goes off by himself, assumedly to collect his thoughts or keep watch. It isn’t clear. All we know is, one minute he’s alone and the next he’s locked in a WWE Last Man Standing match. Out of nowhere a “man” shows up and starts wrestling him (v. 25). Hebrew scholars say it was an angel, but the text seems to indicate it’s actually God in human form. Not knowing who he’s up against, Jacob fights like Ip Man, but all he gets in return is a career-ending hip injury (v. 26). Not even a grandmaster of Wing Chun stands a chance against omnipotence. Once he recognizes his inability to pull off an upset, he clings to God like an exhausted Apollo Creed: “Ain’t gonna be no rematch.” Jacob doesn’t have any more fight left in him. For the first time in his life the situation is out of his control and he finally acknowledges it. As a result, God changes his name to Israel: “[F]or you have striven with God and with man and have prevailed” (v. 29).

How do you explain God doing stuff like this? He’s so invested in the process he’s willing to duke it out without using the Five-Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique. Jacob made a request: “Deliver me … from the hand of my brother” (v. 12). But instead of shooting back a quick text or visiting him in dreamland, God spends the entire night wrestling him! And what does Jacob get in return? A force field of protection? Nope. Reassurance? Huh-uh. God gives him a new name—and a limp. “I have seen God face to face, yet my life has been preserved” (v. 31). Yeah, and that extra pair of Underoos is coming in handy right about now, too.

The next day Esau and his army appear on the horizon. Unsure what to expect, Jacob goes out to meet him. The reunion is recorded in Genesis 33, where Esau approaches his brother the same way Lando Calrissian approached Han on that Cloud City landing pad: “Why you slimy, double-crossing, no-good swindler. You’ve got a lot of guts coming here, after what you pulled.” And just when you’re sure he’s made a deal to freeze Jacob in carbonite, he wraps him up in a bear hug (v. 4). As Tommy Callahan would say, “Brothers don’t shake hands. Brothers gotta hug!” It seems to be more of a last-minute decision on Esau’s part than a time-heals-all-wounds scenario, because despite hugging it out their relationship remains cool and Jacob keeps Esau at arm’s length moving forward.

After reconciling with his brother, Jacob returns to Canaan, where he buys land and settles down. But Genesis 34 yanks the rug out from under this seemingly cheerful outcome when it reports his daughter, Dinah, is kidnapped by Shechem, a local hotshot prince, who takes her back to his place and gives her the Ethan Roark, Jr. treatment (v. 2). It isn’t until after he rapes Dinah that he decides he’d like to marry her. So, in typical rich brat fashion, he runs to Daddy to work out a deal (v. 4). The text says Shechem’s actions are an outrage in Israel, but not anywhere else (v. 7). Apparently, the locals are used to this sort of behavior. Dinah’s brothers aren’t. When they hear the news, they come up with a Jennifer Hills revenge plot, claiming they’ll intermarry and allow their still captive sister to remain with the Yellow Bastard if the men of the city consent to being circumcised (vv. 15-17). Shechem and his father agree and convince the rest of the city to go along with it (vv. 20-24). Three days later when the men are incapacitated in pain, Jacob’s sons, Simeon and Levi, stroll into town like Paul Kersey and exact vigilante justice by killing every male with an icepack on his lap. They save Shechem for last (vv. 25, 26). As John Hartigan would say, “I take his weapons away from him. Both of them.” Then the brothers plunder the city and take Dinah home (vv. 27-29).

There’s little doubt Shechem got what he deserved. Thanks to him, Dinah will live out the rest of her life a spinster. The question is, did the rest of the city deserve such a fate? Granted, they stood by and allowed their leaders to get away with criminal behavior, but the excessive force argument is front and center, too. Jacob goes nuclear when he hears what they’ve done. He had no part in their scheme and now fears the surrounding communities will retaliate. Simeon and Levi could care less: “Should he treat our sister as a [prostitute]?” (v. 31). William Wallace would’ve recruited these guys in a heartbeat.

Turns out, Jacob’s concern is legitimate. In the aftermath of Simeon and Levi’s rampage, Genesis 35 says God shows up like Frank Ochoa and instructs Jacob to hit the road, offering him a police escort until they’re safely out of town (v. 5). They’re already in Canaan, so it’s an in-state move, but the short trek is as eventful as a Griswold family road trip. Along the way things go from good to bad to ugly. Literally. The good: God drops in on Jacob, validating his new name (Israel) with proper documentation and reestablishes his covenant personally for the final time (vv. 9-13). The bad: a pregnant Rachel goes into labor and dies shortly after giving birth to her second son, Benjamin (vv. 16-18). The ugly: Jacob’s eldest, Reuben, boinks Rachel’s maidservant, his step-mom, Bilhah (v. 22). We’re talking about a hookup of Harold and Maude proportions. The text is pretty scant—it doesn’t want to discuss details any more than we want to read them—but Reuben’s reasoning may not be as cut and dry as misplaced teenage lust. Remember, the guy grew up seeing his mom’s attempts to gain Jacob’s favor repeatedly denied. Now, with Rachel out of the picture, a quickie with Bilhah will force his father into Leah’s tent on a permanent basis. As James Bond would say, “What I did this evening was for King and country. You don’t think it gave me any pleasure, do you?”

After a blessing, death and weirdness in general, Jacob and company finally reach their destination, where they put down roots and enjoy a few decades together as a family. Rebecca dies before their arrival, but Isaac gets to meet a parade of grandkids before his death at the ripe old age of 180 (vv. 27-29). It’s the end of another messy story. The patriarchs don’t give God a lot to work with, but he makes the best out of what they offer. He’s like MacGyver manufacturing a hydrogen bomb with a paperclip and chewing gum. Nope. These guys aren’t saints. In fact, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob barely qualify as role models. They scheme and cheat and lie like Mark Bellison. The only thing that sets them apart is their willingness to acknowledge God. It doesn’t sound like much, but what do I know? I’m just trying to put the pieces together. It’s encouraging to know these scriptural big shots weren’t perfect. They found their way with equal amounts of hope and doubt, asking questions along the way and wrestling until it made sense. That I can respect.