The Very Rev. Dean Penny Bridges
You may have noticed that we are reading passages from Genesis each Sunday this summer. We are following a semi-continuous sequence, starting with the call of Abraham, and outlining the foundational story of the Jewish people: Isaac, Jacob and Esau, Jacob’s twelve sons who founded the twelve tribes of Israel, Joseph and his coat of many colors, and culminating six weeks from now in the dramatic scene where Joseph’s estranged brothers come to Pharoah’s court during a famine to beg for food, are reconciled with Joseph, and migrate lock, stock, and barrel to Egypt, setting the scene for the Exodus story that follows.
That’s the story in its barest outline, and our Sunday readings fill in some more of it, but there are all kinds of fascinating details that we will miss if we just read the portions assigned for Sunday mornings; and that’s a shame, because the story of the Abrahamic dynasty is one of the great stories of the world, offering all kinds of insights, into the ancient culture in which Judaism arose, and into the human nature that we share with those people of long ago. And the story is told with great skill, with multiple layers to be enjoyed, cherished, and examined. So, let’s go a little deeper into today’s recounting of the wooing of Rebekah.
Abraham and Sarah have settled in the land of Canaan, after following God’s call to leave their old life behind. Abraham has fathered two sons: Hagar’s child Ishmael, who, thanks to Sarah’s jealousy, has been exiled to the desert and becomes the ancestor of the nomadic desert peoples; and Sarah’s son Isaac, the child of her old age and the one chosen to bear God’s promise into the future.
By the time we get to today’s reading, Sarah has died, so Abraham’s household has no mistress. It’s time for Isaac to get married and take over running the estate. Abraham doesn’t want his son to marry into the local population; so, as is common in many cultures, he turns to his extended family to find a wife. Abraham charges his most trusted servant with the mission of seeking out and bringing back the right woman. He sends an impressive array of livestock and precious goods as a sample of his wealth, essentially to serve as the price of this hypothetical woman.
Abraham’s emissary, who remains unnamed, duly treks across the desert, and eventually comes to an oasis, where he encounters a young woman doing the daily task of fetching water, a burden that women and girls in many parts of the world continue to carry today, at significant risk of rape and assault.
The young woman’s manners measure up to the expectations of the emissary: she offers appropriate hospitality; and, as a bonus, we are told that she is both beautiful and a virgin. The emissary pays her with expensive gold jewelry for watering his camels, and he learns that she is in fact a relative of Isaac: her great-grandfather was Isaac’s grandfather: they are first cousins once removed: in other words, a perfect match by ancient world standards.
Recognizing that the emissary represents a wealthy family, Rebekah invites him to stay at her brother’s homestead. Laban, her brother, of whom we will hear more in the story of Jacob, sees the gold, and eagerly agrees to the marriage on Rebekah’s behalf. Rebekah’s mother and Laban suggest a ten day delay in sending her on her way, but the emissary is anxious to depart, and it turns out that Rebekah is very willing to leave right away. Our reading takes us to the end of this episode, as Isaac and Rebekah are married, and Isaac subsequently comes to love his wife. That’s the way arranged marriages often go: first the covenant that binds the two parties together, and then the love. Kind of like the covenant God has made with us.
I’ve already filled in some of the gaps in the reading that you have in front of you; but there is more to this story. At first glance it reads like a misogynistic, patriarchal exchange of property: gold for the girl: she is bought and sold. But in the details we find more complexity. Rebekah is living with her widowed mother, her brother, and her brother’s wife. There is no role for her in this household, and no power.
If we allow our imaginations to stretch just a little further, we can guess that life at home may be rather uncomfortable for Rebekah; and the fact that she leaps at the chance to leave immediately, without prolonged farewells, suggests that she is no mere passive object; she has some agency in this transaction; the opportunity to leave home and have her own place to run must be very attractive.
Abraham’s emissary brings a promise of wealth and more importantly position: with Sarah having died and Hagar long gone, there is currently no woman in charge of Abraham’s household. There’s an opening for a strong woman to build her own little empire. And Rebekah is a strong woman.
Take a moment to remember more of this family saga: the day will come when Rebekah is the doting mother of twin sons, Jacob and Esau. Jacob, whose name means trickster, will trick his older brother out of his birthright in the story of what the old translations call the mess of potage, a bowl of vegetable stew.
Rebekah will later manipulate the feeble and visually impaired Isaac into giving Jacob the blessing that belongs to Esau; and she will protect Jacob from Esau’s fury by sending him to stay at her brother Laban’s place, where Jacob is subsequently tricked by Laban into marrying the wrong girl. Then, later again, Rachel, Jacob’s wife and Laban’s daughter, steals her father’s idols and hides them by sitting on them and pretending that she has her period, which keeps her father’s men at bay.
Do you see how the women use their power? Do you see the family trait of trickery and deceit, passed from generation to generation by men and women alike? Do you see how Rebekah’s actions and choices drive the narrative and control how God’s promise is carried forward? And think back to how Sarah acted to ensure that Abraham had descendants, first by forcing her enslaved servant to be impregnated by him, and then, when the child became a threat to her own son, by banishing him and his mother to the desert.
The women in this narrative have more power than might at first appear. There is no denying that this was a patriarchal culture, but as we see over and over in Scripture, women found ways to effect change and, deliberately or incidentally, carry forward God’s plans for the chosen people. And still it is today: sometimes it turns out to be the minor characters or our very imperfections that provide the means to carry out God’s mission in the world.
Expectations can be deceiving. Rebekah played a crucial role in the story of the patriarchs. John the Baptist refused to be corrupted by the wealthy and powerful men who wanted to wine and dine him. Jesus broke all the molds by hanging out with tax collectors and sinners. When the culture played a jig, they declined to join in the dance. Today’s culture expects Christians to be narrow-minded, judgmental, and legalistic: preaching of an angry and vengeful God; but we defy those expectations. We refuse to exclude or condemn, celebrating the joy of our liberation through the love of Christ and sharing it with all of God’s children.
I am convinced that if Jesus came among us today, he would be marching with us in next Saturday’s Pride parade; he would be writing op-eds supporting reproductive choice and gender-affirming care; he would be speaking up at city council meetings for the dignity and safety of our unsheltered neighbors. He would do this because he has experienced the fullness of God’s love; and he offers the same blessing to us. That is why, even in the midst of difficult and painful times, we can trust in and accept the invitation that God offers us through the Gospel: “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.”
