"A Socketful of Miracles"

“My soul magnifies the Lord…. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly.”

A young man, a lifetime of promise ahead of him. He has a run-in with the law and is unjustly punished. In the aftermath, he’s targeted as just another petty criminal who got what he deserved.

Headlines from Ferguson, Missouri?

Could be. But actually, you’re off by well over 5,000 miles and more than five centuries.

That’s because the place is Corfu, off the west coast of Greece. The time is 1530. The victim: a teen named Stephen, a native of Corfu, a Greek. The public face of the law? Simon “The Lion” Balbi, Governor of Corfu commanding the Venetian Republic’s forces of occupation.

All factors point to confrontation, but not your average police-blotter, rebel-without-a-cause dust-up. This is life-altering confrontation for Stephen, for Balbi, and for all involved in events scarred by unjustifiable violence.

Picture this: According to legend, en route from the nearby city back to his village, Stephen becomes an innocent party to a crime. Thugs he just happens to be walking beside ─ to his horror ─ rob at knife-point some other folks they accost on the road.

Loot-in-hand, the thieves hightail it. Their victims report the incident to the police. The police initiate a manhunt ─ a manhunt that comes up dry … except for nabbing Stephen, whom the victims ID as one of the perps. Guilt by association.

The police arrest Stephen and book him. In the ensuing interrogation, he vehemently protests his innocence, but to no avail. And he’s no more successful at his court appearance. The verdict? “Guilty as charged.”

Then it’s up to Governor Balbi to impose the sentence. He gives the accused a choice: “We can either gouge out your eyes or cut off your hands. Choose.”

Stephen ─ reluctantly ─ chooses the eye-gouging option. And, as is the custom in that part of the world, the sentence is carried out as a form of public entertainment. Lots and lots of people witness the whole gory business.

It’s up to Stephen’s mother to pick up the pieces. Completely unhinged by this sudden and violent turn of events, she stations Stephen outside the village church. And resorting to begging, they throw themselves upon the mercy of their neighbors. That proves to be a bust. No sympathy whatsoever. “Stephen’s a thief. He got what he deserved!”

Time for Plan B. Capitalizing on the anonymity bestowed by distance, the mother leads Stephen 18 miles away to the Church of the Theotokos in the village of Cassiope. “Theotokos.” Equals “God-Bearer,” or “Mother of God.” I think “The One who brought us God (in the form of Jesus Christ)” may be a mouthful, but is more accurate. Bottomline: Think of “Theotokos” as St. Mary the Virgin.

Now, each year at this time, I do a riff on one of the many icons of the Virgin Mary associated with popular piety: flying icons, talking icons, three-handed icons. So, wouldn’t you know, the Church of St. Mary the Virgin in Cassiope boasts an icon of Jesus and his mother that, like the other icons in this yearly series, is rumored to perform miracles.

That means: crowds of pilgrims flock to the miraculous icon in Cassiope now, as then. If you’re forced to rely on the kindness of strangers who are either seeking a favor from God or thankful that they got one, a place like Cassiope known for its wonder-working icon is the place to be.

Topping the upgraded panhandling outlook, a monk at the church takes pity on Stephen and his mother, and, recognizing that they’re essentially homeless, allows them to sleep in the church for a few nights until they can extract some capital from the pilgrims.

Night falls. Before you can say, “Now I lay me down to sleep,” the heavy-lidded mother is in Dreamland. But Stephen, eyeless and restless, the pain shooting from his scabrous sockets, tosses and turns until ─ semi-conscious ─ he senses gentle fingers pressing firmly into the empty spaces only the day before occupied by his eyes.

Coming-to out of his confusion, he bolts upright just in time to see a resplendent Lady-in-Blue ─ gleaming in blinding light ─ before his very eyes. His very eyes! The Lady vanishes in an instant.

Rattled by what he thinks might a waking dream, Stephen begins to scour the church. His eyes dart here, and there, and there. “Who lit all these candles and lamps? They’re hurting my eyes!” he screams, waking his mother. She beats up on him: “First you lose your eyes. Now you’re losing your mind!”

Ignoring her, Stephen rushes over to the miraculous icon of the Mother of God ─ and I’m sure this will come as a complete surprise ─ the Madonna in the icon is the spitting image of the Lady-in-Blue who had just restored his eyes!

But here’s where the story takes a truly eye-popping turn. When Stephen’s mother finally settles down, she’s shocked to discover that his sockets are indeed now filled with new eyes and not just miraculous transplants of the originals.

How does she know? The eyes her son was born with ─ the eyes that were gouged out by the Governor’s executioner ─ were brown. Stephen’s new eyes are eyes befitting the Mother of God: blue eyes, the gift of the Lady-in-Blue.

But there’s an even better reason they’re blue. It has to do with proof.

Meaning: In their ecstasy, Stephen and his mother are making a general racket, shouting and clapping and dancing around the icon in praise of the Mother of God. The commotion rouses the monk, who’s at first quite put out ─ “How’s a guy supposed to get any sleep around here with you two carrying on!” ─ until he gets a gander at Stephen’s eyes. He doesn’t have to ask “Jeepers creepers! Where’d you get those peepers!” because he knows exactly where Stephen got them: the miraculous icon of the Virgin Mary.

Then he shifts gears to “monk on a mission.” He heads straight for the Governor’s palace and ─ demanding an immediate audience ─ denounces the Governor to his face. “You, Balbi, have punished the young man Stephen unjustly. But God has vindicated his innocence by giving him new eyes through the intercession of the Virgin Mary!”

The Governor ─ more skeptical than moved ─ makes a beeline with his retinue to the shrine to examine Stephen for himself. When he gets there ─ and seeing that Stephen has a genuine pair of working eyes ─ he charges the executioner with not gouging out Stephen’s eyes in the first place.

“You want proof I yanked his eyes from their sockets?” the executioner retorts. “Here!” Whereupon he produces the eyes ─ Stephen’s brown eyes ─ the originals ─ rolling around in the bucket into which the executioner had tossed them just the day before. (Why hold on to these things? Let’s not even go there.)

Does Balbi drop the matter there and then? No. Full of remorse, he begs the young man’s forgiveness for the injustice he had inflicted upon him. Moreover, the Governor makes good on his regret by showering Stephen with gifts and by becoming a surrogate father to him.

And a short time later, acknowledging the role of the Mother of God in the affair ─ and highlighting her agency as “Mary, Mirror of Justice” ─ Balbi does a make-over of the miracle-working shrine at Cassiope.

What a great story, a great story for a day like today … because justice ─ giving to people what they are owed as persons made in the image and likeness of God ─ is the founding principle of the life, ministry, and intercession of the Blessed Virgin Mary, she who professed, “My soul magnifies the Lord…. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly. He has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.”

Consequently, as the Governor discovered, central to our observance of the Feast of St. Mary the Virgin is her clarion call to justice and our robust response to that call: for starters, righting imbalances of disadvantage by ─ like God ─ sending “the rich away empty.” For example, by means of nonviolent income- and opportunity-redistribution.

And, I’m thinking here particularly of the demands of justice triggered by events in Ferguson, Missouri, following the fatal police shooting of unarmed, 18 year-old Michael Brown … and the light that is now shining on the pervasive and rampant racism in that St. Louis County city … echoes of our own subliminal and overt racism. Fact is, Ferguson’s racism isn’t unique. It’s just more concentrated, but neither more nor less toxic than racism that hits closer to home.

Now, while it’s easy to take sides based on our own knee-jerk biases, I think it’s simplistic to be 100 percent for or against Michael Brown at this point … 100 percent for or against the officer who shot him, Darren Wilson.

And I think it would be inappropriate to litigate this tragedy from the pulpit (or from a blog, for that matter). The case for litigating this tragedy with finality in any venue at this point is inappropriate, because there are too many unanswered questions ─ questions that have absolutely nothing to do with Brown’s potential criminal involvement in stealing cheap cigars from a convenience store and roughing up the store clerk.

For example, questions raised by reporter Nick Wing of the Huffington Post:

How and why did Brown end up dead in the middle of the street?

Was Officer Wilson justified in shooting down Brown?

Did Brown really assault the officer in his vehicle and reach for his gun, as police claim?

Did Wilson fire the fatal shot while Brown had his hands up, as other eyewitnesses claim?

How does this incident play into the broader trend of police using excessive force on unarmed black males?

Now, I’ve drawn some parallels between the Stephen of legend and the reality of Michael Brown:

Stephen was unjustly accused. Stephen was unjustly punished. Stephen suffered unjustly. And yet, thanks to the Blessed Virgin Mary’s reversing a gross miscarriage of justice, not just Stephen’s eyesight but his eyes ─ or a pair of eyes not his own ─ designer eyes built according to the Virgin’s specs ─ were better than restored.

Michael Brown was ─ according to most witnesses ─ unjustly accused. Michael Brown was unjustly punished. Michael Brown, after once shot and pleading, “Hands up! Don’t shoot!” suffered unjustly, gunned down by Darren Wilson.

But unlike Stephen’s eyes, Michael Brown has not had his life restored. Michael Brown is dead.

And we need answers. Michael Brown, Darren Wilson, the Ferguson community, all. All are owed answers. All are owed justice, the justice that is the Virgin Mary’s passion. Justice for persons accused, punished, and suffering unjustly. Justice: what, in God’s book, we are all owed.

Today, then, we ask the Mother of God to join her prayers with ours as we pray for justice in Ferguson … in Gaza … justice for Christians and Yazidis and all minorities in Iraq … justice for victims of Ebola in western Africa. We pray ─ with our Mother Mary ─ for justice that will bring an end to racism in our own communities and in our own hearts.

And may the Holy Mother of God ─ the Mirror of Justice ─ direct our prayers to the throne of God ─ God, who brings down the powerful from their thrones and lifts up the lowly.

Amen.

“This Is Not Who You Are!”

So Jacob called the place Peniel, saying, “I have seen God face to face.”

Genesis 32:30a

The mirror doesn’t lie.

Or does it?

“Mirrors reveal truths you may not want to see,” writes journalist Natalie Angier. On the other hand, she suggests, “Give mirrors a little smoke and a house to call their own” ─ a carnival’s House of Mirrors ─ “and mirrors will tell you nothing but lies.”

Mirrors’ ability ─ under certain conditions ─ to trigger truth-telling or lying: It’s what makes them fascinating to researchers.

For example, subjects tested in a room with a mirror have been found to work harder, be more helpful, and less inclined to lie, cheat, and scheme compared with control groups performing the same exercises in a room without a mirror.

All you ‘Downton Abbey’ fans, think here Sarah O’Brien, Lady Grantham’s perennially-plotting maid. Spoiler alert! … Oh, wait a minute. This goes back to the finale of the First Season. If you haven’t caught it by now, what are the chances? Cancel spoiler alert.

In perhaps the most eye-rolling of the series’ stockpile of you’ve-got-to-be-kidding plot twists, a full 18 years after the birth of the last of her three daughters, Lady Grantham is pregnant … just after we’ve spent the entire season trying to marry off heir-apparent Lady Mary to keep the estate in the hands of the family. If the child turns out to be a male ─ meaning: male heir ─ fickle Lady Mary can rot in spinsterhood for all anyone cares.

But there’s a complication: Guaranteeing there will always be a tomorrow at Downton, O’Brien ─ bitter, bitter O’Brien ─ believing (erroneously, it turns out) she’s about to be given the pink slip, ensures that Lady Grantham will slip on a brick-of-a-bar of soap as she steps out of her bath. Intended result? Miscarriage.

But at the last minute, O’Brien passes a mirror. In it, she catches her own eye and weighs what she sees: “Sarah O’Brien, this is not who you are!” She rushes to avert the tragedy she herself has set in motion. There’s a scream, a thud. Too late.

But her eye-ball-to-eyeball interaction with her mirrored self? “Sarah O’Brien, this is not who you are!” In other words, “mirrors reveal truths you may not want to see.”

Proving that not only do everyday mirrors not lie, cheat, or scheme … they help us not to lie, cheat, or scheme.

That means, mirrors matter.

And in the story of Jacob wrestling with a shifty stranger, there’s a mirror hiding in plain sight. And it matters.

To see why, let’s recap: Jacob ─ on-the-lam, tricky Jacob ─ is tricked himself into marrying Leah, a woman not at the top of his dance card. Chalk this trickery up to Laban, Jacob’s uncle and Leah’s slippery father ─ every bit Jacob’s equal in the no-good-scoundrel department.

But after some heavy-handed negotiating, Jacob also gets to marry his heart-throb ― Rachel ― Leah’s younger and infinitely more attractive sister.

Now, here’s new data: Over the next few years, Jacob fathers 11 children with his two wives … and their maids. (It’s a complex family by our standards.) And in one episode after another, Laban’s already tenuous relationship with ethical behavior gets so shaky he’s beginning to give indicted former Virginia Governor Bob McDonnell and his wife a run for their money. Well, actually the money in question isn’t theirs … and that’s the problem!

At any rate, Jacob decides it’s time to uproot his family and return to his roots. He sends advance word back home: "I'm on my way!"

But there’s a problem brewing at the old homestead: Esau, Jacob’s older twin. And the twins aren’t only yin and yang ― Jacob got the brains, Esau got the brawn ― but 20 years before, Jacob cheated Esau out of his mega-bucks inheritance. And Esau ─ who took a contract out on Jacob back then … has an impeccable memory now.

And yet, to his credit, Jacob attempts to hit the reset button by softening up his brother with extravagant gifts of livestock. Picture the outer perimeter of Esau’s territory: Breaking the distant horizon, one herd after another advances. Esau’s outer guard to the first oncoming herdsman: “Whose herd is this?” “Why it’s Esau’s, courtesy of his brother Jacob.” It passes by. A little while later, another herd approaches. “Whose herd is this?”  “Why it’s Esau’s, courtesy of his brother Jacob.”  It passes by. And another appears. Over and over again this happens. Very Lawrence of Arabia.

Problem: As Jacob takes the bribery route, the beefy brother with a beef plans a family reunion ― a reunion that involves 400 of his crackerjack, jack-booted “security advisors.”

And that’s why, on the eve of his meeting with Esau, Jacob sends his family just ahead of him over the border (the River Jabbok), deploying them as human shields: a cease-fire buffer between him and Esau’s armed militia.

That brings us to an episode that leaves just about everyone in head-scratching mode: Night falls. Jacob is alone. But not for long.

À la Harry Potter, a mysterious stranger apparates out of the darkness. Not an angel ─ at least in the Genesis telling of the story. And for reasons that aren’t entirely clear ─ for reasons that aren’t clear at all ─ Jacob and the stranger begin to wrestle. And they wrestle. And they wrestle. All night they wrestle.

Just as the match appears to be tilting in sweaty Jacob’s favor, the stranger ― with a mere touch! ― dislocates Jacob’s hip. Foul!

It’s only then that Jacob begins to suspect there’s more to this stranger than meets the eye. So he keeps him in a head-lock, employing his legendary grip.

The dawn’s rays pierce the sky. Beads of sweat course through the stranger’s grimace. Jacob refuses to let go until his adversary gives him a blessing.

But instead of a blessing, the stranger barely manages a question: “What’s your name?”

Answer? ‘Jacob.’ In some quarters: ‘Cheat.’

The stranger changes the subject. And in the spirit of “what kind of a name is Cheat?” he gives Jacob new name: ‘Israel’ (read: ‘Struggled with God’) “because,” the stranger says ― and here’s what they call in theater the “recognition scene” ─ “you have striven with God (God!) and with humans and have prevailed.”

OMG! The cheating stranger is none other than … God!

What a story ― a story Old Testament scholar Hermann Gunkel said was “worthy of a Rembrandt” ― and Rembrandt did indeed paint a picture of Jacob wrestling … with an angel ― but as “enigmatic as Mona Lisa.”

“Enigmatic” because the story raises more questions than it answers, the principal one being: Who won? That’s unclear.

But even more important: How seriously can you take the story?

As history, you can take it with a grain of salt. Because it’s not history. It’s a folk tale. It has all the trappings of folk tales about tricksters and cheats: all the way from Ulysses tricking the Cyclops to any number of scallywags trapping a leprechaun ― with a little bit of Dracula thrown in. I mean, God afraid of the dawn? What is this? A Bela Lugosi restrospective?

Well, yes, sort of. That’s because the story is reverse-engineering. It attempts to explain the time-honored name of a place: Peniel (meaning ‘God! Face-to-Face’). It’s like Scratchy Bottom in the UK. Why? Why ─ of all possible names and combinations of letters and words ─ why Scratchy Bottom? There’s got to be a story.

Same here. That is, pre-dating Jacob’s nocturnal adventure, the more ancient story-behind-the-story of Peniel likely involved a god ─ or dawn-dreading demon ─ guarding the river and challenging anyone who wished to cross (a hero!) to a grunting, face-to-face wrestling match. And it’s recycled here to fit into a story about a hero-founder of the people who would take his name: Israel. Only now, the seams between the lost-in-the-mists-of-time myth and the legend of Jacob are beginning to show.

But that doesn’t matter. The sheer illogic of it confirms that it’s a legend. And if you go to a legend like ‘Jacob’s Wrestling Match with God’ looking for theology, well, you've come to the wrong place. Because not everything in the Bible ― and not much in this story! ― is about theology.

For example:

Here, God appears as a human-in-the-flesh. Why, then, do we need Jesus, as in “Veiled in flesh the Godhead see; hail th’ incarnate Deity”? Kiss ‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing’ ─ kiss Christmas ─ good-bye!

Here, God can’t quite seem to break free of a run-of-the-mill wrestler’s headlock. Whatever happened to the ‘Lord God Almighty’? Sure, the Lord-God-Almighty meme raises all sorts of questions about human freedom, but God caught in a headlock?

Here God is so weak ─ and so weaselly ─ God resorts to cheating. Really, why on earth would you believe in a God who cheats?

So, it’s not great theology. It’s not theology at all!

But it is a great folk tale … because it showcases how the budding hero Jacob  learns something about himself: sleaze.

It’s a whack up the side of his head: “Wake up! Look in the mirror!”

And that mirror appears the moment Jacob and his opponent (God!) are gridlocked: face-to-face, eyeball-to-eyeball, heaving breath colliding with heaving breath. And God does exactly what Jacob has always done when he can only get by stealth what he can’t come by honestly, and that is: cheat!

At that moment ― when, with the lightest touch, God dislocates Jacob’s hip ― at that very moment ─ in his shock and pain, Jacob sees not the face of God as we have come to know it in the face of Jesus Christ … but Jacob’s own cheating face ― the face that has prevented others (especially his brother) from receiving what by right is theirs, otherwise known as ‘justice.’

That is the most shocking “recognition scene” of all. A mirror of mistakes. Mistakes: what James Joyce called “portals of discovery.”

But that’s good news. Because it gives Jacob a portal of discovery, a mirror that doesn’t lie.

And there’s more good news. Jacob survives to live what he’s learned. “I have seen God face to face,” he says, “and yet my life is preserved!”

This most improbable folk tale, then, is our invitation to wrestle with God. Truth-in-advertising: it’s a dicey match. Just at the point you expect to encounter the face of God, you’re likely to confront your own face in a mirror.

And what you see may not be pretty: what you’ve done to prevent neighbors different from you from receiving what by right is theirs … those neighbors, like you, made in the very image of God.

It may be quite a whack up the side of the head! “This is not who you are!”

That’s good news, too, because it’s not the end of our story.

And it’s not the end of Jacob’s story either. What happens next?

The wrestling match ends. The dawn breaks. The tension mounts. The brothers meet. And Jacob presents himself to Esau not as ‘Cheat’, but as ‘Struggled with God’ ─ Israel.

And in an instant, 20 long years of estrangement give way to love, a love so strong that Jacob sees a new face in the mirror now before him. For he says to his twin Esau ― and the way Genesis puts it is as moving as you’re ever likely to see ― “Truly, to see your face is like seeing the face of God!”

Amen.

"Waiting for the Other Shoe to Drop"

Jacob said to Laban, “Why then have you deceived me?”

Genesis 29:25b

The “Kent Spike Stud.”

A World Cup MVP contender? Tie fittings for an inter-city British Railways line? A thoroughbred entertaining dreams of the Triple Crown?

No. No. And no.

The Kent Spike Stud. Manufactured by Kent Stainless, Ireland’s leading manufacturer of stainless-steel drainage hardware. But the Kent Spike Stud has nothing at all to do with drainage. That’s because Kent Stainless has diversified and now makes and distributes the Kent Spike Stud.

Bullet-shaped and three-inches high, when installed strategically it’s the perfect device to deter people from parking themselves where they’re not wanted. No wonder they’re also called “anti-homeless spikes.”

Whether or not you sign on to using such tactics to discourage people from occupying certain public ─ or even private ─ spaces, many argue that, as pure design, the Kent Spike Stud qualifies as art.

That’s why, earlier this month, a cluster of the spike studs were installed in a glass case as the latest objets d'art to enter the permanent collection of London’s Victoria and Albert Museum.

But the installation’s tastefully antiseptic label ─ Spike Stud, 2014, Stainless Steel ─ notwithstanding, why does the menacing Kent Spike Stud merit a place in the collection in the first place? Corinna Gardner, a curator at the V&A, suggests, “Sinister objects demand our attention just as much as beautiful ones.”

And that’s why, among a handful of other reasons (such as, getting a handle on the idea of Jewish destiny), Jacob merits a place ─ a prominent place ─ in the stories of the origins of the Hebrew people.

Fact is: Jacob is an almost fatally-flawed patriarch. It really is hard to see much good in him, although I suppose you have to admire ─ or is it envy? ─ his moxie. And reviewing his adventures up to his back-to-back marriages to the sisters Leah and Rachel, you’re left to wonder what exactly God sees in Jacob as a future nation-builder.

A reasonable person is left to conclude that ─ except for the fact that he proves to be an improbable romantic (he’s smitten with his wife-to-be Rachel) ─ Jacob is out-and-out sinister. How sinister? Um, how much time do you have? Well, three offenses leap from his rap sheet:

Come birth-time, just as his twin brother Esau is about to take first-born honors, Jacob literally tries to claw his way out out of the womb into the dog-eat-dog world by climbing over Esau. He fails, but never really gives up trying to trump his hapless elder twin.

Proof? After they’ve grown up ─ in the legendary “stew for stupefying wealth” scheme ─ Jacob talks Esau into bartering away his twice-as-large inheritance.

And then, as their age-dimmed, functionally-blind father Isaac lies on his deathbed, the metrosexualized Jacob pulls the wool over the old man’s eyes by aping Esau’s ferocious butchness. Isaac, taken in by the ruse, gives his paternal blessing (and the material perks that go with it) to scheming second-son Jacob rather than to first-born Esau. In effect, as Isaac tells the soon-livid Esau, the pecking order is now turned on its head: he ─ the elder son ─ must now take his marching orders from Jacob.

Taken together, a theme emerges: Consumed by jealousy, resentment, and greed, Jacob leverages his survivor’s instinct to become a master of deception.

But the master deceiver is about to meet his match!

Picture this: Esau is now out for blood ─ Jacob’s blood. Their mother Rebekah, who from the start has had Jacob’s back, tips him off and encourages him to seek refuge among her geographically-distant relatives. And in the spirit of “if God gives you lemons, make lemonade,” Rebekah suggests, “While you’re at it, marry one of your cousins. A first-cousin will do nicely.” Yes, it sounds weird in the shallow-gene-pool sense, but that’s the way they did it.

And that’s exactly what happens. Jacob escapes Esau’s clutches just in the nick of time and soon finds himself at a well on his Uncle Laban’s sprawling ponderosa.

Now, the minute a well pops up in a story like this, you should be hearing wedding bells, because time after time after time, wells in the Bible function as a prototype for Match.com. Meaning: communal wells are hook-up joints of sorts ─ where a man-on-the-make ─ or at least, a man-in-the-market-for-a wife ─ can check out eligible women.

Examples: Isaac meets Rebekah for the first time at a well. Moses meets one of his future wives, Zipporah, at a well. And that’s why ─ in John’s Gospel ─ the disciples get all jumpy when they stumble upon “Eligible-Bachelor-Number-One” Jesus and a footloose woman chatting it up at a well in taboo Samaria. What else could it be but a pre-nuptial assignation? The joke is on the disciples, of course, because, yes, Jesus is talking to the woman about marriage: her five marriages! And Jesus clearly doesn’t intend to make it a sixth.

So, we have the well. We have the bachelor. All that's missing is his future intended. Violà! Who should appear but Rachel ─ one of his Uncle Laban’s daughters ─ a first-cousin, no less. Jacob tweets, “Victory is mine!”

That prompts Jacob to hang around working for Laban … for free. Very out-of-character, but a sure-fire way to woo the love of his life while lulling the father into the reality of a Jacob-Rachel match-up. Clever. You would expect nothing less from Jacob.

A month of this pre-marital sweat equity goes by. Laban says, “Jacob, you’re a hard worker. You should get paid. Quote me a figure.”

Jacob’s answer? “I’ll give you a figure: Rachel. Marriage to Rachel.”

So Jacob and Laban hammer out a deal: Laban gets seven years' free labor out of Jacob. Jacob gets Rachel when the seven years are up. Simple.

So, what about those seven years? Agony for Jacob? Hardly. “Jacob served seven years for Rachel,” Genesis says, “and they seemed to him but a few days because of the love he had for her.”

Sublime! Too bad things turn sour … because at the wedding, Laban pulls a bait-and-switch. Meaning: Chalk it up to the open bar, all the bridal veils, the poor lighting, there’s the morning after. The dawn long-past, Jacob yawns, rubs the sleep from his blood-shot eyes, and turns to his freshly-minted wife: “Man, was I drunk last night. You won’t believe this, but I dreamt I married your sister Leah!” His new wife comes into focus. Pregnant pause. “Holy moly! I did marry Leah!”

Of course, no one likes being deceived, so Jacob goes ballistic! And then he goes to Laban: “I thought we had a deal!”

Laban: “Oh, I guess you didn’t get the memo. In these parts, we marry off the first-born daughter before any of her sisters.”

Having moved the goalposts, Laban now negotiates a twofer: Jacob gets to marry Rachel the very next week(!) if he agrees to party-it-up for the customary, full seven-day wedding celebrations underway as a face-saving gesture to Leah … and if he agrees to work for Laban ─ free ─ for another seven years.

In the end, Jacob honors his end of the bargain ─ as does Laban. Love triumphs … along with symmetry. Yes, symmetry. Like: seven years’ labor, marry Leah … marry Rachel, seven years’ labor.

Another example: Jacob bilks his brother Esau (a relative) … a relative (his Uncle Laban) bilks Jacob.

Symmetry. In other words, if you take all of the Bible literally ─ word for word ─ it’s tempting to read Jacob’s story as history: Jacob defrauds his brother … he then tricks his father … after that, he gets the woman of his dreams (but only after failing to get her the first time around) … and (in a future installment) on a dare he wrestles with God and wins mind-boggling concessions before the match concludes with God committing a foul. Jacob has that effect on people.

But history isn’t obliged to be symmetrical. And what we have here is symmetry on an epic scale.

So what?

It’s the symmetry in these stories ─ or the way seemingly unrelated episodes connect to each other, even mirror each other over the long arc of Jacob’s lifetime ─ that makes the stories read less like A History of the Jewish People and more like The Lord of the Rings … more like a morality tale or fable designed to awaken the moral imagination, while it entertains.

For example, Jacob’s crimes against twin Esau in the first part of the story resonate later on, when sinister Jacob is twinned with sinister Laban … and the deceiver is deceived.

Or take Jacob ─ in the heyday of his skullduggery ─ exploiting Isaac’s blindness by pulling off a cosmetic-and-costume switch. And then roughly seven years later, blotto-blind on his wedding night, Jacob himself is blind-sided by the Leah-not-Rachel switch. This mischief then captures the ultimate in symmetry: second-born Jacob conned by first-born Leah:  a Bizarro-World negative of Jacob’s own anti-Esau scam.

It’s that symmetry ─ when the other shoe drops ─ that unmasks Jacob’s own morally-questionable history … symmetry that awakens Jacob’s moral imagination with one sobering question: “Am I really any different from Laban?”

Bottomline: The stories of patriarchs and matriarchs in Genesis aren’t just stories. And it would be a stretch to believe they’re history. They are intentionally-crafted case studies that encourage us to explore how we might love God better and better … love our neighbor better and better … and get better and better at even loving ourselves … by teaching us how to make choices that will determine the people we will become.

But if ─ by chance ─ we see a bit of ourselves in Jacob, are we destined to be like him? No, of course not … if we make better decisions ─ more loving, more neighborly decisions ─ than he did. Read: Our decisions determine our destiny, just as Jacob’s will determine his.

That leaves us hanging, as any good morality tale at this point should: Will Jacob, his unlovely and unloving behavior exposed, catch a slanting glimpse of the untapped goodness God sees in him?

And given Jacob’s unsavory history, why should we even care?

Well, sinister people demand our attention just as much as beautiful people. No question about it: Jacob demands our attention.

Amen.

"Do NOT Pull in Case of Emergency!"

“In gathering the weeds you will uproot the wheat along with them. Let both of them grow until the harvest.”

You know, you can’t make this stuff up.

To chants of “USA! USA! USA!,” Adam Kwasman, an Arizona state legislator and Tea Party congressional candidate, joined protesters in Oracle, Arizona, this past week in an attempt to block buses carrying migrant children to a local YMCA camp. The kids were earmarked to take up temporary residence at the camp.

Picture this: The protesters ─ along with Kwasman ─ are waiting for the buses to arrive, ready, as a Daily Kos blogger described a recent anti-marriage equality rally, “to explode out of the vitriolic rage that comes from losing endlessly.”

Kwasman ─ ever the vigilant patriot ─ catches sight of that icon of American culture and innocence: a yellow school bus crammed with squirming kids. And he tweets (channeling “Incoming Bogey, 10 o’clock high!”): “Bus coming in. This is not compassion. This is the abrogation of the rule of law.”

Then all hell breaks loose. Kwasman, demonstrators, camera crews converge on the school bus.

Kwasman later hyperventilates, “I was able to actually see some of the children on the buses and the fear on their faces.”

Well, duh. Who among us wouldn’t be on the verge of a “Depends moment” if we saw an angry mob converging on our school bus? Read: “Kwasman, you’re one scary guy!”

Well, he was one unlucky guy … because ─ with the cameras rolling ─ turns out the bus was filled with YMCA kids as American-as-apple-pie headed for bliss: a parent-free, care-free stint at summer camp.

As for the fear on the kids’ faces, a reporter said they were bouncing off the walls of the bus, juggling their iPhones with giddy abandon to preserve forever the fever-pitch moment. Imagine, come September: “What I did on my summer vacation!”

The ultimate in irony (or is it farce)? The Los Angeles Times reported, “As of Wednesday, no buses with migrant children had arrived at Oracle, Arizona.”

Too bad the would-be congressman went off half-cocked … prompting us to ask, “What’s wrong with this picture?”

Answer? Jesus nails it in his “Parable of the Wheat and the Weeds.”

To recap: A wheat farmer is handed a tricky situation. His workers discover that the competition has sown weed seeds into the farmer’s pristine wheat field. Word to the too-worldly-wise: this “weed” is not marijuana. When you hear “weed” here, do not ─ I repeat, do not ─ think marijuana! And now that I’ve planted that ear worm, we can move on.

The saboteur’s seeds aren’t just any kind of weed. In the parable’s original language, the “weed” is actually a copycat: darnel. It looks just like wheat when it’s growing ─ in some places it’s called “false wheat” ─ but once harvested and consumed, it’s pretty toxic. We might have a case of attempted murder on our hands here! Or worse, if it achieves wider distribution, a class action suit.

Problem is: it’s only at the harvest that you can make a definitive finding as to what’s the genuine wheat and what’s the toxic knock-off.

So the workers approach the farmer with alarm. “Boss, major weed infestation. We need a plan and we need decisive action … now!”

But the farmer is a realist. Going after the wheat look-alike now would be decisive, but premature. In other words, yanking up the toxic elements immediately would solve the weed infestation problem alright, but the collateral damage would be too great. The whole field ─ acre upon acre of uprooted wheat and weed ─ would look like a war zone. And that would play right into the saboteur-neighbor’s hand. No harvest.

So, the farmer defers taking action. Why? Because at this stage he just doesn’t know enough. Weeds and wheat are growing together and you can’t tell them apart. That means you don’t know how each plant will turn out. When will you know? That’s a long way off. For now, live and let live.

So, what’s Jesus’ point?

Beware the weed-pulling impulse! … when the buses are rolling in at 10 o’clock high (“USA! USA! USA!”) … or at other times when we catch people in the act of not living the perfect lives we’ve charted for them.

Why wait? Because activating the weed-pulling impulse would condemn our alleged perpetrator-neighbors without engaging our charity.

It would condemn them outright without factoring-in our own accountability.

And it would condemn the targets of our moral rage irresponsibly.

First, condemning our neighbors without charity. At this point, we may have a pretty clear lock on the way we think God wants the world to operate. Suspiciously like our own. Imagine that.

At this point, we may think God has deputized us judge to make the world a better place by withholding from these people the love ─ or at least the slack ─ they are due as our neighbor … or by denying them their rights and a hearing … or in extreme cases, by executing them.

What does Jesus have to say to that? “Mind your own business!” … because, first of all, God isn’t done with those so-called evil-awful-people-over there yet.

And God isn’t done with each of us yet!

The sixth-century writer Philoxenus put it this way: “We should be slow to judge others, because God judges us infinitely more leniently than we judge one another.”

And then, condemning alleged perpetrator-neighbors without factoring-in our own accountability. That is, without an action-plan. In the parable’s case study, an action plan that will prevent the saboteur from corrupting the integrity of the wheat field next season.

In our own context, that would look like roundly condemning human-made climate change ─ going after Big Oil, carbon-spewing industries (like fossil-fuel-burning utilities), bloated energy-consuming agribusinesses, gas-guzzling automakers ─ condemning the polluters without changing ourselves first. Read: without taking steps to shrink our own carbon footprint by taking an open, no-holds-barred, hard look at the cars we drive, how we drive, where we drive … the environmental impact of the food we eat (how it’s grown, where it’s grown, the costs of putting it on our dinner table) … the homes we live in, light, heat, and cool.

In other words, it looks like engaging in “carbon shaming” ─ all talk, all condemnation ─ without holding ourselves to account by becoming full-blown, responsible citizens: highly-vocal and organized environmental activists in our homes, in our parish, and in the public square.

And that points to weed-pulling ─ condemning others ─ irresponsibly: launching into finger-wagging and tongue-lashing without first sniffing out the facts.

Now, at first glance, the parable might lead us to conclude we should throw our hands up and do nothing at all ─ ever ─ even in the face of patently reprehensible behavior. Well, that doesn’t accord with common sense. And it doesn’t fit the moral imperative Jesus teaches elsewhere in the Gospels, the moral imperative Jesus himself lives.

Meaning: Clear cases of abuse, such as spousal and partner abuse, child and elder abuse, and (yes) capital punishment? All open to fact-finding, not open to debate … because abuse of this sort or any other can never be shown to love God, our neighbor, or ourselves.

Fact-free, irresponsible condemnation, then: What does it look like?

Adam Kwasman’s fizzled stunt. And what triggered the stunt? The crisis at our borders ─ 57,000 children fleeing villages, towns, and cities, primarily from Honduras and El Salvador, since October.

Now, freeing themselves from the burden of facts, many folks like Kwasman are conflating this recent migrant surge with long past-due immigration reform. For example, should long-term undocumented immigrants be deported … given an option to attain citizenship … or be granted some other permanent status that would allow them to stay in this country legally?

This is not the issue we’re talking about here. For the most part, the children ─ some accompanied ─ are surrendering en masse to border agents. In general, this isn’t a surreptitious, illegal-border-crossing immigrant crisis. It’s an overt humanitarian crisis. The kids­ ─ most of them, it appears ─ are legitimate asylum-petitioning refugees and not merely those seeking better economic opportunity here (which might be grounds for deportation).

What are the legitimate refugees fleeing? Endemic gang violence. Kids being forced to join gangs. And if they refuse, they and their family members face retaliation.

They are fleeing, as well, murder, pervasive rape, and being pressed into human trafficking enterprises. They are fleeing places like San Pedro Sula, a city in Honduras with the world's highest homicide rate. From January through May, 2,200 children had fled San Pedro Sula for the relative safety and security of the US.

And ─ fact ─ the children aren’t just being “sent” here. As of this week, about 43,000 of them have been released to relatives or sponsors around the country, according to officials at New York’s Administration for Children and Families, a division of the state’s Health and Human Services.

And yet, condemning the children irresponsibly has become a cottage industry for those immune to pesky facts and untroubled by the humanitarian impulse firmly-embedded in the Christian Gospel.

Take the Florida congressman who says these aren’t migrant children arriving in waves at the border. They’re “gang members,” he says, “thieves, rapists, and murderers.”

Or another congressman, who thinks the kids should be turned back at the border because they might be carrying the Ebola virus. Um, Congressman, Ebola virus hasn’t been found among the populations of the Western Hemisphere. You could look it up: http://www.cdc.gov/vhf/ebola/pdf/fact-sheet.pdf

And then there’s the prominent anti-immigration activist who says he has iron-clad proof that this is a Commie Chinese plot. Why the Chinese? It’s not immigration; it’s infiltration, he says. The Central American migrants are being shipped here ─ by the Chinese ─ to overthrow the US government.

I mean, what do you say?

You say, “Beware the weed-pulling impulse!” Beware knee-jerk condemnation: weed-pulling without charity … weed-pulling without personal accountability … fact-free weed-pulling.

Because, Jesus says, “in gathering the weeds you will uproot the wheat along with them. Let both of them grow until the harvest.”

Amen.

"Red-baiting"

Esau was a skillful hunter, a man of the field, while Jacob was a quiet man, living in tents. Genesis 25:19-34

Gold-digger, leech, user, usurper, manipulator, con artist.

All synonyms the Urban Dictionary lists for ‘opportunist.’ Put those skills on your résumé and, unless you’re gunning for a job as future governor of New Jersey, chances are you’re not going to get very far … except in the Bible.

Proof? Jacob, the barely younger of the non-identical twin team of Jacob and Esau.

Now, Esau. He’s the blunt-hunter-butch-biker type. Jacob, not so much. More the tech-savvy, artsy sort, with a hint of gender ambiguity.

Esau. Hairy, red hair actually. That’s how he got his name, Esau (“Red,” in Hebrew). Peakèd Jacob? Skin as soft as a baby’s behind.

And yet, Jacob: gold-digger, leech, user, usurper, manipulator, con artist? “You gotta love this guy!” … according to Hebrew tradition, anyway. Admired, approved, and adored on earth, as in heaven. Even God, the prophet Malachi suggests, has a positive opinion about Jacob: “I have loved Jacob, but Esau have I hated.” Strong language.

Jacob, who cheats his own brother out of his inheritance … whose checkered career launches with the two duking it out in their mother Rebekah’s womb to the point that come birth-time ─ when Esau is first out of the gate ─ Jacob refuses to throw in the towel. He digs his tiny, talon-grip-fingers into Esau’s heel in one last stab at yanking his brother back into the womb.

What’s in his sights? A clear shot at the gold. First-born in the pecking order and all the first-class perks that go with it: a father’s attention, a father’s love, a father’s wallet … and majority-shareholder status when the Old Man finally shoves off this mortal coil.

What’s at stake? Isaac, having inherited his own father Abraham’s vast holdings, is rumored to be at the top of the prequel to the Forbes Billionaire List. And that means for the first-born heir-apparent in the family: “ca-ching!”

But we’ve got a problem. Jacob is ─ hands-down ─ a distasteful guy. And yet, we hold him up as a hero.

How is it he’s taken in so many people?

Answer: Jacob is a trickster, a stock character in stories told by people since time immemorial. Tricksters are so clever, so audacious, so outrageous and roguish, you gotta love them ─ sometimes begrudgingly, at other times enviously, as in “Gosh, I wish I could get away with that!”

Tricksters break all the rules. They’re even known to do a little gender-bending now and again. Yes, drag is in their bag of tricks, like Stewie on Family Guy … and a bit like Jacob, when, as their father ─ their legally-blind father ─ is on his death-bed, Jacob slathers on the testosterone in an attempt to pass himself off as Esau. All to get the father’s unique, once-for-all-time, as-I-lay-dying blessing traditionally bestowed on the first-born.

A nice gesture? A quaint custom? No. Means even more perks after the funeral. In that era ─ before tabernacle or temple ─ more or less like being the family High Priest or your very own home-grown pope.

The trickster, then, master of deception and disguise. But above all clever, quick-witted. And actually, a bit of fun.

Think here, in the African-American tradition, Br’er Rabbit, who ─ conspicuously absent brawn ─ more than makes up for it in wits. Or Tom Sawyer when he tricks his friends into enjoying the “privilege” of whitewashing that expansive fence on his chore list. Tom Sawyer: the model for Bart Simpson, quintessential trickster.

In the storyteller’s world, all geared to entertainment. All heirs of fellow-trickster Jacob, the sort of fellow who puts the “fun” into family dysfunction.

How? Picture this: The twins Esau and Jacob ─ more fratricidal than fraternal ─ are now adults. Having lost the “who’s-on-first” battle, Jacob has been playing catch-up from the get-go.

According to legend ─ this isn’t in the Bible ─ their grandfather Abraham has just died, and master-chef Jacob is whipping up comfort food for father Isaac in-mourning: a hearty red lentil stew, customary post-funeral fare. Really, comfort food.

All out of the kindness of his heart or cynically trying to score points? You decide. But it’s convenient for Jacob that Esau is AWOL ─ the wild son off to the wild parts where the wild things are. He misses Abraham’s funeral altogether. Jacob, for once, gets to play the “good” son.

No sooner does Jacob announce, “Soup’s on!” who should come gate-crashing in? Esau, wouldn’t-you-know. With his usual understatement ─ not! ─ he claims he’s going to die if he doesn’t get some of “that red stuff” pronto.

“You mean,” Jacob drips with withering condescension, “Giada’s Zuppa di Lenticchie Rosse, you Philistine?” Palm to forehead: “‘Red stuff.’ Honestly, why do I even try?’” And then ─ recomposed ─ “Well, brother dear, it’s going to cost you. What if I were to tell you it’s going to cost you your inheritance”?

Esau tosses off a what-do-I-care “Whatever.” And the brothers make a deal: stew for stupefying wealth.

But where’s the trick? Well, you could say that the trick is getting Esau to do the trade. In that case, what you have here is more a joke ─ a play on words ─ than a trick: red “stuff” for the red brother.

If, however, you want to work the trick angle, it could be that Jacob catches Esau in his surly brother’s own histrionics. That is, if he doesn’t get the “red stuff,” Esau is going to expire right there at Jacob’s feet. And, if he’s dead, Esau reasons out loud, well, you can’t take it with you!

But the trick is: Esau is good at shooting off his mouth. Not so good at thinking things through. Meaning: Stuffed with Jacob’s stew, he’s going to die another day, but live without his inheritance ─ and quite possibly, at the mercy of deep-pocketed-by-then Jacob.

Either Esau fails to make the connection or else he thinks Jacob won’t hold him to the bargain. I mean, it’s ridiculous. It’s preposterous. It’s outrageous! But if Esau thinks Jacob is going to cancel the deal, he doesn’t know his own brother ─ his brother, the trickster.

Not so different from the greatest trickster of them all in the Jewish tradition ─ at least, since Jacob. And that is Herschel of Ostropol (in Ukraine). Like other trickster-folk heroes, he’s pretty elusive, so we don’t have specific dates for him, but he might have pulled off his shenanigans about 300 years ago.

What did they look like? Suspiciously like Jacob’s. For example:

One day, Hershel and a friend scrounge enough money between them to buy two loaves of bread. Hershel picks up both loaves, examines them with much fanfare, and tosses the lighter loaf to his friend, keeping the larger one for himself.

“Well, that’s not very nice,” the friend protests.

“And if you were in my shoes,” Hershel asks, “what would you have done?”

The friend: “I would’ve given you the larger loaf and kept the smaller one for myself.”

Hershel’s response? “Well, now you’ve got the smaller one! What are you complaining about?!”

Sure, we can laugh at Hershel, Br’er Rabbit, Bart Simpson, and all the other iconic tricksters like Jacob. And we can envy their chutzpah. But do we really have to like them? Do we really have to be like them?

In Jacob’s case, no ─ at least not in his trickiest phases. That is, later in life, he’s wanted dead-or-alive by his brother. That triggers a crisis in which he’s forced to take a good, long, hard look at himself. What does he see? Not just a “despicable-me” person (you can laugh at everyone else’s expense for only so long), but a fatally-flawed agent for working out God’s will: doing his part ─ as his father before him, and his father before him have done ─ to create a “people of God,” God’s Chosen People.

Boil it all down to a blunt truth: Jacob may be chosen, but he’s far from “choice.”

That’s because Jacob realizes he has opted for opportunism over opportunity. And there’s nothing funny or even entertaining about that.

Meaning: Long before his come-lately makeover ─ in bargaining with his “red brother” over the “red stuff” ─ Jacob has increased the chances that Esau will always be in the red because he let his ginned-up, winner-take-all metabolism go into over-drive. The result? A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to break up the family dysfunction ─ to be open-handedly generous ─ to do the right, fair, decent thing? Lost forever.

Bottomline: In this episode, Jacob chose the short-term. He chose not to be the developing, neighbor-loving, neighbor-connected person God believed he could become. And in so doing, he diminished the chances that he could ever achieve God’s dream for himself or his family and descendants.

And that’s the trick Jacob unwittingly ends up playing on himself ─ for years and years ─ until he hits rock-bottom and chooses to write-over his hard drive by dealing with unfinished business: re-connecting and reconciling with his twin, his brother Esau.

Like Jacob, each and every day ─ all the time ─ we’re presented with chances to be both God’s Chosen and “choice” … chances to choose opportunity over immediate, what’s-in-it-for-me opportunism.

Opportunity, on the other hand: the real-time, real-life chances God gives us to become the people God is convinced we can become, people who do the right, fair, and decent thing over and over again … and becoming better and better at it. Becoming better and better people while we’re at it.

How? Well, there’s a real knack to it. It takes practice. It takes discipline. It takes doing. It takes time to train a fearless and dreaming ─ a playful! ─ heart to choose opportunity, to imagine the people we can be, to imagine the place God believes we can occupy tomorrow, next week, next year … still striving, pushing ahead. It is possible. Our challenge is to make it likely.

Just ask Jacob. He'll tell you, “Choosing opportunity over opportunism? There’s a knack to it. But no trick. Honest!”

Amen.