on being Esau

"See to it that no one misses the grace of God and that no bitter root grows up to cause trouble and defile many. See to it that no one is sexually immoral, or is godless like Esau, who for a single meal, sold his inheritance rights as the oldest son. Afterward, as you know, when he wanted to inherit this blessing, he was rejected. He could bring about no change of mind, though he sought the blessing with tears." -Hebrews 12:15-17

I love it when the Lord takes a familiar passage of Scripture, an oft-told Sunday school story, and reveals it to me in a fresh, new way. There are times when these new revelations come as an encouragement, an uplifting for my weary soul. And there are times where it's an in-your-face, shake you to the core kind of lesson. Sitting in church last Sunday, the pastor preached from Hebrews 12, and while he mainly focused on verses 28 and 29, that night the Lord drew me further up towards verse 15 of Hebrews chapter 12, and then all the way back to the book of Genesis. To the story of a man named Esau. 

What do I know about Esau? Honestly, not very much. I know he was one of Isaac’s son, favored by his father. I know his brother very well, as the man who became the father of Joseph, and as the one who wrestled with God. But Esau? In Sunday school I imagined him as a bit of a cave man, covered in red hair from head to toe, dressed in a sheep skin tunic, sort of a Flintstones look about him. But really, mostly all of what I know about him is that he was the man who sold his entire birthright for a single pot of soup.

Could you sell your entire inheritance for a bowl of soup? I shake my head at the story, wondering how a man could be so blind. To give up his inheritance, his birth ordered right, to be in the genealogy of Christ! All for a pot of soup? Famished and tired from hunting, he gives up all that to temporarily fill his belly and satisfy his needs? I usually skim past this story, because what do I really have to learn from it? I don’t have any sort of birthright to sell, I don’t have a brother whose name means deceiver. This story was never one that I could understand or relate to. Until now... because recently I realized, I have done the same thing. 

As believers in Christ, we have inherited a kingdom that is unshakeable. Through His adoption of us as His beloved, we have inherited eternity. We’ve inherited the ability to be part of this grand story the Lord is writing. And oh, how marvelous that sounds. Who could ever dream of giving it up for anything, right? It is so precious, like the man who found treasure in a field, so he went and sold all his possessions to buy that field. I should be willing to lose everything for it, holding nothing back, selling things and sacrificing everything for it. But I’ve inherited this kingdom, and I've taken it for granted. No, I have done more than that. I have spend days dreaming of giving it away.

I am here in this country, with the opportunity to be used by the Lord in such an incredible way, to be a small part of His grand story. And I spend days dreaming about going home, back to comfort and ease for my flesh. I think of the hot shower I cannot wait for, the Christmas baking I want to do, the clean sheets I want to crawl between at the end of a long day, the comfort of waking up under the same roof as my family, the ease and simplicity of it all. I want to go back to a place where I can pretend that I’m not accountable for starving children and showing His love to the unlovable and being an example of Christ to a dying world, because that responsibility is exhaustingly great. 

How many times have I come so close to giving up and calling it quits, because in this moment now it’s too hard and I can’t do another day? I’m so caught up in the mindset of here and now, that I’m willing to trade my part in His story, my inheritance of His kingdom through the blood of Christ, all for some temporary comfort and ease? I am, in a sense, selling my birthright for a pot of soup. Esau and I, we aren’t so different anymore. Perhaps the only difference between us is that the selling of my birthright is more subtle than the selling of his... a pot of hot soup doesn't sit in front of me, just the daydreams and longing for home and comfort and ease. My birthright is eternity, which is a far-off concept sometimes. And also a kingdom that cannot be seen on this world just yet. And what I'm trading it for, it's very real right now in this moment. It's not a day where I know I will hear my father verbally bless me, or have my name written down in the book of Matthew as part of the genealogy of the promised Messiah. It's a subtle losing of my birthright.

I’m afraid, at how easily I am swayed and how in-the-moment my heart can be. If I lose my perspective on eternity and God’s kingdom for more than just a second, will I find myself sitting at the table one day with an empty bowl of soup, while my brother prances his inheritance around the room? Will I come to my senses, realizing what I’ve done and sob before my Father, begging for some kind of blessing? The thought makes me shutter, because the possibility of that happening is too close for comfort. The flesh screams loudly, demanding to be soothed and eased. And for some reason, it’s easier to quiet a suffocating eternal spirit than a suppress the cries and longings of a temporary body that is here today and gone tomorrow.

Guard our hearts, Oh Lord. Keep us in Your will and seeking Your kingdom first, above all else. May we hear Your quiet whisper over the cries and longings of our flesh. Our spirits within us are weak and feeble and easily swayed…  encourage us, empower us, and strengthen us.

You walk in, after a long and exhausting day of hunting. Your brother stands there, cooking a pot of soup over the stove. And the aroma that fills the room overwhelms you as you unstrap your hunting gear and remove your boots. The day has been long, tiring, and cold. You are so weary. Every muscle in your body aches as you sit down at the table, the chair squeaking beneath your weight. Your brother, he stands before you, a bowl of steaming soup in his outstretched hand. And you realize you have a decision to make. That soup, or your birthright? Comfort and satisfaction in this life, with all the luxuries a heart could desire? Or the ability to take part in building and belonging to an unshakeable, eternal kingdom? What will you choose?