Twins! (Gen 25; Pentecost 7A)

“Is it a boy or a girl?” For many years, that has been a standard question after a woman has just given birth. In more recent times, due to the advances in medical technology that have occurred, that question can no be put to pregnant couples: “Is it a boy or a girl?” Ultrasounds can now apparently reveal the gender of the foetus from about 11–13 weeks.

So it is always a surprise when the answer to that question is not “boy” or “girl”, but “both”—in the case of male-and-female twins—or “two boys” or “two girls”, as the case may be, in other instances.

“Isaac prayed to the Lord for his wife, because she was barren; and the Lord granted his prayer, and his wife Rebekah conceived”, we read in the Hebrew Scripture passage offered by the lectionary for this coming Sunday (Gen 25:19–34). Here, we meet another barren woman in the ancestral sagas of Israel. Years before, Isaac’s mother Sarah had been barren, and that state had lasted for many decades—and indeed “the Lord had closed fast all the wombs of the house of Abimelech because of Sarah, Abraham’s wife” (20:18).

And other barren women are yet to come in those ancestral sagas; the rabbis note that there are seven significant women who were infertile in scripture: Sarah (Gen 11:30), Rebekah (Gen 25:2), Rachel and Leah (Gen 29:31), Manoah’s wife (Judg 13:2), Hannah (1 Sam 1:2), and Zion (Isa 54:1). The eventual gifting of children to these seven is related by the rabbis to a textual variant in 1 Sam 2:5, reading “the barren has borne seven” as “on seven occasions has the barren woman borne”.

The seventh in this list, Zion, is not an individual who lived in the past but is the personified Israel of some future time, based on Second Isaiah’s characterization of Zion as a barren woman: “Sing, O barren one who did not bear, burst into song and shout, you who have not been in labour; for the children of the desolate woman will be more than the children of her that is married, says the Lord” (Isa 54:1).

The result of God’s intervention, in Rebekah’s case, was a surprise: not one, but two, boys! But the time for shouting with joy is short, for poor Rebekah is given sobering news about her twin boys: “two nations are in your womb, and two peoples born of you shall be divided” (25:23a). Not only that, but “the one shall be stronger than the other, the elder shall serve the younger” (25:23b).

Isaac and Rebekah have brought into the world two boys—the older, who “came out red, all his body like a hairy mantle”, who was named Esau (meaning “hairy”), and the younger, hot on the heels of his brother (literally), who followed immediately “with his hand gripping Esau’s heel”, who was named Jacob (meaning “supplanter”).

The other twins that are (in)famous in Hebrew Scripture are Perez (“a breach”) and Zerah (“brightness”), twin sons of Tamar, daughter-in-law of Judah, who had liaised with her whilst visiting his sheepshearers (38:12–30). In the New Testament, “Thomas the Twin” is one of the named twelve disciples (John 11:16; 20:24; 21:2), although his sibling is never identified.

Who calls their child “the one who supplants” at the moment of birth? The names, identified in the narrative at the moment of birth (25:25–26), must surely be retrojections into the story, for the names prefigure events as they later transpired. This story, like many of the stories in the book of Genesis, is an aetiological narrative—a story told to explain how things are as they are.

I have noted previously that such narratives tell of something that is said to have occurred long back in the past, but the focus is on present experiences and realities, for “such explanations elucidate something known in the contemporary world by reference to an event in the mythical past”.

See https://oxfordre.com/classics/display/10.1093/acrefore/9780199381135.001.0001/acrefore-9780199381135-e-7050;jsessionid=3DB38C42C54D01E1CBFA8682FB55DA4C

The name of Jacob is given to explain his role in the story that is unfolding: first, Jacob tricks his brother Esau to sell his birthright to him (25:29–34). As firstborn, Esau should have inherited from Isaac; now, Jacob has supplanted him (as his name indicates). In subsequent passages that the lectionary skips over, Jacob deceives his father in order to receive the blessing that was intended for the firstborn (27:1–29).

As Esau subsequently laments to his father, “Is he not rightly named Jacob? He has supplanted me these two times: he took away my birthright; and look, now he has taken away my blessing” (27:36). His fate as the one no longer relevant for the continuation of the family line, promised to Abraham and continuing through Isaac to Jacob, now, comes when he marries “Mahalath daughter of Abraham’s son Ishmael, and sister of Nebaioth, to be his wife in addition to the wives he had” (28:9). See my earlier reflections on Ishmael at

So Jacob lives up to his name. And we know well his name, through the seven places in the New Testament where we find formulaic references to the three patriarchs, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob (Mark 12:26; Matt 8:11; 22:32; Luke 13:28; 20:37; Acts 3:13; 7:32), as well as the many references to them together in the Hebrew Scriptures (Gen 50:24; Exod 2:24; 3:6, 15, 16; 4:5; 6:3, 8; 33:1; Lev 26:42; Num 32:11; Deut 1:8; 6:10; 9:5, 27; 29:13; 30:20; 34:4; 2 Ki 13:23; Jer 33:26).

Yet the irony is that Jacob’s name is later changed, to a name that would become still more famous—and live on into the modern world as the name of the nation of people who see themselves as the chosen ones. After wrestling all night with a man at the ford of the river Jabbok, Jacob is told “you shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with humans, and have prevailed” (32:28; see Pentecost 10A).

And that story, of course, is yet another aetiological narrative; for the name given, Israel, means “the one who strives with God”, which was the fate of Jacob on that night, and of the people of the nation over the centuries and millennia to follow. So the story of this change of names is an important one to remember and pass on.

In this story, however, the names of the boys born to Isaac and Rebekah are the key point: one is born hairy, the other is a supplanter. And the trick that he played to gain the inheritance of his father plays a crucial role in the self-understanding of the people who were telling this story, and passing it down the generations, and remembering it to this day. It is the second-born (even if just by a few seconds in time) who supplants the firstborn.

So Isaac was preferred over his older brother, Ishmael. Jacob gained the birthright of his (slightly) older twin brother Esau. Joseph gained ascendancy over his many older brothers. Jacob, at the end of his life, blessed the younger son of Joseph, Ephraim, rather than his older son, Manasseh. Moses was chosen as God’s spokesperson in Egypt, in preference to his older brother, Aaron. And instead of any of the seven older sons of Jesse, the ruddy, handsome youngest, David, received the blessing of the prophet Samuel to be anointed as king. In each case, it was the younger who was preferred over the older—a striking set of stories to be remembered!

Esau, we are told, is the ancestor of the Edomites, to the south of Israel (Gen 36:1–43), whilst the descendants of Jacob (Gen 25:19–28), of course, populated the land of Canaan, known as Israel, after the name later given to Jacob (Gen 32:28; see Pentecost 10A).

A ring on her nose, and bracelets on her arms (Gen 24; Pentecost 6A)

For this coming Sunday, the lectionary provides us with part of a larger story from the section of Genesis dealing with Abraham (Gen 24:34–38, 42–49, 58–67). As Abraham’s son Isaac comes to age, Abraham knows that there is a need to find him a wife.

Abraham now appears not to be living with his wife, Sarah—he is in Beersheba, with his servants (22:19) whilst Sarah remains at Hebron, where she dies (23:1–2). Was this because of the tension that grew between the patriarch and the matriarch after he had almost sacrificed his son? This is the story we read last week; see

Tensions were already evident earlier in the story, when Sarah had banished Hagar and Ishmael into the wilderness of Beersheba (21:10–14). To send them on their way, Abraham made sure that they had bread and water to sustain them in the wilderness (21:14). We do not see Abraham and Sarah together again in the story. In discussing this with my wife, Elizabeth Raine, last week, she proposed that Sarah was so upset with Abraham’s actions on Mount Mariah, threatening the life of their son Isaac (Gen 22:1–14), that she left him behind at Beersheba and moved to Hebron, some 42km to the north.

It is only on her death that Abraham travels to where Sarah had been living, in Hebron. Abraham sought to purchase a field there to serve as the burial place for Sarah. Ephron the Hittite, moved with compassion, wanted to gift him a field with a cave where Sarah’s body could be laid (23:7–12), but Abraham insisted and paid Ephron the value of the field, 400 shekels of silver (23:12–16). So he was doing the honourable thing for his wife after her death, even though there seems to have been a relationship breakdown prior to this.

Despite the fact that he willingly enters into these dealings with the Hittites in Beersheba, and the fact that he had earlier entered into a covenant with Abimelech, King of Gerar, a Philistine (21:22–34), Abraham is now concerned that Isaac not marry locally, to a Canaanite, but that a wife be found for him in “my country” and amongst “my people”, as he instructs his servant (24:4–5).

We may perhaps know of people who share that desire that their children not marry “foreigners”, but find a partner from amongst their own. So it is an ancient story with very modern resonances. Marlene Andrews, Church leader at Ngukurr, shares her perspective on this passage in the current issue of With Love to the World, a daily Bible study resource.

(Ngukurr is a town of about 1,000 people, located about 330 kilometres south-east of Katherine on the Roper Highway. Ngukurr is one of the largest Aboriginal communities in the Roper Gulf region.)

She says: “This story is about Abraham, his son. Abraham wanted the best for his son in marriage. Abraham knew that God was with him at the time of his decision-making. Abraham was faithful to God’s calling. Abraham knew how to go about finding a good wife for his son, Isaac. It was important that his son’s wife came from Abraham’s country. That is where Abraham came from, and where he wanted his son to connect to. Abraham knew the culture and the background of his people. Abraham knew in finding a wife for his son, she had to come from his homeland.”

The marriage is arranged, at a distance, by Abraham. Isaac plays no part in the whole saga that is recounted in detail in Genesis 24. Abraham sends his servant all the way north to a well near the city of Nahor, which was back in Aramea, the homeland of Abraham. This was in the area we know as the Fertile Crescent, in between the two rivers of the Tigris and the Euphrates (24:10). The well near Nahor becomes the location for the match-making that Abraham undertakes, through the servant whom he sent there (24:10–14).

Isaac will, much later in time, notice Rebekah, the daughter of Bethuel, “son of Milcah, the wife of Nahor, Abraham’s brother” (24:15), but this is not until the story has almost come to its close (24:62–67). It is understandable that Isaac was agreeable to the arrangement that his father had made, for “the girl was very fair to look upon, a virgin, whom no man had known” (24:16).

This last comment is important, in the light of the drastic provision in the Torah that, if evidence of the young woman’s virginity is lacking, “they shall bring the young woman out to the entrance of her father’s house and the men of her town shall stone her to death, because she committed a disgraceful act in Israel by prostituting herself in her father’s house” (Deut 22:21).

Reckoning that the woman was able to be considered for marriage (we have to trust the insight of the narrator at this point), the servant was prepared for what he hoped would transpire; he had with him “a gold nose-ring weighing a half shekel, and two bracelets for her arms weighing ten gold shekels” (24:22).

After Rebekah has brought her brother Laban into the story (24:28–29), and he noticed the nose-ring and bracelets (24:30), he offered hospitality to the servant, which was duly accepted (24:31–33). The purpose of the nose-ring and bracelets is then revealed—although surely those who heard this story in antiquity would be well aware of their significance. Brokering a marriage is the clear intention (24:34–41).

The woman had had a ring placed in her nose, and bracelets put around her arms (24:47); the action presumably took place at 24:22–27, although it was not explicitly narrated there. The ring and bracelets were obviously the custom for women in the time when the story was initially told, and they held their place within the story as it was passed down from generation to generation, even if customs may have changed.

Marriage customs do vary across time and place, from one culture to another. What held in the days of the patriarchs (or, at least, in the days in ancient Israel when people told stories about how they imagined things were in the “olden days” of the patriarchs) does not necessarily hold good for our time, today. A story of a man who married a woman so that, after a prescribed period of time (seven years!) he could marry her sister, as was the case with Jacob, Rachel, and Leah (Gen 29–30), for instance, would not hold today! And whilst rings remain the most common sign of a marriage, they are placed around fingers, and not into noses, in most modern cultures!

So Isaac, eventually, enters the story (some 47 verses after Rebekah was first introduced!). He notices, first, the camels which had come all the way from Nahor to the Negeb (24:62–63); and then, “Isaac brought her into his mother Sarah’s tent; he took Rebekah, and she became his wife; and he loved her” (24:67). All is well, that ends well—thanks to the well!

However, even though Isaac had never been to the well at Nahor where the marriage agreement was made, this well was the first of a number of wells where marriages were negotiated and confirmed within the sagas of ancient Israel. Jacob met his wife-to-be, Rachel, beside a well in Canaan, later Samaria (Gen 29:1–3). Moses, when travelling in Midian, “sat down by a well”, where, in due time, the local priest Jethro gave one of his daughters, Zipporah, to Moses in marriage (Exod 2:15–21).

The well in Canaan, known as Jacob’s well, is much later on the location for another famous encounter, between Jesus of Nazareth and an unnamed woman of Samaria (John 4:4–30)—although no marriage resulted from this encounter!

The two marriages, of the son and grandson of Abraham, which resulted from encounters beside the two wells, are important, for they demonstrate that the promise made to Abraham, of many descendants who will be blessed by God (Gen 12:2–3), will be guaranteed. Sure enough, Isaac and Rebekah produce twin boys, Esau and Jacob; and Jacob, in turn, is the father of twelve sons, whose names provide the identification of the twelve tribes of Israel. So these wells are integral to the divine promise!

Isaac was the son of Abraham; Rebekah was the granddaughter of Nahor, the brother of Abraham; so they were cousins. Tracy M. Lemos, Associate Professor of Hebrew Bible and ancient Near Eastern language and literature in the Faculty of Theology of Huron University College at Western University in London, Ontario, writes in Bible Odyssey that “Biblical texts make clear that marriages between cousins were strongly preferred”. She continues, “different Israelite communities and authors had diverse viewpoints on marriage and that Israelite viewpoints evolved over time”. See

https://www.bibleodyssey.org/passages/related-articles/weddings-and-marriage-traditions-in-ancient-israel/

The conclusion of Prof. Lemos, that “many biblical customs would be unfamiliar or even objectionable to many people living in western societies today”, certainly stands with regard to the passage we are offered for this coming Sunday. The detailed story that is told in Gen 24 is a fascinating insight into another world, another time, another culture. Yet it is part of our shared heritage, as Jews and Christians, in the modern era. It is good to hear the story, once again, as the lectionary offers it to us this Sunday.

On the mount of the Lord it shall be provided (Gen 22; Pentecost 5A)

“Abraham reached out his hand and took the knife to kill his son” (Gen 22:10). We read these chilling words in the passage that the lectionary offers for our reflection and consideration this coming Sunday (Gen 22:1–14). It’s hardly edifying reading material for worship, is it?

The Sacrifice of Isaac, by Caravaggio, c. 1603

It’s a horrifying story. Who is this God who calls Abraham to take his “only son” up the mountain and “offer him there as a burnt offering” (22:2)? How does this God relate to the God who, it is said, has shows “steadfast love” to the people of Israel (Exod 15:13), and before that to Joseph (Gen 39:21), to Jacob (Gen 32:9–19), and indeed to Abraham himself (Gen 24:27)? Why has God acted in a way that Is seemingly so out of character in this incident in Gen 22? Or is this the real nature of God, and later displays of “steadfast love” are simply for show?

Writing in With Love to the World, the Revd Sophia Lizares, a Uniting Church Minister originally from the Philippines, now serving in Perth, WA, says that this story is “an improbable and troubling reading: a God who demands a father to kill his beloved son, a father who questions not.” It is not just the knife in Abraham’s hand which is raised (22:10)—there are many such questions raised by these seemingly callous story.

My wife, Elizabeth Raine, has a cracker of a sermon in which she compares this story with the account of Jephthah and his daughter (Judg 11:29–40). Whilst the Lord commands Abraham to kill his son as a burnt offering, it is the vow made by Jephthah to sacrifice “whoever comes out of the doors of my house to meet me, when I return victorious from the Ammonites” as a burnt offering (Judg 11:30).

And whilst the Lord intervenes in what Abraham is planning to do at the very last moment, sending an angel to command him, “do not lay your hand on the boy or do anything to him” (Gen 22:11–12), Jephthah is held to the vow he has made—by his very own daughter, who knows that she will be the victim of this vow (Judg 11:39). There is no divine intervention in this story.

And worse, whilst Abraham had carefully prepared for the sacrifice, taking his donkey, two servants, and the wood for the fire up the mountain with him (Gen 22:3–6), Jephthah’s vow was made on the spur of the moment (Judg 11:30–31), and when his daughter insisted that he must carry through with this vow, he gives her, as requested, two full months for her to spend with her companions before he sacrificed her (Judg 11:37–39). Surely he might have had time in those two months to reconsider his vow and turn away from sacrificing his daughter?

It would seem, then, that the daughter was dispensable; the son, the much loved only son of Sarah and Abraham, was clearly indispensable. That would clearly reflect the values of the patriarchal society of the day, in which “sons are indeed a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward” (Ps 127:3).

And Abraham would have followed the same pathway, sacrificing his only son, had not the Lord intervened. Neither father is looking very appealing in these two stories! Which makes it hard to see how the story of the sacrifice told in Judg 11, and the story of the almost-sacrifice told in Gen 22, can be “the word of the Lord” for us, today, in the 21st century. Indeed, the story of Abraham and Isaac comes perilously close to being a story of child abuser—if not physical abuse, by the end of the story, at least emotional and spiritual abuse.

Situations of abuse destroy trust. After such an experience, how could Isaac ever trust his father again? And as we hear the story, how can we trust God? How could we ever believe that his commands to us are what we should follow?—if he follows the pattern of this story, and changes his mind at the last minute, after pushing us to the very brink of existence? How could we trust a God like this?

Or, if the story involving poor Isaac is really about God providing, as Abraham intimates early on (22:8), and then concludes at the end (22:14), then it is a rather malicious way for God to go about showing how he is able to “provide”. Provision, and providence, should be something positive—not perilous and threatening, as in this story.

Or yet again, if the story is about testing Abraham’s faith, as many interpreters conclude, then it is a particularly nasty and confronting way for God to do this—and that points to a nasty streak in the character of God. Is this really what we want to sit with? Was there not some other way for God to push Abraham to test his faith?

What do we do with such a story within our shared sacred scriptures?

A sixth-century CE floor mosaic from the Beth Alpha synagogue, in Israel’s Jezreel Valley. The mosaic lay near the door, so that anyone who entered was confronted by the scene. In this mosaic, Abraham and Isaac are identified in Hebrew. The hand of God extends from heaven to prevent Abraham from proceeding. Below the hand are the Hebrew words, “Lay not [your hand].” Next to the ram are the words, “Behold a ram.”

*****

The Jewish site, My Jewish Learning, states that “although the story itself is quite troubling, it does contain a message of hope for Rosh Hashanah. In the liturgy we ask God to “remember us for life.” The binding of Isaac concludes with his life being spared, and he too is “remembered for life.” Abraham’s devotion results in hope for life.”

How does the message of hope for life emerge from this story? Clearly, the life of Isaac is spared; but this is a terrible way to teach that message!

James Goodman, writing in My Jewish Learning, explains how he was taught to understand this story. “I learned that the story was God’s way of proclaiming his opposition to human sacrifice”, Goodman writes.

He refers to the way his Hebrew-school teacher explained this story: “God had brought Abraham to a new land. A good and fertile land, where it was common for pagan tribes, hoping to keep the crops and flocks coming, to sacrifice first-born sons to God. Then one day, God commanded Abraham to sacrifice Isaac, the beloved son of his old age.

“Abraham set out to do it, and was about to, when God stopped him. He sacrificed a ram instead. In the end, Abraham had ‘demonstrated his—and the Jews’—heroic willingness to accept God and His law,’ and God had ‘proclaimed’ that ‘He could not accept human blood, that He rejected all human sacrifices’.”

See https://www.myjewishlearning.com/2013/09/11/understanding-genesis-22-god-and-child-sacrifice/

Setting the story in the broader context of the practice of child sacrifice is a way of accepting that this terrible story might indeed have some value. Seeing the story is a dramatised version of God’s command not to sacrifice children can be a way to deal with it. “Do not lay your hand on the boy or do anything to him”, the angel says; so Abraham obeys, finds a ram, offers the ram as a burnt offering (22:12–13). And so, the name of the place is given: “the Lord will provide” (22:14).

Three kings of Israel, at different times in the history of Israel, are said to have practised child sacrifice, as they turned to practices found in nations other than Israel. Solomon in his old age is said to have turned to the worship of Molech (1 Ki 11:7); this practice was subsequently adopted by Ahaz, who “made offerings in the valley of the son of Hinnom, and made his sons pass through fire, according to the abominable practices of the nations whom the Lord drove out before the people of Israel” (2 Chron 28:3). Likewise, Manasseh “made his son pass through fire; he practiced soothsaying and augury, and dealt with mediums and with wizards” (2 Ki 21:6).

Direct commands not to sacrifice children are found in two books of Torah in the scriptural texts. Most direct is “you shall not give any of your offspring to sacrifice them to Molech, and so profane the name of your God: I am the Lord” (Lev 20:18). In Deuteronomy, other nations are condemned as they “burn their sons and their daughters in the fire to their gods” (Deut 12:31), so the command is “no one shall be found among you who makes a son or daughter pass through fire” (Deut 18:10). The prophet Jeremiah also asserts that this practice is not something that the Lord God had thought of (Jer 7:31).

So the passage we have in the lectionary responds to this practice by telling a tale which has, as its punchline, the command “do not lay your hand on the boy or do anything to him” (22:12). Might this be the one redeeming feature of this passage?

But if that is the case, the story belongs back in the days when child sacrifice was, apparently, widely practised. What, then, does it say to us today???

See also