The story of Jacob has captivated my attention since 1993. Jacob was a man who tried to be someone other than who he was. He wanted to be his brother. Esau was loved by his father Isaac. Jacob was not. Esau was outgoing and popular with the ladies. Jacob was a quiet man of the tents. Esau, as the first born son, could expect a double portion of the family estate. Jacob could expect the leftovers. Esau was a blessed man and Jacob would do anything he could to grab that blessing for himself.
What I discovered in 1993 is that both of the brothers live inside me. Like Esau, I have been given just about every cultural advantage one could ask for. I am the first born son of a respectable majority culture family. I was given a good education at an elite university. I married a beautiful wife and we have been given three wonderful children and five grandchildren. We live in a lovely neighborhood and for our age and stage of life, we have decent health. I am a blessed man.
But if Esau is my external persona, Jacob is my internal one. I learned early on that if I wanted to avoid embarrassment or rejection and win the favor of others, I should do whatever I could to meet their expectations. I should become someone else. The strategy is a bit neurotic but what makes neurosis so attractive is that it works—for a while. By 1993 the strategy of winning favor through achievement and meeting expectations was wearing me out.
In his book Hustling God, Craig Barnes puts it this way:
Jacob’s name means “striver” or “hustler.” He had so much ambition that he could have been the poster child for the American Dream.
Jacob could also be the poster child for many who join InterVarsity staff. Each week I have conversations with friends who struggle with expectations from supervisors, parents, donors, and peers. Facebook has become the venue where people post their accomplishments. Those accomplishments become expectations that others in the social network feel they must live up to. Like the patriarch we strive for a blessing that we can never take, but only receive from the God who loves us.
Pray with me that the people I serve who have the sons of Rebekah wrestling inside of them too will be able to encounter the God of Jacob in deeper and more profound ways.
This is a powerful meditation. Thank you.
As usual, your reflections and writing touches my heart and amazingly lands on topics that are excruciatingly current for me. Teaching is demanding in its own right. Meeting the expectations of the administration (both the appropriate and the unreasonable) is a concern that intertwines itself into the choices I make each day. Making decisions that allow me to serve my students, but which don’t cause me to put my family last is a continual struggle. As this school year has started, I am experiencing a strange emotional freedom from my bondage to the demands of my leadership (and my fears of not giving the never-ending extra that is simply expected). Perhaps I am just too tired to give in anymore. Or perhaps the hustling for acceptance is waning as I grow older. (Can I hope for such maturity?) Thank you Steve for sharing your wisdom and challenging my thinking-always from a place of compassion and servanthood. Over a decade later, I still miss being able to pop my head into your office. But I am thankful that your influence continues. Blessings to you and your family.