For a Bowl of Soup

For a Bowl of Soup

Genesis 25:29-34

            Primogeniture.  The right of the firstborn.  The oldest son inherits everything, the daughters are married off for political alliances, and any other sons are out of luck.  In times when written documents were scarce (for example, the Middle Ages), primogeniture made wills unnecessary.  The matter was settled by birth order with no recourse.

            In other periods of history, if there were two sons, the oldest would get two-thirds of his father’s estate while the younger would get one-third (think of Jesus’ story of the prodigal son).  If the family consisted of more than two sons, modifications to this arrangement were possible.  In all cases the oldest son had a distinct advantage.  He got the lion’s share while his brothers divided the scraps.  This was his “birthright.”

            If you remember the story of the birth of Jacob and Esau, Isaac and Rebecca’s twin sons, you know something unusual happened.  Esau was born first, and therefore had the advantage in the line of inheritance.  Jacob followed, but arrived holding tight to Esau’s heel—already, it would seem, trying to beat out his brother.  One Bible translation says that “Jacob” means “He takes by the heel,” or “He cheats,”—an apt name considering what happened between them as adults.  Other translations say that the name Jacob means “Supplanter”—also apt considering what happened later.

            Fast forward several years.  Esau has grown into a successful hunter and his father’s favorite.  We might call Jacob a “mama’s boy,” but that isn’t exactly the accurate term.  He is, however, his mother’s favorite.  He prefers life among his family’s tents to the outdoor activities favored by his brother.  Apparently he is an excellent cook, and this is what brings about the first recorded trouble between the two young men.  I say “first recorded trouble” because it’s pretty obvious this isn’t the first incident between them.  Two children, the same age but very different temperaments—bound to be trouble.

            Anyone who hunts knows it can be a chancy business.  Some days the game seems to walk right up, begging to be taken.  Other days the hunter would swear there was a silent drone overhead revealing his location to everything that moves.  Esau must have been having one of those days, since the writer of Genesis tells us he came in from the fields exhausted and apparently empty-handed.  Jacob was cooking what the Bible calls stew, but what was in all probability more like lentil soup.  Think Campbell’s extra-chunky, extra-hearty concoctions.

            Those of us who have missed a meal know what the situation must have been.  Here’s one brother who has been out running around all day, not only tired and hungry, but probably disappointed as well.  Here’s the other brother patiently, slowly stirring the pot, letting the aroma waft in his brother’s direction—perhaps even using his free hand to fan the breeze a bit.

            Now, we know Esau was very hungry, but he wasn’t, as he said, “about to die.”  Isaac was a man of wealth, and Esau would not have left that morning without breakfast, nor would he have gone off to hunt empty handed.  Still, like someone we read about in the New Testament (remember Peter?), Esau was impulsive and impatient enough to do the unthinkable.  He sold his birthright.  A little longer, a little more patience, and he could have had food of his own.  Instead, he gave away his standing as firstborn for a bowl of soup.  We still remember this incident today when we talk about someone selling out for “a mess of pottage” (the King James translation).

            The temptation to sell ourselves out is still there today.  Any time we sell our principles for something of lesser value we are like Esau.  Any time we tempt someone to do the same we are like Jacob.  Neither brother is worth emulating.  We need to find a better way to live.