He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not:
Leah Finds Grace in the Eyes of the Lord
A sermon by Dr. Scott Spencer
Richmond’s First Baptist Church
Richmond, Virginia
Sunday, July 27, 2008

Genesis 29:15-35

            Caveat emptor.  Let the buyer beware.  We’ve all no doubt learned that the hard way somewhere along the road.  Something we purchased didn’t quite turn out as advertised.

            A folksier Old English phrase cautions us to always double-check a pig in a poke.  A “poke” was a tote bag or sack, big enough to carry a piglet home from market.  But during the late Middle Ages, when meat was scarce, unscrupulous merchants would slip some other squealy, squirmy animal—like a cat—into the “poke” which the buyer would not discover until later—when he “let the cat out of the bag”—not a pig. 

            Let the buyer beware.  Make sure you get what you bargained for—whether at the market place . . . or . . . the marriage bed, as in the case of the biblical patriarch, Jacob.

            These were the days of arranged marriages, and Jacob thought he had arranged a pretty sweet deal for himself.  He was quite smitten with Uncle Laban’s youngest daughter Rachel, and Laban agreed to give Rachel in marriage in exchange for seven years of Jacob’s labor.  Although, by modern Western standards, such a transaction seems rather cold and calculating—treating Rachel like a bargaining chip—the story adds a rare romantic touch:  the seven years Jacob toiled for Rachel “seemed to him but a few days because of the great love he had for her.”

            Ahh . . . how nice . . .  But not entirely . . .  At the end of the seven-year period,  Laban pulls a fast one on Jacob.  Jacob, you might recall, was a first-class trickster himself, who had successfully swindled the family birthright and blessing from his elder brother Esau.  Well now Jacob gets his comeuppance.  The trickster is tricked big time.

            According to the custom of the day, after the bride’s father hosted a grand wedding feast, he brought his daughter in the evening to the groom’s residence, where the marriage would be duly consummated.  For Jacob, everything proceeded normally and joyously until morning broke, and he discovered that Laban had brought not Rachel but her elder sister Leah—to Jacob’s bed. 

            Why he didn’t discover this switcheroo till morning, I’ll leave to your imagination, though I suspect that bridal veils and excessive feasting (drinking) had something to do with it.  But in any case, when the light dawns, it stuns Jacob.  The Hebrew is very clipped in describing Jacob’s initial shock.  Three words:  “Look!  She.  Leah!”  Yeah!  How about that!  That would be quite a “morning after” surprise!

Reminds me of Alan Jackson’s comic country ballad that starts with his getting a “little wasted,” as he puts it, in a roadside diner, and ends the next hazy day with the bombshell realization:  “I’m married to a waitress and I don’t even know her name.”  Well, Jacob knows her name—Leah!—but is just as confused about his own shocking turn of marital events.

Pulling himself together, he marches into uncle Laban’s house and demands to know what’s going on.  What have you done to me, man?  When I threw off the covers and lifted the veil, I saw Leah’s soft, lovely eyes, but not Rachel’s beautiful face and shapely figure.  This is not the “pig in the poke” I bargained for.

Why have you deceived me?  Hah . . . that’s rich coming from the arch-deceiver, Jacob.  Doesn’t feel so good when the shoe’s on the other foot, does it?

Laban drives in the ironic knife even deeper in his response.  Oh, sorry about that, Jacob old buddy—but you know, that’s not the way we do things here up north—that is, giving the younger before the firstborn.  We take firstborn family values seriously around here.

Ouch!  The whole reason Jacob came to Laban’s country was to escape the wrath of his elder brother Esau, whom Jacob had snookered out of his firstborn family inheritance.  You can’t run away from your problems, though; can’t run away from yourself—warts and all.  It catches up with you.

Poetic justice is a major theme in Genesis.  In moral and theological terms—what goes around comes around; you reap what you sow; your sin will find you out.  However you put it, for good or ill, character matters in Genesis.  Jacob’s just beginning to learn that lesson.

So while it’s hard not to feel a little sympathy for Jacob in this arrangement—weddings and new marriages are stressful enough without waking up to the wrong woman—we don’t grieve too much for this notorious heel-grabber.  He had it coming.

Moreover, Jacob still gets what he wants soon enough.  After the required week of nuptial duties with Leah, Laban gives Rachel to Jacob as well, with the proviso that Jacob must work another seven years for him to pay off this “debt.”  Laban is a businessman first, a father second or third or something down the line.

But this is no big problem for Jacob.  Another seven year stint is well worth having the woman he wanted all along—with the slight hiccup that now he has two wives, two sisters who have become his co-wives—not that unusual for the day but not without its challenges, especially for the women involved.

And in this case—especially for Leah—who assumes the terrible, tragic position of the unloved wife or more accurately, perhaps—the less-loved wife.  But I’m not sure there’s that much difference.  Verse 30 gives the bottom line that matters: “Jacob went into Rachel also, and he loved Rachel more than Leah.”

Now we have no evidence that Jacob violently mistreated or abused Leah.  He may have been cordial with her, considerate to a point, provided for her basic material needs, but nonetheless, he made it clear at every turn she was second rate, second choice—actually no choice at all.

That’s a tough position to be in.  Most of us can relate on some level, I think, to not being the chosen one, the favored one, in some situation—losing out to the belle of the ball, the best in show—somebody younger, prettier, smarter, cooler, hotter, sexier, wealthier, taller, tanner, faster, fitter, slimmer, stronger, perkier, smoother . . . and so on.  There’s always someone more “something” than we are—always someone to remind us we don’t quite measure up, we’re not #1, we’re not top choice.

Leah’s “unfavored wife” status, however, was made even more difficult than we might imagine by the cultural environment she inhabited.  We might flippantly say, “Well, if your husband doesn’t love you—in fact, prefers your younger sister over you—get out of there.  Who needs that grief?  Shake it off. Make your own way.  Find someone who genuinely cares for you like you deserve.”  Such remaking of one’s life, of course, is easier said than done in most any culture—especially for women—but next to impossible in this ancient Near Eastern context.

Leah had little choice but to make do as best she could.  She was not completely or even primarily in charge of her own destiny; she was trapped in a loveless marriage.

So what could she do?  What can anyone do in situations where our backs are against the wall, where we have little say over our fate, few options to pursue?  Most of us today have considerably more individual freedom than Leah had, but even our freedom is far from absolute.  All sorts of factors beyond our control still determine who we are and how we live to a great extent.

So what do we do in painfully limiting and loveless situations?

Biblical narratives present two broad avenues of hope when God’s people find themselves in a bind.  One:  the Bible encourages human audacity and ingenuity to address our problems creatively, to do whatever we can behind the scenes and along the edges of the status quo to make whatever difference we can.  We are dynamic human beings made in the image of the Creator God, not dumb, helpless doormats for everybody to walk over.

Genesis and Exodus give us some marvelous examples of proactive women who, though limited by a patriarchal system, are by no means totally powerless to protect themselves and promote their own interests.  They may not have the physical force and formal authority of men, but they use their wits and wiles to good advantage.  And God honors them for it.

§         Jacob’s mama and Leah’s aunt, Rebekah, is a notable case.  She’s the one that orchestrates the whole masquerade, prompting her blind old husband Isaac to give his final blessing to her favorite son, Jacob. 

§         Later, Jacob’s favored wife, Rachel, steals her father Laban’s precious household icons—symbols of divine favor and family authority—and hides them under a camel’s saddle she sits on.  When daddy storms into her tent hunting for his missing valuables, she cleverly excuses herself from getting up—claiming it was her time of the month.  Whether that’s true or not was no business of Laban’s—he promptly backs off. 

§         The Hebrew midwives in Exodus, ordered by Pharaoh to kill all male Hebrew babies on the birthing stool, refuse to comply and trick Pharaoh into believing that the Hebrew women are so “vigorous” that they shoot babies out like popguns before the midwives get there. 

§         When Pharaoh shifts his murderous tactics to drowning all Hebrew boys, baby Moses’ mother devises a floating basket to protect him, and his sister watches the shoreline and arranges for their mother to nurse Moses when Pharaoh’s daughter finds him in the river and adopts him.

Do not for a second underestimate the courage and cleverness of women to preserve life—their own and those they love—and to shape the course of biblical history.  The mighty patriarchs and Pharaohs just think they’re calling the shots.  To be sure, they do have enormous power to affect their families and subjects for good and ill.  But they don’t always get their way.  Those in the background and on the margins—women and others in subordinate positions—find ways to subvert the system and secure their futures.  And God smiles every time they do. 

Speaking of God brings us to the second avenue of hope in seemingly hopeless, loveless situations.  This is the path that most nurtures Leah in her crisis.

As we’ve seen, Leah is in a precarious position with limited options.  Could she have devised some audacious, strategic plan to improve her lot in life and the family?  Perhaps, although I would not be so audacious to propose what that plan might be.

In any case, Leah does not have a creative scheme up her sleeve, like her aunt and sister.  And that’s OK—doesn’t mean she’s stupid or lazy or pathetic.  It’s just that nothing presents itself.

How do you make someone love you?  Not sure there is a formula or scheme for that one—though Lord knows, there’s no end of talk shows and websites these days that claim to have the key to love and happiness.  But what, really, could Leah do to make her husband (or father for that matter) love her the way she deserved?

Thankfully, where human love falters, God’s love flourishes.  While the God of Israel happily encourages human initiative to tackle our problems, when it comes to love, God does not—in the first place—ask us for anything.  God simply and purely loves us because we are God’s and God Is Love.  And God seems to love us all the more when others’ love is in short supply, when others reject and abandon us—or maybe just neglect and ignore us.

Leah finds this to be abundantly true, experiencing fresh infusions of God’s love associated with the births of her first four sons.  Their father Jacob may not love Leah as he should, but each son represents a wonderful gift of God’s unfailing love for her:  “When the Lord saw that Leah was unloved, he opened her womb”—and each time Leah names the boy without consulting Jacob.  This she controls, and each name gives vital meaning to her life and her relationship with God.

§         First there’s Reuben, based on the Hebrew word for “see” or “look.”  Literally, Reuben means “Look—a son!”; theologically it represents Leah’s confession that “the Lord has looked upon my affliction.”  Jacob might not notice me or my pain, but the Lord does.

§         Next is Simeon, evoking the Hebrew for “hear” or “listen,” signifying that “the Lord has heard that I am hated [and] has given me this son also.”  Jacob may not attend to my complaints, but the Lord hears and cares.

§         Third is Levi, related to the Hebrew term for “join.”  Jacob may only join physically now and again with Leah out of obligation, but the Lord shares in Leah’s whole heart and being.

Leah’s not alone, not abandoned.  Her Lord and God, Maker and Sustainer, sees, hears, and shares intimately in every aspect of her life.  But as wonderful as that realization is, it’s not quite enough yet for Leah.  As God blesses her with these three sons, she keeps hoping that each one might soften Jacob’s heart toward her, that each son might open a bridge of mutual love between them.

But it doesn’t work out that way.  Jacob remains aloof and apathetic.  Rachel is still number one, even though she hasn’t borne him any children yet.

§         With the birth of son #4, Judah, suggesting “praise,” Leah seems to reach a crossroads.  She pretty much gives up on Jacob now:  “This time,” she says, “I will praise the Lord.”  No more mention of Jacob, just the Lord. 

You can’t make somebody love you.  Sometimes, God is all you’ve got, and God can do nothing but love you.  Sometimes, everybody and everything lets you down, and all you can do is throw yourself on the steadfast love and mercy of God—fresh every morning, never fading or failing.

That’s what got Leah through, I think.  And it might get us through, too.  Leah’s lesson in grace and love is our lesson as well.  But it’s actually just a beginning.  Leah’s story is a primer for a developing curriculum of divine love.

Through the line of Judah—Leah’s fourth son—eventually comes Israel’s messiah, whom we know as God’s firstborn incarnate Son, Jesus the Christ.  What more can God do to demonstrate the depth and breadth of God’s love than give his own Son to and for all of us?

That clinches it for the apostle Paul, as our epistle text from Romans 8 makes clear.  There’s a lot of room for doubt about a lot of things—but not about God’s love.  Nothing and no can separate us from that—not hardship, not distress, not persecution, not famine, not nakedness, not peril, not sword, not death, not life, not angels, not rulers, not things present, not things to come, not powers, not height, not depth—nor anything else in all creation—and that includes overbearing parents, under-loving spouses, better-looking siblings and other intimates who ought to be a source of love, but sometimes aren’t.

In any event, we can praise God with Leah, knowing that absolutely nothing and no one in this world can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.  Amen and Amen.