“Jacob!”
I hear it. And everything in me hardens. I grit my teeth, furrow my brow, clench my fists.
And a soft voice deep within me whispers, “that’s not your name anymore.” And as quickly as I was thrown into tension, I release it. That’s not my name anymore, I remind myself. I have a new name, but not everybody knows it yet. I don’t even fully know it yet. I still respond when I hear Jacob called. When people see my face, they see Jacob, the heel grasper, the deceiver. And they are right to. For all my life, I’ve been grasping, deceiving, conniving, stealing.
A discontent second-born, born a mere second after my brother, already grasping after him. Even then, I knew my place. And knew what it took to get ahead.
I’ve wanted to ask my parents, “why did you burden me with this name? This identity? This destiny?” I rail at them in my mind. Shouting my thoughts loudly, inside my head. Blaming them for what I’ve become. For who I’ve always been. Maybe they didn’t assign me my destiny. Perhaps they saw my character as a heel grasping infant and gave me a fitting name.
Whether my name foretold my future or confirmed my character, you can’t deny what I became. I’ve been powerless against my own nature. Always striving to get ahead, trampling over others in my desire to be at the top. Unconcerned about who I am hurting, as long as I am benefitting.
At first it was fun, realizing I had this power. It wasn’t a physical power. That was all Esau’s. But tired of being dominated by him physically, I realized I could manipulate him and make him feel the pain and shame of being second. Second best, second place. I could get what I wanted without risking bruises. Self loathing would always creep in after my conquest, reminding me of my hideous crimes, tormenting me in the depths of my darkened heart.
Before long all traces of enjoyment were gone, only a bitter resentment toward myself (and those who fell into my trap) remained.
Stealing the birthright was easy. All I had to do was ask Esau in a desperate moment. Esau despised his birthright and I despised myself.
The blessing required a bit more craftiness and the deception of my mother. Though there was no love left between my father and me, I hated myself for taking advantage of his weakness.
But my self hatred was not enough to change me. Nothing was powerful enough to change me. Not running away and starting over. Not when my sins caught up with me and I encountered the justice of being deceived, living under a conniving, thieving scoundrel. Not even seeing the faithfulness of the God of my father Isaac and grandfather Abraham as he provided for me in my exile.
No. What changed me was encountering God face to face. Struggling against him through the night. I may walk with a limp now, but my soul rises up knowing He (not my history; not my name) defines my future. I am Israel.