An Economy of Grace

Julian of Norwich, during an existential time of world history, the Black Plague, wrote the well-known prayer: “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.”  What is it that Julian had or knew that allowed her to not only pray these words, but believe these words? I think this week’s readings have at least part of an answer to that question.

Last week we talked about how Jesus chose to walk in the borderlands—those spaces of conflict and tension, division and difference. This morning we hear a story in our origin narrative in the book of Genesis about the character Jacob and how his story takes place in a  crossroads of sorts as well.

As a young man, with his mother’s blessing, Jacob cheated his slightly older twin brother, Esau, out of Esau’s birthright through trickery. This means Jacob got his father’s lands, properties and wealth. And Esau, who was rightfully meant to inherit it all, was left holding the bag. Esau then threatened his brother’s life, so Jacob fled to his uncle’s and there started his adult life separate from mother, father, and brother. While at his uncle Laban’s, Jacob marries two of Laban’s daughters and has 13 children (12 sons and one daughter), and also gets tricked by, and then also tricks, Laban. Jacob is a trickster.

In today’s story,  after all the trickery, after he has wives, handmaids, children, goods, and wealth, Jacob longs to return home. So he sends a messenger to his brother Esau to let him know he is coming, and hopefully, peaceably.  Esau sends a messenger to Jacob saying he will meet Jacob—along with 400 of his men.  Jacob does not take this as a good sign, thinking his brother is probably still pretty upset with him, so he sends his family and all  his property and goods off to safety while he spends one last night to prepare for his meeting with Esau. And it is here, at the crossroads of the Jordan river’s tributary of Jabbok that runs East and West, as Jacob is traveling north and Esau is traveling south, that he is preparing to meet his brother at the crossroads of their differences.

And, God shows up. Just as God always does if we are woke enough to hear and see God. God meets Jacob there. Right when Jacob is finally facing his mistakes, his missteps, the harm he has done to others.  Because when we come “face to face” with our choices that have led to separation, difference, harm to others or harm to self, it is a time of internal wrestling. And God is always present in that turmoil, waiting to help us wade through the storm. Each of us is called to come to grips with the consequences of our choices and actions—they do seem to always catch up with us. And God, who is Love, is present with us as we grapple with our own lives—-hoping to help us see Love’s way forward: owning our mistakes, redressing our wrongs, figuring out how to move forward in health and wholeness instead of self-centered brokenness. And Jacob, like any of us who have also experienced these times of internal wrestlings, Jacob comes out limping. But blessed. And forever changed. Wrestling with God will do that to ya. 

A beautiful part of the story that we don’t hear in today’s reading is that when Jacob meets Esau, Esau is not there to threaten him or to destroy him, but to forgive. And in that reconciliation, Jacob who met God face to face in his night of internal wrestling, now says to his brother who has offered him release: “To see your face is like seeing the face of God.”

Beloved: what might this mean for us—as we live in this crossroads of division and difference—to gaze upon our sister’s face, to look into our brother’s eyes–those we may  have held as enemy, foreigner, alien—to gaze upon these our siblings and say: “to see your face is like seeing the face of God.”

This is the narrative Christ followers are to hear and embody, to listen to and live out. These stories of forgiveness and inclusion, these stories that recognize how our lives are inextricably intertwined and we are obligated to one another. Even as we choose to live differently, which Esau and Jacob did. Esau, after having been tricked out of his birthright, made good on his unexpected life. His story isn’t one of victimhood or ongoing grievance and vengeance, but of acceptance and resilience. Unfortunately, this didn’t last. Esau’s descendents were the Edomites; Jacob’s descendents were the Israelites—and after the beautiful reconciliation story in the 33rd chapter of Genesis, the Edomites and the Israelites were often adversaries. Because each generation has to relearn this story, re-enact it and make it manifest again, make it their story—-this central and primal narrative of reconciliation, of belonging to one another, of acceptance and resilience.

Like the resilience of the widow in today’s Gospel parable. The “justice” system, if you will, in those times was a court of law where the Judge listened to a complaint and then decided who was in the right and who was in the wrong. There wasn’t a third party of investigation  (like our police and district attorney for example) who brought someone to court. A person would come to the Judge with a complaint and the other party would be brought into the court so the Judge could hear both sides. Kinda like Judge Judy. And today’s widow is one such party in a complaint.  Our translation has her use the word “accuser,” which would make her the one brought into the court by someone else, but the Greek is not so clear. Either which way, as plaintiff or as defendant, this widow clearly has an ongoing case with the judge. This judge who doesn’t seem inclined to resolve the conflict, so basically, not doing his job. Beloved, this is a broken system. With a judge who is not doing what he is meant to do: to hear and resolve cases. And  we are told this judge has no respect for God or anyone else. A self-serving person seated in a position of great power. 

But this widow, Beloved, this widow—-she will have none of it. She knows the system is broken; she  has experienced the injustice of this judge and this broken system which is leaving her future in limbo. And she is unrelenting….returning again and again to demand justice. Standing up to demand justice from an unjust person in power working within a broken system. Why doesn’t she just give up? Why isn’t she paralyzed by despair?

It would seem that she has hope. Hope in something beyond the unjust ruler; faith and trust in something beyond the broken system. Since Jesus is telling this story (in response to Pharisees asking him when and where they will see the Kingdom of God), I think it is fair to say that Jesus uses this story to teach the principle of belief, trust, faith and hope in a greater economy of grace. An economy of grace that can work for the common good—even when unjust rulers and broken systems abound. Let me say that again: There is a greater economy of grace moving, present and alive in the world, that works and transforms people and situations. Even in the midst of unjust rulers and broken systems.

So rise up, Beloved, and join that economy of grace. Invest in it. Trust in it. Bet your life on it. I believe this is how Julian prayed: All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well. Because there is a greater economy of grace alive and moving in the world. There is a greater force than hate and cruelty; we know it as Love; we know this living force and energy as God. So, therefore, Beloved, Hope abounds, hope abounds.

God of reconciliation, you meet us in the challenges of daily living. Open our hearts to receive your transforming forgiveness, and so unlock the generosity you have placed deep within us. God of the struggle, just as Jacob wrestled through the night, we bring our own fears, wounds, and questions before you. Meet us in the struggle: transform us. Change our hearts and our purpose, that we may walk in the name you give us: Beloved. Let our struggles draw us closer to you, and let our wounds become signs of blessing for others. We pray this in your name Lord Jesus because we know: you love it when we pray. Amen. (www.heartedge.org)