In the name of family and of all that is good in this world, we have this beautiful, tender scene painted by Robert T. Barrett – of two brothers embracing. It is a scene of forgiveness, and one of a shared bond that was ultimately stronger than differences. After two decades of separation, caused by two opposing perspectives, offence given and offence taken, misunderstanding and vengeful anger, they come together on a field that could have just as likely, been a bloodbath. Every reason to hate still valid, because though a lifetime had lapsed, the facts still remained. The ball was in Esau’s court so to speak, he could have gone either way. He may have even been uncertain himself, after all he came out to meet Jacob with 400 men. But there. On that field. After long absence, and tremendous mutual familial loss, including the death of their mother in Jacob’s absence, we see one of scripture’s great lessons on forgiveness.(1) Esau let go. There was no chance of bringing back what was lost, nor of undoing what had been done, and to persist in a attitude of vengeance would only cause further hurt and further loss.
At what point does one say “Enough is enough. And this truly IS enough!” ? Does it take a year? a decade? more? A veritable lifetime of separation? Does it take the death of a parent? Wherever that point was for Esau, he had reached it and crossed over. And though Rebekah did not, Isaac lived to see it. I can scarce imagine the gut wrenching sobs and father-tears of both grief and joy to hear the news and to feel with his very own hands (for his sight had long ago failed him), both of his boys at the same time. I’m sure he had all but given up hope that he ever would.
Such a reunion! And how could Rebekah not have looked on with similar emotion from her heavenly vantage point? Brothers. Sisters in law. Cousins who never knew each other. Each family had followed a different path, and their futures wouldn’t necessarily be intertwined, but old grudges were gone and peace could once again prevail, as they parted ways, this time with mutual acceptance and respect. “That’s what its all about, ” says singer songwriter Sam Payne “Having good reason to hate each other and not hating each other anyway.” (2)
Most of us can pull an Esau-Jacob story from our family files. Maybe they ended well, maybe they have not yet. For me, I have a few. Some are not quite completed. One saw resolution many years ago, and has gone on to yield life long loving familial relationships, and eternal blessings not even imagined before. My dad came from a large family of sixteen natural born children. Fourteen of those children grew to adulthood and had families of their own, and yes, you’re right – that makes for a lotta cousins for me. When I was very young, we lived many hours drive from my grandparents. We generally saw them once a year. But my Harrison cousins, many of them also lived many hours drive, and I saw them seldom. We had our very first “Harrison” family reunion when I was in elementary school. In Waterton park. I was shy around so many aunts and uncles and cousins. I had a brief but memorable exchange with one cousin from far away during that reunion. I didn’t know how we fit together, but the adults told us we were cousins, so we played. Her name was Jerilyn. We were the same age and we shared the same last name because our dads were brothers. We had been playing together for a time when her family got ready to go on a planned outing; she invited me to come with them. I’m not sure what motivated me to accept, as they were virtual strangers and I was very shy, but I did, and my mom consented. Her dad was an anomaly to me. He was soft spoken and kind. He laughed – with children! He genuinely seemed to want to be with them. He spoke to me directly. He told dad jokes and my cousins were easy and comfortable around him. My memory of that event is brief, and would have faded altogether I believe, had it not been for a converging of our two families only a few short years later.
Sometime in my childhood, whether before or after that reunion I don’t know, my father had been sent to Winnipeg on an assignment. He was in the Royal Canadian Air Force (as it was called then). While there, he was invited to dinner at his brother’s house. This same brother, who also served in the Air Force. My dad was a couple of years older, both in their mid 30’s. By all accounts, dinner went well. I’m sure it was delicious – my aunt was a good cook. I’m sure my cousins were well behaved, there were 4 of them. All girls. After dinner, my dad pulled out a cigarette as was the habit of smokers. It was no secret that he smoked. Most adults did in those days, certainly the ones in my world. Whether it was my aunt or my uncle who asked my dad not to smoke in the house, is unclear, but my dad attributed it to Aunt Jolayne. He went outside on the front porch to have his cigarette. It was winter. He might have been mildly annoyed at first, but as he stood there smoking, he became increasingly annoyed – even offended. It is so common for people to not smoke in homes nowadays that it may be difficult to imagine a time when it was not only acceptable, but very common. My dad was easily offended at the best of times, so this was the perfect opportunity to do what came naturally for him. As he blew smoke out, he became quite indignant at having to do so outside. In the winter no less. And he walked away. Building up a defensive wall with every step. He had been insulted in the house of his brother. Offended. Never would he darken his door again. My uncle’s wife had insulted my dad, and by association, so did he. They were intolerant and inhospitable, and judgmental, and rude. The extent of the perceived offence grew as the distance between them grew. I can only imagine what that may have felt like from the perspective of my aunt and uncle inside the house. Especially if they watched my father walk away. They had all been raised in southern Alberta “Mormon” towns, in Mormon families. Both families lived by the tenants of their religion and keep the word of wisdom – which included abstaining from tobacco, alcohol and tea and coffee. My dad was one of the brothers who deviated from the family religion.
Distance and time created more distance and time, and as sometimes happen, the wound festered. You could say it had even become infected. I didn’t know my aunt and uncle, and I didn’t know this story, until when I was ten years old we learned that they were moving to our base. My uncle Merlin had been transferred to the airforce base in Cold Lake, Alberta. As children, we couldn’t even imagine what having cousins live so close might be like. My parents did not seem happy about the news, so we were filled with concern, but secretly, I was just a little excited at the possibilities. The old wound however resurfaced, and if we had missed it before, we understood more fully now how significantly bad it was. I didn’t even know what my Aunt Jolayne looked like, but I knew she was a “religious fanatic“. I knew she kicked my dad out of her house for smoking. On a winter day! Smoking in my world was like breathing. Every adult did it. Her action was unimaginable and there was no question that it was unforgiveable. We prepared for the worst.
My uncle came ahead and lived temporarily in the barracks while he waited for a PMQ, and for his family to arrive. One night we invited him for dinner. My dad wasn’t home, so my mom and I went to the barracks to pick him up. We shared a meal with this stranger who we knew was our uncle, and he was . . . nice! And kind. He brought us gifts. Hot chocolate mix, something we had never seen before. All four of us got our very own, which my mom protested was too generous, but he insisted and we were very happy. He was complimentary of the meal, and spoke easily with all of us, even directly to us kids. He asked about our interests and school. We didn’t know how to take him – I had not taken note of too many times in my life that an adult other than a teacher, had spoken directly to me, let alone being interested enough to listen to my response. After dinner, he sat at the table with me as I did my homework. I was writing some kind of report about the pyramids in Egypt, using our ‘Book of Knowledge’ encyclopedia. He told me he had been to Egypt! He had seen the pyramids, the very ones in the picture we looked at. I had never met another man like him in all my long life of ten years. I went with my mother to drive him home and listened to them chat in the front seat. When he got out of the car and waved goodbye, I said to my mom “I like him.” She said “I like him too.”
Sometime after that dinner, Uncle Merlin’s family arrived. They came to visit us and we may have had supper together. We cousins became acquainted with each other. I showed my cousin Shawna my guitar, and played her a song I was learning. Having cousins live in our community was such a strange idea. They would even be coming to our school!
When they got settled in their new house, they invited us to dinner. We were all familiar with “the story” by then, and we wondered how it would play out. We were not just a little apprehensive, and I seem to recall my mom reassuring my dad that all would be well, and that he could suck it up for one evening. After all, he had sworn to never go there again. It was . . . our field. And quite literally, it was our Esau and Jacob moment. Though our two households had had touch-points, we had never as a family, been in their ‘home’. We went, my dad – less willing and still carrying his comfortable crutch – a ‘grudge’. He had after all, been offended, and that could not be forgotten, nor set aside.
When we arrived, they met us at the door and welcomed us in. My aunt Jolayne handed my dad a clear, glass ashtray, purchased for this occasion. She told him “Wes, you can smoke in my house any time you want.” To this day, I cannot think of that single gesture without weeping. I don’t recall my dad’s response, but on the drive home, he said to my mom “Well, if that doesn’t beat all. All these years, she hasn’t forgotten. It has been eating at her like it was eating at me.” He affirmed that never in this life, would he be disrespectful enough to smoke in Aunt Jolayne’s house, but that thoughtful gesture skyrocketed her in his esteem. His dislike transformed almost instantly into admiration, even respect. And over the years that we both lived in Cold Lake, it evolved into love. We spent many happy hours in the company of Uncle Merlin’s family. My dad was a better dad in his brother’s company. Without being too dramatic, it set the wheels in motion for not only life altering changes in my life, and life long friendships between our households, but eventually, the sealing of our family as an eternal unit. That is another story for another time. A story of my utter love and gratitude to Uncle Merlin’s family, and for all that came from the seemingly insignificant gift of a small glass ashtray.
Destructive conflict is “when our inability to collaboratively solve problems with others leads us to hurting others or ourselves.” so says Chad Ford, Professor in Intercultural Peacebuilding at Brigham Young University-Hawaii. “With destructive conflict comes a fear of pain both in anticipation and as a consequence of the conflict, a fear of not being loved or seen the way we want to be seen . . . .” (3) Though our dislike of someone who has offended us may devolve into hatred, hopefully it doesn’t de-escalate to the murderous level Esau’s did. He had sold his birth right to Jacob for a bowl of lentil soup (see Genesis 27: 6-29). At the time, he didn’t have proper respect for the value of his inheritance, and when the time came that he had to own his choice, and live with its consequence, he hated Jacob. So great was that hate, that he swore to kill him. Knowing the violent propensity of their elder son, both Jacob’s parents encouraged him to leave home and to travel to the distant land of his mother’s people – where he could not only find temporary refuge, but also find a wife among believers of the one true God. For two decades, Jacob lived among his mother’s people, marrying two of her brother’s daughters, and accumulating for Laban (his father in law), great wealth by his industry and the blessings of God. Laban recognized that God was with Jacob. At length, God directed Jacob that it was time for him to return to Canaan, the land of his inheritance, which in conference with his wives, he set about to do.
As they travelled and neared the place where he grew up, Jacob worried about Esau and his murderous grudge. He prayed for help. “Deliver me, I pray thee, from the hand of my brother, from the hand of Esau: for I fear him, lest he will come and smite me, and the mother with the children.“(4) He sent notice announcing that he was coming home. His servants returned, telling Jacob that they delivered the message and that Esau was in fact coming out to meet him. With four hundred men! – a veritable army. Rightly fearing his brother’s intent, Jacob separated his company into two groups, reasoning that if Esau attacked one group, the other would have time to escape. He separated generous gifts and sent them ahead with instructions to graciously deliver them to his brother, hoping to communicate his desire to reconcile before they met face to face. Unbeknown to Jacob, Esau may have already reached his peace. Whether Esau had forgiven him before that day, or whether it was a gradual transition, softened by the demonstration of good faith as he was offered generous gifts, we’ll never know – and he himself may not even have known. And it doesn’t even matter. What mattered was that he allowed the gesture to touch his heart, and he was softened to his brother. (My dad was softened toward his brother and sister in law, but it wasn’t until the gift of the ashtray, that he finally allowed the sweet spirit of charity, the gift of final forgiveness to take hold and sooth all that had passed – never to be revisited except to recount a happy outcome.)
When they came within view of each other after so long, Jacob prostrated himself respectfully, and was no doubt surprised that “Esau RAN to meet him, and embraced him and fell on his neck and kissed him; and they wept.“(5) What a glorious scene! Can anything be more beautiful than unresentful reconciliation, powered by true and open forgiveness, a letting go of a former grudge? Who cares what past offense fueled it? In this beautiful story, we see the example of truly “letting go”, of genuine and sincere forgiveness. Of charity in its truest form – which scripture defines as the pure light of Christ. “Deciding to love those who could hurt us allows us to push past fear and become filled with charity.” says Chad Ford. “Love allows us to see our brothers and sisters we are in conflict with, so clearly that THEIR needs and desires matter as much to us as our own . . . . We’ll do whatever it takes to find solutions that meet their needs as well as our own.” (6)
“It took courage for Jacob and Esau to acknowledge the truth that they were not enemies – they were Brothers. It took mercy to forgive each other. It took righteousness – the kind of justice that makes right what we or others have made wrong. . . . When all three of those elements were present, it allowed them to live in peace.” (7)
We all have our Esau and Jacob moments. Offence is given and offence is taken. It’s unavoidable, part of our mortal experience. Perhaps they are within our own family. Perhaps they are between neighbours, former friends, or colleagues at work. It never matters which character in the story we play, but the script is usually recognizable. When we are in destructive conflict we justify our behaviour and our feelings. We rationalize that we are in the right, and that no right-minded person could see otherwise. If they try, we firmly place them in the opposite camp. We may villainize the offender, refusing to empathize with them or the situation. We may rally our troops to try to “infect” others with our intolerance of the offender, and their great offence against us. We in fact, do not want to see their side. We do not want to forgive, or to extend ‘mercy’. We crave only justice, but not justice for all, only justice for us.
We cannot start the process of reconciliation without Courage. I cannot imagine the trepidation that my aunt must have felt in trying to make peace for an offence she didn’t willfully intend, but nevertheless perpetrated. We cannot proceed without Mercy. We must try to see the situation from the perspective of the other person. We must try to FEEL it the way they feel it, without trying to explain away or minimize our own part in it. Mercy requires Empathy. And we cannot sustain it without a commitment to continued Righteousness in our chosen path of reconciliation. We cannot truly ‘let go’ without a change of heart that we are committed to. True forgiveness never goes back. To experience the lasting effect of that sweet spirit of final forgiveness, is to never revisit it, “except to recount a happy outcome“.
The picture at the top – Esau and Jacob Embrace by Robert T. Barrett, spoke to my heart. When I first saw it, I saw a powerful story. One of the world’s great stories of forgiveness. A story of siblings who were angry with each other, and felt justified in their resentment. Insults were given and received – whether accurate or magnified doesn’t even matter; they were real enough to them. I saw the inability or refusal to feel empathy, and of course, the resulting offences. All. Let. Go. On that field. Symbolized by a long, tearful brotherly embrace. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, and it was to me. As a mother that is my wish, my hope, and my daily prayer. That unlike Rebekah, I will witness such an embrace, and I won’t have to wait to do so from an other world’s vantage point.
I’ve read many different perspectives on the story of Esau and Jacob. Some paint Jacob as ‘the deceiver’. Some paint Rebekah as the conspiring accomplice. Some paint Esau as a brute who was outwitted. Some paint Isaac as a puppet. All those are short sighted and one sided in my opinion, too easy to judge people of antiquity by the ‘woke’ standards of our day. The story is complex with many layers that would take volumes to discuss. My point here is only to get to the core of what matters most: unconditional love. True ‘Charity’. Moroni says “if ye have not charity, ye are nothing, for charity never faileth.” He says that charity “is the greatest of all, for all things must fail— But charity is the pure love of Christ, and it endureth forever “. (8)
I’d love to hear your thoughts.
Warmly,
Cindy Suelzle
footnotes:
1. Genesis 25-35
2. introduction to Brother’s Road, youtube live video
3. Liahona magazine March 2022 pg 26
4. Genesis 32:11
5. Genesis 33:4
6. Liahone magazine March 2022 pg 27
7. ibid pg 28
8. Moroni 7: 46,47