Service Date: 20 July, 2008

Genesis 28:10-19a
Sheila: Let's stop for a breather. Even for us angels, it's hard work going up and down, up and down this ladder all the time.
Sarah: You think this is hard work? You should have had a posting looking after the people of Sheffield! Then you'd know what it means to go up and down hill all the time! But all right, let's stop for a moment. I want to see what's happening down there, anyway. Who's snoring so loudly, and why's he all on his own out here? Does he like hill walking, or what?
Sheila: That's Jacob, the little rotter. I can't see what the Most High sees in him at all. Let alone allowing him to see us at work. Do you know what he did?
Sarah: You know I'm not omniscient - I leave that to the boss. What did he do?
Sheila: Oh, he only swindled his brother of birthright and blessing.
Sarah: That's terrible. [pause] What does that mean?
Sheila: Well, you know he's the younger of twin brothers. That means, the way they do things, his brother Esau is meant to get all the land and all the money when their father Isaac dies.
Sarah: Isaac's a bit doddery these days, from what I hear.
Sheila: Exactly. And Esau - though I hate to say it - is one camel short of a herd. He's the outdoor type, really, a great hunter. So he comes in one day, starving hungry from hunting, and Jacob - who's a good cook, I can't deny him that - doesn't let him have a bowl of soup till Esau agrees to give him his birthright.
Sarah: What's that?
Sheila: A birthright's like the right to inherit. It means Isaac the younger son gets everything Esau the older son should have had. Esau should never have given up his birthright, but I suppose mortals don't think too well when they're hungry.
Sarah: What about the blessing?
Sheila: Well, that was even worse. Jacob picked his time carefully, when Esau was out hunting again, and played a trick on his father. Esau's got really hairy skin, but I reckon Jacob uses hair-remover. So to pretend he was Esau, he tied goatskins on to his arms to feel right and smell right to his poor old dad, who's half-blind and wandering. And then he goes into Isaac's tent, bold as brass, and says, It's me, Dad, give us your blessing.
Sarah: Isaac fell for it?
Sheila: Apparently. Lord, what fools these mortals be. So Jacob tricked Esau out of his special blessing as well as the birthright of his inheritance.
Sarah: Did Jacob get away with it?
Sheila: No way - as soon as he was found out, he had to scarper before Esau murdered him. Now he's on his way to his uncle Laban's house, to try to make a new start there. But I don't reckon he can change. Once a trickster, always a trickster.
Sarah: Hold on a moment. Isn't that -
Sheila: You're right. It's the Lord with him. What's he saying? [pause] God's never...
Sarah: God is! God's telling Jacob to cheer up, God's going to go with him to Laban's house and look after him. And God's going to give him a big family. And look after them as well. It doesn't seem at all fair to me. What about poor old Esau?
Sheila: Wait a bit. God's always got something in mind. You'll see after a bit - maybe there's something good about Jacob as well as his tricky ways.
Sarah: What's happening now? He's got up. He must think he's had a really weird dream, because he's shaking his head. He's looking round now. What's he doing with that stone he was using as a pillow? Why's he standing it up on end? Now he's taking oil out of his pack and pouring it all over the stone. Whatever for?
Sheila: Sssh. He's saying something. Ah - there's more in Jacob than meets the eye. He's not dismissed his dream. He's recognised that even when everything's gone wrong and it's his fault, even when he's run away to the middle of this desert, God hasn't given up on him. So he's giving back something of the little he has, to say thank you to God for looking after him.
Sarah: Well, maybe he's not so bad after all. But when it comes to the end of time, when we're in charge of sorting out the good from the bad, it'll be very interesting to see if Jacob is wheat or weed. God knows, of course, but God's not saying.

Hymns

R&S 405 was written in 1861 for the dedication of an organ in the parish church at Wingates in Lancashire. The tune ‘Angel voices' was written for that same occasion, and has always been twinned with its words thereafter.
‘As Jacob travelled far along' by Christopher Idle, an Anglican hymnwriter, makes the same connection between Jacob's ladder and Jesus, both joining earth and heaven, as we find in chapter 1 of John's Gospel, when Nathaniel is trying to get his mind around who Jesus is. The tune Repton, more familiarly set to ‘Dear Lord and Father of Mankind', originally comes from C.H.H. Parry's oratorio Judith, where the text tells of the Exodus from Egypt.
R&S 538, a famous poem of George Herbert's, is set to the music of an English traditional carol tune called Sandys (pronounced ‘Sandz'). In Herbert's time the search for the Philosopher's Stone, which could turn base metal to gold, was part of cutting-edge alchemy, here transformed to the idea of spiritual riches.
R&S 485 was written for the opening of an industrial exhibition in Parkstone, Dorset by Ernest Dugmore, the local vicar. The tune Chilton Foliat is a village six miles south of Lambourn, the composer's birthplace.

Sermon

Genesis 28:10-19a; Psalm 139; Mt 13:24-30, 36-43; Romans 8:18-25
I always have mixed feelings about Jacob - tricking people right, left and centre, but still carrying on regardless, with God's promises to him intact. It doesn't seem fair on Esau, on Isaac or on Laban's older daughter Leah, wished as a bride on Jacob by his equally tricky uncle Laban. It's not surprising that in the next generation Jacob's sons hatch the scheming plan of getting rid of their little brother Joseph, that tactless braggart on whom God's favour rests - though that, of course, is another technicolour story. But there is one thing you can say in favour of Jacob. When he dreams of God, he lets that dream affect his life when he wakes up.
I wonder: if you could make a designer dream to give you anything you wanted, what would it contain? Judging by the unsolicited emails blocking up my in-box, advertisers believe most people dream of love, of money or of fame. One email which made me laugh recently was headed, Dreams come true and continued: With handbags from Louis Vuitton, Bags & Wallets, you are nearer to the "stars". But I suppose I shouldn't be laughing. While it's a bad joke to claim that the right handbag - even if it weren't a fake on offer - is in any way likely to bring me closer to fame and fortune, dreams themselves can make people do amazing or terrible things. Before I dismiss people's dreams as ignorance, maybe I should be asking myself: what vision do I have for my life, for this church? And if I have no dreams, or have chosen to ignore the dreams I have been sent from God, the more fool me: for without vision, as the book of Proverbs reminds us, the people perish, and we are in danger of turning into a social club rather than the people of God we are.
Dreams - in the sense of visions, aspirations, not being-chased-by-a-tiger - are often relegated to childhood. We're told by parents and teachers not to daydream; as adults, we follow Paul and say: When I grew up, I put aside childish things. But just as the childhood games of the imagination we remembered a fortnight ago can help us in becoming Christians, so our adult dreams can help us, like Jacob, hear God's voice speaking into our lives.
Not every dream we have is from God. Ignatius of Loyola discovered this when as a young soldier he was laid up with a broken leg following a siege. When he daydreamed about being a hero and performing valiant acts of derring-do, he always ended up feeling empty and dissatisfied. Similarly, the dream that a Vuitton handbag will bring me fame will leave me not only dissatisfied but broke - that's what dreams about ‘me as the centre of the universe' are like. But when Ignatius daydreamed himself into the Bible, encountering God, those visions refreshed him and made him able to live better.
For a true dream from God, like Jacob's, will have an impact on our lives when we awaken. It gave Jacob new eyes, to see for the first time that this rocky wilderness was God's house and an access point for heaven. And that new way of looking can be ours too. This approach is easier in some places than others. The island of Iona was famously described by George Macleod as a ‘thin place', where earth and heaven are very close. Maybe you know of places like that - a beautiful part of the countryside, or a quiet, empty church; somewhere where God's presence is almost tangible. But God's presence, thank God, is never restricted to places of beauty and serenity. It was at the lowest point of his life so far that Jacob, found God's guidance, God's protection, God's future for his family as yet unborn - yet who would have guessed then that his dream was not just wish fulfilment? If we are to see God's presence on this side of the thin wall separating earth from heaven, then we, like Jacob, need to practise looking out for God's activity right where we are, and recognising it as such when we see it. And that's no small challenge, as this morning's readings illustrate for us. In Jacob, do we see a troubled teenager run away from home and sleeping rough, or someone who will inherit God's promises? In our Gospel, do we see a field spoiled by weeds, or wheat awaiting the harvest? In Paul's letter, do we see God's children suffering unjustly, or creation groaning in labour, bringing to birth a new order of things where pain or suffering or injustice will be no more? It's never easy to find God in our world; though we Christians have one great advantage: we have already seen God in a newborn baby and in a dying man.
And there are disadvantages if we do manage to see things with Jacob's new eyes. Nay-sayers who want things to stay the way they are will try to stop you dreaming God's dreams, or doing anything practical about them. Like Jacob's precious oil poured out on his stony pillow, your commitment may be costly; Paul is writing to Christians going through the mill of suffering. And much of the time, the nay-sayers will have the evidence on their side. It's easy to find examples of weeds gone riot among the wheat. When our hopes have been dashed yet again, it can be very tempting to put aside dreams of God's better future and decide to take care of our own gardens instead.
It's also fair to say that visionaries can be really irritating when they try to stake sole claim to the moral high ground. Life is complicated, and people have all sorts of claims on their lives that make it hard for them to invest time and effort in someone else's dream. So it's all too easy to turn into the sort of Pharisees we find in the Gospels, sneering at everyone who's not as insightful as we are. But remembering the wheat and weeds growing together to harvest, sensible dreamers, who know that we, too, may have one or two weedish tendencies, will leave judgments of that sort to God, who could see the dreamer in Jacob when everyone else just saw the trickster.
What are the positives then? Think of a musician playing or an artist painting. Exercising their talent involves effort and sacrifice; they never quite achieve the perfection of their dreams; yet they would not be without them. And we, with others, have been gifted by God to help bring a new world into being. So if, for example, your dream is that children all over the world should be safe, don't just shake your head and say sadly, ‘But that's impossible.' Pray for the children; find out about their conditions and tell others, including the powerful who can change things; offer your vision to us in church so we can hear and respond in our own ways. For God, who, as our psalm shows, knows us more intimately than anyone else, has shown each of us different aspects of that grand vision for creation, so that in our everyday lives we can, like Jacob, dream dreams, discover God's presence where we are and respond in prayer and action.