Twins, Wolves and Seeds

Twins, Wolves and Seeds

 

The Seventh Sunday of Pentecost

St. John’s, Linden Hills

The Rev. John Bellaimey

July 12, 2026

 Twins, Wolves, and Seeds

 

 

 

 

The week after next, my wife Lynnell and I will be starting an every-Thursday 11 am Bible study. We’re inviting everyone to struggle with stories like the ones we’ve just heard. Either/or stories: firstborn or second, wheat or chaff, sheep or goats, and faithful son/prodigal son. But the Bible, as well as many scriptures from other religions, is itself a both/and book, with many contrasting portrayals of the main character, the Creator of the Universe. We’ll be starting with the Gospel of Luke, written to a Greek named Theophilus, “lover of God,” and every week we will try to be just that. Listening to each other for the wisest and the truest in stories from a very different time and culture.

The Sower in the story we just heard is a visible stand-in for the invisible God. Jesus is always doing this: God is like an old woman who’s lost a coin and has a party to celebrate finding it. God’s like a mother hen gathering her chicks who now have minds of their own. Like a dad, who wishes he could make our suffering stop, and can barely hold back tears.

Today, God is like a farmer sowing seed. The year before, they put sheaves of wheat in the sun to dry, and when they got brittle, put them on a threshing floor and knocked the seeds loose. The kids probably helped. And later, with the help of the wind, poured the grain back and forth like this, separated the wheat seeds from the chaff.

God’s like that farmer. Saved the seed up all winter, tilled the ground, and then let go. Scattered the precious DNA back to the earth. Let it land where it would. Some went on to have an easy time, sprouted, got rained on, and grew this high. Bore fruit, and some of it was saved to be seed next spring. The rest became flour. Or porridge. Or lentils. Or whatever. And because life is so random, some seeds got trampled on. Some fed the birds.

In the other story, Rebekah and Isaac fall deeply in love, and they have a baby, but it’s twins! And the twins, inside poor Rebekah, begin struggling with each other. She feels like they’re going to kill her. And she hears God tell her, One will be stronger, but the older one will serve the younger one. And they will some day split from one another.

The older one became strong, impulsive, outdoorsy. The other was domestic, clever, quiet. The rules back then said that the firstborn, by birthright, would inherit double, and be the head of the household when the  father died. But as the boys grew up, it was obvious that Jacob, born second, should run the show.

Years later, Esau foolishly sold his privilege of being firstborn. For some lentil stew. In the moment, he didn’t care. Being the boss? Double the inheritance? His hunger was screaming so loudly he couldn’t hear what a lopsided deal Jacob was offering.

Are you like Esau or Isaac? An outdoor or an indoor person. Rough or smooth? Do you think with your appetites or are you strategic? Sporty or studious? These twins mark the origin of the children of Israel. Literally. Jacob got the new name Israel later in life.

 

But Esau, Esau married two Hittite women, and their descendants became a foreign people, the Edomites. The people who later built Petra.

Jacob married cousins from his mother’s side, and that’s how the nation of Israel got started.  But Rebekah did her best to subvert the system, so the person with the executive function, the strategist, could be in charge. As old blind Isaac lay dying many years later, she helped Jacob fool Isaac and pretend to be the older twin, so he could get the deathbed blessing. Esau is furious when he finds out. I suspect Isaac let himself be fooled. To be sure of Jacob’s safety, they sent him away to Rebekah’s people, and told him to find a wife there.

So the twins split. God predicted that Esau would be stronger, but Jacob cleverer. Turned out to be accurate. Rebekah was determined to steer the family’s future despite the social system that required the doofus Esau to rule. Jacob would manage the flocks better, he would marry the right person, and raise grandchildren for her.

 

There’s a famous story that might be Native American in which a wise elder tells a young person about two wolves fighting in the soul. You know the struggle, I’m sure. Stand your ground or give in. Head or heart. Short-term pleasure or long-term security. Dilemmas are usually right or wrong. Either/or.

The youngster asks, Which one wins? The elder replies, whichever one you feed. And that’s a good answer, but anatomically I don’t quite see how we can control something once we eat it. I prefer a story, where the two wolves are not moral opposites and we figure out a more balanced diet. But I’m a pleaser. A diplomat. I avoid conflict too much: in general, I think it’s wiser to see dilemmas as two sides of the same thing. Not two separate things.

 

 

 

 Yin and yang. Extravert and introvert. Heads and tails. A dilemma is when we are faced with not so much right and wrong, but one kind of good or another. Or one painful outcome versus another that’s painful in a different way.

So rather than ask if you’re Esau or Jacob, I’m asking, what does your inner Esau feel like when he is struggling inside you? And your inner Jacob? When your heart says to take this chance and your head says you are being a fool again. Or your heart says don’t give up and your head says you can’t keep going this way. When part of you is scared and part of you is intrigued?

 

Sometimes, it has to be either/or. You accept the ruling of the referee after the video replay, even though you still think he was wrong. You don’t call the referee’s boss’ boss and ask for a favor.

But usually, we can reframe an issue as both/and. Usually, we need people to help. Someone we trust. Someone who isn’t as invested as we are. Or who hasn’t dug themself into as deep a hole as we have. Family therapy, for example, often works because having empathy for other people’s point of view could help you change your mind or make up your mind to stick to what you think is who your best self is.

That is what God wants you to end up being. After the harvest, after all the weeds and chaff are gone. The true, good, beautiful self. The still, small voice. The Word of God. The Holy Spirit. Despite all his parables of contrast, when the chips were down, Jesus usually went with compassion. Forgiveness. But it’s not easy. Because the world is unjust; we’re not perfect and––pardon my French–shit happens.

In the long run, I doubt God predestined Esau to be a weed. The contrast between him and Jacob were in their different temperaments. And their parents treated them differently, like all of us parents do. Rebekah and Isaac were real. Imperfect. Maybe they pushed the twins down different paths. But they were loyal, loving, biased human beings like all of us.

Sometimes we’re fertile soil, ready to help those seeds grow. Sometimes, we’re rocky, or stomped down by life.

One of the beautiful things about church is that we get a community, different from neighbors, coworkers, friends, or family.

So make eye-contact with a few people.

When we do this right these people here help us with our either/ors. With our both/ands. So we can join God’s project of healing the world with love.   Amen.

 

10am Service