Sermon: Untitled Sermon

Text: Then Jacob woke from his sleep and said, “Surely the LORD is in this place - and I did not know it!” And he was afraid, and said, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.”

Genesis 28.16-1

Mr Salter, in Evelyn Waugh's novel, Scoop is foreign editor of The Beast. In conversation with Lord Copper, the owner of the paper and his boss, his side was limited to expressions of assent. When Lord Copper was right, he said, 'Definitely, Lord Copper'; when he was wrong, 'Up to a point.'

I thought of Mr Salter the other day when somebody said to me, That story of Jacob at Bethel, that's about identity, hasn't it? I thought Up to a point, Lord Copper!

The problem - and the joy - of texts is that they mean something different depending, among other things, upon the context in which they are read. And when you read Genesis 28 alongside Philemon, it seems more appropriate to say that what underlies both these readings this morning is running away.

First there is Jacob, running away from home and from the fury of his elder brother. Jacob was something of a heel. At the time of the birth of Esau and Jacob, who were twins, the story goes (Genesis 25.24) that the first came out red, all his body like a hairy mantle; so they named him Esau. Afterward his brother came out, with his hand gripping Esau’s heel; so he was named Jacob. And his name means He takes by the heel, or He supplants.

And he spent the early years of his life doing just that. Nasty piece of work, really. He has just left his father's house, having robbed his brother, Esau, of his birthright, and here he meets with the God who will observe all his childishness and errors, all the scheming, plotting and supplanting, and will redeem them in his mercy and make of Jacob a great nation.

Even as their father lay dying, Jacob's mother had conspired with him to rob Esau of the blessing that was due to the elder son; and now Jacob, fearing for his life, has run away. He gets as far as this place where he stays the night, and he has a vision. In the vision he is addressed by the LORD God, who makes to him the same promise that he had made to his father, Isaac, and his grandfather, Abraham:

The land on which you lie I will give to you and to your offspring; and your offspring shall be like the dust of the earth, and you shall spread abroad to the west and to the east and to the north and to the south; and all the families of the earth shall be blessed in you and in your offspring. Know that I am with you and will keep you wherever you go, and will bring you back to this land; for I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.

So Jacob did quite well out of his despicable behaviour! It's not such a bad idea to run away from your brother's anger, when you cheated him out of his birthright and his inheritance.

And Onesimus, the slave who is the subject of Paul's letter to Philemon, had also run away. But if Jacob had run away from his own folly, Onesimus had run away from social injustice. His name means 'Useful', and he has run away from his owner, Philemon, met up with Paul and become a Christian himself. And Paul, after having Onesimus stay with him for a while, sends him back home, so that he might become 'Useful' again.

The clear message of the Letter is that Philemon should forgive Onesimus for running away and take him back, now not simply as a slave, but also as a fellow believer. And there might also be the subtext of a hint here that Paul wants Philemon to send Onesimus back to him, as a gift, so to say, for Paul has grown to like him and found him, indeed, useful.

And all you keen Bible scholars might be interested to surmise that it could be that the reason why this letter has survived into our New Testament is because that same Onesimus was the first collector and compiler of the corpus of Paul's letters. The American scholar, Edgar Goodspeed, suggested this in 1933, arguing that this Onesimus was the same man who was bishop of Ephesus at the end of the first century. If that is the case - and who knows - then Onesimus did get home, was rehabilitated and, presumably, gained his freedom and grew to eminence in the Christian community. No particular reason to think that, of course; but why ruin a good story?

Sometimes the thought of running away seems very attractive. We can find ourselves in awkward situations; we can decide that we have had enough of shame and derision, as the Psalmist has it, and are relieved When the righteous cry, and the LORD heareth them, and delivereth them from all their troubles.

And there is another kind of running away which is that which takes place in the depths of our souls, a running away from reality, a running away from the truth about ourselves and our world. Many, if not most, of you will know the poem by Francis Thompson, The Hound of Heaven:

I fled Him down the nights and down the days;
I fled Him down the arches of the years; I fled Him through the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind; and in the midst of tears I hid from Him, and under running laughter.
Up vistaed hopes I sped; And shot, precipitated,
Adown Titanic glooms of chasmèd fears, From those strong feet that followed, followed after.
But with unhurrying chase, And unperturbèd pace,
Deliberate speed, majestic instancy, They beat - and a Voice beat
More instant than the Feet - 'All things betray thee, who betrayest Me'

Now it is not a bad idea to run away from someone else's anger, if you can thereby save your life; and it is not a bad idea to run away from slavery, if you can get away with it. But those of you who were here two weeks ago might well be asking, 'What is the difference between running away and the burden of the sermon then, You go on!

Most of you know that I am leaving Durham this week and moving to Derby. Now, heaven forbid that anyone should run away from Durham! But who is to say what elements are running away and what might be, You go on! Who is to say what is escape and what is growth?

We might be tempted to say that all running away is cowardice, and therefore reprehensible; but again, Mr Salter's response comes to mind: Up to a point, Lord Copper. For the difference - indeed, the point - lies in two facts. The first is ambiguity. Motives are always mixed - including, before you nobble me afterwards and attempt to claim that you know what is really going on in my mind - including the motives of those who think they simply must tell other people what they think they know about them.

And the second is redemption - in both cases. For Jacob, running away meant meeting the God of Bethel - by whose hand God's people still are fed; who, through this weary pilgrimage has all our fathers led. And for Onesimus, running away meant meeting the Apostle Paul; and that turned out to be a meeting with Jesus Christ, who, in our meeting with him, changes all things.

So my friend could well have been right - I hesitate to say, Up to a point. For the issue might come down to that of our identity: the business of knowing ourselves, and thereby knowing our God; or of knowing our only true God, and thereby knowing ourselves.

For, some day, for all our running away, it might just turn out that the one we were running away from was the one whom we were looking for, and who - as Francis Thompson concludes - addresses us:

Rise, clasp My hand and come! And then we acknowledge,
Halts by me that footfall: Is my gloom, afer all
Shade of his hand, outstretched caressingly? Ah, fondest, blindest, weakest,
I am He Whom thou seekest! Thou dravest Love from thee, who dravest me.

Then Jacob woke from his sleep and said, 'Surely the LORD is in this place - and I did not know it!' And he was afraid, and said, 'How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.'