Jacob: When God Uses a Con Artist
- Nate Frederick
- Apr 20
- 11 min read
Every Family Has Branches They'd Rather Not Talk About
That's the thing about family trees. Every family has branches they'd rather not talk about. People who made choices that don't quite fit the narrative we want to tell. And Jesus' family tree is no different.
Last week we looked at Abraham, the father of the faith who waited twenty-five years for God's promise and learned that God keeps His word even when the wait feels impossible. Today, we're looking at Abraham's grandson, Jacob. And here's what's remarkable about this man. God chose a con artist, named an entire nation after his struggle, and then ran His plan of salvation straight through the wreckage of his life.
Abraham had a son named Isaac, the miracle child born when Abraham was one hundred years old. Isaac grew up, married a woman named Rebekah, and they had twin sons: Esau and Jacob. And it's Jacob's story we're diving into today.
The Birthright
Jacob and his twin brother Esau couldn't be more different. Esau is a hunter, a man's man, rough around the edges, his father's favorite. Jacob is quieter, more calculating, stays close to home, his mother's favorite.
One day, Esau comes in from the field exhausted and starving, and Jacob is cooking stew. Genesis 25:31 records Jacob's response when Esau asks for food: "Jacob replied, 'First sell me your birthright.'"
Stop there. The birthright was everything. In that culture, the firstborn son received a double portion of the inheritance and the leadership of the family. It was the most valuable thing Esau had. And Jacob sees an opportunity and he takes it. He's not violent. He's not loud. He's just always calculating. Always angling.
Esau, desperate and impulsive, agrees. He trades his entire future for a bowl of stew.
Before we judge Esau too harshly, let's be honest about ourselves. How many of us have traded something of lasting value for immediate gratification? We know the long-term choice is better, but in the moment, when we're tired or hungry or lonely or stressed, we take the quick fix. We choose the bowl of stew. Jacob exploits that weakness in his brother. And that tells us something about who Jacob is at his core.
The Stolen Blessing
Years pass. Isaac is old now, nearly blind, and he knows his time is coming to an end. He wants to give Esau his blessing before he dies. This is different from the birthright. The blessing was the father's final words over his son, a prophetic declaration of that son's future. It carried spiritual weight.
But Rebekah, Jacob's mother, overhears the plan. And she hatches a scheme. She tells Jacob to bring her two young goats. She'll cook them the way Isaac likes. Jacob will put on Esau's clothes, wrap goat skin on his arms to mimic Esau's hairy skin, and go into his father's tent to steal the blessing by deceiving a dying man.
Genesis 27:18-20: "He went to his father and said, 'My father.' 'Yes, my son,' he answered. 'Who is it?' Jacob said to his father, 'I am Esau your firstborn. I have done as you told me. Please sit up and eat some of my game, so that you may give me your blessing.' Isaac asked his son, 'How did you find it so quickly, my son?' 'The Lord your God gave me success,' he replied."
Read that last line again. "The Lord your God gave me success." He invokes the name of God while lying to his father. That's not a small detail. He's standing in front of his dying father, wearing his brother's clothes, covered in animal skin, and he brings God into the deception.
The blessing is given. Jacob walks out. And then Esau comes in with the real meal. Isaac realizes he's been deceived. Esau realizes he's been robbed again. He weeps. He rages. He vows to kill Jacob as soon as their father dies.
And Jacob has to run for his life. He got what he wanted. He got the blessing. And it cost him everything that mattered.
Here's what we need to see. You can win by the wrong means and still lose everything. Jacob has the blessing now. But he doesn't have his brother. He doesn't have his home. He doesn't have his father's trust. He's a fugitive running from his own family. The thing he schemed for has left him with nothing.
Bethel: When God Meets Us in the Dirt
This next scene happens at Jacob's lowest moment. He's alone, on the run, sleeping on the ground with a rock for a pillow, a fugitive from his own family. He's lost everything. And that's when God shows up. Not after Jacob cleans himself up. Not after Jacob apologizes or makes amends. Right there in the dirt.
Genesis 28:12-16: "He had a dream in which he saw a stairway resting on the earth, with its top reaching to heaven, and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it. There above it stood the Lord, and he said: 'I am the Lord, the God of your father Abraham and the God of Isaac. I will give you and your descendants the land on which you are lying. Your descendants will be like the dust of the earth, and you will spread out to the west and to the east, to the north and to the south. All peoples on earth will be blessed through you and your offspring. I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go.'"
God did not wait for Jacob to clean himself up. Jacob is sleeping in the dirt after the worst thing he's ever done, and God shows up and makes him a promise.
And notice what God doesn't do. He doesn't lecture Jacob. He doesn't list his failures. He brings a covenant, not a sermon. He brings promises, not punishment.
What does this mean for us? Our worst moments don't disqualify us from God's promises. The times we're most ashamed, most broken, most aware of how far we've fallen, those are exactly the moments when God shows up. Not with condemnation, but with covenant. We don't have to clean ourselves up first. God meets us right where we are.
Laban: The Deceiver Gets Deceived
Jacob continues his journey and ends up living with his uncle Laban. And what happens next is something we're going to feel in our bones. The deceiver gets deceived.
Jacob falls in love with Rachel, Laban's younger daughter. He agrees to work seven years to earn her hand in marriage. Seven years. Finally, the wedding day arrives. There's a feast. There's celebration. The bride comes to Jacob veiled. They're married. And the next morning, Jacob wakes up and discovers he's married to Leah, Rachel's older sister.
Laban switched them. He pulled a veil over Jacob's eyes on his wedding night. And Jacob, the man who put on his brother's skin to fool his blind father, now knows exactly what has been done to him because he's done it to someone else.
There's a pattern in Scripture where God allows consequences to teach what lectures cannot. Jacob isn't being punished out of cruelty. He's being shown something about himself. For twenty years, he lives with a man who schemes the way he schemed. He experiences betrayal the way his brother experienced betrayal. And slowly, painfully, he begins to understand.
What does this mean for us? Sometimes God allows the consequences of our actions to teach us something about ourselves that we couldn't learn any other way. We reap what we sow. Not because God is vindictive, but because He's merciful enough to let us see ourselves clearly. And that clarity, as painful as it is, is the beginning of transformation.
The Wrestling Match: Naming Who We Are
Twenty years pass. Jacob has worked for Laban, built a family, accumulated wealth. And finally, God tells him it's time to go home. Time to face what he ran from. But Jacob is terrified. The last time he saw his brother, Esau vowed to kill him. And the night before they're supposed to meet, something extraordinary happens.
Genesis 32:24-30: "So Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him till daybreak. When the man saw that he could not overpower him, he touched the socket of Jacob's hip so that his hip was wrenched as he wrestled with the man. Then the man said, 'Let me go, for it is daybreak.' But Jacob replied, 'I will not let you go unless you bless me.' The man asked him, 'What is your name?' 'Jacob,' he answered. Then the man said, 'Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel, because you have struggled with God and with humans and have overcome.'"
This is one of the strangest scenes in all of Scripture. Jacob wrestles with God. All night. And in the middle of the struggle, God asks him a question. "What is your name?"
God already knows his name. This isn't an information-gathering question. This is a confrontation. In Hebrew culture, a name wasn't just what you were called. It was what you were. And "Jacob" meant heel-grabber, supplanter, deceiver. God is asking Jacob to say out loud what he is before He will give him what he will become.
Jacob says his name. And God renames him Israel, which means "struggles with God." Transformation in Scripture doesn't come through hiding what we are. It comes through naming it honestly before God. Jacob couldn't become Israel until he admitted he was Jacob.
What does this mean for us? We have to get honest. About our sin. About our brokenness. About the ways we've hurt people. About the patterns we keep repeating. We can't hide from God. He already knows. But He's asking us to say it out loud, to name it, to own it. Because transformation begins with confession.
The Reconciliation
Jacob limps toward his brother the next morning. God has touched his hip during the wrestling match, and he'll walk with that limp for the rest of his life. He's prepared for the worst. And then he sees Esau in the distance, running toward him.
Genesis 33:4: "But Esau ran to meet Jacob and embraced him; he threw his arms around his neck and kissed him. And they wept."
All of that worry came to this. The thing Jacob ran from for twenty years dissolves in thirty seconds. His brother embraces him. The wound Jacob caused doesn't have the last word. Reconciliation happens. Not because Jacob deserved it. Not because he earned it. But because Esau chooses grace.
Jacob held onto grudges. He schemed. He deceived. And it cost him twenty years of exile. But Esau chose a different path. He chose to release the bitterness, to run toward reconciliation instead of revenge. And that choice freed both of them.
What does this mean for us? Are we allowing God to transform our bitterness, or are we holding onto past hurts? Who are we running from instead of running toward? What reconciliation is God calling us to that we've been avoiding? Often the thing we think will be a huge deal is able to be reconciled in thirty seconds. Other times, it takes longer. But God calls us to seek out that reconciliation.
When God Uses the Wreckage
Let me bring us back to where we started. Back to Bethel. Back to a man sleeping in the dirt with a rock for a pillow after the worst night of his life.
Think about everything God did with that man. The schemes that cost him his family. The twenty years of hard labor. The wrestling match that left him limping for the rest of his life. Jacob never stopped being the person he had always been, not fully. He still had his flaws. He still made mistakes. But God worked through him anyway. Renamed him. Kept the promise made at Bethel. Built a nation through him. Put him directly in the family line of Jesus Christ.
There are people reading this right now who are carrying something they did. A decision that cost someone they loved. A season of their life they're not proud of. A wound they caused that they've been running from. And you need to hear this: the God who showed up in the dirt for Jacob shows up in the dirt for us too. Right there in the mess.
God can use even our worst moments for His Kingdom. He chose a con artist. He named an entire nation after that man's struggle. He ran the plan of salvation straight through the wreckage. And if God can do that with Jacob, He can do that with us.
So whatever we're carrying, whatever part of our story we'd rather not talk about, whatever branch of our family tree feels broken beyond repair, we bring it to God. Not when we've fixed it. Not when we've earned the right to approach Him. Right now, right here, just as we are. Because the God who met Jacob at Bethel is the same God who meets us today. And His grace doesn't wait for us to get ourselves together. It meets us on the ground in the dirt.
Small Group Questions
ICE BREAKER QUESTIONS
Tell about a time when you got caught in a lie or scheme and faced immediate consequences. How did it feel to experience what you had done to someone else? Did it change how you approached similar situations afterward?
Have you ever traded something valuable for immediate gratification and regretted it later? (Esau traded his birthright for stew) What was it, and what did that experience teach you about delayed gratification versus quick fixes?
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
Jacob exploited Esau's weakness when he was "exhausted and starving," trading a bowl of stew for the birthright (Genesis 25:31). The sermon said: "How many of us have traded something of lasting value for immediate gratification?" What "bowl of stew" are you most tempted by—what immediate gratification causes you to sacrifice long-term good? How do you recognize and resist that pattern?
Jacob invoked God's name while lying to his father: "The Lord your God gave me success" (Genesis 27:20). The sermon called this "the depth of where Jacob is—willing to use God's name as a prop in his own scheme." Have you ever used spiritual language to justify or cover up something that wasn't honoring to God? How do we guard against using God's name as window dressing for our own plans?
The sermon said: "You can win by the wrong means and still lose everything." Jacob got the blessing but lost his brother, his home, and his father's trust. Can you think of an example (from your life or someone else's) where getting what you schemed for actually cost you what mattered most? What does this teach us about means versus ends?
God showed up at Bethel at Jacob's lowest moment—"not after Jacob cleans himself up, not after Jacob apologizes... right there in the dirt" (Genesis 28:12-16). Why do we so often believe we need to "get ourselves together" before God will meet us? What would change if we truly believed God's grace "doesn't wait for us to get ourselves together before it arrives"?
Jacob worked seven years for Rachel, but Laban deceived him and gave him Leah instead—Jacob experienced exactly what he'd done to others. The sermon said: "Sometimes God allows the consequences of our actions to teach us something about ourselves that we couldn't learn any other way." Can you identify a time when experiencing the consequences of your actions taught you something a lecture never could? How was that painful clarity actually merciful?
During the wrestling match, God asked Jacob, "What is your name?" and Jacob had to say out loud what he was (deceiver, supplanter) before God gave him what he would become (Israel). The sermon said: "Transformation doesn't come through hiding what we are. It comes through naming it honestly before God." What do you need to name out loud before God can transform it? Why is confession (naming it) so crucial to transformation?
The sermon connected Jacob's wrestling to the church survey result: 73/100 on experiencing God's transforming influence, but noted transformation requires honesty. Most can point to ways God is changing them. What specific area of your life is God actively transforming right now? What had to be honestly named before that transformation could begin?
After twenty years of running, Esau "ran to meet Jacob and embraced him" (Genesis 33:4)—the reconciliation Jacob feared took thirty seconds. The sermon said: "Often times the thing we think will be a huge deal, is able to be reconciled in 30 seconds." Who are you running from instead of running toward? What reconciliation is God calling you to that you've been avoiding because you think it will be a huge deal?
The church scored 27/100 on "I know of people in our church with bitterness toward others"—meaning bitterness exists and people are aware of it. The sermon asked: "Are we allowing God to transform our bitterness, or are we holding onto past hurts? Why do we cling to bitterness when forgiveness is available?" Be honest: what past hurt are you holding onto? What would it cost you to release it? What does it cost you to keep holding it?
The sermon's main message: "God can use even our worst moments for His Kingdom." God chose a con artist, named a nation after his struggle, and ran salvation's plan through the wreckage. What part of your story feels too broken for God to use? How does Jacob's story challenge the belief that your worst moments disqualify you from God's purposes?
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