I’ve heard some bad honeymoon stories. My wife and I have one involving a mistaken identity during a Scuba diving incident. (We look back on it and laugh now, but it was humiliating at the time.) But I have yet to hear a honeymoon story as singularly stunning and terrible as the one found in Genesis 29. After working for seven years for the right to marry his beloved Rachel, Jacob goes to bed, unknowingly, with her not-so-attractive sister Leah.
Then comes the most understated sentence in the entire Bible: “And in the morning, behold, it was Leah.” Behold, indeed!
Old Testament scholar Derek Kidner says that the words, “Behold, it was Leah” point to something larger than this story. It’s not just a statement of Jacob’s surprise. It’s a statement that embodies the disappointment and disillusionment we all feel.
Everyone in the world is on a search for something—or someone—to make them whole again. Jacob is looking for his “one, true love,” and he thinks Rachel fits the bill. (Rachel and Leah, incidentally, are on their own search.) Jacob’s experience is our experience: we reach out to take hold of the “Rachel” that is going to make everything right…but in the morning we wake up and it’s only “Leah.” Every time we start a new job, or get into a new relationship, we think, “This is it! Finally my life will be right. This is Rachel!” It’s that Jerry Maguire moment: you complete me.
But in the morning, it’s Leah. It’s always Leah. The blessings of this world may look like Rachel now, but in the full light of day, they are all Leah.
The problem isn’t with the Rachels or the Leahs themselves. Things like sex, romance, or family are God’s gifts to us, blessings he wants us to enjoy. But when we give those things too much weight, they sink. They just can’t hold the weight of our souls. They become what the Bible calls idols, substitute gods.
When your idol of choice fails you—and it’s only a matter of time till it does—you have four options (as I first learned from Tim Keller):
You can blame the idol. Most of us probably go this route. We think something was wrong with that relationship, or that job, or that city. So we replace the old idol with a new idol, assuming that we just chose wrong the first time. “Our marriage started out well, but it fell apart because she wasn’t ‘the right one.’ I know my soul mate is out there. I’ve just got to find her.” If that’s your rationale, you’ll be looking forever. And every time you think you’ve found Rachel, morning will come. And behold, it will be Leah.
You can blame yourself. This sounds holier, but it’s not any better. “I’m the problem. I didn’t work hard enough. I’ll do better next time.” So you turn over a new leaf. You resolve to become the right kind of person. But if you’re a real human being like the rest of us, you run out of steam. The new leaf fades. Your resolutions run out. Inevitably, the “you” that failed the first time reappears, and the fact that you’ve failed again makes you want to give up even more. Behold, you are Leah.
You can blame the world. This is the cynic’s route, and would make the most sense in a world without God. If one idol after another keeps disappointing, then why not just give up the search? “It wasn’t me. It wasn’t her. It’s just that happiness is a myth.” So you become a mean, critical person who mocks everyone else as naïve. Or you get numb by medicating through alcohol, drugs, or some hobby. For you, it’s all Leah…and none of it matters.
Or you can realize you were made for another world. C.S. Lewis famously said, “If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.” None of our earthly experiences satisfy this yearning, because none of them were meant to. At their best, they were only shadows, pointing forward toward the true satisfaction and true happiness that only Christ provides. When we see the blessings in our lives like that, it changes everything. The mixed blessings of our lives transform from being symbols of disappointment to being promises of heaven. They become, as Lewis says, “the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited.”
For more, be sure to listen to the entire message here.
