The Weirdest Marriage Arrangement, Maybe Ever

If you want to read a story about a dysfunctional family, Genesis is your book… and Jacob is your guy.

Over the course of several weeks, we’ve been following the odd beginnings of Jacob’s life, from his birth moment, when he grasped his brother’s foot on the way out, to the stealing of birthright and blessing.  There are places in his narrative where we celebrate and other places where we stop to question, “Jacob, what in the world are you doing?”  When you take cultural context into consideration, I guess it’s not substantially different than the ups and downs that all of humanity experiences in everyday life. 

But when it comes to Jacob’s marriage, things get more bizarre than they already were.  Welcome to Sacramental Saturday! 

For some time now, I have been claiming that the grace imparted in sacramental, covenantal marriage must surely be the grace that allows us to live an entire lifetime with one person without killing him or her.  Sounds harsh, but I’ve been married for almost 20 years.  Believe me when I say there are moments when we need that kind of grace.

Ironically, Jacob (who has been something of a master deceiver his entire life) meets his match when he finds the woman of his dreams.  That should be a funny pun, but it’s not, because his match is his future father-in-law… times two…

Here’s the short backstory:

Jacob works for Laban for seven years in order to marry Rachel (Laban’s youngest daughter), whom Jacob loves.  After Jacob consummates his marriage, he finds out it is Leah (Laban’s oldest daughter) in his bed.  I struggle with this detail.  Really, Jacob?  How did you not know this?  But whatever.  I guess it was dark.

Most people preach this passage with a “poor, poor Jacob” mentality.  A few people might also exclaim, “poor, poor Rachel.”  Several years ago, I finally heard someone lament for Leah.  The daily office picks up with the justifiable reason why, today, beginning with Genesis 29:31 that reads, in part, “Leah was not loved…” 

Leah gives birth to four sons.  The first three times, she believes this will cause Jacob to love her.  The fourth time, she praises God, and then she stops having children.  Never, in any of this, is there any indication that Jacob loves this woman.  Marriage used to be something different than we make it now, but I have to think the whole situation here kind of stunk for everyone involved.

And then it gets worse…

Rachel, who has been unable to have children to this point, gets so upset that she threatens Jacob, “Give me children, or I’ll die!” (Gen. 30:1).  Taking a page from Sarah’s book… you know… the page about Hagar and Ishmael… Rachel provides Jacob with one of her servants and takes the two children she bears as her own.  Then Leah also provides a servant and takes a couple of her sons.

And then it gets worse… or maybe it just stays horrible, because at this point it is difficult to rate the degree of awful this whole thing has become…

Leah’s oldest son finds some mandrake plants one day, and Rachel wants them.  Leah says, “No!  You can’t have my kid's plants.  You already took my husband.”  Somehow I find this at least slightly humorous, but you have to remember that this family is serious about their meals (Esau… birthright… bowl of soup), and Rachel really wants those mandrakes. 

So… she trades them for one night of sex with Jacob. 

I’m honestly not quite sure how she gets away with this.  In the patriarchal culture of which they are a part, it seems backwards.  This is the only situation in Scripture that I can recall in which a man is sold into sexual slavery, by his wife… to his other wife…  I have no idea how the deal holds up, but Rachel gets her plants and Leah gets another baby, which she sees as a reward from God for offering up her servant to Jacob.

Leah subsequently gives birth to son number six and returns to her longing to be loved.  Maybe six sons will do what five could not.  And then there’s a daughter.

After all of this, “God remembered Rachel” (Gen 30:22), and she conceived a son of her own. 

End daily office reading for today…

What???

In the coming weeks, I am looking forward to doing some interviews with couples who have been married for various amounts of time.  I feel confident that no one will share a story quite like this one, but I also think there is much to be learned about expectations and the reality of marriage based on the experiences of others.  Stay tuned…

 
L.

What to Do When Your Friend Marries a Jewish Guy

Or…  Reflections for Hanukkah, Part 1

Let’s get this out of the way right at the very beginning.  I have a confession to make.  Our family has been celebrating Hanukkah for years.  The first year, my kids were little and just really excited that they were going to be getting gifts eight days in a row!  We didn’t own a menorah at the time, and our dining room table turned into something of a mess of mismatched candles and random packages.  When they told their friends about our Hanukkah celebration, things got tricky.  My husband was on staff at a traditional, Christian church.  The community flipped out just a little bit.  What on earth was wrong with ‘these people’?  You know… us.  The extended family flipped out just a little bit.  Were we still Christians?  Did we still believe in Jesus?  Was Christmas going to be ruined?  Should there be an intervention of some sort?  After that, I asked the kids to keep it kind of quiet in ensuing years.  We became closet celebrators of Hanukkah.  And our celebrations grew… and grew… and grew…

By last year; we had a legitimate menorah, we had learned some Hanukkah songs, and our gifts had become more intentional.  We are still struggling to understand the dreidal.

Last spring, my very dear friend who goes all the way back to high school (middle school for her, because she’s a few years younger) married an awesome guy who happens to be Jewish.  The Christian community still gets a little bit upset about stuff like this.  At best, people are usually confused.  But I have a different take on it.  I was all like, “Please, oh please, oh please, may I help you build the huppah?”  And I did.  And I loved it.  They had one of the most beautiful weddings ever.  They love each other a lot.  They make each other happy.  And they gave us enough yamakas for our entire family. 

Earlier today, I dropped off candles for their menorah.  Because… obviously… the most likely person to have an extra box of menorah candles is the Christian pastor friend, right?  I also dropped off a hijab pin, with safety pins dangling from it, because I might as well mix as many metaphors and spread as much love around as possible.  Oh friends… we have so much more in common than we know…

But back to Hanukkah, itself, for just a moment.  It’s the festival of lights.  It’s the celebration of the rededication of the temple.  If you’re confused about where our Old Testament Scriptures come from, let’s clear it up.  These are Jewish holy writings.  And if you want to be like Jesus, let’s clear something else up while we’re at it.  Jesus was Jewish!

 

Goodness gracious!  Christians can celebrate Hanukkah right out in the open!

Phew…  I’m so relieved…

L.

 

PS  Hanukah starts on Christmas Eve, this year.  How great is that?

Love is Expensive

I have an awful lot of thoughts about marriage running through my mind lately.  I'm not sure what it is about this calendar year, but I have so many friends who are getting married!  It actually seems kind of weird, to be honest.  I'm 36 years old.  Didn't we already do this phase of life?  On the other end of it, I have spent more time walking with friends through the tragedies of being widowed, divorced, and processing annulment than I ever imagined I would experience at this stage, as well.  Some of these sad stories are merging into new, happier endings (and beginnings), and I feel as if I'm bumbling my way through most of it, just hoping I'm saying the right things and loving well.  I often feel way out of my wheelhouse.  I often feel unprepared.  I didn't realize this kind of stuff was going to be cyclical.

My house is ridiculously small by American standards for a family of seven (stay with me...  I promise I didn't just have a random squirrel moment in the middle of a post...  it will come together in a minute...)  As I was getting my youngest child to sleep last night (yes, she's six... yes, I still lie down with her almost every single night... no, I didn't do this for this long with the other four... yes, I'm having trouble letting go of the "last baby" stuff...), I received a message from my neighbor who offered us a free piano several weeks ago (OK...  it might have been a couple of months...  I really don't remember).  As soon as her face popped up on my screen, I said to myself, "Crap!  The piano!"  She asked if we still wanted it, and because music is a priority in our home and our piano is literally falling apart (as a side note, literally means it is actually happening), I confirmed that we do, indeed, want the piano and that I would clear a space for it, somewhere, by tonight.

My six year old mostly fell asleep, and I stumbled through the darkening house muttering about how seven people sharing less than 1,000 square feet of space should not have two pianos in the living room...  Sometimes I am ungrateful.

As I was spending some time scrolling through Facebook (which has been a luxury this summer with my crazy travel schedule), I just so happened to run across a post about a house that a friend of mine has recently listed for sale.  It is beautiful (really, really beautiful), huge (over 5,000 sq. ft.), more expensive than anything I will ever imagine living in (I could insert the price, but just... no), safe neighborhood, jetted tub, intercom (let me reiterate... intercom).

I was getting a little bit jealous.

I know I'm not the only one, either, because the comments were great.  One, in particular, stood out to me.  It was written by a stranger, from what I could gather a pretty young guy getting ready to enter into marriage himself, hoping to one day live in such a place.  My friend's reply (shared by permission) was, "Only if it's filled with love, honesty and integrity."

That's when the weight of her whole story hit me afresh, and I remembered why the house is on the market.  The house is not expensive.  It's just money.  It's just stuff.  Love is expensive.  And unrequited love, over a lifetime, just costs too much.

My heart hurts, and it's not because it doesn't fit in this cracker jack box of a dwelling.  It's because it does.  Somehow.

Another recent share that hit my newsfeed came from a sweet, idealistic, unmarried friend of mine who is in her early 20s.  She was appalled that so many people warn young adults about the difficulties of marriage, and she was sharing a post by what must have been a marriage expert (the author claims, in her piece, to have been married for ten months).  The title... "Marriage isn't Hard".  Well, friends, marriage also isn't easy!  In fact, it is so difficult that the divorce rate in the United States hangs out around 50% consistently.  Half of all people who enter into marriage find it hard enough that they also exit.  And interestingly, it is often the people who have legitimate reasons to leave who hang on the longest, hoping, praying, desperately trying to make it work.  And it is work.

The Catholic Church plainly labels marriage a vocational sacrament.  It is a call to holiness and service to another human being for the rest of your life, and it requires grace... sometimes a lot of grace... definitely more grace than any of us possess on our own.

Before I go too much further, I want to make it clear that there are reasons to dissolve a marriage.  Sometimes it doesn't work, because one or both spouses have no intent of faithfully keeping covenant with one another and express this through adultery or abuse.  Most of the time, it's not healthy to keep hanging on to that, although I have seen some miraculous exceptions.  But really, they're the exception. 

Apart from these things, though, I think a lot of what makes marriage work comes down to our willingness to set aside what we want for the sake of what we need, and what we need is almost always described in terms of character as opposed to terms of materials.

Let me try to wrap this up.

In a subsequent message, my friend with the incredible house wrote to me, "We could live in a castle and be horribly unloved. I'd rather live in a small tiny house and have love, honesty, and integrity."

The truth is, my husband left the house at 3:00, this morning.  He drove 3 1/2 hours to work, and even though he has to be there again, dark and early on Monday, he also drove home when he was finished, apparently because he wants to be with me tonight.  Friends, there are days when I honestly don't know why.  Today is like that.  I spent hours moving furniture around.  I am disheveled and maybe just a touch hangry.  And I totally smell.  But we have a piano to move into this tiny house...

 
L.

Unexpected

So, the whole guest post thing didn't work out too well while I was on vacation,

primarily because many of the people who were scheduled to guest post

are living super stressful, busy lives of their own.

However, my dear friend Wendy, who I have known for... well...

it seems like forever at this point...

did send me a post somewhere in the midst of sickness and magic,

and I have saved it for today,

because I think she has some very important things to say,

and I didn't want to post them randomly

in the middle of three weeks of silence.

When I asked Wendy to write for FGT, I didn't really know what to expect.

She and her family have dealt with a lot of criticism and discrimination

over the years and,

honestly, I thought she might detail that here a little bit.

Instead, she surprised me (she often does)

by sharing a different angle on her story.

If you know me, you'll probably be able to discern what my personal opinions

are on this post, start to finish.

Instead of outlining those here,

I would like to let the post stand for itself... mostly.

However, I want to say this.  I love the last three paragraphs best. 

I think what Wendy has said here is this,

"We are just normal, everyday people, living lives of love."

We could all learn something from that.

I never planned on marrying a Muslim. But life never turns out the way you expect. People always ask me if my husband wants me to convert. Well, the answer is obviously yes. Wouldn't you? We both want to see the other in heaven. According to our own traditions that is impossible. But there is no pressure on either side. Just a lot of patience and talking until God changes a heart, if it is his will.

People may find it hard to believe it isn't so hard being married to a Muslim. In our house sometimes we use God and Allah interchangeably. We both know what the other is saying. And the creator is the creator no matter what "name" a person chooses to give. I think I would have a more difficult time being married to an atheist. What works out great, for us, is even though we are both God fearing people and we believe in signs and wonders, we also rely on science and medicine. If my child gets sick, although I will pray, I will also take him to a doctor. That doesn't mean I have lack of faith. Didn't even Jesus use mud to heal a blind man? God may heal though mud or through a doctor. Maybe the test of faith was to have faith in the people that have prepared and studied to help.

So since I was given this forum to talk I wanted to clear some stuff up. No, when you marry a Muslim you do not have to convert or be killed. I have been married 10+ years, neither did I convert and as far as I know, I'm still alive. Also females do not have to walk behind males, if you do happen to see me do that, that is just something I would naturally do, let someone before me, whether they be male or female, my husband or the deli clerk.

Some people get "Muslim" traditions mixed up with cultural traditions. Muslims can be from any race and ethnic background. A Muslim from Turkey will have a difference experience growing up than a Muslim from Saudi Arabia.

Muslims actually have a high respect for Jesus, but they see him more as a prophet along with Moses, Noah, Abraham, David, Jacob, and Joseph. Only they would say Isa, Mousa, Nuh, Ibrahim, Dawoud, Yaqub, and Yosef.

In all due respect to Catholics that may be reading this, my personal opinion is that how I see the pope is how my husband sees Jesus being God. I don't see a need for the pope. God has the authority and my husband would say, "Isn't God above becoming man, could he not just save us without dying since he is all knowing, all powerful and created everything?"

So at this point we basically have agreed to disagree but I have had some of the deepest conversations about God with my husband. Being married to a Muslim has strengthened my faith. In order to tell someone what you believe in when they really don't "get it" I had to understand why I believe on a personal level.

I don't think being married to a Muslim is all that different than if I was married to a Christian, although I was never married before so I really can't compare. But other than having twice the holidays, we all care for our children, take care of our home, cry when loved ones die, celebrate the joyous occasions, go to work and try to be productive members of society.

We have a son. And of course I would like him to be Christian, but we have decided to let him choose. And no, I don't think it will be confusing for him. For we all have to decide at some point whether to follow God even if both our parents are missionaries. Having Christian parents does not make you a Christian.  God knows our hearts.

We celebrate both Christmas and Ramadan. Christmas is pretty easy because they believe Jesus was human and therefore was born. We compromise on some stuff. Instead of an angel on top of the tree (that is considered an idol to him, any statue in form of a person, is an idol) we have a star. I won't make him ham. I hardly think I'm giving up my faith there. For Ramadan there is fasting. No food, drink or physical contact from sunrise to sunset. I'm a very affectionate person, so I always forget and put my hand on his shoulders or something. He understands that I mean it in an innocent way though.

I found love when I wasn't looking, and through my husband I am always meeting new Muslims. Each Muslim I meet is a chance for me to share Christ, not by telling them they are wrong but by engaging with them. I go to mosque, I listen to them, eat with them. They share what they believe. I share what I believe.

Now, I'm not saying my marriage has a higher purpose, but if I had not married him, I doubt I would have gotten to share Christ with so many people. Rarely have I seen someone convert, but maybe God is using me to plant little seeds.

No, I never planned on marrying a Muslim, but I'm glad I did. Of all the people in the world, even though we grew up on opposite sides of the world, speaking different languages, practicing different cultural customs, he gets me. Life never turns out the way you expect. Sometimes it turns out better.