Are You Hungry?

What would you give for something to eat? Chances are if you're able to read this on your smartphone or tablet, or even in a library somewhere, you are not in a situation where that thought would ever cross your mind. Chances are you have access to a kitchen stocked with food, or money to purchase food at a nearby market. There are almost a billion people across the world without the necessary food required to be healthy, one-eighth of the world's population. Almost 240 million of those people are in need of immediate, life-saving action. Those are some pretty staggering statistics. Even in America, it is estimated 42 million experience food insecurity. America, where, in many neighborhoods, food markets compete for customers. Our neighborhood --an area of less than two square miles-- has four markets, two delicatessens, countless takeout restaurants, and pharmacies with aisles of snacks and non-perishables. Food is not just necessary, it's revered.

In Genesis 25, we read the account of Esau, a ruddy-skinned, hairy, and I imagine a burly sort of guy who was a hunter and outdoorsman. His twin brother, Jacob, was the polar opposite if ever there was one. Jacob stayed in his family's tent, close by his mother who loved him. Esau's father, Isaac, loved the game he so skillfully killed and brought back from his quests, and Esau, being the oldest, was entitled to his father's blessing and the birthright (privileges, status, authority, and possessions). One day, as Esau came into the tent, he smelled the food Jacob was preparing. 

"Let me gulp down some of this red red stuff, for I am famished," he ordered Jacob. That's not a typo. He said "red red stuff." Almost as though, he wasn't taking the time to identify it as stew or soup or braised meat: "It smells like food. I'm hangry. Give it to me." 

Jacob proposes a trade: Esau hands over his birthright in trade. And he does! His words to Jacob are, "I am at the point of death; why do I need a birthright?" Esau's eyes were on the moment and it cost him whatever privileges, status, authority, and possessions his father was waiting to give him. And it reminded me of me. Does it remind you of you?

When I know it would be best for me to hold my tongue-- BANG! out it comes! And I forego the peace God is longing for me to experience. When I know my neighbor is hurting and if I get involved, that's two hours of my life I'm never getting back; so I don't. And I forego the opportunity to show her how much Jesus loves her. When God tells me to give more, but I hold Him at ten percent because "that's what we're told to give." And I miss the chance for Him to show me all He is willing to do for me. When the pain is so tremendous I will do anything to avoid it, and I do; I miss the ways God wants to change me and grow our relationship. When the gift becomes that which I seek, more so than the Giver, I will never know the full birthright to which I am entitled. When the necessities of this life become the things we revere, we may know the feeling of a belly full of red red stuff, but we will also know the emptiness of life absent God's best.