Rachel - Glenn Conjurske

Rachel

by Glenn Conjurske

We first meet Rachel where Jacob met her, at the well in Haran, where she had gone to water her father’s sheep, and where he had fled to escape his brother’s wrath. There Jacob soon saw what we are soon told, namely, that “Rachel was beautiful and well favoured.” Neither are we told this for nothing. Her beauty had its natural effect. “Rachel was beautiful and well favoured: and Jacob loved Rachel.” When he is approached, therefore, by her father with a tender of employment, and asked to name his wages, he replies without hesitation, “I will serve thee seven years for Rachel thy younger daughter.”

Now this seven years of strenuous labor, voluntarily undertaken, no doubt had a very sweet and pleasing effect upon the heart of Rachel. Here she plainly saw the love which Jacob had for her, and the value which he set upon her, and the more so when Jacob told her from time to time (as we have no doubt that he did) how light and easy his labor seemed to him—-how the years of toil seemed to him but days—-how much longer and harder he would gladly labor to possess her—-what mountains he would climb, what deserts he would cross, what rivers he would swim, to secure her love. All this, we say, we have no doubt Rachel heard from the lips of Jacob, for this is “the way of a man with a maid” (Prov. 30:19), and we are not to suppose that a man who loved Rachel as Jacob did would have had nothing to say to her about it, for he doubtless knew nothing of those modern hyperspiritual doctrines which make it sinful for a man to court a maid—-which call it “emotional fornication” for a man to take the heart of a woman with his love. All this love, the hyperspiritual tell us, must be reserved till after marriage.

And what then, we ask, is “the way of a man with a maid”? She is no maid when she is married. Is this “the way of a man with a maid,” to deal for her hand with her father? Let him believe it who can. Jacob, we are sure, knew nothing of such notions, and we are sure also that the flame which burned in his heart for Rachel was no secret to her. She knew what she was to him, and for seven long years she was “in all her glory,” smiling and singing, basking in the light and the warmth of his love. These were no doubt the happiest years of her life, for she knew nothing then of the thunderbolt which was to fall upon her on the intended night of her wedding.

Here then is the sweet and pleasant picture of love and courtship as God created it, and as the hearts of man and woman need it. And yet that wretched hyperspirituality which can never find the hand of God in nature will set aside all this sweetness, and despise it as a carnal delusion. Alfred Edersheim, wise in other matters, speaks foolishly enough in this one. “Jacob,” he says, “had learned to love Rachel, Laban’s younger daughter. Without consulting the mind of God in the matter, he now proposed to serve Laban seven years for her hand.”

God, however, overruled the vain choice of Jacob, “For Leah was, so far as we can judge, the one whom God had intended for Jacob, though, for the sake of her beauty, he had preferred Rachel. From Leah sprang Judah, in whose line the promise to Abraham was to be fulfilled. Leah, as we shall see in the sequel, feared and served Jehovah; while Rachel was attached to the superstitions of her father’s house; and even the natural character of the elder sister fitted her better for her new calling than that of the somewhat petulant, peevish, and self-willed, though beautiful younger daughter of Laban.”

Love, then, has nothing to do with marriage. It is a snare, that is all. It led Jacob astray from the will of God. “So far as we can judge,” he ought to have married the one he could not love, and rejected the one he could not help but love. Love, then, is not of God. It is only a sweet delusion. It is a carnal snare. Again I say, let him believe it who can. How does it appear that Jacob contracted for Rachel “without consulting the mind of God in the matter”? Has love nothing to do with the mind of God? Are those natural attractions which draw a man and a woman together, and cement their hearts as one, are these not the creation of God? Have these nothing to do with the mind of God?

We know, of course, that those natural attractions may exist where character does not, and we know that no man ought to marry for love alone, in the absence of any spiritual fitness, but this is really irrelevant in the present case. Rachel was at any rate as suitable for Jacob as Leah was. We think Edersheim falls prey to his imagination in treating of their characters. His theory is the father of his conclusion. We see no such difference as he finds between Rachel and Leah. At the outset Leah certainly appears in a worse light than Rachel. It may be that afterwards she progressed at a faster pace, but we might naturally expect this, as she had the harder lot, and there is nothing which works character like hardships.

We hold that it was right for Jacob to marry Rachel, that it was his love which made it right, and that it was most certainly right that he should love her. Edersheim, however, is offended that he chose her “for the sake of her beauty.” Thus does hyperspirituality despise the gifts of God. The heart of man is naturally taken by feminine beauty, as his tongue naturally loves the taste of a ripened peach, and his nostrils naturally love the fragrance of the rose. He who condemns any of this condemns the gifts of God, and so the God who created them.

The character of Jacob’s love—-its strength and stability—-ought to teach men that it stood upon a solid foundation. The seven years which he labored for Rachel, “seemed unto him but a few days, for the love he had to her.” And mark, his seven years of labor tell but half the tale. It certainly is not to be supposed that he labored the second seven years for Leah, when, as Adam Clarke well says, “it is not likely that Jacob would have served seven days for Leah.” But he was in a hard place. Leah he had already, as the unrighteous wage for the seven years he had toiled for Rachel. His right to Rachel is offered him again, on the unrighteous condition that he labor seven years more. To spurn this unjust demand with the contempt it deserved might well have so alienated Laban as to endanger his hope of ever possessing Rachel at all—-for none are ever so indignant and implacable as the unrighteous, when their unrighteousness is exposed. He therefore set to work again, to pay her price the second time. “Thus dear,” as Bishop Hall remarks, “is Jacob content to pay for Rachel fourteen years’ servitude.” All this for the love of Rachel. And after all this we are to be told it was the design of God that he should marry Leah?—-while the beauty and charm of Rachel thus burned in his soul? We do not hesitate to say that those who sin thus against nature sin against nature’s God, and the misery which they are certain to reap for it is the fault of none but themselves.

Jacob had no love for Leah—-none of the sort of love of which marriage is made. It was outside the realm of possibility for him to love her as he loved Rachel, and could it have been right for him to marry her, to commit himself to her for both of their lives, in a relationship in which neither of them could ever be happy? This is to affirm that man was made for marriage, and not marriage for man. Such are the dreams of the hyperspiritual. The rest of the race has dreams of another sort, and those dreams are of God. They flow from the nature which God has created. Here is all the choicest goodness of God, given to man even in the midst of his sin. Here is the one portion of Paradise which man may carry with him, when he must leave the rest of Paradise behind, guarded by the flaming sword of the Lord. To despise this, and under the cloak of spirituality, is impious.

We know perfectly well that a man’s love must stand upon a foundation deeper and broader than mere outward beauty, but we know also that that outward beauty is a large and essential part of that foundation. No man can love a woman in whom he sees no beauty—-nor would she desire such love if he could. While we speak, therefore, of Rachel’s beauty, and Jacob’s love for her, we dare not pass by the beauty of Leah. It were folly to suppose she had none. Doubtless she lacked the surpassing beauty of Rachel. Moreover, she wanted that peculiar charm which would take the heart of Jacob, but this did not render her case hopeless. Very far from it. We would not say a word to discourage the plainest of women, and if we did, we would not speak the truth. Passing by the fact that “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” and passing by the further fact that a good portion of feminine beauty flows from the soul within, we merely rehearse this plain fact of history, that “The sons of God saw the daughters of men that they were fair, and they took them wives of all which they chose.” “They were fair,” all of them—-not all equally so, but yet every one fair, each in her own way. They “took them wives of all which they chose,” for the beauty of one takes the heart of one man, and the beauty of another the heart of another. No woman is altogether destitute of beauty, unless she is deformed in soul. “Leah was tender-eyed.” Her case was not desperate, even from the mere standpoint of nature, leaving God and faith out of the question. She, however, evidently thought it hopeless, for the beauty of Rachel was doubtless a constant discouragement to her, and she therefore stepped in to take by stealth in the dark what she supposed she could not secure in the open light of day. There was no need for this. Patience would have had its reward, and her day would have come, as Rachel’s had.

Meanwhile, Rachel’s day has come. She has entered into her own, and for seven years she walks on air, breathing all the fragrance of the sweetest and purest love which earth affords.

But why now this thunderbolt which falls upon her as it were out of a clear blue sky? She saw no dark clouds on the horizon. She heard no distant thunder. She saw only blue skies and the bright shining of the sun, and expected nothing else—-only that tomorrow would be as this day, and much more abundant—-only the sun more bright, and the sky more blue. And while she looks only for this, behold! a stunning thunderbolt fells her to the earth, and well nigh takes the life out of her. She looked for a river of bliss, and behold! a river of tears. She looked for the sweet fulfilment of all her dreams, and behold! the bleakest of nightmares. Her soul is wounded to the quick, and our soul is wounded with hers. We scarcely dare ask, Why? We can only put our hand upon our mouth, and stand in awe. The ways of the Lord are past finding out. He giveth not account of any of his matters.

Yet we cannot help but ask why. I have heard men say that when they get to heaven, they intend to spend the first thousand years gazing upon the face of Christ. I am not so spiritual. I have another plan. I intend to spend the first thousand years asking why. Ah! the tangled mysteries of this poor life of tears and groans and disappointments! The shattered dreams! The blasted hopes! The fallen castles! The unrequited loves! The undried tears! The flowers frosted in the bud! “The whole creation groaneth and travaileth together until now,” and the whole of this tear-stained earth sends up to heaven one grand cry of Why? We know that sin is the reason in general, but we crave to know the reasons in particular, and Christ explicitly, and more than once, forbids us to suppose that any particular sin is the reason for some particular affliction. We know nothing of the reason why, though we cannot but crave to know it—-and not for any idle curiosity, but because we feel from the depth of our soul that to understand God, we must understand why. But the answer comes—-not yet. “Heaven will make amends for all.” So the proverb affirms, and so faith believes, and surely one of the amends which heaven will make will be to teach us why. Meanwhile we ask,

Why was the serene happiness of this innocent girl thus violently wrested from her in a moment, just when she expected to taste its sweetest fruit? We have no theories. Perhaps Rachel was sinful, and stood in need of a hard scourging. Perhaps she was vain, and sacrificed at the shrine of her own beauty, thanking her own fair face and form for Jacob’s love, instead of giving honor to God. Perhaps she gloried over her destitute sister, and must now be recompensed for that. Perhaps. But we know nothing about it, and it would be as sinful for us to make such purely gratuitous imputations against Rachel as it was for Job’s three friends to do so against Job. We suppose that if any such thing were true, the Bible would give us some hint of it, but the record tells us nothing of the kind, and we know nothing of the kind. But this much we know, that this is not the day of judgement, and that here the righteous suffer. Here the innocent suffer. Here the strong and heartless father deals a crushing blow to his tender, trusting daughter, and she must suffer for it, not he. We know nothing of the reason for this, but we impute nothing of evil to Rachel. The record gives us no right to do so. Much less do we have any heart to do so. We only weep the tears of Rachel over again, and take our consolation where alone we can find it, in the fact that “Heaven will make amends for all.”

But whatever the sweetness and innocence of Rachel may have been before her marriage, her character appears to little advantage afterwards. And who could wonder at this? If the delights of pure pristine romance are calculated to bring out all the best in a woman, it is a certain fact that polygamy is sure to bring out all the worst. God created male and female—-one male and one female. He never said, “For this cause shall a man leave father and mother, and shall cleave to his wives, and they three shall be one flesh.” This is against the ordinance of God, and it is certainly against nature. Whatever a man may be, it is an utter impossibility for a woman to be happy in such a marriage. Rachel and Leah were one flesh by their birth, but their marriage made them adversaries. No kitchen is large enough for two women—-much less is a marriage bed. This is such an outrage to everything that is sacred to her feminine nature, that we can hardly blame her if it makes her cross, irritable, petulant, peevish, jealous, and ruthless. She must have the character of an angel to be anything else in so trying a place. In love and marriage a woman must be all and have all. Neither can she be content with a whit less than all. This is her nature, not as sin has corrupted it, but as God has created it.

Rachel, therefore “envied her sister.” Leah had Jacob’s children, but Rachel had his heart. Why was she not content with this? Because she was a woman. Elkanah thought to console Hannah with “Am I not better to thee than ten sons?” but this was no consolation to a woman. “Her adversary provoked her sore.” We suppose that Hannah was the loved wife, as Rachel was. We can hardly conceive of Jacob saying to Leah, “Am I not better to thee than ten sons?”—-for she had little enough of his company, and nothing of his heart. We suppose, then, that Hannah was the wife which was loved, and this compelled her adversary to provoke her sore—-to press with all her feminine pettishness the little advantage which she had, to establish her own worth, and the inferiority of her rival. And it is hard to blame a woman for a desperate attempt to be something, where she needs to be everything. No doubt Peninnah was destitute of both love and faith, and her tactics were cruel and ruthless, but the plain fact is, polygamy serves not only to manifest all that is worst in a woman, but to swell and enlarge it also, while it dries up all the springs of that sisterly affection which is so natural to the gentler sex.

Rachel therefore “envied her sister,” though she had much more than her sister had, and came to Jacob with this petulant demand, “Give me children, or else I die!” Her language leaves no doubt of her impassioned earnestness, as her passionate earnestness leaves no doubt of the depth of her need, but passion has gone too far. Her impetuosity has led her to impiety. We shall have more to say of that by and by. Jacob immediately perceived it, “And Jacob’s anger was kindled against Rachel, and he said, Am I in God’s stead, who hath withheld from thee the fruit of the womb?” Her impetuous desire was not thus cooled, however, and she responds with, “Behold my maid Bilhah: go in unto her, and she shall bear upon my knees, that I may have children by her.” Sarah had done this before her, and Leah did it afterwards, but we cannot withhold our conviction that Rachel had less excuse for it than either of them. Leah no doubt acted thus as a matter of quiet and desperate resolve, and Sarah probably did so also, when worn down by hope long deferred, but Rachel seems to have acted from mere impetuosity. She certainly had less of need than Leah had, for she had her husband’s heart and his company, while Leah had neither. She, that is, had almost everything, while Leah had almost nothing. Still we must grant that it was nothing other than feminine need which drove her to this impetuous act, for in love a woman can bear no rival. She can no more bear an inferior rival than a superior one. She must be all.

While Leah, therefore, had children, and Rachel had none, “Rachel envied her sister.” Leah envied Rachel also, and while envy persisted, quarrels prevailed. ‘Tis hard for a civil word to pass between two sisters, when they must share one husband. Rachel but asks, and with courtesy enough, for some of Leah’s mandrakes, and she must be rebuffed with, “Is it a small matter that thou hast taken my husband? and wouldest thou take away my son’s mandrakes also?” Those lips which were resolutely sealed while she stole Jacob from her sister are now quickly opened to reproach her sister for stealing Jacob from herself. Such a taunt ill befits the mouth of Leah. The man who steals his neighbor’s goods can hardly complain if his neighbor takes them back again. Leah had no claim upon Jacob, except only by his grace. When the morning light revealed her, he might with perfect justice have turned her out. If she had pleaded that now she was defiled, no one else would have her, he might have rejoined that she should have thought of that before she committed her sin. It was only by the grace of Jacob that she was taken under his wing.

And in this her standing with Jacob, Leah is an undoubted type of the church. Rachel stands for Israel, his first love, and the bride of his covenant. She had a claim upon Jacob. Leah had none. She was received by his grace alone. So far the type is clear, but beyond this we cannot go. Jacob’s subsequent treatment of Leah, and the fact that Rachel was loved, and Leah hated, are no types at all. No type will stand on all fours. Neither can we prove anything concerning the character of either Rachel or Leah by the fact that they are types of the people of God. If they are, then Jacob himself is a type of Christ, but certainly this proves nothing concerning his character. The Old Testament types generally consist in events and circumstances. The character of the persons involved is subordinate or immaterial.

At any rate it is clear enough that Leah had no claim upon Jacob but by his grace. Perhaps it was compassion which moved him to accept her. Perhaps it was conscience, for he could hardly forget that he was a supplanter himself, with a stolen blessing in his own hands. Perhaps it was only the fear that in rejecting her, he would lose Rachel also. But whatever moved him, his acceptance of her as a wife must have laid upon him some obligation to be a husband to her. He evidently did little enough to fulfil that obligation, if Leah must buy his company for a single night with her son’s mandrakes. Why was Jacob thus remiss?

Alas, though the reproachful taunt that Rachel had stolen her husband was altogether out of place in the mouth of Leah, yet there was evidently too much truth in it. Rachel evidently engrossed Jacob entirely to herself. It had not always been so. In the earlier days of this unnatural marriage, Leah had evidently had some share in Jacob, for she bore him four sons in rapid succession. Now she must treat with her sister for a single night of his company. Something had changed, and Rachel now engrossed Jacob wholly to herself. This was no doubt easy enough to do, for all his love was for her, and a man who is in love with one woman is driven by a compelling desire to let her know it—-to make her feel it—-to leave no doubt in her mind concerning it—-to make her feel that she is indeed his all—-and how can he do this while he is paying conjugal visits to her rival? And who can suppose that Rachel will urge him to his duty, to be a husband to Leah also? Such a thing would be directly contrary to all the deepest needs of her own nature. Much sooner would we expect her to pout and reproach him for every attention which he paid to Leah—-to weep and to say, “How can you say that you love me, when you leave me to cry alone while you spend the night with Leah?” Why should she make a vain attempt to share him with her sister, and so insure that they must both be tormented by a continual round of offenses and jealousies? If but one of them could have the happy possession of him, why should it be Leah any more than herself? She indeed had the prior right, where Leah had none at all, and she most likely used this fact with Jacob to secure him all to herself.

It is hard to see Rachel so jealous of her own need, and so insensitive to the same need in her sister. Did she not certainly know that while she engrossed all of Jacob’s attentions to herself there was a deprived and aching heart in the tent of her sister? Doubtless she knew it, and we suppose she felt it, but what was a woman to do? She needed what she had, and how could she give it up? We think it most interesting that she so readily gave up Jacob for a night for Leah’s mandrakes. How many women would sell their husbands for so small a price? We may suppose that Rachel felt her sister’s need only less than her own, and was therefore glad of an opportunity to give her a share in Jacob, so long as it was on such terms as maintained inviolate her own superior right—-for it was Rachel who proposed this bargain, when she might have rejoined with justice that the real and only thief was Leah herself, who had no right to complain if she but took back her own. Her feminine nature would scarcely allow her to treat Leah as an equal, who had a right to Jacob, but she would allow her to buy what was thus acknowledged on both sides to belong by right to herself. Not that Leah’s heart could acknowledge Rachel’s right, any more than Rachel could acknowledge hers, but how could she spurn so easy a purchase of what she so desperately needed? “Something is better than nothing,” and therefore her pride must be swallowed, the bargain made, and the mandrakes paid, or she would have nothing at all of Jacob. By her act, at any rate, she acknowledged Rachel’s right, and on such terms Rachel would grant her what she would otherwise engross wholly to herself.

From all this it plainly appears that Rachel had in very deed taken away Leah’s husband—-not that Leah had any right to complain of it. In all this she was only paid in her own coin. The grand theme of all of these Old Testament histories is discipline in the school of God, and oh! how exquisite the workings, how intricate the turnings, of that discipline. Leah takes her husband from Rachel on her wedding night, and now she must have her husband taken by Rachel for an endless succession of days and nights, for weeks and months together. She is thus paid in her own coin, but good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over. This is the ordinary way of God, for he will have us to feel by all means the sinfulness of sin. Our hearts may ache and our eyes run down with tears for Leah, and yet we must say, This is righteous.

And we are all enrolled in the same school. “For whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth.” We must therefore often enough ache and weep for ourselves, while the Lord pays us also in our own coin, and “good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over.” This is not to turn us from our sin, for we may have been turned from it many years ago, but to cause us to feel its sinfulness, and to warn others also that “whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.” Oh, how slow men are to believe in the bitter consequences of sin. They sow their wheat hoping to reap a hundred fold, but they sow a bushel of wild oats, expecting to reap only a peck or a pint. But God is not mocked, and God will not have it so. The sin of five minutes may bear bitter fruit for five decades. All this is written large in the lonely tears of Leah.

But Rachel must be scourged in the same school, and if the rod which falls upon Leah fills our eyes with tears, that which Rachel must feel leaves us almost too stunned to weep. When she uttered her importunate demand, “Give me children, or else I die!” how little did she dream that her children would be her death! Yet so it was, and when we contemplate her history, we can only exclaim, “Behold the goodness and severity of God!” Goodness, indeed, for “God remembered Rachel, and God hearkened to her, and opened her womb, and she conceived, and bare a son, and said, God hath taken away my reproach.” All this is beautiful and tender. Rachel’s longing desires and Rachel’s reproach were felt in heaven, and God opened his hand to satisfy her longings, and remove her reproach. Her tears are dried, and she holds in her arms the bundle of joy for which her heart so long has ached. “Behold, the goodness of God.”

But she has yet a day of reckoning to come, and must yet feel his severity also. And here again we stand in awe, and confess that the ways of God are past finding out. We know that God commonly visits impiety with a much sorer scourging than immorality, and what appears to us a great immorality will receive a softer stroke than what appears a very venial impiety. Eating and drinking unworthily at the Lord’s table receives a much heavier stroke than notorious incest. “For this cause many are weak and sickly among you, and many sleep” (I Cor. 11:30), while for that cause we read of no judgement at all.

Samson lies with a harlot till midnight, yet rises up from that iniquity and carries off the gates and bars of the city by the power of the Spirit of God. Uzzah but steadies the ark, and is slain. Samson meant nothing good. Uzzah meant nothing but good. Yet God bares his arm to enable Samson to escape with his life, while the same arm is bared to take away the life of Uzzah.

There was a tinge, if no more, of impiety in the petulant speech of Rachel, and how dearly must she pay for it.

And what can we say to all these things? “He giveth not account of any of his matters.”

We ought by all means, however, to devote the most careful attention to every example of “the severity of God” which the Bible affords us, for these things are not written for nothing. The rod which Rachel felt has something to teach us, and well it will be for us if we learn what it is.

And first, we might learn to be content with such good as we have, and not to so pine for the good which we lack as to become impetuous and imperious in our demand for it. We know right well that those desires which belong to our nature are hard to quell, and God condemns not men or women because they are not angels. Still, we may desire and not sin. We may desire and not demand. Rachel’s wrong did not lie in her desire for children, but in the petulancy of her speech.

And here again, what may appear venial to us is treated otherwise by God. Moses was “faithful in all his house,” yet because he “spake unadvisedly with his lips” on one occasion, he must forfeit the land of Canaan. Rachel spoke unadvisedly with her lips also, and must now die the death of which she had so lightly and petulantly spoken. Ah! with what carefulness ought we to open our lips! Do we not certainly know that “every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment”? Do we not certainly know that in the same day of judgement, “by thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned”? (Matt. 12:36-37). Some of our modern divines have determined that this “day of judgment,” of which the Lord so solemnly speaks, does not so much as exist, yet even they, we suppose, must reckon with the rod of God in this life, for he scourges every son whom he receives, and we are apt to feel more deeply the rod which falls upon us in this life for our careless and impetuous words.

“He that keepeth his mouth keepeth his life” (Prov. 13:3), and we have little doubt that if Rachel had kept her mouth, she had kept her life also. But Rachel was impetuous. The passion, therefore, which ruled her heart must rule her tongue also, so much so that the anger of her loving Jacob was kindled against her. And was not the anger of God kindled also? Yet he comes slowly to reckon with her for this, and will first remember her need and her reproach, and open his bountiful hand to her, that she may enjoy his goodness, and praise him in the land of the living.

Glenn Conjurske