Finding Ladders to Heaven on Earth
The Rev. Paddy Cavanaugh, Eighth Sunday after Pentecost, Year A – Track 1 (Proper 11), 7/23/23
Readings
Genesis 28:10-19a (Jacob’s Ladder), Romans 8:12-25 (Spirit of adoption, joint heirs with Christ, hope we do not see), Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43 (Parable of the Good Seed and Bad Seed)
In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, amen.
Many of you probably know by now that I am hopelessly in love. Sure, with my wonderful fiancée Winnie, she is lovely and perfectly winsome and if I’m honest, probably not quite as lucky to be marrying me as I am to be marrying her. But that’s not what I am talking about. In addition to her, there’s something else that is wholly enrapturing to me and always has been. Something magnificent and arresting, something beautiful and fearsome, something strange and serene that compels me to drive three to five hours away nearly every weekend this time of year, just to catch a glimpse of it. I am in love with the ocean. Far more than leisure or the chance to work on my tan, being in that place where the land meets the sea is the closest I have found to the boundary between heaven and earth.
One of my favorite things to do there is to lie on the sand and let the ocean lull me into that dreamlike state between waking life and sleep. The crush of the waves and the sound of seabirds is like a heavenly choir sounding out all around. The smell of the salt in the air and seaweed at low tide is like incense rising to the heavens. And the warmth of the sun beating down from above is like a warm embrace that lifts me to a transcendent place of utter abandon in the presence of what I can only describe as divinity. It’s a place where all of my worldly preoccupations can dissolve into contentment like sugar into iced tea. It is rapturous and I have always felt that if the peace of being there is anything like death, then I have absolutely no reason to fear death at all. I hope you all have your own places like this where you can reliably encounter this feeling.
This place of dreamlike transcendence between worlds is where we find our friend Jacob in today’s Old Testament lection. The biblical anti-hero Jacob, whose name literally means ‘heel-grabber;’ a euphemism for trickster, or even cheater, is on the lam after having coerced his brother Esau into giving up his birthright for a bowl of stew. Now I am a big fan of the classic southern dish known as Brunswick stew, but I have yet to taste one for which I would gladly trade my church pension. Anyhow, Jacob, fearing Esau’s retribution, is fleeing the consequences of his latest beguilement when the physical and mental exhaustion of his trickery finally catches up to him and he lays his head down on a rock to rest from the troubling ordeal.
And as he sleeps, he slips into a dream which turns out to be a mystical vision. We should know by now that in the bible, dreams are always much more than that peculiar neurological phenomenon that we all experience during sleep. And in fact, sleep itself is often ambiguous territory that straddles worldly reality and ultimate reality. The ancient Greek poet Homer wisely remarked that “sleep and death are twin brothers” insofar as they both represent a break from normal consciousness and are an immersion into a state of being that is entirely “other” from our waking life. And indeed dreams are one of the primary mediums through which God communicates and reveals Himself to His people within scripture. There are twenty-one separate instances of patriarchs, matriarchs, kings, and commoners encountering God or some Godly reality while dreaming, so we know from the start, that whatever is to transpire in Jacob’s dream is sure to be theologically and existentially significant.
And what Jacob encounters during his dream is a beatific vision of angels ascending and descending an impossible ladder that spans the distance from heaven to earth. Just imagine that for a moment, think of the tallest building or mountain you have ever seen, and envision something multitudes higher that penetrates not just physical reality, but seems to be a bridge between two planes of existence – the earthly and the heavenly worlds, bringing the two together with astounding beauty and even terror. In this way the ladder is similar to the ocean in that its magnificence is underscored by its danger. Direct encounters with the divine are such serious affairs and the ancient Israelites had such a keen sense of awe towards God that they cultivated a set of ritual practices to keep from seeing too much. We can only imagine the wonder and terror that Jacob felt as he beheld this vision, but before he could become totally overcome by fear, the voice of the Lord rang out in assurance, saying “know that I am with you and will keep you wherever you go… for I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you” (Gen. 28:15). This of course is the same promise that God made to Abraham and Isaac to keep a covenant with them, that them and their offspring would be inheritors of an eternal blessing. A covenant that was later expounded in the sending of God’s own son, so that we might receive a “spirit of adoption” and become “joint heirs [of eternal life] with Christ,” as St. Paul says (Rom. 8:15-17).
We can also imagine that in that moment, all the cares and occupations of Jacob’s life must have been transformed as he was left with a sense of awe that led him to anoint the place he had laid his head in praise of God.
Throughout Christian history there have been many interpretations as to what exactly Jacob’s mystical vision means. Some have read it as a foreshadowing of the Blessed Virgin Mary, whose very body, by bearing Christ, mediated worlds, like a ladder, making it possible for the divine to dwell with the earthly. Others have seen it as an allusion to Christ Jesus himself, whose full humanity and full divinity bridged for us the path to salvation by his death on the cross. Others still have described it as a metaphor for the Christian life – it is a ladder that represents our lifelong journey of sanctification through grace, prayer, and the sacraments, all of which assist us to be made more fully into the image of Christ as we climb heavenward.
I personally don’t think any of these interpretations are mutually exclusive in that they all point to the existence of the porousness of the boundary between God’s reality and our reality, which isn’t so much of a boundary at all.
Of course we experience the porousness of this boundary more pronouncedly in certain places than others. I want you to think for a moment about those places in your own life where you have felt the presence of God and God’s assurance in ways that transport you closer to that heavenly dwelling. When you find yourself feeling like Jacob, utterly overwhelmed or in over your head by the burden of past mistakes, I want you to return to those places, in person or in your heart, to dwell in the presence of God.
Jacob named his place of mystical abandon ‘Beth-el,’ which in Hebrew means the House of God. And I’ll tell you something, the story of Jacob’s vision tells us that those places, those holy houses of God exist, and not just in some far off heaven that is external to our worldly existence.
God, the God of all creation, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, God the Father of Our Lord Christ Jesus, is a God who sanctifies space and time so that we too might be assured of our inheritance as joint heirs of the promises of Christ. In fact, I’ll let you in on a secret, one of those places about to open up just moments from now. At the beginning of every Eucharistic prayer we join our voices with choirs of angels, prophets, apostles, and martyrs to proclaim the Sanctus: Holy, Holy, Holy Lord, God of power and might, heaven and earth are full of your glory. Hosanna in the highest. At this moment we acknowledge that the porous boundary between heaven and earth is indeed opened up at every Mass as we prepare to encounter and receive Christ, who is ultimate reality. His Real Presence is our gateway, our ladder to dwell in the divine mystery with God the Father in heaven and earth.
And like Jacob, this direct, transcendent encounter with the beauty of holiness, with the awesome power of God both comforts and transforms us. After his mystical encounter at the House of God, Jacob went on to reconcile with his brother Esau, whom he had slighted. Jacob, the humbled trickster, continued on to fulfill his end of covenant that he had made with God and abide by its mutual terms, which ensured God’s blessing would continue to rain down upon his children for generations to come.
May the same be true for us this day. May we continue to dwell in the House of God, both here and wherever else it finds us. In this life, in dreams, in the ocean, or in the life to come. May we be blessed by the majesty and assurance we find in it, and may we go out to be reconcilers as inheritors of God’s covenant, until that day when the final saint has climbed the final rung of that heavenly ladder, and is received into the arms of glory.
In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, amen.