Crooked Sticks

There is a quote, often attributed to the German reformer Martin Luther, that carries more weight than its simple words might suggest: "God can draw a straight line with a crooked stick." Nobody knows with certainty who first said it, but the truth it contains is undeniable. God does not wait until we are perfect before he puts his hands to work in our lives. He does not wait until everything is orderly, until the failures are cleaned up, until the record is spotless. He picks up the crooked stick and gets to work.

That idea finds its most vivid illustration not in a motivational speech or a self-help framework, but in the pages of Genesis, in the story of one of the most dysfunctional families in all of Scripture.

A Family of Crooked Sticks
Abraham's descendants, the family through whom God chose to bring his covenant promises into the world, were not exactly what you might call choice people. They were chosen people, but those two words mean very different things. Being chosen by God is not a reflection of personal greatness. It is a reflection of God's grace.

Isaac, the son of Abraham, waited twenty years for his wife Rebekah to conceive. Twenty years of prayer, of trusting, of hoping. When she finally became pregnant, the twins in her womb were already fighting. Before they were even born, God spoke a word that turned the world's expectations upside down: the older would serve the younger. In a culture built on the privilege of the firstborn, God reversed the system entirely. Not because the younger son had earned it, but because God's grace operates outside the boundaries of human merit.

When the boys arrived, they were named Esau and Jacob. Esau, meaning something close to "red and hairy," and Jacob, meaning "heel grabber" -- a Hebrew idiom that carried the deeper meaning of "deceiver." And both of them would live up to their names in ways that are uncomfortable to read.

The Mess Inside the Promise
Esau was a man driven entirely by appetite. He was impulsive, indifferent to the things of God, and willing to trade away his God-given birthright for a bowl of lentil stew. Genesis 25 records the moment plainly -- famished from a day in the open country, he sold his inheritance for a meal and walked away without a second thought. The author does not soften the assessment: Esau despised his birthright.

Jacob, on the other hand, was calculating and manipulative. He saw his brother's weakness and exploited it. He saw an opportunity to grab what he wanted and he took it, not through trust in God but through schemes and deception. Later, with his mother Rebekah as an accomplice, he disguised himself as Esau, walked into his blind and aging father's room, and stole the blessing that belonged to his brother. Isaac was deceived. Esau was furious. The family fractured.

And yet, in the middle of all of it -- the favoritism, the lying, the scheming, the murderous rage -- God kept speaking his covenant promises. He kept showing up. He kept saying, "I am with you. I will bless you. I will multiply your offspring." The blessing Isaac spoke over Jacob in Genesis 27 echoed the very promises God had made to Abraham. And in Genesis 28, even after the deception had come to light, Isaac called Jacob in and blessed him again, sending him off with the covenant words ringing in his ears.

God did not abandon this family because of their failures. He carried his plan forward through them anyway.

Recognizing Ourselves in the Story
It is easy to read about Isaac, Rebekah, Jacob, and Esau and feel a comfortable distance from their dysfunction. But the story has a way of closing that distance if we let it.

Do you see yourself in Esau -- running after every appetite, making impulsive decisions, trading long-term blessing for short-term satisfaction? Do you see yourself in Jacob -- trying to control outcomes, manipulating circumstances, unwilling to simply trust God with the result? Do you see yourself in Isaac -- living in fear, telling half-truths, trying to make things work through your own resourcefulness rather than faith?

The first honest step is simply to admit it. God can draw a straight line with a crooked stick, but the stick has to stop pretending it is already straight. Admitting that we are broken, that we are selfish, that we have deceived and manipulated and chased our own desires -- that is not defeat. That is the beginning of something.

Rebekah modeled this when the struggle felt unbearable. Genesis 25 tells us that when the twins warred within her, she went to inquire of the Lord. She brought her confusion and her pain directly to God. That act of turning toward God rather than away from him is what faith looks like in the middle of a mess.

The Only Perfect Stick
There is a reason this story is not ultimately about becoming more like Jacob or more like Isaac. The point is not to find a better role model within the family tree. The point is that there is only one perfect stick, and his name is Jesus. He is the measuring line. He is the one in whom all the covenant promises find their yes and amen, as 2 Corinthians 1:20 reminds us. Every crooked stick in Genesis was pointing forward to him.

And that means the worth of your life is not found in your achievements, your qualifications, your track record, or your moral resume. Your worth is found in the hands that are holding you. God loves to take what looks like scrap -- a block of wood, a few nails, a single string -- and make something that sounds like music.

Admit that you are a crooked stick. Then trust the one who can draw a straight line.