Isaac and Rebekah — Will She or Won't She?

By Rev. Tommy Allen

Rev. Tom Allen is the Senior Pastor of New Hope Presbyterian Church.

If you’ve been here for the past month or so, you know I’ve been preaching through Genesis 24, and I’m beginning to feel a lot like Marty McFly. Remember Back to the Future? Marty gets transported back in time, and the whole reason he’s there is to make sure his parents fall in love—because if they don’t, he won’t exist. And everything seems to go against him. You start to wonder if it’s ever going to happen. As the movie goes on, when it looks like his parents might not get married after all, his brother disappears from the family photo, then his sister disappears, and Marty himself starts turning transparent. He becomes extremely worried.

Some of you may be feeling that way. Is Tommy ever going to get Isaac and Rebekah together? Because if they don’t, Jacob will never exist. And this series is called “The Life of Jacob”, so yes—we will get there. Today we’re taking significant steps forward. They’re not going to meet yet, but the anticipation is what makes it sweet.

So we’re moving ahead in the story, and the servant who has been sent to pursue Rebekah is about to make his call. And when he calls, he expects an answer.

Today we’re looking at three things:

* The call to commitment — Will she come or not?

* The cost of commitment — Should she go or shouldn’t she?

* The confidence of commitment — How can she go and be sure she’s not making the wrong decision?

With that said, let’s look at the call to commitment.

Verse 28 says,

Then the girl ran and told her mother’s household about these things.” Now Rebekah had a brother named Laban, and Laban ran out to the man at the spring. When he saw the ring and the bracelets on his sister’s wrists, and when he heard her recount the man’s words, he went to him—and behold, the servant was standing by the camels at the spring. Laban said, “Come in, blessed of the Lord. Why are you standing outside? I’ve prepared the house and a place for the camels.”

So the servant entered the house. Laban unloaded the camels, gave them straw and feed, and provided water to wash the feet of the servant and the men with him. But when the food was set before him, the servant said, “I will not eat until I have told you my business.” And Laban replied, “Speak on.”

What is his business?

First, remember the business of the book of Genesis. Genesis exists to remind Israel of the gospel—of God’s promise to deliver them from Egypt, out of bondage and slavery, and to finish the job by bringing them into the promised land. To believe the gospel meant believing that God had already taken them out of Egypt, and also that He would finish what He started.

And their constant struggle is the same struggle you have: Is God going to finish the job? He’s taken you out of Egypt—what the New Testament calls your sin—and He promises to bring you into glory, into His presence. But you and I live in this hard middle place. The struggle of faith is believing He will finish what He began.

Genesis was written to remind them—and you—that He will. Here’s how you know.

We enter the life of Abraham. God makes promises to him. Then Sarah dies, and Abraham is old. God promised descendants as numerous as the dust of the earth and the land of Canaan—and Abraham is about to die. The answer is to make sure Isaac gets married.

But Isaac has a problem many Christian singles understand: he can’t go outside. He can’t marry a Canaanite woman—someone who doesn’t worship Yahweh. And he can’t leave the land of Canaan either, or he forfeits the promise. He’s stuck. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. How do you find a wife if you can’t marry anyone around you and you can’t leave?

So Abraham sends his most faithful servant back to his family in Ur and Haran to find a wife for Isaac.

The servant goes to the well at ladies’ night—because in the ancient Near East, every night is ladies’ night at the well. He prays, not to test God, but to test the woman: “Let the woman who not only offers me a drink but also offers to water my camels—ten camels, thirty gallons each—let her be the one.” Anyone who volunteers for that job is not only kind but industrious, fit to be the mother of many nations.

And what do you know? Rebekah arrives. She offers him a drink. Then she offers to water the camels. The servant just stares at her, wondering if she might be the one God appointed for Isaac.

Then he acts in faith. He gives her an incredibly expensive pre engagement gift—like something a father or uncle might give—and then asks who she is. He doesn’t hold back. He gives the gift first, then winces and says, “Now… who do you belong to?”

She answers: “I’m Nahor’s daughter—Abraham’s brother.”

And he worships. He probably high fived the camels. He found the woman. Now he has to see if it will really work.

That’s where we pick up the story: the call to commitment.

Rebekah runs home to tell her family. Laban sees the jewelry and hears the story, and he runs out to meet the servant. If you give this text a cursory reading, you might think, “What a great guy Laban is.” But later we learn he’s not. Right now he’s greasing the skids to get as much out of Abraham as he can.

He sees the jewelry first. As Rebekah’s brother, he’s responsible for negotiating the dowry. If this servant is handing out expensive gifts just as a token, what will he give when the marriage is sealed? Laban starts preparing for negotiation.

He flatters the servant: “Blessed of the Lord!” He uses Yahweh’s name. He invites him in. He feeds the camels. He washes their feet. He sets a big table. In his mind, negotiations are underway.

But the servant stops it cold. “I will not eat until I state my business.” In other words: There will be no negotiation. I’m going to tell you the terms, and you will answer yes or no.

And the first thing he says would have been an eye opener: “I am Abraham’s servant.”

They haven’t seen Abraham in seventy years, but they remember him. If nothing else, they remember he was crazy. He left Ur because a God he’d never heard of called him in the night and promised to bless all nations through him. Abraham had to have told them that before he left. They probably said, “Sure, Abraham.”

Now, seventy years later, the servant returns and says, “I’m Abraham’s servant.” Either Abraham followed this God and became destitute—or something else happened.

And now Abraham would like to come back—and if he could, he’d weasel his way into your household and let you take care of him. But he doesn’t. He left seventy years ago to follow this unnamed God who promised to make him a blessing to the nations and to give the world a Redeemer through his line. And the servant says, “I’m Abraham’s servant.”

Then he lays out the evidence: The Lord has greatly blessed my master. He lists riches unimaginable. Remember when Abraham told you that this God would bless him? He did. And remember when this God told Abraham He would give him and his barren wife—remember Sarah—a child? He did. And that child is now the heir of everything Abraham possesses. And he’s looking for a wife.

But more than that, Abraham is still a man of great faith. Not only did God give him everything He promised—not only did He give him a descendant, not only did He give him the land of Canaan just as He said when Abraham left here—but Abraham still trusts Him. Because when I came out here, Abraham said, “Go to my family and get a wife for my son Isaac.” And I said, “What if they won’t give me a wife for Isaac?” And Abraham said, “Don’t worry. My God has promised He will send His angel before you, and it will happen. And if it doesn’t, you’re released.”

And now the servant says, “Tell me—will you deal kindly and truly with Abraham? If so, wonderful. If not, I’ll go to the right or the left.” He lays out a massive decision before them. But do you see why he doesn’t negotiate? Why negotiate when he’s offering everything? He’s offering that their daughter will become intimately connected to Abraham’s household, will become an heir, will become a participant in the blessing of the nations. There’s nothing to negotiate. It’s simply theirs. The question is: Are you coming or not? Will you trust or will you not?

When he says, “Will you deal kindly and truly with Abraham,” the word “kindly” is hesed—lovingkindness. It means more than kindness; it means an embrace that never lets go. In the Psalms, the Lord’s lovingkindness never ends because He embraces His people and never releases them. His pursuit never stops. His mercy never dries up.

“Will you deal that way with Abraham? Will you embrace him? And will you deal truly?” In other words, Abraham said this would happen when he left. Seventy years later, it has happened. Now that it’s laid out before you, do you really have any other choice? Will you embrace? Will you deal truly? Because to walk away would be to deny the truth standing right in front of you.

And that’s the same call you and I are given in the New Testament. It’s the exact same thing.

The New Testament is like one great big “Stranger” personal ad. You ever read the personals in The Stranger? I do. I read them to the staff sometimes just to bust a gut laughing—they’re so bizarre. It’s amazing that these people exist, and even more amazing that they’re looking for that kind of person.

The New Testament is like one giant personal ad:

God seeks spouse for His Son. Requirements: perfection, beauty, purity, holiness, blemishlessness. Must have nothing wrong.

Asterisk: All requirements provided.

The whole Bible is about God seeking a spouse for His Son Jesus. But Jesus can only marry someone perfect, without blemish, blameless, sin free.

Footnote: All provided.

Jesus provides the wedding dress by the blood of His cross. He goes to the cross for the very one He loves.

So if you wonder whether He wants you—whether He wants to be intimately related to you—you look at the cross and ask: Am I going to deal kindly with that? Am I going to embrace the kindness shown to me? But also: Am I going to deal truly with that?

Because if you look at yourself honestly, you realize—you’re cynical, lonely, orphan hearted, isolated in ways no one knows. So isolated you’re afraid to say it. And at the cross you see why: your sins and your brokenness. If you could just tell someone, it would be like receiving a diagnosis—you’d finally be free.

At the cross you say, “Jesus, here’s who I am. I’m lonely. I’m broken. I’m afraid. I’m wounded. Here’s what I need.” And He looks at you and says, “You’re the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.” You’re beautiful because you’re wearing the clothes He gave you.

Now the question is: Are you going to wear them? Are you going to put them on? Are you going to follow Him? Are you going to come? Yes or no?

Jesus always says that. “Love me or hate me—but don’t like me.” Because if you merely like Him, you’re just standing there. You might as well not like Him at all. Jesus calls all of us to pursue Him.

And that’s what the servant does with Rebekah. “Deal kindly and truly. Let me know. Otherwise, I go left or right. I won’t keep pursuing this.”

Now the big question for Rebekah is the same big question for us: What’s this going to cost me? Is it going to cost me anything to follow the blessing bearer?

And the answer is yes. It’s going to cost a lot.

Look at verse 50—the cost of commitment.

Laban and Bethuel reply, “The matter comes from the Lord; we cannot speak to you good or bad. Here is Rebekah before you. Take her and go, and let her be the wife of your master’s son, as the Lord has spoken.”

When the servant heard their words, he bowed to the ground. He brought out silver, gold, garments—gifts for Rebekah, and precious things for her brother and mother. They ate and drank and spent the night. In the morning he said, “Send me away to my master.” But her brother and mother said, “Let the girl stay with us a few days—say ten. Afterward she may go.” He said, “Do not delay me, since the Lord has prospered my way. Send me away.”

The cost of commitment.

Their first decision was easy—a snap judgment. It seemed like a no brainer. Abraham is the blessing bearer. He’s wealthy. His son is heir of all things. The servant repeats the story of the prayer at the well. Rebekah appears. It all lines up. “It must be from the Lord,” they say. “Take her.” That’s parental permission.

But they only counted the good part of the cost. They didn’t count the hard part.

They saw the blessing: wealth, security, a good man, a good future. To say no would be to deny all that. But the bigger issue is not saying no to the blessings—it’s saying no to her comfort.

Rebekah is being called to leave her country, her family, everything familiar, everything comfortable, to pursue the one who will bless her. And that’s the hardness of the gospel. As Father Mapple says in Moby Dick: “The hardness of obeying God consists in this—disobeying ourselves.”

We know Rebekah struggled with that. Courtships usually lasted a long time. She expected time to prepare. She wasn’t mentally or emotionally ready for the servant to wake up the next morning and say, “All right—pack up. We’re leaving.” Everyone scrambles. Why? Because she doesn’t want to leave—not yet. Ten days is a long time. “Let her stay a few days—say ten.” The servant says, “No. Now.”

And she has a big decision to make.

It’s not a question of whether following the blessing bearer will be good. Of course it will be good. The question is whether she can part with everything that makes her comfortable. And that’s the greatest cost you and I face when we consider the gospel of Jesus. Because He comes to every human being and says, “Come, follow me.” It’s not a suggestion; it’s a command.

You consider the cost and say, “What’s in it for me?” Mercy. Forgiveness. Perfect righteousness. A place at the Father’s right hand. To be called a son or daughter—not an orphan anymore. And you say, “Beautiful. That’s what I want.” And He says, “Then come follow me.” And you say, “Well… that would mean leaving my sin. My brokenness. My guilt. My anger. My family situations—all the things I cling to. I know they hurt me. I know they make me miserable. But at least I know them. They’re comfortable.”

And He says, “You either come with me to the promised land, or you stay in your comfort. But you can’t stay where you are.”

To deny the gospel is to deny mercy, forgiveness, righteousness—all in order to keep guilt, shame, and brokenness. It seems like a no brainer, but it isn’t. Because our familiar miseries are comfortable. We’re embedded in them.

If you’re religious, following Jesus means giving up the thing you’ve probably built your whole life on: your list of rules. You judge yourself every morning, every night, maybe every minute, based on how well you’re keeping them. As long as you have your list, you feel okay. Jesus takes the list away—not because the law doesn’t matter, but because He gives you a chance instead of a checklist.

Or if you’re like me, instead of looking at the law, you look at your friends. “Well, I’m doing better than Chris this week. I must be okay.” Jesus says, “It doesn’t work like that.”

If you’re irreligious—maybe not a Christian at all—you don’t have to leave your rule keeping. You have to leave your slavery. Because not following Jesus doesn’t make you free; it makes you enslaved to something else. You think you’re free, but are you? Are you free from the love of money? Free from needing everyone’s approval? My guess is, if you’re honest—if you deal kindly and truly with Jesus—you have to say no.

So the question is: Will you go? Will you follow Jesus? That’s what was laid before Rebekah. Will you pursue the blessing bearer or not? Decide now.

Grace Church is a wonderful place, and we hope it’s always a place where you can check things out for a while if you’re not a Christian. But you need to know—that’s me talking. That’s not Jesus. I say, “Take your time.” Jesus says, “What are you going to do right now?”

Let’s see what Rebekah does.

The servant says, “Do not delay me, since the Lord has prospered my way. Send me away.” They reply, “We will consult the girl.” They call Rebekah and ask, “Will you go with this man?” And she says, “I will go.”

They bless her: “May you become thousands of ten thousands, and may your descendants possess the gates of those who hate them.” Then Rebekah rises, mounts the camel, and follows the man.

What you see in Rebekah’s life are two things: faith and repentance.

When she says, “I will go,” it’s an incredible act of faith—not a blind leap, not existential guesswork. Biblical faith is the assurance of things hoped for. She knew the promises God made to Abraham. Her family knew. And as she rides away, her family preaches the gospel to her: “May your descendants be thousands of ten thousands”—promise one. “May they possess the gates of their enemies”—promise two.

And we know she believed because she repented. Repentance isn’t doing good things to make up for bad things. Repentance means going home. It means leaving what you thought was home and going to your real home. We know she repented because she got on the camel and left. Faith is always evidenced by action.

The call for us is the same. Many people say, “I believe in Jesus.” Or, if you’re really spiritual, “I get the gospel. I believe the promises.” But if you really believe the promises, there will necessarily be action. You get up. You go. You follow Jesus.

If you’re not a Christian—do you get up and follow Him?

If you are a Christian—it never ends. Do you go after Him?

It reminds me again of The Shawshank Redemption. Remember the last scene? Red—Morgan Freeman—has gone before the parole board for forty years. Every time he tries to prove how good he is, how much he’s changed. Rejection. Finally, after forty years, they ask, “Tell us why you deserve to be paroled.” And he says, “Sonny, I don’t give a damn what any of you think. I don’t deserve anything.” They ask, “Do you regret what you did?” He says, “There’s not a day I don’t think about how stupid I was.” And the next word is: “Accepted.”

He wasn’t freed until he admitted he had nothing to offer. He wasn’t released until he admitted he wasn’t good enough to be released. That’s the gospel. You want to be freed from your prison—your anger, guilt, shame? Go to God and say you’re not worthy. Go to God and say, “I’ve tried to be good my whole life, and I can’t.” You’ll be free.

But then you have to do what Red did. He gets out, stuck as a bag boy, staring at the carving Brooks left behind. And then Andy’s words come back: “Red, you’ve got to get busy living or get busy dying.” Red says, “I decided to get busy living.” He gets on the bus. He goes after Andy. And that final scene—he sees Andy on the beach, runs to him, and they embrace.

That’s the question before us today. It’s always before us.

Get busy living or get busy dying.

Follow Jesus or not.

Think about that.

This article is based upon a verbatim transcription of a sermon by Rev. Tom Allen. It has been lightly edited in Copilot, as well as by the theological staff at Third Millennium Ministries.