Preached on July 19, 2026, at First Presbyterian Church of Rolla. Based on Genesis 28:10-19a.
Have you ever had a strange dream? Back in July 2020, there was a FoxTrot comic strip in which the Mom and Dad both had crazy dreams. Dad says, “I dreamed Lin-Manuel Miranda and Bruce Springsteen were writing a musical based on my life. So they flew to Texas to watch me give quarterback lessons to a young Patrick Mahomes. Then we all went to Whataburger, where I discovered if I ate patty melts left-handed, I’d lose weight. What was yours?” Mom says, “I dreamed I had a civil and informed political discussion on Facebook.” Dad says, “OK, that’s way beyond crazy. You win.” Mom says, “I’m kinda bummed I woke up.”
Strange things can happen in dreams. Yet throughout scripture, we read about times when God or an angel appears in a dream. Earlier in Genesis, Abraham meets God in a dream. In Matthew, an angel appears to Joseph in a dream to encourage him to stay with Mary. God chooses to appear when someone is in need of direction or encouragement.
Let’s back up to see why Jacob is in this particular place anyway. Isaac married Rebekah, who gave birth to twins. They fought in the womb, and the second baby—Jacob—grabbed the heel of the first one, Esau. From the moment of their births, Jacob and Esau were competitors for their parents’ love. Esau was favored by Isaac while Jacob was favored by Rebekah.
In the first major event, Esau trades away his birthright for a bowl of lentil stew. As the elder son, he should have received a double share of the inheritance, but Jacob tricks him out of it. Later, Jacob dresses like Esau and deceives his father, stealing Isaac’s blessing that should rightfully have gone to Esau.
Honestly, Jacob comes off as almost an anti-hero. There is very little that he does “correctly.” He is a striver and a deceiver, and now because of it, he’s on the run. Esau is angry over losing his birthright and his father’s blessing, and is angling to kill Jacob. It seems that all of Jacob’s deception will come to naught.
So Jacob, fearing for his life, stops for the night near a town called Luz. He puts a stone by his head and goes to sleep. Then the most amazing dream! This is the first apocalypse in the Bible, that is, a revelation, when the veil that separates the seen from the unseen is lifted. In his dream, he sees the true reality, God’s presence in that place along with the host of heaven ascending and descending as they serve God’s purposes in the world. In the dream, he is reminded of the covenant that God once made with Abraham, and through him to Isaac, and now to Jacob. Indeed, despite Ishmael’s birth preceding Isaac, and despite Esau’s birth preceding Jacob, and despite Jacob’s questionable character that included tricking his elder brother and his father, Jacob has inherited the promise that God once made to Abraham: to make him a father of a nation as plentiful as the stars in the sky or the dust of the earth.
Wow! What a dream! Jacob awakes with the knowledge that he has truly encountered the Lord, the God of his father Isaac and his father Abraham, the God of all Creation who will fulfill the covenant through him.
Jacob has this dream, this vision, in a particular place. And so, he believes that the place is special. He renames it Bethel and sets up the stone by his head as a monument to his special encounter. Bethel was already a special place due to Abraham’s actions there, and later it would become the primary place of worship during the era of the judges, and again in the era of the divided monarchy.
In antiquity, the basic belief was that a god—any god—lived in a particular place. In Jacob’s time, they did not yet conceive of a god who could be in many places at the same time, or as I believe, a god who could be everywhere in all things at all times. So this vision and the Lord’s words to him were necessary to convince Jacob that God would travel with him to Haran and back again.
Why then? God draws near to the brokenhearted. Mystical encounters are often associated with a particular state of mind. I had one—a feeling rather than a vision—when Rhonda was fighting her facial pain and I felt like my life was coming apart. I have a friend who had a clear vision when he was facing some serious life challenges. Julian of Norwich had her visions when she was near death due to illness. This isn’t always the case, but often, something happens when you are suffering to the point of despair. When you feel like you have lost everything else, you become more aware of God’s presence in your troubles. Jacob thought that he had lost everything and feared for his life, and so he was more open to God.
He was also in a particular place. Nowhere is Bethel really described, but presumably it was a “thin place.” That’s a term from Celtic spirituality. The Celts believed that there were certain places where the veil that separates this world from the spirit world was thinner. I read a story by Carrie Knowles about such a place in Brittany, France. She said:
Our family was … looking for a picnic spot. When we pulled into the parking lot of a state park, a sign at the trailhead announced that we had entered a sacred Druid Forest and were welcome to hike and picnic if we did so in silence.
After a short discussion, we all agreed to give it a try.
The trail was narrow and the woods on either side of the trail were dense with vegetation; we hiked single file for about 20 minutes along the shaded trail, until we crested a hill and found ourselves in a large sun-drenched clearing where there wasn’t a tree or bush in sight. In the middle of the clearing was a circular outcropping of large flat rocks.
We sat on the rocks and ate in silence.
On returning to our car, we felt as though we had, for that moment on those rocks, entered a sacred space. It was a place and a moment I don’t think I will ever forget.
There are many “thin places” where it is easier to sense God’s presence. Iona, an island off Scotland, is a famous one. Another is Lourdes, the site where a girl had visions of the Virgin Mary, which is now a pilgrimage site. I have heard that St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome is one, and that there are many in the Holy Land.
But you don’t have to go that far to find a special place, a holy place. At the end of the month, I’m going to the White House Jesuit Retreat House in St. Louis for a three-day silent retreat. That, to me, is a thin place. Partly, it’s because of the location and fantastic facilities, including a replica of the grotto from Lourdes. Partly, it’s because of the silence and separation from the noise of modern society, complemented by a prevailing attitude of prayer and worship. I am intentionally seeking God’s presence, and I’m in the company of others on the same search, so it’s easier to sense it.
Another thin place, for me, is where I go elk hunting each fall. One time, I was walking along a hillside in the woods, east of where I was planning to spend the late afternoon. In the middle of the day, I move slowly and quietly, kind of like a walking meditation, as I look for tracks and sign and generally take in my surroundings. Suddenly, a herd of elk came through the forest. They were probably 30 or 40 yards down the hill from me. They moved in quickly, then slowed down to a walk. There were maybe as many as 20 elk, both cows and calves—no bulls. As they walked, they would call to each other, just little “mew” sounds, to stay together, chit-chat. It was amazing.
That was a thin place. That was a special place and time when I had an encounter with something transcendent. But as soon as it began, it was over. The herd moved more quickly than I did, and it was gone. I can go back to that exact spot again, but I’ll never have the same experience.
We cannot stay on the mountaintop. Jacob could not stay at Bethel. Those of us with work and families and other commitments can go visit Iona or White House or another retreat center or go on a pilgrimage, but eventually, we must return to our normal lives. So, what’s the point?
Jacob was on the run, and he had a vision. God told him not only that God was with him right then, but also that God would accompany him wherever he went and would bring Jacob back to the Promised Land, where God would fulfill the covenant. Jacob was in dire straits and needed that assurance to carry on.
Similarly, I had my God experience when I was suffering. I had despaired of ever finding an answer to Rhonda’s facial pain, and I feared what our future would be. In the midst of that suffering, I had an overwhelming sense that everything was going to be OK. That sense of comfort, of God’s ultimate providence, was what I needed to carry on that day and for the days, weeks, months, years, and decades to come.
But not all visions or God moments come when we’re in despair. Thomas Merton, a Trappist monk, had a mystical vision in 1958. He wrote this about it:
In Louisville, at the corner of Fourth and Walnut, in the center of the shopping district, I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that I loved all those people, that they were mine and I theirs, that we could not be alien to one another even though we were total strangers. It was like waking from a dream of separateness, of spurious self-isolation in a special world, the world of renunciation and supposed holiness… This sense of liberation from an illusory difference was such a relief and such a joy to me that I almost laughed out loud… I have the immense joy of being man, a member of a race in which God Himself became incarnate. As if the sorrows and stupidities of the human condition could overwhelm me, now I realize what we all are. And if only everybody could realize this! But it cannot be explained. There is no way of telling people that they are all walking around shining like the sun.
It cannot be explained, only experienced. This experience was pivotal in Merton’s growth. He was already a best-selling author of a book on contemplative spirituality, but his earlier epiphanies, in foreign locales and on pilgrimage, had not dislodged his connection to old theological understandings. Instead, they had spurred him to seek escape from this world, into God’s more perfect world. After his mystical encounter in an ordinary place, Merton became one of the great mystics of history, listed beside Gregory of Nyssa, John of the Cross, and the anonymous author of Cloud of Unknowing. After the Louisville vision, Merton embraced the immanence of God—that is, God is here, right here among us and within us. God is transcendent, yes—greater than anything we can imagine—but we do not have to go anywhere or do anything special to find God. All we need is awareness, for God is close at hand. The veil may seem thinner in some places, or when your heart has been broken open, but it is just a veil, not an impenetrable wall.
These visions, these encounters, are gifts from God who knows what we need. Merton needed an expanded vision of God’s presence. I needed comfort and strength to endure Rhonda’s search for healing. Jacob needed assurance that he hadn’t completely ruined his chance to inherit the covenant God had made with his father and grandfather.
But mystical encounters are brief. The lessons may last a lifetime, but the encounters themselves are often just a few moments. And then, we must return to life. Like Jacob, we must continue our journey and follow God’s calling. We all must honor the claim God has on our lives, seeking always to do God’s will. Yet experiences like Jacob had are proof that God is always close at hand. God is in all things, just waiting for our awareness. Go forth now with the confidence that just like Jacob, God will be with you, wherever you go and whatever you do. Amen.
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