The Deceiver Deceived: Genesis 29:15-30

Laban said to him, "Just because you are a relative of mine, should you work for me for nothing? Tell me what your wages should be."

Jacob had arrived at his uncle Laban's house. He had met Rachel at the well—beautiful Rachel, the younger daughter—and had wept and kissed her before even introducing himself. Love at first sight had struck the schemer.

Now Laban was a man whose native tongue was also deception. He would prove a match for his nephew.

Now Laban had two daughters; the name of the older was Leah, and the name of the younger was Rachel. Leah had weak eyes, but Rachel had a lovely figure and was beautiful.

Two daughters. Leah with weak eyes—perhaps tender, perhaps lacking luster—and Rachel, who was stunning. Jacob had eyes only for Rachel.

Jacob was in love with Rachel and said, "I'll work for you seven years in return for your younger daughter Rachel."

Seven years. An enormous bride price, paid in labor. Jacob had nothing else to offer—he had fled with only his staff—so he offered time.

Laban said, "It's better that I give her to you than to some other man. Stay here with me."

Notice what Laban did not say. He did not say, "I will give you Rachel." He said, "It's better that I give her to you." The pronoun was ambiguous. The trap was being set.

So Jacob served seven years to get Rachel, but they seemed like only a few days to him because of his love for her.

Seven years passed like days. Love made the time weightless. The man who had deceived his father was now working honestly, faithfully, patiently—all for a woman.

Then Jacob said to Laban, "Give me my wife. My time is completed, and I want to make love to her."

The seven years were up. Jacob wanted his bride.

So Laban brought together all the people of the place and gave a feast.

A wedding feast. Celebration. Wine flowing. The community gathered.

But when evening came, he took his daughter Leah and brought her to Jacob, and Jacob made love to her.

Leah. Not Rachel. In the darkness of the wedding tent, veiled and silent, the wrong daughter was given. The man who had disguised himself as his brother was now deceived by a disguised bride.

And Laban gave his servant Zilpah to his daughter as her attendant.

When morning came, there was Leah!

Morning light. The veil removed. And Jacob found himself staring at the sister he had not chosen.

So Jacob said to Laban, "What is this you have done to me? I served you for Rachel, didn't I? Why have you deceived me?"

The deceiver cried foul. The man who had dressed in goatskins and lied to his blind father now complained about trickery.

Laban replied, "It is not our custom here to give the younger daughter in marriage before the older one."

The older before the younger. The excuse cut deep. Jacob had stolen his older brother's blessing; now the older sister had stolen his intended bride. The poetic justice was brutal.

"Finish this daughter's bridal week; then we will give you the younger one also, in return for another seven years of work."

Fourteen years total. Another seven years added to the price of love.

And Jacob did so. He finished the week with Leah, and then Laban gave him his daughter Rachel to be his wife.

Two wives, sisters, rivals. One loved, one unloved. The family dysfunction would multiply across generations.

Laban gave his servant Bilhah to his daughter Rachel as her attendant.

Jacob made love to Rachel also, and his love for Rachel was greater than his love for Leah. And he worked for Laban another seven years.

Greater love for Rachel. Leah knew it. Everyone knew it. The marriage that began in deception would continue in jealousy.

The supplanter had been supplanted. The deceiver had tasted his own medicine. Jacob's exile had become his education—twenty years of learning what it felt like to be on the other side of treachery.