Yesterday’s sermon passage gave us two vastly different pictures of what it looks like to walk with God.

In Genesis 33, we saw grace in full bloom. Jacob limps toward his estranged brother, bowing low, expecting conflict—and instead receives an embrace. Esau, who once vowed revenge, now weeps over his brother’s neck. It’s a surprising reversal, the kind that only God’s providence and mercy can produce. Jacob responds with humility, calling it the face of God. Grace prevailed. Reconciliation won the day.

But then came Genesis 34.

The contrast is jarring. Just after grace had touched Jacob’s life, grief follows hard on its heels. His daughter Dinah is violated. His silence is deafening. His sons respond not with justice but with revenge. The chapter closes not with healing, but with bloodshed and bitterness.

What are we to make of this?

Genesis 34 is a chapter with no heroes. It’s a mirror of our own brokenness. And it reminds us of this sobering truth: even in a covenant family—chosen, blessed, and led by God—sin runs deep. Compromise invites danger. Passivity allows evil to grow. And our attempts to make things right, when done in the flesh, only make things worse.

But here’s the hope: God doesn’t abandon this messy, flawed family. He doesn’t withdraw His promises. He remains faithful. Even when Jacob fails to lead, even when his sons take justice into their own hands, even when grief overshadows grace—God is still writing His redemptive story.

This is good news for us.

Because we, too, live in the tension between grace and grief. We rejoice in God’s mercy one day, and stumble in sin the next. We long for justice, but often respond with self-righteous anger or silence. We carry wounds—some self-inflicted, some caused by others—and we wonder where God is in the mess.

But like Jacob, we are not defined by our worst failures. We are defined by the God who covenants with us, carries us, and calls us His own.

So as we reflect on this passage, let it lead us to both humility and hope.

And let it move us to love—more and more.

Love that listens instead of lashing out.

Love that protects the vulnerable.

Love that leads with wisdom instead of silence.

Love that forgives, not because the wound is small, but because Christ has forgiven us.

May the grace that met Jacob at the face of Esau meet us today in our pain, our fear, and our failures—and lead us forward in faithful, growing love.