I’m struck this morning by the way death can be an occasion in which people experience a sort of other worldly shalom. This sentiment doesn’t intend to make light of death in any way, but to pause and reflect on a strange beauty. In some experiences of death, God draws near to the brokenhearted, and people otherwise caught up in the jagged edges of this broken world experience his presence in such extraordinary ways that words fail.

Two verses in Genesis brought this thought to mind. If I were to mention “Isaac and Ishmael” or “Jacob and Esau,” no doubt you would immediately associate the names with strife and contention. Nevertheless, when Abraham died, Genesis 25:9 says,

Isaac and Ishmael his sons buried him in the cave of Machpelah …

On the occasion of Isaac’s death, Genesis 35:29 says,

And Isaac breathed his last, and he died and was gathered to his people, old and full of days. And his sons Esau and Jacob buried him.

The portrait of brotherhood develops across the book of Genesis, as God begins an act of new creation starting with Abram in Genesis 12. Leading up to Genesis 12, peoples’ choices quickly turned to violence — Cain murdered his brother Abel (Genesis 4). By the end of the book, however, Abraham’s family, despite its flaws, includes a remarkable portrait of brotherhood. Joseph grows from being a brotherly brat to one who is a forgiving, gracious savior and provider (Genesis 50). The portrait of brotherhood develops and grows in the intervening chapters, between Genesis 4 and 50, and the scenes of death above play a part.

Both pairs of brothers came together to bury their father. Perhaps my understanding of these funeral scenes is shaped too much by my own experience. If I were to count on one hand the times in my life when I have experienced the Lord’s presence most extraordinarily, two of those occasions would be occasions of death. In moments of death, when God draws near to the brokenhearted, words fail, but the most important things come into focus. Often this experience of edenic shalom, couched like a campfire in sin-black darkness, is expressed with tears and joy unspeakable and full of glory.

The way God draws near to his people in times of death — I think this has something to do with how Jacob and Esau could come together to bury their father. This portrait of Jacob and Esau is the last one we see of them until they go their separate ways in in Genesis 36, and then we start the Joseph story in 37.

Whatever we make of the conflict that spiraled down throughout Jacob and Esau’s descendants, Jacob and Esau buried their father together. I think it makes sense to imagine that these moment of brotherly reunion were occasioned by God’s Spirit. This fits the pattern of steadily improving brotherhood that rises from Genesis 12 forward.