Sacred Heirlooms: Jacob, Esau, and Us

I received two of my grandma’s china tea sets at my bridal shower—but the story started long before that moment.

My great-grandma wasn’t wealthy. She didn’t have fine things in the way the world measures them. But what she did have were department stores. When they knocked their bone china sets down on clearance, Great Grandma Welch would collect the leftover pieces no one else wanted. Over time, she gathered this beautifully mismatched collection—nothing uniform, nothing perfect. When the church ladies came over for their card games, she would serve tea in cups from her hodgepodge collection. Because as my grandma used to say, “Tea just tastes better in bone china.”

As the years went on, my grandma acquired teacups that slowly blended into my great-grandma’s collection. What started as separate sets became something shared—layered with memory, conversation, and laughter.

After they both passed, that collection didn’t disappear. It was divided with intention. Each of my great-grandma’s grandchildren would receive two teacups when they got married—a small, fragile piece of something much bigger.

My mom held onto two sets just for me.

So when I was handed mine at my bridal shower, I wasn’t just receiving dishes. I was stepping into a story.

I had seen my mom’s china displayed in a case growing up—carefully arranged, honored, visible. And now I was part of that same tradition. I was invited into something delicate, meaningful, and entirely unearned. Just given.

When I look back on it, a question pops up that I can’t shake:

What do you do with something valuable that you didn’t earn?

An inheritance, at its core, is something passed down. Not achieved. Not deserved. Just received.

We usually think of inheritance in physical terms: money, property, family keepsakes. But there’s another kind that often goes unnoticed—spiritual inheritance.

Some of us were raised in homes where faith was present. We heard Scripture, watched prayers being prayed, sat in pews before we could fully understand what any of it meant. We went to Sunday School, received our First Communion, and learned when to stand, kneel, and say, “Amen.” Like Timothy, whose faith was nurtured through generations (2 Timothy 1:5), many of us have been handed something sacred long before we knew its value.

Even in Genesis, we see Abraham intentionally passing down what he had to Isaac (Genesis 25:5-6). There was a recognition that what he carried mattered—and it was worth entrusting to the next generation.

But here’s the truth we don’t always say out loud:

Just because something is given doesn’t mean it’s valued.

Not everyone treats an inheritance the same way. And spiritually, we tend to fall into one of three patterns.

1) Useless/Easily Given Away

Esau is the clearest picture of this.

In ancient Israelite culture, firstborn sons were promised an abundant inheritance. The blessings of inherited land and family lineage were signs of the covenant promises, and they symbolized a place in God’s chosen nation.

Esau was the firstborn son of Isaac and Rebekah. According to tradition, he was set to receive the “double” inheritance over his twin brother, Jacob.

In Genesis 25:29-34, Esau comes in from working in the field, exhausted and hungry. Jacob is cooking stew, and in a moment that feels almost unbelievable, Esau trades his birthright—his inheritance—for a single meal.

“Look, I am about to die,” Esau said. “What good is the birthright to me?”

But Jacob said, “Swear to me first.” So he swore an oath to him, selling his birthright to Jacob.

Then Jacob gave Esau some bread some lentil stew. He ate and drank, and then got up and left.

So Esau despised his birthright.

Genesis 25:32-34

Esau saw his inheritance as useless, so something as basic as hunger spoke louder than legacy.

It sounds extreme until you look closer at your own life.

How often do we trade what’s eternal for what’s immediate? Choosing comfort over obedience. Craving over calling. Approval over truth. What feels good now over what matters most.

It would be like taking my grandma’s china tea set and selling it at a rummage sale for a few quick dollars. It has nothing to do with the actual value of the set, but the fact that I failed to recognize it.

2) Valuable, but Stored Away

Then there’s another approach. You know the china is valuable, so you carefully pack it up and place it in a box. It’s safe. Protected. But also…unused.

For many, this is what faith looks like.

It belongs to your parents or your grandparents. It’s part of your story, technically. You acknowledge it, maybe even respect it—you definitely go to church on Christmas and Easter. But it doesn’t shape your daily life. It’s not actually yours.

Do not merely listen to the word. . .Do what it says.

James 1:22

A faith that stays boxed up may be preserved, but it’s not alive in you.

3) Valuable, Displayed, and Made Personal

Then there’s the third way.

You take the china out. You find a place for it. Maybe you even get a case to display it—not to hide it away, but to honor it. It becomes part of your home, your rhythm, your life.

This is what happens when faith becomes personal.

Jacob, despite his flaws, recognized the worth of what was available to him. All across Genesis 25-27, we see a man who pursued the birthright. His methods weren’t perfect (ahem…weird fur suit to trick his blind dad…), but his desire was clear: he wanted what he knew carried eternal significance.

Faith shifts when it becomes something you don’t just inherit, but something you choose. Not just something acknowledged, but something activated.

These commandments that I give you today are to be on your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up.

Deuteronomy 6:6-7

Esau had access to something sacred and dismissed it.

Jacob had access to the same thing and pursued it.

Go back to Genesis 25:34 for a minute. Esau “despised his birthright.” That word matters. He didn’t just neglect it, forgetting to dust it off every now and then. He treated it as insignificant.

The difference between these two brothers wasn’t opportunity. It was value.

This is where it lands for us:

Having an inheritance isn’t enough—what you do with it is what matters.

Faith isn’t just a family tradition, showing up to church, or knowing the right answers. It’s chosen, lived, and visible.

Be honest, where has your faith been?

Have there been seasons where you’ve traded it for something easier?

Moments where it’s been tucked away—still there, but untouched?

Or times when you’ve brought it forward, made it your own, and allowed it to shape how you live?

Have you forgotten its value?

Most of us don’t stay in one place forever. We drift. We return. We rediscover.

And God meets us in every one of those places.

My grandma’s china tea set was never meant to stay wrapped in paper, hidden in a box. It was made to be seen. To be used. To be part of something.

And that’s why it’s displayed on my bookshelf. Out for anyone walking by to see.

An inheritance only matters if it’s embraced. The faith that was given to you deserves more than a shelf. It deserves a life.

Lord, thank You for what has been passed down to me—the seeds of faith, the truth of Your Word, the people who showed me who You are before I fully understood. Forgive me for the moments I’ve treated it lightly. For the times I’ve chosen what’s easy over what’s eternal. Give me a heart that recognizes the value of what You’ve given. Help me not just to carry it, but to live it. Teach me how to make my faith personal, active, and visible in my everyday life. Give me courage to walk it out fully and sincerely. Amen.