Son of My Sorrow, Son of His Right Hand Text: Genesis 35:16-21
Introduction: The Hard Providence of Promise
The Christian life is a series of journeys, and every leg of the journey is marked by the sovereign providence of God. We are a people on the move, pilgrims heading from the city of destruction to the celestial city. And as we see in the life of Jacob, this pilgrimage is never a straight line, and it is never without sorrow. God had just met with Jacob again at Bethel, reaffirmed his new name, Israel, and reiterated the covenant promises given to Abraham and Isaac. The blessing was palpable: a nation and a company of nations would come from him, and kings would come from his own body. This is high gospel privilege. And what is the very next thing that happens on the road from Bethel? A severe labor, a bitter death, and a sorrowful birth.
This is a hard lesson, but it is a necessary one. God's promises do not exempt us from the pains of this fallen world; rather, they are the very things that carry us through them. We live in a sentimental age that wants a Christianity without tears, a crown without a cross, and a birth without labor pains. But the Bible will not have it. The path of promise is paved with hard providences. The curse of Genesis 3, pain in childbearing and death returning us to the dust, is on full display here in the life of God's chosen patriarch. But we must see that even here, in this raw moment of grief on the road to Bethlehem, God is weaving His purposes together. He is building His nation. He is preparing the way for the ultimate King who would also be born in Bethlehem, a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief.
This passage confronts us with the collision of sorrow and sovereignty. We see a mother's dying grief, and a father's covenantal authority. We see a name given in pain, and a name given in faith. And in this clash of two names, we see the very nature of the gospel. We are all born sons of sorrow, but in Christ, by the decree of the Father, we are made sons of the right hand.
The Text
Then they journeyed from Bethel; and there was still some distance to go to Ephrath, and Rachel gave birth, and she suffered severely in her labor.
Now it happened that when she was in severe labor the midwife said to her, "Do not fear, for now you have another son."
Now it happened as her soul was departing (for she died), that she named him Ben-oni; but his father called him Benjamin.
So Rachel died and was buried on the way to Ephrath (that is, Bethlehem).
And Jacob set up a pillar over her grave; that is the pillar of Rachel’s grave to this day.
Then Israel journeyed on and pitched his tent beyond the tower of Eder.
(Genesis 35:16-21 LSB)
The Pain of Fulfillment (v. 16-17)
We begin with the journey and the labor:
"Then they journeyed from Bethel; and there was still some distance to go to Ephrath, and Rachel gave birth, and she suffered severely in her labor. Now it happened that when she was in severe labor the midwife said to her, 'Do not fear, for now you have another son.'" (Genesis 35:16-17)
Jacob and his household are on the move, in obedience to God. They are heading south from Bethel, back toward the land of his father Isaac. And on this road, Rachel, Jacob's beloved wife, goes into labor. We must remember Rachel's history. For years she was barren, and it was a source of deep anguish to her. She once cried out to Jacob, "Give me children, or else I die!" (Genesis 30:1). God eventually opened her womb and gave her Joseph. Now, God is giving her what she had so desperately wanted, another son. The midwife's words are meant to be a comfort: "Do not fear, for now you have another son." Your prayer has been answered. Your longing has been fulfilled.
But the fulfillment comes at the highest possible cost. She suffered "severely," the text says. The Hebrew is emphatic; this was a hard, violent labor. This is the curse of Genesis 3 in its full flower. The joy of childbirth is mingled with the agony of the fall. God's good gifts in this life are often delivered to our door in boxes that are heavy with sorrow. The midwife sees a son; Rachel sees the end of her life. The blessing and the curse arrive together. This is the tension of living as a saint in a fallen world. We rejoice in the goodness of God, but we do so with groans, waiting for the final redemption of our bodies (Romans 8:23).
A Tale of Two Names (v. 18)
Here we come to the heart of the passage, the conflict of naming.
"Now it happened as her soul was departing (for she died), that she named him Ben-oni; but his father called him Benjamin." (Genesis 35:18 LSB)
With her last breath, Rachel exercises a mother's prerogative. She names the child, and she names him out of her experience. "Ben-oni" means "son of my sorrow." This is a true name. This child's birth was the cause of her death. His life came directly from her loss. Her naming is an act of pure, raw, maternal grief. It is an honest assessment of the circumstances from the perspective of a dying woman. This child will forever be, to her, the son of her sorrow.
But the story does not end there. Jacob, the patriarch, the head of the covenant household, intervenes. "But his father called him Benjamin." Jacob renames the boy. This is not an act of callous disregard for Rachel's pain. Jacob loved Rachel dearly, and we see his grief in the way he marks her grave. Rather, this is an act of patriarchal, covenantal authority. The father has the right and the responsibility to define the identity of his children. Naming is an exercise of dominion. God named the Day and the Night. Adam named the animals. And here, Jacob names his son.
And what a name he gives him. "Benjamin" means "son of my right hand." The right hand in Scripture is the place of power, authority, and blessing. To be at the right hand is to be the favored one, the strong one. Jacob takes the occasion of his deepest sorrow and re-frames it through the lens of faith in God's promise. He does not deny the sorrow, but he refuses to let the sorrow have the last word. He looks at this child not just as a reminder of what he has lost, but as a sign of God's continuing covenant faithfulness. This boy is the twelfth son, completing the foundation of the tribes of Israel. He is not a son of sorrow; he is a son of strength and promise. Jacob is speaking prophetically, looking to the future God has promised, not just the pain of the present.
A Grave on the Way to Bethlehem (v. 19-21)
The aftermath is stark and poignant.
"So Rachel died and was buried on the way to Ephrath (that is, Bethlehem). And Jacob set up a pillar over her grave; that is the pillar of Rachel’s grave to this day. Then Israel journeyed on and pitched his tent beyond the tower of Eder." (Genesis 35:19-21 LSB)
Rachel, who longed for children lest she die, dies in the act of bearing a child. She is buried not in the family tomb at Machpelah, but right there, on the side of the road. This roadside grave becomes a landmark of sorrow in Israel's history. Centuries later, the prophet Jeremiah will invoke this very image to describe the grief of exile: "A voice is heard in Ramah, lamentation and bitter weeping. Rachel is weeping for her children; she refuses to be comforted for her children, because they are no more" (Jeremiah 31:15). Matthew, in turn, applies this to Herod's slaughter of the innocents in Bethlehem, the very place where Rachel was buried (Matthew 2:18).
Jacob sets up a pillar, a memorial. It is an act of love and remembrance, but it is also a testimony. It marks a place of great pain, but it is a pain that occurred within the boundaries of God's covenant journey. And notice what Jacob, now called Israel, does next. He journeys on. He does not set up a permanent camp by the grave. He grieves, he marks the place, and then he continues the pilgrimage God has set before him. He has a new son, a promise to carry, and a destination to reach. The sorrows of this life are real, and we must not be stoic about them. We are to weep with those who weep. But our sorrows must not be ultimate. They are graves on the side of the road we are traveling, not our final destination.
The Gospel of Two Names
This story is our story. By our first birth, our natural birth into Adam's race, we are all Ben-oni. We are sons and daughters of sorrow. We are born in sin, under the curse of death. Our very life is born out of the sorrow of the fall. We are, by nature, children of wrath (Ephesians 2:3). Our first identity is defined by sorrow, sin, and death.
But God the Father, the great patriarch, has intervened. He has looked upon us in our sorrowful state and has given us a new name. Through the life, death, and resurrection of His only Son, He has renamed us. He has called us Benjamin, sons of His right hand. "But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God" (John 1:12).
How did this happen? It happened through a severe labor and a sorrowful death on the way to the new Jerusalem. Jesus Christ, on the cross, became the ultimate Ben-oni. He was the man of sorrows, who bore our griefs and carried our sorrows (Isaiah 53:4). His soul departed from Him as He died, bearing the full weight of our sin. But through His death, we are born anew. And God the Father raised Him from the dead and seated Him at His own right hand (Ephesians 1:20), the ultimate place of power and authority. He is the ultimate Benjamin.
And because we are united to Him by faith, we are seated there with Him (Ephesians 2:6). Our identity is no longer "son of my sorrow." Our identity is now "son of His right hand." The Father has spoken. He has exercised His covenantal authority. He has looked at our grief-stricken condition and has spoken a word of faith, power, and promise over us. He has called us by a new name. Our past may be full of sorrow, but our future is defined by His strength. We are no longer Ben-oni; we are Benjamin. And so, like our father Israel, we are to mark our sorrows, bury our dead, and then journey on, beyond the tower of Eder, toward the city that has foundations, whose builder and maker is God.