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Sermon - August 10th, 2008
Jacob’s Wrestlings
Rev. Gwen Drake
Scripture: Genesis 32:22-31
Prayer of Preparation: We give thanks O God, of sacred stories, for the witness of the holy scriptures. Through it, you nurture our imaginations, touch our feelings, increase our awareness, and challenge our assumptions. May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O God, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.
We have been following the life of a conniving, cheating character of the Hebrew Scriptures named Jacob. Today is the culmination of all his wrestling, for Jacob had been wrestling all his life. Even in the womb, Jacob wrestled with his twin brother, trying to get out into the world first. Jacob lost that wrestling match, but he won in the end by poaching Esau’s first born rights. However, this sent Jacob on the run from Esau, who vowed to kill him.
When Jacob arrived in Haran, he almost met his match. His uncle Laban tricked Jacob into working for him for 14 years, all for the love of a woman. After 20 years, Jacob grew tired of the wrestlings that went on between him and Laban and set off to return to the land of his birth. The relationship between him and his in-laws was getting tense and God said it was time for Jacob to go home. But the question in the back of his mind was, would Esau receive him graciously or grudgingly or, just kill him outright?
Jacob sent scouts out ahead of him to tell Esau that he had been living as an alien with Laban, that he had oxen, donkeys, flocks, slaves, and he was seeking to find Esau’s favor. The scouts returned with the report that Esau was approaching with 400 men. Not good news. Jacob was concerned. More than concerned…he was scared. He divided his company into half, so while Esau’s army was destroying the first half, the second half could escape. And then he prayed to God, a prayer that went something like this: “O God of my father Abraham and God of my father Isaac, O Lord who said to me, return home and I will do you good. Almighty, wonderful, fabulous God, I am, oh, so not worthy of ALL the steadfast love and ALL the faithfulness that you have shown me, your humble servant. Deliver me from the hand of my brother. Deliver me, I am afraid for my life, and not only me, but also, the lives of the mothers of your children.”
That was all he prayed, there was no bargaining, no “ifs” in him about who his God was. “Deliver me, please!” was all he asked. Perhaps Jacob had changed, but he could not imagine that Esau had, and he feared the brother whom he had robbed not once but twice. And 20 years later, he attempted an effort to repay the debt and grease his own homecoming by sending hundreds of animals ahead of him—great flocks of sheep and goats, camels, cattle, and donkeys, moving across the countryside toward Esau like the living shadows of clouds. Then Jacob moved the women and children to the other side of the river, and Jacob prepared to spend a restless night alone. No sooner than he had caught his breath, there was someone on his back. An ish, the Hebrew says, a man, although there is some doubt about that. The Midrash calls him an angel. Jacob seemed to think it was God who attacked him.
Whoever it was, he was strong. Jacob was no weakling, tossing stones from wells, placing stones as pillars; but in this ish, this angel, this well-muscled God, he had found his rival. There was no talking at first, just the physical locking of their bodies, wrestling in the dark, fighting by feel, not by sight, until the dawn began to break. Then the stranger found a new burst of strength, dropped his weight and Jacob’s hip cracked, but Jacob still would not let go. The stranger spoke for the first time. Physical strength had failed to decide this contest; it was time to try words.
“Let me go,” he said to Jacob, “for the day is breaking.” According to the Midrash, the angel must go because he needed to sing in the morning choir before God’s throne, but Jacob refused. He was hanging onto to someone who smelled like heaven. So Jacob did what Jacob did best, struck up a deal. “I will not let you go,” he said, “unless you bless me.”
“What is your name?” the stranger asked. If you listen hard, you will hear the echo of another question, another time when someone else who could barely see asked Jacob to identify himself. Back then, Jacob told his blind father, “I am Esau.” Twenty years and a night of wrestling had changed him. “I am Jacob,” he answered, and the name fell away from him. He was no longer Jacob, the supplanter. He was Israel, the survivor, the striver with God.
The stranger would not tell Jacob his name, but he delivered the blessing. And the wrestling was over. The day broke and Jacob limped toward his reunion with Esau, bowing to the ground seven times, until he came near to his brother. Esau RAN to Jacob, embraced him, fell on Jacob’s neck and kissed him and they both wept. And Jacob saw the face of God, this time in Esau’s face, for the second time in one day. His exile was over. He was home.
Barbara Brown Taylor imagines what it was like when Jacob told this story to his grandchildren. She wrote:
Who was it, really?
I’m not sure.
Where did he go?
I don’t know.
Will he come back?
I hope so. What am I saying? I doubt it. I don’t know.
Why didn’t you run when you got the chance?
Because it was the most alive I had ever been in my life. Because I had never seen anything like the shining in that face and I could not bear to let it go. I thougt maybe if he blessed me we would be related somehow. I thought the blessing might keep me company after he was gone.
What about your leg? Didn’t it hurt?
Sure it hurt. It still hurts, but it goes with the blessing. They are a matched pair. Every time I tilt to the right and feel that hot pinch in my thigh, I remember my name. Israel. The one who strives with God.
I am an internal wrestler. The story of Jacob wrestling with whoever he was wrestling with is my story. Nothing comes easy for me. Yet, I always think it should. Isn’t that part of the rules of all this God stuff and religion? Haven’t you heard those rules too? They go something like this: be a good person and God will be good to you; flee bad company and rise above adversity; and for God’s sake, if you have wild dreams in the middle of the night, you better keep them to yourself.
It’s not that I have heard those rules preached, but it’s this underlying assumption I have about religion. Maybe it is because we human beings have such an enormous need to control the chaos of life on earth. I don’t hear much about God causing the chaos, or having a role in it. I have heard more about how it is God’s job to make the chaos stop. God is suppose to restore order and help everyone feel better. Isn’t that how you know that God is present? When danger has been avoided? When your heart stops pounding and you can breathe normally again? Or when you are not afraid anymore?
It is a lovely thought, but, you know what, our holy scriptures do not back that idea of God up. In the Bible, much of God’s best work takes place in total chaos, with people scared half to death.
I wrestle with God a lot. I wrestled with God calling me into the ministry. I have this belief that if I pray hard enough, use the right formula, find just the right words, then I could lead this church to prosperity and success, the money would be pouring in and people, young people would be pounding the doors to be let in.
I wrestle with God. Because what I really want is to be gently and gradually saved, please, so that I can see where I am going and say, “Yes, this is wonderful. I can handle this.” Isn’t this a reasonable longing? No one in their right mind asks to be attacked, frightened, or wounded. And yet that is how it comes sometimes, the presence of God, the blessing of God. Sometimes it comes in the middle of the night, in our desperate wrestlings, and leaving us to limp into the next day.
God’s business with us is not about granting us our wishes. God is in the business of raising the dead. And being raised from the dead is often a painful, shocking, gasping for air experience. It’s okay to let God know what we want, as long as we don’t mistake our wish list for the covenant. The covenant has no conditions. The covenant is no deal. The covenant is God’s promise to be our God, and the promise that we shall be God’s people—not by consent, but by creation. The covenant describes for us the shape of reality, which is relationship, and relationships are messy and chaotic and take facing into the mystery instead of away from it. It also means giving up our illusion, yes, our illusion of control.
I wrestle because I have been fooled into thinking that the struggle to control is what life is all about. It is not. Life is chaos, life is relationship, life is uncertain, life is mysterious. It’s not about making deals with God. It is not about comfort and safety.
God gave Jacob, the wrestler, everything necessary for his life, which turned out to be the covenant, the God-be-with-us part. Within that wounded, blessed relationship, Jacob saw the face of God and lived to tell the tale. What is comfort and safety compared to that?
Of course, this is all just talk until you have got a stranger on your back, smelling of heaven trying to get your attention. When it happens, don’t let anyone tell you something is wrong. Don’t let anyone tell you that if it was really God it would not be so scary and it certainly would not hurt. Hang on with everything you’ve got, even if it hurts. Insist on a blessing. Don’t let go until you receive it. Then thank God for your life, limp and all, and limp your way home.
Amen.