A Surprising Family of Faith: Jacob, the Wrestler
Genesis 32:22-32
July 14, 2019
Matt Goodale
The story is told of a zoo that was well-renowned for their great collection of different animals. One day the gorilla died, and to keep up the appearance of a full range of animals, the zookeeper hired a man to wear a gorilla suit and fill in for the dead animal. It was his first day on the job, and the man didn’t know how to act like a gorilla very well. As he tried to move convincingly, he got too close to the wall of the enclosure, tripped and fell into the lion exhibit. He began to scream, convince his life was over…until the lion spoke to him: “Be quiet, or you’re going to get us both fired.”
Things usually don’t work out for us when we pretend to be something we’re not. Sometimes we pretend to be competent in tasks we are really not gifted for—ask me to paint sometime and I’ll show you what I mean. Sometimes we pretend to know what someone else is talking about at that awkward dinner party, as we just smile and nod while our conversation partner carries on with names, places and topics we’ve never heard of. Sometimes we pretend that our lives are a little more put together than they actually are, for fear of what others might think if they found out how messy it is. Sometimes we pretend to be the type of Christian or have the type of faith that we think others expect us to have.
Perhaps among certain groups of Christians we pretend to be on fire for Christ, because we are expected to be, and among other Christians we pretend to have all the answers, boasting of our unwavering and certain faith in God. Maybe we worry that our encounters with God have not been as spectacular and earth-shattering as others’ have been. Maybe we fear that our faith journey has not looked the way it is supposed to; it is jagged, taking two steps back every time you take three steps forward – we try to pretend that it has been all upward progress with complete life transformation, in order to hide the insecure feeling that maybe we don’t belong in this place called Church among these people called Christian. Perhaps we feel like we do not fit in with the Christian community of faith, because our faith journey does not look the way we’ve been told it is supposed to look. We feel like we are wearing a gorilla suit among a community of actual gorillas.
While some of us may wonder whether we belong here or whether our faith story really “fits” what is Christian, I want to assure you that you are welcome here and that no matter what your life story is or what your faith journey looks like you are welcomed with open arms into this community of faith, which is indeed a surprising family of faith.
And so today we are beginning a new sermon series entitled “A Surprising Family of Faith,” in which we will look at eight different biblical characters who have radically different types of faith, and many of them might surprise us to see that their stories have been included in God’s story. We learn something new about faith and God’s indiscriminate embrace from each of these characters and their stories. Many of our stories resemble theirs and come with their own twists and surprising inclusions into the community of faith.
In this sermon series we will look at the Christian community of faith as a tapestry woven from the dazzling panoply of diverse stories. These diverse stories and varied faith experiences are as numerous and dissimilar as the number of people in the universe. Each story is embraced by God, the seamstress, who uses each of our stories to reveal a different texture, color or shade of God’s love for us all. In Scripture no two people encounter Jesus in exactly the same way and we must believe the same is true of all of us. Each of us has a unique story to tell. And each of our stories represents a thread in the tapestry of faith that God is weaving.
Some of our threads are different colors, shades and textures, each representing our varied life experiences and backgrounds. Some of our threads are worn from use. Some of our threads are wet and soaked through with tears; some of our threads are frayed and we wonder where in the tapestry God would ever be able to weave such a thread if the tapestry is to be beautiful and complete. Some of us doubt whether our stories have a place in the larger story God is creating; we wonder if our thread really belongs in the tapestry that is being woven by God. Some of us believe that only our type of thread—a thread of our color, texture and shade—is fit to be used by God in this tapestry; some of us may think that the stories of others disqualify them from the Christian community of faith.
However, if the witness of Scripture and the diverse stories of those in the Christian community worldwide and in this room are any indication of what types of thread God is willing to use in God’s tapestry, then we should be ready to be surprised.
Our first surprising member of the family of faith is a man whose name we know as the father of Israel, but whose story might give us whiplash as we try to figure out why the heck God decided to include such a person in God’s story. In the Genesis account of his life, Jacob is revealed to be a con artist who rip-offs his twin brother’s birth right, a cheat who deceives his elderly and blind father into giving him a blessing rather than his poor twin brother; he manipulates virtually every member of his family until he runs off right when the tension seems about to explode. He then engages in a twenty-year long struggle with his father-in-law, Laban, deceiving and being deceived. Jacob, the grandson of Abraham, though he lies, cheats, and manipulates his way through the early parts of his life, still manages to garner blessings, wives, children and household goods that make us as readers scratch our heads as to why this man is the eponymous father of God’s people, the nation of Israel. Jacob’s name in the Hebrew literally means: deceiver and cheater. Watch out for anyone named Jacob, they might try to steal your birth right.
Jacob was a man who by every account, if he walked into church today would draw a lot of stares and puzzlement as to why such a person was here. Jacob is not the type of person we would expect God to be interested in.
And so our text today picks up in the middle of Jacob’s story, on the banks of the Jabbok river. Jacob has just managed to escape his father-in-law with his wives, children and wealth, after years of being tricked by Laban into working for him. Jacob supposes he deserved some of that as comeuppance. But after escaping Laban, Jacob learns that Esau, his twin brother whom he cheated out of his birth right and blessing, is coming to meet him.
And now, rather than celebrating his escape, Jacob stands alone on the banks of the Jabbok river, fearful of the encounter he knows is about to come. He is going to have to face his twin brother, Esau, whom he hasn’t seen in over twenty years, since he last cheated him. Jacob stole what had rightfully belonged to Esau, and he feared the retaliation that he knew Esau had every right to commit upon Jacob and Jacob’s family. As the last of the sun creeped behind the mountains and the final lights of dusk faded away into darkness, Jacob stood alone at the river’s edge, fearful of what morning would bring. He would have to face his brother. The surface of the river shimmered, alight from the moon that stood watch over the night sky.
Then out of the darkness someone slammed into Jacob with such force that he was knocked to the ground. The figure pressed his naked shoulder against Jacob, driving him further and further into the mud. It was a man, but Jacob could not see his face. Though the man was much stronger than Jacob, Jacob was crafty like a serpent; he managed to slip from underneath the man’s shoulder and threw a handful of dirt into the man’s face to buy himself a couple seconds. Then their bodies collided again, each man taking his stance in mud, trying to topple the other over. The man’s body was chill and wet, like the river. He was not a mere man, but the god of the river, come to test Jacob and force him to earn passage across the river. He had heard of these gods in folk tales. He had thought they were myth, but now as Jacob tried in vain to grasp the slippery body of this man, he knew he was fighting for his life. The river god swept Jacob’s feet from under him and wrapped his thighs around Jacob’s neck, squeezing with the might of a hundred running bulls.
Jacob squirmed on the ground, trying to break the man’s hold. This was no river god; it was Esau, who had come to exact vengeance on Jacob in the night. Fear struck like lightning across Jacob’s mind as he felt the last of his breath creep out. In a desperate ploy, Jacob dug his fingernails into his brother’s thighs. The man loosened his grip for an instant, allowing Jacob to slither free. Then they were back at it, both on their knees, arms locked together. Dirt mingled with sweat. As Jacob gripped the man’s shoulders, he realized these were not Esau’s arms. This was not his brother Esau. He knew not who he was wrestling, but his terror grew as dark as the night; he knew the man he wrestled wanted his life.
For the rest of the night Jacob and this mysterious stranger wrestled among the reeds at the banks of the river. Each time Jacob thought he had lost and the figure had overpowered him, he managed to narrowly escape. Their panting was so great it could be heard over the rushing waters passing through the gorge. They spoke no words. Jacob knew not why they were wrestling, but he knew he was fighting for his life.
Jacob knew the stranger could have overpowered him anytime, but for some reason he always allowed Jacob to slither free at the last moment. Who was this figure whom he could not see clearly in the dark? And then, after what felt like an eternity, as the first hints of dawn began to trickle into the night sky, the figure did what Jacob knew had been inevitable all night. The figure had Jacob twisted all out of sorts on the ground and he touched Jacob’s hip. A surge of pain shot through his entire body; blinding light and stars began to fill his vision. Jacob knew he was crippled and did not have the strength to fight any longer. Awaiting the inevitable, Jacob clung to the stranger for dear life, not wanting to accept that it was over. And just when Jacob expected the final blow to come, the stranger loosened his grip and spoke for the first time.
“Let me go. Dawn is about to come.” The words pierced Jacob’s heart like no words ever had before. In fact, he wasn’t even sure if the words had actually been spoken. For some reason unknown to Jacob, he kept clinging to the stranger, as if his life depended on it. Moments before he had feared death would come at the hands of this stranger, but now Jacob feared that if he loosened his grip on the stranger he would be loosening his grip on life itself.
“Let me go, for dawn is about to come.” Again the words penetrated Jacob’s heart; they scalded him and yet filled him with strength.
“I will not let you go,” Jacob responded, clinging to the stranger as a young boy clings to his mother in the midst of a his first thunderstorm. He clung to his opponent as to his very life. His life was his opponent. His opponent was his life.
“I will not let you go unless you bless me.” Jacob desired the stranger’s blessing more than his life. Somehow Jacob knew the stranger’s blessing was life.
“What is your name?” asked his opponent. It was spoken with the strength of a thousand waterfalls, yet with the tenderness of a mother bird singing to her chicklings.
Jacob was taken aback; why would this man care what his name is? Jacob spoke his name and as the word left his lips, he felt ashamed and wished he could take it back. His name tasted like the mud that coated his body. His name reminded him of the sins he had committed against his brother, his father and the rest of his family. Jacob: deceiver. Tears began to spill down Jacob’s face as still clung to his opponent. Jacob: deceiver. That’s all he was. A deceiver. A con artist. A cheater. He did not truly deserve any of his life’s blessings; he had stolen them all. But in this moment, lying on the ground, caked in mud, sweat and broken reeds, Jacob did not care about any of those other blessings. He only desired one thing: the blessing of his opponent; a blessing he knew was greater than the shoddy life he had managed to piece together.
“Jacob. My name is Jacob,” he breathed.
The stranger seemed to ponder his name. “Your name is no longer Jacob. Your name is now Israel, because you have striven with God and with men and have prevailed. That is the meaning of Israel.”
Jacob was no longer Jacob. He was Israel. The stranger had said it and Jacob believed it. Jacob internalized the name: yis-rah-el. He knew from this moment forward that he would no longer be defined just by how he deceived and manipulated, but he was now also defined by the fact that he wrestled with God.
“What is your name?” Jacob whispered to the stranger.
The stranger again seemed to ponder Jacob’s response, “Why do you ask my name?”
But before Jacob could answer, the stranger blessed him. Jacob felt the tight embrace as he was blessed and then released. The stranger seemed to disappear into the cool morning air as quickly as he had come. Jacob was left with nothing more to cling to, except a new name, a new limp and a new blessing.
This dramatic retelling of Jacob’s wrestling match with God is based loosely on a retelling by Frederick Beuchner. This story is one that has confounded Jewish and Christian commentators for millennia. Some hypothesize about whether Jacob wrestled with a river god, with Esau himself or with Yahweh, the one who would become the God of Israel. Describing this story as perplexing may be an understatement. While we will probably never understand what transpired that night between Jacob and his mysterious opponent, we do know that this passage was theologically rich for the nation of Israel and became their defining story for hundreds of years. Jacob’s encounter with God was probably written down during Israel’s exile, when the nation of Israel feared whether they still belonged to God or whether they had been abandoned and lost their blessing as God’s chosen nation.
But in the midst of exile, they clung to this story as Jacob, the eponymous father of Israel, became the archetype for the nation’s relationship with God. Jacob, though morally flawed is still engaged by God and given a blessing, though it comes at the cost of a crippling blow. The nation of Israel too, though morally flawed and condemned to exile as a result, clung to the hope that they too were still blessed and chosen by God, even though they currently bore the mark of a crippled nation. Their relationship with God, much like Jacob’s was hot and cold; on then off. Two steps forward, three steps back. But they retained their name, Israel: One who wrestles with God.
It is strange and surprising to the first-time reader why God would choose to reveal Himself to such a morally flawed nation. Why would God choose Israel, of all nations? Why would God choose Jacob, of all people, to become the father of His beloved nation that was destined to reveal God’s love to all people? If I was God I definitely would’ve picked someone else. Israel, by no means should be an example of morality for us, yet they become an example in what it means to remain faithfully engaged with God, despite exile, despite moral turpitude, and despite feeling that they had as much reason to be angry with God as they had to be grateful to God.
Jacob too, should by no means be an example of morality for us, yet his story serves as a much needed reminder that in the life of faith, there is no cookie-cutter model or one size fits all that we must conform and submit to. Jacob’s story and faith journey reveals that God engages with all kinds of characters and stories, even those who appear to be unconventional or irreverent by our standards (Amy Merrill Willis).
Jacob’s story reminds us that we worship a God who cannot be domesticated or fit nicely into our boxes of how we expect God to act or who we expect God to allow into the Christian community of faith.
Jacob’s story reveals how sometimes faith does not look like constant upward progress and constant transformation as much as it looks like a wrestling match—full of dirt, sweat, blood and tears. For some of us, our relationship with God is characterized as more of a wrestling match than a love affair. This type of faith is just as legitimate as the faith that shows up every Sunday and has never had a major bone to pick with God.
We all encounter God in unique ways and some of us encounter God in the grips of a fight. And here’s the incredible truth: God actually engages us in our wrestling. God does not just strike Jacob dead, nor does he allow Jacob to beat him, but God wrestles with him. And Jacob’s wrestling changes him.
Our wrestling with God changes us. Sometimes our wrestling with God feels as if it has earned us a blessing, other times a limp. For the past two years I worked as a chaplain at a state psychiatric hospital that functioned more as a prison than a hospital, and where trauma and suffering practically dripped down the walls. Over these two years I wrestled vehemently with God. The psych hospital was a place where I was simultaneously grateful there was a God to pray to, and I was furious that God never seemed to answer any of my prayers. I fought tooth and nail with God, unable to understand why such suffering was allowed to continue; at times I spat at God and cursed God on behalf of my patients, and other times I rested in his embrace, grateful for a God who is big enough to sustain my insults and still love me.
My wrestling match is not over. I bear a limp and a blessing from my encounters with God at the hospital which I carry with me today. My limp is the chasm of sorrow and confusion that made its home in my soul as a result of the pain I witnessed and the despair I felt. My blessing is the hope I learned to cling to in such a place; a hope that I believe God gifted to me to weather such despair and sorrow. I carry my limp and my blessing from a wrestling match with God that changed me.
Perhaps some of you are also wrestling with God right now. Perhaps at this moment in your life’s story you feel as if you only carry a limp from your wrestling match. Perhaps you’ve wrestled with, God and God’s goodness for so long that you wonder whether your wrestling, questioning and doubting can really be considered faith. It absolutely can. A faith that wrestles, questions and doubts is a faith that is active and alive, willing to engage God from the midst of life’s difficulties and puzzlements. Faith takes many different shapes and forms, depending on our stories and our encounters with God.
If we open our eyes to the various people, the diverse stories and the manifold experiences of faith that God is weaving into the tapestry of our Christian community of faith, then we will find that we are part of a surprising family of faith. Our faith stories and encounters with God are as manifold as the ways that God’s good news takes shape and manifests itself in our lives. The good news of the gospel means something different to all of us and speaks something different through each of our stories; but all of our stories are united by the profound truth that they are all beloved and embraced by God, our seamstress, who is weaving all of our stories together into a surprisingly beautiful tapestry of faith.
It is a tapestry in which there is no discrimination, no disqualification, no minimum requirement to be woven in. It is a tapestry held and bound together by God’s love alone: a love that sees the messiness, the fraying, the discoloration of our thread-stories and still chooses to weave us into the tapestry. Every person’s thread-story is necessary in God’s tapestry, because each of our stories bears a unique imprint of God’s love and His ability to weave together what was once broken and disparate.
We have all been welcomed into this surprising family of faith. A family of faith where we have been given permission to wrestle with our God, no hold barred. We have much to learn from those in our community who are seasoned wrestlers. They understand that faith has no cookie-cutter molds, and that we worship a God who will wrestle with us, engage us and embrace us no matter what our story is or where we are on life’s journey. Amen.