Grappling with God - August 9th, 2020

Grappling with God

A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli for Foundry UMC August 9, 2020, tenth Sunday after Pentecost. “Close Encounters with the Living God” series. 

      Text:  Genesis 32:22-31

It’s a scene tailor-made for a movie script or a budding psychoanalyst’s dissertation. The archetypes are stacked one upon another—estranged twin brothers who have different ways of being in the world; a shadowy antagonist; a struggle alongside a river crossing with foreboding heavy on both sides; the thin place that exists in the hours just as day is breaking. 

Jacob is at the center of this scene. Over the centuries, he’s become a kind of stock character, a trickster, a hustler—his name is translated “he supplants” or “heel”—for he was born holding the heel of his twin brother Esau. From the beginning of his life he’s engaged in one kind of struggle after another, working angles, trying to get ahead. And he always seems to come out smelling like a rose, always one step ahead of danger. But on this night, Jacob knows that his life may have finally caught up in a way that could be the death of him. 

You see, at God’s leading (Gen 31:3), after around 20 years away, Jacob is heading back home after some trouble with his father in law. His brother Esau, still living in their hometown, vowed to kill Jacob back in the day for taking his birthright and his blessing. Jacob sends word to his brother that he’s coming, that he’s done alright for himself, and hopes that they can, you know, make up (Gen 32:3-5). The response is swift: Esau is on the march to meet Jacob with four hundred men. Cue the ominous orchestral theme… Jacob does several things at this point. He prays to God, humbly but directly—“I am not worthy of the least of all the steadfast love and all the faithfulness that you have shown” (32:10)—“I am afraid of him…” (and then, in case God forgot) “Yet you have said ‘I will surely do you good…’” (32:11-12) He sends gifts ahead to try to appease his brother. And he sends his wives and children ahead of him as well, never knowing if he’ll see any of them again. 

Jacob has done everything he can, worked the only angles he’s got, he’s prayed, he’s planned, he’s gifted. And now he is alone. 

Imagine Jacob, afraid and knowing he may die, reflecting upon his life… The way he came into the world holding on to his brother. The way that relationship got twisted—in part through the actions of their parents. How Jacob developed his own strengths of quick wit and cleverness, so different from his brother’s strength in the hunt and the fields. How he had gone through an elaborate ruse to try to be like his brother so that he might receive blessing from his father. How, in the process, he hurt his brother and humiliated his father and was forced to leave home and his mother’s fierce love and protection. I imagine Jacob remembering all the highs and lows of love and marriage, the complications with Leah and Rachel, and with his father in law, Laban. He might also have played back the dreams and visions he’d been given, images of his children’s faces, the beauty and bounty he’d experienced…as well as all he’d said and done that was unkind, unjust, deceitful and hurtful. I imagine Jacob looking back over his life with gratitude and regret and guilt and fear and hope all tumbling over his mind like a creek flowing over rocks. 

And when night fell the wrestling began…

Can you relate? Ever found yourself awake in the wee hours of night in a kind of wrestling match in your mind and heart? Your story won’t include the details of Jacob’s life. But who among us doesn’t grapple with fear? Who among us doesn’t carry things from childhood forward that we are bound to run into on our life’s journey? Who among us is without the marks of our parental or sibling relationships on our psyches? We have all made decisions that led us down one path or another, sometimes into danger and regret and other times into freedom and joy. There are different energies within us, like twins who have different gifts and strengths, all deserving nurture and love—but often it’s difficult to honor it all and hold these energies together with any sense of wholeness. What have you done in order to try to get love? What have you sacrificed in order to try to earn the blessing you crave? Who have you been willing to hurt in order to gain wealth or comfort or pleasure? What losses have you suffered that are yet uncared for, what wounds are untended? What are you proud of in your life and what would you give anything to do over?...

When we are alone, when it is clear we are vulnerable, that things are going to be different one way or another, that we must confront the reality of our life—all our history, our personality, our gifts, our mistakes, our strengths, our woundedness, all our complications—in those moments, there is struggle. There is wrestling.

That’s what happened with Jacob. Is he fighting with himself (like Luke Skywalker in the cave)? Is it a demon? An angel? Is it God? The struggle is intense and it leaves Jacob limping. But he holds on. He holds on even when the man tells him to let go. He holds on even when he doesn’t have a clue who he’s wrestling. He holds on when it seems it would have been a big relief to let the mystery assailant go on his merry way. But Jacob would not let go. And it is here that the story turns. 

You can characterize Jacob in all sorts of ways. But the thing that seems consistent throughout his story is that he is determined to fight for the life he longs for. And he’s not afraid to ask for the blessing that he needs. “I will not let you go unless you bless me.” The response to Jacob is simple: “What is your name?” 

 

All Jacob has is the name he was given, “Jacob”—the supplanter, the usurper, the “heel.” In speaking his name, Jacob makes a kind of confession, an admission of the mix and mess and striving of his life. Here I am, alone—no “Jacob, son of Isaac, son of Abraham.” Just Jacob. And this one with whom Jacob has been wrestling has something to say to that. “That name, that narrative, is not all of who you are. All the striving of your life—the struggle with humans, with yourself, and with me has led you to this moment. And when you cross the river, when you pass into this new day dawning, when you leave this place walking differently as a result of your hip, I will call you Israel.” Jacob asks the man’s name. And the implication is beginning to get clear—this is God! And God asks, “Do you really need to ask my name?” There God blessed Jacob/Israel. I wonder whether the whole encounter was the blessing, this close encounter with the living God…

What does Jacob’s grappling with self, others, and God teach us about our own? 

If Jacob’s story is any indication, we learn that the whole of our lives is held in God—the painful bits and the joyful surprises and the tensions and the triumphs. God is always at work for good—not just in the world around us, but in our world. Paul writes, “all things work together for good for those who love God who are called according to God’s purpose.” (Romans 8:28) Lately, this verse has made more and more sense to me. It isn’t that God causes everything that happens to you, but that God is with you in all of it and desires nothing more than to help you come through, to survive, stronger, wiser, with more compassion and love.

Jacob’s story reminds us that God knows all of you, so you might as well be honest. God knows you better than you know yourself—knows not only what you’ve done, but why. God knows everything you’ve experienced, suffered, offered, achieved, everything you’ve sacrificed, everything you’ve dreamed, how hard you try and how much you’re carrying. God knows what you’ve done that was harmful or hurtful. God knows it all. 

If you read the whole of Jacob’s story, you’ll see how God just keeps showing up even when we might think Jacob doesn’t deserve it. Morning by morning, new mercies are received…over and over. 

I am increasingly convinced that the most difficult thing for many of us to grapple with is God’s mercy. To acknowledge who you are—all of it—and then to receive God’s mercy is a deeply humbling, awe-full experience because you know you didn’t earn it, but that somehow God believes you’re worthy. Receiving God’s mercy is a blessing that, if fully received, changes us because we begin to recognize the depth of God’s love and the stubbornness of God who is determined to get it through our thick heads that we’re more than the worst thing we’ve done, that we’re more than the self-limiting names that we or others assign to us. We struggle to believe that God cares so much, that God loves us and wants to bless us. Jacob is a champion of demanding the blessing which God always wants to give. 

Many among us are metaphorically at the ford of the Jabbok river right now.

Some are facing difficult decisions, perhaps feeling stranded and afraid, uncertain about the future or how to proceed, having worked every angle and done everything you know how to do. Many among us are weary and worn down with grief and rage and loneliness and stress. Some among us are paralyzed with guilt and regret, a sense of unworthiness or emptiness. Others are trying to discern how to step into life as it continues to shift and change all around us, how to adapt and find ways to thrive and to serve and to grow.

As a nation we are standing at the river being asked who we are, being asked to tell the truth about our whitewashed history, being asked if we’re willing to hold on even though it’s painful to acknowledge our nation’s sins, being asked whether we’re willing to meet as siblings and write a new narrative of true liberty and justice for all, whether we’re willing to be substantively changed so that we move together in a new way.

And when we find ourselves at this point, when things get really difficult, when we feel most vulnerable, weary, guilty, wounded, uncertain, angry, and afraid, knowing that things in our lives need to change, the temptation is to just give in—to shut down or let go of our faith, our hope, our love. At this point God always shows up and takes hold of us—sometimes as a parent tenderly holds a child and sometimes like a mysterious wrestling partner. In any case, like Jacob, our part is to hold on, to persevere, to not let go before we step into the new day dawning. 

As we hold on to God, trusting God to hold on to us as we step up to face what is before us, we eventually learn to let go of our idols of self-sufficiency, control and comfort, to let go of the names and narratives that hold us back from life God knows is ours to live, to let go of our deepest fears and self-loathing. 

As we hold on to God, Jacob teaches us not only to expect but to ask for God’s blessing. That blessing may not be what you imagine, but it will be life for you. Because it will always be some form of God’s tender mercy and liberating love. And that’s something you won’t want to let go—even if you could.

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