Through Stained Glass: The Blessing We Choose, a sermon

“The Blessing We Choose”

Genesis 32.22-31

August 2, 2020

 

He is called the heel.

Why? Jacob is conniving as much as he is creative, deceitful as he is determined, a bit of a fake as much as he is a person of faith.

Like all of us, Jacob is the product of his family system. We know that "Jacob" means the 'grabber'—in this case, the one who tries to supplant the place of another, more legitimate holder of authority. True to his name, Jacob tries throughout his life to 'grab' his familial position from his brother, Esau -- from pulling him back into the womb to fooling their father into mistakenly imparting the family inheritance to his younger son. Angry and wronged, Esau then vows to kill Jacob, who was ultimately able to flee with the help and encouragement of his mother (and co-conspirator), Rebekah. This history of God's family in Genesis reveals what many of us may find in our family systems: dysfunction, deceit, jealousy, and violence.

Fearing his life, Jacob runs and then dreams at Bethel, and God promises to be with him, even if he is fleeing for his life. Years pass: Jacob gets married twice, has a lot of children a few different women, and heads home. Esau catches wind of this, and this is where we find ourselves today--at a wrestling match.

 Jacob at the Jabbok wrestling with an unknown figure in the night is one of the most popular stories in the Bible. From Max Lucado to Eugene Peterson, this story has been unpacked, repacked, and pondered by many theologians and Christians. We are all familiar with this underlying narrative-- we acknowledge that faith does not come without struggle, even the most celebrated figures in our midst. The story of Jacob has long taught us that we will not get through our faith journeys unscathed-- God will touch some of us, some of us may even walk away limping. Our journey toward God always entails transformation, discomfort, and change. 

I doubt you will be surprised by this….but I do not think this is the entire story. This narrative excuses Jacob and all the wrongdoing he has caused to his wives, Rachel and Leah; his brother Esau; and even his father, Isaac. So, let’s revisit this story, and see what happens just before Jacob crosses the Jabbok.

 As Jacob leaves uncle Laban, he encounters some of God's messengers along the way. He instructs them to go ahead of him and tell Esau to open his lands so Jacob can pass through peacefully. The messengers do as Jacob requested but comes back with the news that Esau is waiting and not alone, either. He has 400 men with him. At that moment, I imagine Jacob's heart sank. His conniving caught up to him, and now, he has to accept responsibility. Jacob has to face the very person and things he has been running from all these years.

But,

he doesn’t.

 Instead, the heel does what heels do and looks for an easy way out. He stalls, hoping to appease Esau with gifts and groveling. He arranges his flocks, wives, and children as shields to precede his encounter with Esau. Instead of dealing with his brother himself and acknowledging his wrongdoing, he puts innocents in the way of harm to save his hide.

               Here is where the story gets relatable. Jacob's past--all the lying, all the hurting, all the deceiving—catches up to him. He becomes distraught, overwhelmed with anxiety and uncertainty, and this is where Jacob finds himself in a wrestling match with a mysterious figure. The question today for us is this: with whom is Jacob wrestling? Is he wrestling with God? Is this Esau himself, or Esau's guardian angel? Perhaps this is a rite of passage, a test of fitness-- or maybe, we find Jacob wrestling with his guilt and shame. While the specifics of who the mysterious wrestler is, the fact remains this—the account of the struggle ends with the author saying that Jacob struggled with God. While he appears to have prevailed, Jacob does not walk away from this incident unchanged; he departs from this place with a new name, and he limps into the future, scarred by the struggle.

Therein lies the good news of this story—Jacob, the trickster, the oppressor, is not only redeemed but redeemable. In tangling with God, Jacob foregoes the sly and indirect forms of aggression that he had cultivated as an adult. Instead of cunning evasion, he fights openly and persistently to get what he most wants—a blessing! Let's not forget, though, this blessing isn't just for Jacob. God can redeem people and even systems that set out to dominate and oppress those who are weak-- but not without struggle, and perhaps, not without some scarring.

            To completely understand this narrative, we must honestly evaluate the true heinousness of Jacob's actions up to this point. Jacob put the most vulnerable people in harm's way—a dangerous situation that could lead to enslavement and even death to buy his safety. Here lies the real challenge for us as God's people—our faith is one that calls us to look out for others, especially the most vulnerable in our community. This passage challenges us to reflect on what we must wrestle with: our lack of concern for others' well-being and our willingness to make others pay for our wrongdoing and selfishness. It challenges us to think about the actions we take and who they impact the most. Above all, this text reminds us of the importance of advocating for those whose voices are silenced based on age, gender, sexuality, and race. 

            To do this, though, takes a type of thoughtfulness, mindfulness, and most importantly, willingness to struggle with ourselves, and with the parts of ourselves and our past ideologies and behaviors that we feel shame or guilt acknowledging. Like Jacob, we must forego the sly and indirect forms of aggression we give and wrestle. Instead of cunning evasion, he fights openly and persistently to get what he most wants—a blessing! Let's not forget, though, this blessing isn't just for Jacob. But it'll be for all of Jacob's family—and all of God's people if we remember what God tells Abraham. We have to stop running and engage in whatever might be standing in our way of seeing God's face.

            The story goes that Jacob eventually makes his way in front of his family to make amends to his brother. Esau, the brother who had so much taken away from him, responds with forgiveness. Jacob offers Esau a present, and at first, Esau refuses, saying, "I already have plenty, my brother. Keep what's yours." Jacob connects what just happened at the Jabbok with what is happening now and says, "No, please, do me the kindness of accepting my gift. Seeing your face is like seeing God's face since you've accepted me so warmly." Jacob had to look Esau in the face to remember that he saw God's face in his struggle at the river.

 Friends, God doesn't see us for the disasters we can be or the mistakes we make. God looks upon us with tenderness and wants us to be ourselves—not the people we think we should be. God does not punish Jacob's conflictive character but challenges it and reshapes it so that Jacob can live into his promised destiny as Israel, which according to verse 29, means "one who strives with God and humans." Jacob's story is a much-needed reminder that there is no one model in the life of faith that we must conform and submit. God entertains all kinds of characters and personalities, even those who appear unconventional or irreverent by our standards.

 Faith isn't always easy. We will struggle. In our struggle, God is with us. We struggle in our personal lives with illness and financial uncertainty, with personal disasters and broken relationships, and most of all, with the suffering of those we love. In times like these, fraught with poisonous political divisions and a raging pandemic that is exacting an enormous physical and economic toll, we have our communal questions for God. Guess what? God can handle our questions—God can handle our wrestling match. 

            Jacob had to do the hard part of dealing with his past and then own up to his mistakes. I love what Frederick Buechner says about this story and Jacob's wrestling match. He says, "what he sees is something more terrible than the face of death--the face of love. It is vast and strong, half-ruined with suffering and fierce with joy, the face a man flees down all the darkness of his days until, at last, he cries out, 'I will not let you go unless you bless me!'

            The blessing we choose is extraordinary. 

            Will we choose the one we think we deserve?

            Or will we receive the one God has for us? It may not be what we expect, but it’ll be one that will leave us transformed, limping with divinity along the way.