Genesis 32:22-31 - link to the NRSV text
The story of Jacob wrestling with the mysterious figure near
the Jabbok is an ambiguous text. Two
figures, Jacob and the man, enter into conflict but neither walks away a true
victor. There is ambiguity, almost
ambivalence, in the outcome. It doesn’t
lay out a clear, new path. It doesn’t
point Jacob in a new direction. There
is no giant shift in Jacob’s mission, no new pronouncement from on high. Just two figures leaving the site of battle
with things changed, but with no strong indication what those changes mean or
what should be done about them.
It reminds me, actually, of the ending of the musical episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, “Once More, With Feeling,” when the villain leaves and the heroes are left standing there with no nice, clean resolution to the conflict, the cast sings:
The
battle’s done, and we kind of won,
So we
sound our victory cheer.
Where do
we go from here?
Not all battles, not all struggles conclude with a clear-cut
victory. It’s a messy, difficult fight
for both. The dialogue between the two
in verses 26-29 echoes the back-and-forth struggle that they were engaging
in. In the first back and forth, the
stranger speaks then Jacob responds asking for a blessing. Jacob is the one with the leverage. The next exchange suddenly shifts to the
stranger having dominance, asking Jacob his name then granting him a new name
in return. Then it shifts again, with
Jacob now demanding the name of the figure, and instead receiving the blessing
he wanted in the first place.
There is a battle of both physical will and mental will
going on here. There is more going on
here than a test of strength and skill.
Jacob, the one who wrestled even in the womb, who has wrestled with
others through trickery and guile his entire life, has suddenly found himself
an opponent that his tricks aren’t working on.
But Jacob finds himself holding his own, being able to keep pace if not
actually overcome his adversary.
And though there is not a victory, this does not mean that
nothing has happened. Jacob does emerge
from the night changed in two significant ways: Jacob has a new name, and a new
wound.
In the biblical world, names are linked with character. A name change often indicates a shift in
status or character, like Abram becoming Abraham. Jacob, which means something like “heel” or “supplanter,”
possible related to the verb “to betray” (see BDB 784, HALOT 872),
is changed to Israel. As Brueggemann
points out, the etymology (that is, origin and meaning) of the name is
disputed, possible meaning “God preserves” or “God protects” or “God rules”
(Brueggemann, Genesis, 268). The point
isn’t so much in the name meaning, but the fact that the name has changed.
No longer is this man the “deceiver” or “betrayer,” but is
something else, something more. No
longer is he Jacob, he is now Israel.
And it is Israel that has struggled with God and emerged, if not
victorious, at least as something changed, something new. And there is something poignant in that
idea: that in our struggles, we emerge changed, especially in our struggles
with God. There will be times in life
when we wrestle with God, either over those dark places in life or just with
what faithfulness demands of us. Either
way, there is something to be said for the struggle itself, and not just the
outcome. Thus the lack of “victory” or
success doesn’t mean that our struggles in life are not beneficial, though they
may not always seem that way a first glance.
Secondly, Jacob emerges changed into this new person Israel,
but he emerges limping away from the conflict.
There is something poignant in this also. Namely, life can sometimes hurt.
Life is struggle, it is not always easy, and sometimes when we emerge
from our times of trouble we emerge wounded.
In Jacob’s case, meeting God “did not lead, as we are wont to imagine,
to reconciliation, forgiveness, healing.
It resulted in a crippling” (Brueggemann 270).
There is something dangerous about encountering God. This is demonstrated time again in the
biblical witness. Moses desires to see
God’s glory but God allows Moses to only see the back of God’s form because “no
one shall see me and live” (Exodus 33:20).
Uzzah reached out to steady the ark of the covenant and was struck down
(2 Sam 6:6-7). Isaiah cried, “Woe is
me!” when he beheld God’s presence in the temple vision (Isaiah 6). There is something dangerous, edgy about
encountering the divine.
Encountering
God and being changed by that encounter may bring about some pain. Change is rarely without effort or
sacrifice. To emerge as Israel, Jacob
also needed to be wounded. The apostle
Paul expressed a similar theme when he wrote about baptism: “Therefore we have been
buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from
the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life”
(Romans 6:4). Jesus himself spoke about
the kind of change life with God requires by describing it as taking up our
cross, or taking up a death sentence.
The life of faith isn’t just something that is a heavy burden, but is
something that might just call for something that will cause us pain, either
physical or emotional.
The wrestling Jacob
story is one that reminds us of what life with God often looks like when we
move beyond the promises of prosperity preaching and tired cliché religion: it
is often hard, it is often a struggle, and it might even bring us some
hurt. But the One whom we wrestle with
is the One whom wants to see us grow, to see us flourish, to see us redeemed, the
One who loves us beyond all comprehension or understanding.
Or as Charles Wesley put
it in his great poem “Wrestlin’ Jacob” (“Come O Thou Traveler Unknown” in
The United Methodist Hymnal, 386-87):
Yield to me now—for I am weak,
but confident in self-despair!
Speak to my heart, in blessing speak,
be conquered by my instant prayer:
speak, or thou never hence shalt move,
And tell me if thy name is Love.
'Tis Love! ‘tis
Love! Thou diedst for me,
I hear thy whisper in my heart.
The morning breaks, the shadows flee,
pure Universal Love thou art:
To me, to all, thy mercies move—
thy nature, and thy name is Love.
Shalom,
Geoff