I suppose that because my own life journey with God has not always been smooth and easy, I have a particular fondness for the story of Jacob wrestling with the angel of the Lord.
There have been many times in my life when I have referred to an experience of deep loneliness: God and I aren't speaking to each other... I'd say
(knowing that this silence – this non-relating was most likely all on my side,
my mis-conception)
And I'd read prayers written by someone else, sing the same old hymns that would rise up uninvited – the habit of relationship fulfilled until the renewed sense of meeting; until real encounter could take place again.
How many of us have shouted at God, betrayed God, praised God? Who has been silent with awe?
Who has wept knowing that the Spirit intercedes when there are no words to articulate the sense of being overwhelmed. Think of the times that you have kept faith even when you didn't understand all that was happening...
So when I contemplate Jacob wrestling with God in this physical way, I feel I know the story in my very bones... in fact I have a series of prose poems about a difficult time in my life, and I allude to this scriptural passage:
I wrestle the angel/demon. Under the vast darkness of a clouded night sky, I learn forgiveness. Jacob struggled and prevailed, and though he limped away, his new name proclaimed his victory. What, then, would be the name of the woman who struggles with God and is subdued? What are the words of my blessing?
Sometimes when I consider the numerous Biblical stories of those who had real encounter with God, I am left feeling that “getting it right” - or “being perfect” is not quite as important to God as the intimate wrestling. Of course I may have a bias there, being far from perfect, and having a passion for real engagement.
But even if you think I am stretching things a bit, perhaps you'll agree with me that Jacob was a bit of a trickster, definitely a manipulator... having learned to orchestrate situations from his mother - who it must be said felt justified giving the prophetic circumstances which surrounded his birth
(You may recall that Rebekah had a difficult pregnancy and went to inquire of God as to what was happening within her. She was told that two nations were in her womb, they would be divided, one would be stronger, that the elder would serve the younger.”)
So we have Jacob, the supplanter becoming Israel, the one who strives with God and humans, and prevails. Are we meant to imitate him? Certainly not his trickery...
But we can be encouraged by the story, because we learn that God loves Jacob – and loves Jacob's heirs whether they are biological heirs
(heirs of the flesh as Paul would say)
or spiritual heirs, those who seek to be in relationship with God in a life-changing way...
Now one of Jacob's heirs was Jesus Christ.
He too lived out an intense relationship with God; and while none of us can hope for the perfection attributed to Christ, we can seek to imitate his faithfulness; knowing that even when we occasionally fail to have faith, Jesus mysteriously becomes our faithfulness. Jesus holds the space for us to be in relationship with God even when we feel as if there is a great empty silence between God and ourselves.
Of course I am assuming that you, like I, have these moments of ebb and flow in any relationship. From what I've seen and heard and read, it seems that it is very difficult for most people to be completely disentangled from their egos and self-centred desires.
Look at the disciples in the Gospel story. I would suggest that they are hungry and want to send everyone away so that they can finally sit down with their five loaves and two fish.
I bet they are tired, and cranky too. I suspect they don't like it when Jesus doesn't send the people away but in fact says to them, “They need not go away, you give them something to eat.”
How many of us would have responded, “hello? All we have are five loaves and two fish, and there are like more than five thousand people here.”
Sometimes we just want the others to go away - we'll eat our dry bread and cold fish – something that is mere sustenance because it doesn't require effort We don't want to have to think about anyone, not even ourselves. And then Jesus says to us, “They need not go away, you feed them.”
Did the miracle of loaves and fishes begin with some internal grumbling? Did some of the disciples wrestle within themselves saying why do I have to do this? What does Jesus want of me? Who does he think he is, some kind of Moses finding bread for the people in the wilderness?
Were they caught up in their frustrations only to discover that it had become a picnic, people were sitting in groups laughing and sharing the food, with prayers of blessing rising – filling the air with joy?
And then afterwards, how did they feel as they discovered the abundance left over?
There are many different ways in which we wrestle with God. Whether “dark nights of the soul,” or complaining to God of our frustrations over certain kinds of behaviour, or resisting the call to act compassionately, we struggle with God. When we surrender, when we give way to the inevitable blessing, we find ourselves equipped to go forth in God's name, to share out of the abundant grace that has been granted to us.
