SERMON FOR OCTOBER 20, 2019 NINETEENTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST TEXT: GENESIS 32:22-31

’Tis the season for spooky stories, and today’s lesson from the Book of Genesis certainly does the trick or treat. Jacob, the son of Isaac and Rebekah, the grandson of Abraham and Sarah, has come to a fork in the road, both literally and figuratively. Here is some of the back history. He has a twin brother, Esau, who was born first and is therefore the heir apparent. The two are rivals from the get go. According to the Genesis account, they struggled together so much in utero that their mother despaired. Rebekah then turns to the Lord, who tells her,”Two nations are in your womb, and two peoples born of you shall be divided; the one shall be stronger than the other, the elder shall serve the younger” (Genesis 25:22-23). We learn that “[w]hen the boys grew up, Esau was a skillful hunter, a man of the field, while Jacob was a quiet man, living in tents. Isaac loved Esau, because he was fond of game; but Rebekah loved Jacob” (Genesis 25:27-28).

Playing favorites with children is bound to cause conflict within a family, and this one is no exception. The aged Isaac, who could no longer see, calls Esau to him. “Now then, take your weapons, your quiver and your bow, and go out to the field and hunt game for me. Then prepare for me savory food, such as I like, and bring it to me to eat, so that I may bless you before I die” (Genesis 27:3-4). Not if Rebekah can help it. It is God’s will that the younger son take precedence, and she insures that God’s will is done, despite Jacob’s reservations: “Look, my brother Esau is a hairy man and I am a man of smooth skin. Perhaps my father will feel me, and I shall seem to be mocking him, and bring a curse on myself and not a blessing” (Genesis 27:11-12). His mother said to him “Let your curse be on me, my son; only obey my word . . . .” (v. 13). (As an aside, I would like to note that Luther in his commentary on this passage, while very uncomfortable with the wifely act of deception, nevertheless commends the godly obedience that results from it.) Rebekah disguises Isaac as Esau by putting animal skins on his hands and neck and having him wear Esau’s clothes. Poor blind Isaac falls for the ruse and pronounces the blessing that cannot be retracted: “Ah, the smell of my son is like the smell of a field that the Lord has blessed. May God give you of the dew of heaven, and of the fatness of the earth, and plenty of grain and wine. Let peoples serve you and nations bow down to you. Be lord over your brothers, and may your mother’s sons bow down to you. Cursed be everyone who curses you and blessed be everyone who blesses you!” (Genesis 27:27-29). The words are barely out of the patriarch’s mouth when Esau returns and finds out what his brother has done. He is overcome with grief and fury. “Now Esau hated Jacob because of the blessing with which his father had blessed him, and Esau said to himself, ‘The days of mourning for my father are approaching; then I will kill my brother Jacob” (Genesis 27:41).

Jacob is immediately dispatched to take refuge with his uncle Laban until, as Rebekah puts it, “your brother’s anger against you turns away, and he forgets what you have done to him” (Genesis 27:44). Now we jump ahead some years. Jacob has married Laban’s daughters, become a father many times over and prospered. But he and his uncle have a falling out. The Lord tells Jacob: “Return to the land of your ancestors and to your kindred, and I will be with you” (Genesis 31:3). So Jacob packs up his household and his flocks and heads out. He sends presents in advance to curry favor with his brother. The messengers return with the news that Esau is coming to met him with four hundred men. Jacob is terrified and divides his party in two, so that if Esau encounters one company and destroys it, the other will escape. That night he sends his family on their way and remains alone in the dark at the ford of the river Jabbok. Now his story that has thus far been weird gets downright spooky.

Who is this stranger who appears from nowhere, ambushes Jacob and wrestles with him through the hours of the night? Why does he do it? The story may well have been told to account for Jacob’s limp, but there is more to it than that. The identity of his contestant is ambiguous. First identified as a “man,” he is soon revealed to be a supernatural being, perhaps an envoy from the spirit world or one of the fairy folk, who must return to their otherworldly realm before morning breaks. But then it emerges that the aversion to dawn is for Jacob’s sake. To see God by the clear light of day would have been fatal for a mortal. Jacob is certain that he has seen God face to face and his life has been preserved.

There is the curious exchange around names. In the Old Testament names have power. They reveal something of the bearer’s character and history. Sharing one’s name creates a bond. The act of naming bespeaks authority, and giving a new name indicates a change in status. So “Jacob,” which means “he takes by the heel” or “he supplants” now becomes “Israel,” “the one who strives with God.” The Hebrew can also be translated “God strives,” indicating that both participants in this wrestling match are real contenders. The mysterious figure starts the fight, but it is Jacob who ends it. His opponent cannot break free, and Jacob won’t let go until he gets what he wants. He names the place Peniel, the “face of God,” to memorialize the extraordinary events of this night for future generations. How does the contest end — win, lose or draw? Well, Jacob’s opponent lands a crippling blow but does not escape Jacob’s grasp, while Jacob sustains a hip injury but also secures the blessing he desires. And it is with this certainty of God’s favor that he then goes forward to meet Esau, not knowing whether he will find in his brother forgiving friend or vengeful foe.

So what are we to make of this story? You can’t really entertain the possibility of a divine agent jumping your unsuspecting bones some night and wrestling you for the fun of it, or for the purpose of testing your perseverance or the depth of your desire for a heavenly blessing. Interpreters of this biblical text go the metaphorical route. For example: “For modern Christian readers . . . this story offers a vivid biblical model of prayer. It suggests that God is not looking for wimpy followers. God rewards those who fight for the heavenly blessing. Although at the outset of the story, Yahweh is unrecognizable, it is in wrestling with God that Jacob’s heirs see God’s face.” Or “Certainly, we all experience times when we feel as if we are wrestling with God. And many of us are marked by the wounds we have sustained from our struggles. This text reminds us that God is wrestling with us, and we grow in that process.” Or “There is much that is ancient and foreign to us in this story, and yet Jacob’s experience with an unknowable assailant in the middle of the night is still a story that transcends time. Dark nights of the soul are part of the human experience, and few escape them. Whether we battle adversaries psychological or physical, the dawn does still come . . . . Our deep-rooted conflicts as modern, thoughtful Christians can leave scars but there is hope that in enduring them with courage and God’s help they can transform us.” These are solid theological points, reflections of what we have learned from the cross of Jesus and our struggle to meet God there, where blessing comes at a shocking cost. But the wily, scheming Jacob was not suffering a crippling dark night of the soul; his soul seems remarkably resilient. He takes a wound to his hip, not his psyche. He seems more surprised by wonder than rescued from doubt and despair over his sins. The great Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann notes that the rich possibilities for interpretation of this passage result from its lack of clarity, which permits various readings. Perhaps it is meant to be an object lesson for Jacob’s descendants; maybe it is simply a story about Jacob. It is for sure a memorable story about mysterious things that go bump in the night! Amen.