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Limping and BlessingAugust 03, 2008 Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost For the last several weeks our lessons from the Hebrew scriptures – what we refer to as the Old Testament – have been following the saga of the descendants of Abraham and Sarah. This is the seminal narrative about the emergence of the Jewish people. You may know that Christians and Muslims also trace their spiritual roots back to Abraham. So these are among the most famous stories in all of western civilization. Once every three years, this story cycle comes ‘round to be read during the summer months when many ministers, let alone congregants are vacationing. Which seems unfortunate timing given their importance to our intellectual, cultural, and religious history. In outline, these stories are every bit as rich as anything Shakespeare cooked up. In fact, many of Shakespeare’s themes including betrayal, revenge, forgiveness, reconciliation, as well as many permutations of love, can all be found in these ancient tales of dysfunctional families, partisan rivalries, competing egos, tribal identities, and emergent human morality. Today we pick up a famous thread of Jacob’s story – a nighttime wrestling match by the Jabbok River. Jacob is the son of Isaac who is the son of Abraham. Jacob’s name means “grabber” or “trickster”, capturing his essential personality as described in earlier segments. He was the younger of twin boys who was birthed having grabbed his brother Esau’s heel. The favorite of his mother Rebekkah, they conspired for the birthright of the oldest son, first by manipulating Esau and later by tricking an elderly and blind Isaac. As John Buchanan describes the characters: “Esau is so good, straightforward and innocent; Isaac so vulnerable, trusting and human. Jacob so opportunistic, devious and dreadful. Rebekkah so committed to the success of her favorite son, and so efficient in her choreography of one of history’s greatest scams.” [1] All the ingredients for making an Oscar-worthy melodrama. By the time we pick up the story today, Jacob is a man on the run. Years earlier he fled the land of his birth because of a threat against his life by his brother, Esau, for having tricked him out of his birthright and out of their father’s blessing. The text reports that “Esau hated Jacob” and that Esau resolves within himself that “I will kill my brother Jacob.” [2] As a result, Jacob made a new life with the family of his uncle Laban in the land of Haran, the place Abraham and Sarah began their lives; he married his cousins, Rachel and Leah, and fathered many children. But after many years of complicated dealings with Laban while amassing considerable wealth, Jacob resolves to return home. It’s on this journey home that Jacob finds himself on the banks of the Jabbok alone. Earlier he begged God to protect him from his brother saying, “Deliver me from the hand of my brother Esau, for I am afraid of him; he may come and kill us all.” [3] The day before their reunion he sends his servants with herds of livestock for Esau as a pacifying present. Then we come to the mysterious nighttime encounter. Jacob sends his family and entourage on ahead, again, perhaps as a sort of peace-making gesture, but certainly out of fear for himself. Left alone on the other side of the river, stripped of everything he held dear, physically exhausted and deeply anxious about Esau, powerless to control the outcome, Jacob wrestles with the most difficult of opponents. At one point the stranger cripples Jacob with a blow to his hip that disabled him with a limp for the rest of his life. Jacob then knew what had happened: “I saw God face to face, and yet my life was spared.” In the process, Jacob the trickster is given a new name, Israel, which means, “He struggles with God.” Importantly the reader is told that God then blesses him there. But this blessing comes only as a result of Jacob’s defeat. He arises to a new day having survived the divine encounter with a blessing and a new name, but also with a limp – a reminder of the cost of wrestling with God. [4] And I think to myself that this is a very different sort of picture of what it means to have a relationship with the divine than our culture generally presents today, especially within much of Christian piety. For one thing, it’s shocking that God would choose to work through a scoundrel like Jacob. Isn’t God supposed to prefer the nice, honorable people best? You know, the ones who follow the rules and do the right things? And secondly, isn’t God supposed to provide comfort, support, guidance, prosperity, and other good things? What’s this bit about giving Jacob a limp for the rest of his life? I mean, Jacob might have been a crook, but at least he asked God for help when he thought he needed it. What’s the limp for? When I consider much of what passes for spirituality these days, this story comes along to provide a rather sobering antidote. Because doesn’t it seem that much of what most of us do in our spiritual lives is to attempt to find the right formula for getting God to deliver the goods, however we might define them? This sort of spirituality has an ancient pedigree. We see it everywhere today. For instance, it lies behind much of our current spiritual obsession with health, longevity and prosperity. There’s no question that living in certain ways, adopting healthy habits, a positive mental attitude and so forth, have a salutary effect on the quality of our lives. Yes, of course, there are better and worse ways to organize our lives; developing a pattern of integrity is better than a pattern of dishonesty and so forth. Of course we teach and mentor matters of character in here as we attempt to understand what it means to love God above all things and our neighbors as ourselves. But then again, do we really have any idea with whom we are dealing with when we give praise to the maker of everything in the known universe? Jacob was all over the idea of manipulating outcomes to his liking, whatever it took, including lying and cheating. On the river Jabbok’s edge, however, broken and desperate, having finally asked for God’s help, he came face to face with the limitations of his human ability. And then he wrestled with God. It seems the limp came as a gift lest he would ever forget who was who and what was what, and that his truest help would be found from within the experience of his weakness. That’s not the typical picture of piety that’s normally presented by Christian motivational preachers, like me, much of the time. Its not as easy to market, and yet seems to more nearly match our human experience. And make no mistake: Jacob was sure of his blessing. As if to place an exclamation point on this blessing, when Jacob finally did confront his brother, Esau “embraced him, and fell on his neck and kissed him, and they wept.” [5] Forgiveness broke the cycle of revenge, and reconciliation replaced murder. [6] And the profound themes of our religious heritage are recorded to be replayed like a great symphony in all future generations, even our own. In the wonderful children’s classic, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, C.S. Lewis reminds us that the divine-human struggle is fraught with danger. In this famous fantasy four siblings – two brothers and two sisters – find their way to a make-believe world called Narnia through a passageway in an attic wardrobe. There they confront difficult moral and ethical conundrums that will test their character, courage and faith. The story takes inspiration from the Gospel themes of betrayal, death, resurrection, and redemption. The character Aslan is Lewis’s representation of Jesus. At one point, the two sisters, Susan and Lucy, ask Mr. And Mrs. Beaver to describe Aslan. They ask if Aslan is a man. Mr. Beaver replies: “Aslan a man? Certainly not. I tell you he is the King of the wood and the son of the great Emperor-beyond-the-Sea. Don’t you know ho is the King of Beasts? Aslan is a lion – the Lion, the great Lion.” “Ooh!,” said Susan. “I’d thought he was a man. Is he – quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion.” “That you will, dearie, and make no mistake,” said Mrs. Beaver. “If there’s anyone who can appear before Aslan without their knees knocking, they’re either braver than most or else just silly.” “Then he isn’t safe?” said Lucy. “Safe?” said Mr. Beaver. “Don’t you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about being safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.” [7] Our God is good, but not safe. I don’t know if you hear that as good news or not, but as Jacob discovered in his weakness, it’s the truth. And embedded within this truth lies a blessing that’s beyond our wildest imaginings....
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