On delight…

Tags

adult, children, creation, delight, God, spiritual, wonder

Courtesy of http://www.garylellis.org/tag/delight-yourself-in-the-lord-and-he-will-give-you-the-desires-of-your-heart/

As parents of two young children, whose family lives far away, we try to be diligent about documenting our children’s development and milestones.  In our family we do that with group emails and links to recent photos.  At the beginning of our children’s lives, we share about the many firsts:  first smile, first laugh, first crawl, first step.  As they age, we note other developments: conversation skills, playing abilities, sleeping habits, physical growth.  Of course we usually include funny anecdotes which give a little insight into the unique personalities of both our children.  At this age, there is a sense that everything is monumental and to be cherished.  We get excited about and are fascinated by the constant changes and growth.  Consequently, we are often scrambling for a camera, or trying to memorize details to share later.

As I was filling out my youngest child’s “First Year Calendar” this week, noting all the little details I could remember from the last month, I was thinking about what a shame it is that we do not do the same things for ourselves as adults.  I do not know about you, but I find that I am so busy looking ahead and attacking tasks in front of me, that I rarely sit down and look back at what has happened in my life – in the last day, the last week, the last month.   And when I do look back, I more often look back at things I have yet to do.  I have lost altogether a sense of wonder and amazement at my own life – the accomplishments, blessings, and goodness of life.  I cannot remember a time when I thought, “Wow, look at how I have grown and changed in this last month!  What a blessing!”

I wonder if this might be a spiritual discipline that could bring us closer to God.  Our God is a God of love, who looks at us and is well pleased.  In fact, when God created humankind, God said that it was “very good.”  I like to imagine God as the kind of God who takes the same kind of delight in each of us as we take in little children.  I invite you this week to grab your family calendar, your smart phone planner, or your recent photographs and reflect on the goodness that is you.  You are made in the image of God and are wonderfully made.  I invite you to take delight in God’s creation.

Sermon – Exodus 1.8-2.10, P16, YA, August 24, 2014

Tags

change, choice, difference, Exodus, genocide, God, impact, midwives, other, Pharaoh, Puah, racism, Sermon, Shiphrah

We know exactly where our story is going today in Exodus when the introduction says, “Now a new king arose over Egypt, who did not know Joseph.”  This introduction is ominous because to not know Joseph is to not know how Joseph saved Egypt from famine, making Egypt a world leader in a time of crisis.  But on a more personal note, to not know Joseph means that the warm welcome the Israelites once received in gratitude for Joseph’s service has also been forgotten.  This is how Pharaoh’s reign of terror begins.  Not knowing the formerly friendly arrangement between these two very distinct groups, Pharaoh chooses prejudice and fear.  Afraid that this foreign group will pose a threat, Pharaoh strikes preemptively.  First, he enslaves the Israelites, forcing them into labor for Egypt.  But that kind of subjugation is not enough to assuage Pharaoh’s paranoia.  So Pharaoh starts another campaign – he enlists midwives to kill any male newborns, in the hopes of reducing the number of men who can revolt against his new stratified system.  And when that campaign does not work, Pharaoh extends his reach and calls upon all the Egyptians, instructing them to kill all Hebrew newborn boys that they encounter.

This story is scary because the story is a bit too familiar.  Just in the past several months we have witnessed similar violence and oppression of “the other.”  The advance of ISIS in Iraq is so extreme that their violence is being labeled as genocide.  Whole communities of faith, both Christian and other faiths, are either being displaced, murdered, or sold into slavery.  And though the players and terrain may be foreign to us, genocide is not.  Whether through Pharaoh thousands of years ago, in the Holocaust seventy years ago, or in Rwanda twenty years ago, we know the devastation, trauma, and scars that genocide leaves.  Each time we pray, “Never again,” and yet, here we find ourselves again in Iraq.

A more complicated version of oppression can be found much closer to home – in Ferguson, Missouri, in Staten Island, and yes, even in Plainview.  Though the recent cases are about the racial tensions between police officers and African-Americans, the truth is that racism is a reality throughout our country and involves a system of oppression that benefits some over others.  I remember when I first met my husband, Scott, we had a conversation about racism.  As young seventeen-year olds, we came from very different backgrounds.  He was a conservative Republican (though I think he was a Republican mostly in defiance of the long history of liberal democrats in his family – but that is another story).  He grew up in San Diego:  a military town across the border from Mexico.  His peers were people of every race, nationality, and geography, and what he saw was a mixture of people who seemed to function without much prejudice.  I, on the other hand, was an idealistic Democrat, who saw a very different world in rural Georgia and North Carolina.  I was a part of an organization as a young woman who did not welcome people of color – a fact I did not realize until I wanted to invite my African-American girlfriend to join.  At my high school, there were threats of the KKK coming by to intimidate the few African-Americans at our school.  So when Scott and I first began to talk about racism, you can imagine that we had very different opinions about the role that race places in our country.

The scary part for me in our news lately is that genocide and racism are two different expressions of the same problem.  Both stem from the recognition of difference – of there being one group of privilege and one group of disenfranchisement – or “the other.”  Once an “other” has been established, judgments of value are next.  Through those judgments of values emerges prejudice – and in the instance of race, racism.  When taken to the extreme, that prejudice can lead to genocide – a complete annihilation of “the other.”  So genocide and racism are just markers on a spectrum of reactions to difference.

Now many of you may be thinking, “Okay, so we cannot help but notice differences among us.  And if we notice differences, and the next natural step is a judgment of value, then what are we supposed to do?  How are we supposed to change our natural judgments?  Obviously most of us are opposed to the extreme of genocide, but can we really do anything about racism?”  As a person who has attended many anti-racism trainings and programs, this is where many of us are caught up short.  When we enter into discussion about this issue, we feel guilt, frustration, helplessness, defensiveness, confusion, anger, and shame.  Though most of us can agree that we do not want a society where prejudice exists, truthfully, we just do not even know where to start or what to do.

That is why I love this story from Exodus today.  Though Pharaoh brings the ugliness of our current events into light, the women in this story show the way toward salvation.  My favorite women are the midwives, Shiphrah and Puah.  Pharaoh tells the midwives that as the Hebrew women are delivering their children, if they deliver any male children, the midwives are to kill the boys immediately.  Shiphrah and Puah have several options here.  They can run away – out of fear of Pharaoh, they can disregard their charge from Pharaoh and run for safety.  They can stand up to Pharaoh, refusing to kill others, but face the consequences of Pharaoh’s anger.  But what they do instead is genius.  Instead, they disobey, but they disobey with cunning.  The midwives play into the prejudice of Pharaoh – that the Hebrews are somehow different.  So they come back to Pharaoh with farcical story about why they did not kill the babies, “Because the Hebrew women are not like the Egyptian women; for they are vigorous and give birth before the midwife comes to them.”  You can almost hear the feigned innocence and incompetence in their response.  Though we all know that the midwives basically lie to pharaoh, Amy Merrill Willis calls this act by the midwives a “gracious defiance,” because of the way “it embraces life and blurs Pharaoh’s attempts to draw lines of distinction between ‘us’ and ‘them,’ between Egyptian and Hebrew, between dominating and dominated.”[i]   Shiphrah and Puah show the world another way to respond to prejudice.  And their small act – their act of gracious defiance – changes the course of history.

What I love about Shiphrah and Puah’s story is that they basically teach us that we can all make a difference – in fact, we can all change the world.  Now I know that sounds idealistic or pie-in-the-sky, but think about this.  Shiphrah and Puah were of little consequence in their time.  They have very little power.  They work under Pharaoh and they are women in a time when women had even less power than they do today.  All they did in a little slice of history was disobey an order and tell a tiny little, but incredibly awesome, lie.  And from that small, tiny action, they save an entire people.

Andy Andrews wrote a book called The Butterfly Effect, in which he argues that each of us makes decisions every day that have a ripple effect on others, and that simple, courageous efforts can have an extraordinary impact.[ii]  The possibilities are endless:  the teacher who encourages a student who later befriends another student who is going through a rough patch; the grandfather who volunteers to read at the local elementary school who instills a love of reading in a child who later becomes a prolific writer; the parishioner who makes a sandwich for a client of the INN, who is no longer so hungry and disheartened that he cannot care for his struggling family; the young woman who helps a mom load groceries into her trunk who is then encouraged to be much more kind and patient with her rowdy, sometimes frustrating children.

The point is that when we talk about the world’s ills – racism, prejudice, or genocide – we often feel overwhelmed and incapable of affecting change.  But the truth is, we can be a part of changing the world every day.  The choices we make impact others and ripple out in much larger ways that we can imagine.  Sometimes our choices are bold and courageous, but sometimes they are small, often unnoticed choices.  But our choices have the potential to impact greater change than we know.  Thousands of years ago, Shiphrah and Puah were the gracious defiers who quietly and cunningly stood up to a bully and tyrant.  This week, you can be the gracious defier who chips away the world’s injustice.  The choice is yours – and the potential for goodness is great.  Amen.

[i] Amy Merrill Willis, “Commentary on Exodus 1:8-2:10,” as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching. aspx? commentary_ id=972 on August 19, 2014.

[ii] David Lose, “The Butterfly Effect,” as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=1599 on August 19, 2014.

Sermon – Matthew 15.10-28, P15, YA, August 17, 2014

Tags

Canaanite, change, church, hypocrite, Jesus, liberate, mercy, parents, Sermon, transformation

We have all either heard or said the words ourselves, “Do as I say, not as I do.”  Maybe your dad said the words when you overheard him using an inappropriate word.  Maybe your mom said the words when you caught her being impatient with someone.  Maybe you said the words when your own child caught you having a late night treat that you said was off limits to everyone.  Do as I say, not as I do.  The phrase is our universal way of admitting that even though we know the right things to do, we do not always do them.  In essence, we are failures.  In this simple phrase we hear echoes of Paul’s words to the Romans, “For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do.”[i]  But the phrase, “Do as I say, not as I do,” is a little bit more than simply admitting failure.  The simple phrase is also a phrase full of frustration, exasperation, and impatience – a rueful admitting of defeat, a hint of embarrassment at one’s failure and hypocrisy, and a petulant insistence that your words be heeded anyway.

What is harder than hearing a parent utter these words is hearing Jesus utter words like this today.  The beginning of our gospel lesson is a long passage in which Jesus explains how misguided the Pharisees have become.  They are so caught up in worrying about rituals that the Pharisees have not noticed that what is coming out of their mouths is much more offensive than what is going in their mouths.  Instead of worrying about the legalities of cleaning rituals, Jesus is instead insisting that they need to worry about how their words are defiling them more than their unclean hands are defiling them.

So after this long diatribe about how the Pharisees are essentially being hypocrites what does Jesus do?  He gets caught being a hypocrite himself.  He has just given the disciples a lecture about worrying about the words coming out of their mouths when Jesus turns around and basically does the exact same thing.  A poor Canaanite woman comes to Jesus, shouting for mercy for her demon-possessed daughter.  Normally the gracious healer, Jesus totally ignores the woman.  Then, when the disciples beg Jesus to send her away, Jesus makes some snide remark about how he is only here on earth to help the Israelites, not some lowly Canaanite.  When the woman throws herself at Jesus feet, Jesus then says the unthinkable – something so awful that even we are embarrassed.  Jesus says to the woman, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”  Even to modern ears, Jesus’ words sting.  We like the kind, generous, caring version of Jesus – not this version of Jesus who calls people dogs and refuses to help them.  But even worse is what happens next.  The Canaanite woman calls Jesus to task.  “Yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.”

We have all been there.  We have all been mid-stream in doing what we thought was the right thing, living our lives the best way we know how when someone – a child, a friend, or even a stranger – has called us out and made us see the ugliness in our words and actions.  I have been caught several times by my daughter.  We have a practice of praying before our meals at home, trying to teach our daughter some easy prayers.  One night we were out with friends who I knew were not church-goers.  When the meal came, we all began to eat.  But my daughter, rather loudly asked, “Why aren’t we saying the blessing, Mommy?”  I tried to quickly and quietly shush her, but I am sure whatever stammering I did only made things worse – both for my daughter and our friends.

Most of us are pretty hesitant to talk to people about church, especially why they do not go to church.  We are hesitant because at some point in our lives we have had pointed out to us how the church is full of a bunch of hypocrites.  And, honestly, few of us have a response to that accusation because we know we do not live the lives we aspire to live.  Even Mahatma Gandhi is rumored to have said, “I like your Christ.  I do not like your Christians.  Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.”[ii]  The sting of that quote or conversations that involve similar accusations usually make us steer clear of even bringing up church with our non-church friends.  Or when we try to address their valid concerns, we end up stammering into some explanation that basically ends up sounding like, “Do as I say, not as I do.”

The problem with these encounters is that none of us likes to admit is that though we go to church, and though we pray to God, and though we raise our children in the faith, we still do not really have this whole faith thing all figured out.  We are still unsure about some things, we do not always understand why we do what we do, and most of us are not confident enough in Holy Scripture to feel like we could hold our own in a debate.  Though many of us have had powerful experiences with God, most of us still feel like failures in being good Christians.  In fact, if you ask most adults in church, the two things they dislike the most are teaching Sunday School and evangelizing.  The reason we dislike those two things is because we are afraid – afraid of being asked a question we cannot answer or afraid of being exposed as the hypocrites we fear that we really are.

The good news is that we are not alone.  Even Jesus, the same Jesus that Gandhi praises, has been in our shoes.  When the Canaanite woman comes back at Jesus with her sharp accusation about even dogs getting crumbs, Jesus has a choice.  He can pull the classic parental line, “Do as I say, not as I do.”  Surely he is exasperated by the Canaanite woman and all the disciples constantly pushing him and asking questions.  A simple, “Do as I say, not as I do,” and then a stomping away in the other direction would not be unforgiveable.  Or Jesus can take a moment, check his pride at the door, and admit he is wrong.  And that is exactly what Jesus does.  “Woman, great is your faith!” Jesus says, and heals her daughter.  Jesus finally hears the Canaanite woman and admits he is wrong.  He could have easily stood his ground, stuck to his mission to the Israelites, and followed tradition.  But instead, Jesus chooses mercy over pride.  Jesus chooses to admit he is wrong over saving his reputation.  Jesus chooses change over tradition.  As ugly, embarrassing, and unappealing as Jesus seems earlier in this story, Jesus’ willingness to change his mind, change his behavior, and change his entire mission makes him much more appealing, inviting, and energizing.[iii]

Though hard to listen to, Jesus’ transformation in this story is an invitation to us to be open to such transformation in our own lives.  There is something wonderfully freeing about Jesus’ simple transformation.  All Jesus basically does is say, “You know what, I was wrong.”  Instead of stammering through some awkward response to my daughter about why we were not praying with the non-church-going friends, I could have just said, “You know what, you’re right.  Let’s say a prayer.”  That simple giving of thanks probably would have been way less awkward, hypocritical, and confusing than just thanking God out loud.  Or when someone accuses us or our church of being hypocrites, we could just say, “You know what, you’re right.”  Once we confess our sinful natures and then explain why church still holds some meaning for us, maybe we could open the door to a more honest, vulnerable conversation about the good stuff of our church.

The invitation today from Jesus is simple.  Be open to the fact that we are all going to mess up this whole faith thing.  We are all going to preach one thing and do another.  And instead of saying a hurried, “Do as I say, not as I do,” we can all start a different conversation.  Instead we can all try to say, “You know what, you are right.  I am sorry.  Thank you for giving me the opportunity to make a change.”  My guess is that the freedom your confession brings will not only liberate you, but liberate others as well.  Amen.

[i] Romans 7.19.

[ii] I say that this quote is rumored to be from Gandhi because I could not find a source for the quote.  There seems to be debate about whether Gandhi actually said these words, this quote is legend, or this is a combination of comments he made.

[iii] David Lose, “Pentecost 10A: What the Canaanite Woman Teaches,” as found at http://www.davidlose.net/2014/ 08/ pentecost-10a/ on August 14, 2014.

Homily – 2 Chronicles 20.20-21, Psalm 106.1-5, John Mason Neale, August 7, 2014

Tags

God, goodness, gratitude, happiness, homily, John Mason Neale, love, priest, thankfulness

Today we honor John Mason Neale, a priest of many talents.  He was a hymn writer, supplying our current hymnal with several original hymns and over 30 translations of Latin and Greek hymns.  His more familiar works include, “All glory, laud and honor,” and “Sing my tongue, the glorious battle,” from Palm Sunday and Good Friday, respectively.  He was a priest who actively supported the Oxford Movement, which sought to revive medieval liturgical forms.  He was also a humanitarian.  He founded the Sisterhood of St. Margaret for the relief of suffering women and girls.  Born in 1818, he died at the age of 46.  Though his life was short, it was full.  He took the gift of his years and gifted the church with beautiful liturgies, song, and service to the poor.

John seemed to embody in his life our Old Testament lessons today.  Second Chronicles says, “Give thanks to the Lord, for his steadfast love endures forever.”  Our Psalm says, “Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good, for his mercy endures forever.”  Our lessons encourage being rooted in thankfulness because the authors know how generous, loving and merciful God is.  Once one realizes that goodness, the only possible response is one of gratitude.  The things John did: revising liturgies, writing beautiful music, serving the poor – all bubbled up from a place of gratitude toward the Lord.

But how do we get to that place of gratitude?  The psalm says, “Happy are those who act with justice and always do what is right.”  Think back to the last time you made sandwiches with the interfaith group, helped grow produce for the poor, or simply gave money to the church in support of its ministry.  Do you remember how those experiences felt?  There is a happiness that comes when we love God’s people.  That kind of happiness helps us to better see goodness – to better see God.  And when we see God, our hearts are overwhelmed with gratitude.

John Mason Neale showed us what a heart filled with gratitude can accomplish.  Out of his gratitude flowed music, worship and service.  John invites us to enliven our lives with gratitude and enjoy the beauty that will flow from us.  So give thanks to the Lord, for his steadfast love endures forever.  Amen.

Homily – 1 Corinthians 10.31-11.1, St. Ignatius of Loyola, July 31, 2014

Tags

accountability, community, glorify, God, homily, St. Ignatius Loyola

Today we honor St. Ignatius of Loyola.  Ignatius was born into a noble Basque family in 1491.  An enthusiastic soldier, he was seriously wounded in 1521.  During his convalescence, he experienced a profound spiritual awakening.  Ignatius began to share his experience with others, eventually writing the “Spiritual Exercises,” which continues to be an influential work.  Ignatius went to school in Paris to become a priest, and eventually gathered with others to form the Society of Jesus – known today as the Jesuits. Theirs was a strict vow of poverty and service to the needs of the poor.  Ignatius died in 1556, having sought to find God in all things and to do all things for God’s greater glory.

Ignatius certainly was living the life that Paul commanded to the Corinthians in our Epistle lesson today.  Paul says, “Whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do everything for the glory of God …”  Now I don’t know about you, but having everything in one’s life be for the glory of God is not that easy.  I am pretty sure my frustrations and occasional foul language while driving does not glorify God.  I am pretty sure my impatience at the doctor’s office does not glorify God.  I am pretty sure my actively ignoring a homeless person does not glorify God.

One of the great blessings of having young children in my life is the ways in which they are always watching me.  My older daughter regularly asks why I say and do certain things.  I often find myself either apologizing for setting a bad example or censoring myself before she can catch me.  But just because we might not have a 4-year-old in the back seat does not mean that others are not watching us – and making judgments about what living as a Christian means.

What I like about St. Ignatius of Loyola is that he does not try to do all things for God’s greater glory alone.  He gathers a community and they hold each other accountable.  Though we do not always invite that same accountability into our lives, the opportunity is there.  Whether it is in public or private confession, soliciting communal prayers or finding a private prayer partner – the church is here to help us follow Jesus.  Together we can glorify God better than any of us can on our own.  Amen.

Homily – Philippians 4.4-9, Psalm 34.1-8, Luke 6.17-23, Thomas a Kempis, July 24, 2014

Tags

faith, God, homily, power, song, Thomas a Kempis, words

Today’s lessons are all filled with song.  The New Testament lesson instructs, “Rejoice in the LORD always.”  That simple phrase has been sung by huge gospel choirs who sing, “Rejoice in the LORD always, again I say, rejoice!”  Our psalmist says, “Taste and see that the LORD is good.” Most of us know that familiar communion hymn, “Taste and see, taste and see, the goodness of the LORD…”  Finally we hear the Beatitudes as told by Luke, “Blessed are you who are poor.”  The a cappela group Sweet Honey in the Rock put the Beatitudes to song as well.  Their rendition of the Beatitudes is so beautiful that the words sound different once you have heard the group sing them.  Many of the hymns and songs we know and love are steeped in the words of scripture and breathe new life into words that may have become stale to us.

Thomas a Kempis knew something about the power of words.  Born Thomas Hammerken in 1380, Thomas was a member of the order of the Brethren of the Common Life.  The group cultivated a biblical piety that stressed the inner life and the practice of virtues.  Their spirituality has influenced both Catholic and Protestant traditions of prayer and meditation. But Thomas is mostly known for his writing.  “The Imitation of Christ” has been translated into more languages than any other book except the Holy Scriptures. Millions of Christians have found his work to be a true treasure.  Thomas used the power of words to inspire the faith of others for hundreds of years.

What Thomas and our lessons remind us of is the power of words to motivate faith.  Sometimes, as in our lessons today, we need the sound of song to make those words come alive.  Sometimes, we need the inspiration of a profound writer to make the words breathe anew.  Today we celebrate the blessing of Thomas and of the many writers and songwriters who have inspired our faith.  We thank God for these witnesses and their gift of words to us.  Amen.

Love and marriage…

Tags

anniversary, church, community, God, love, marriage, sacred, secular, vows

Courtesy of http://www.carbonfiberweddingbands.org/wedding-bands/

This week my husband and I celebrated thirteen years of marriage.  A few friends asked me what romantic plans we had, and I found I had to do some explaining.  You see, twelve years ago, on our first wedding anniversary, we found ourselves at an impromptu family reunion.  At the time, we reasoned that we would just celebrate our anniversary some other time.  But a few days later, as we talked about the reunion, we realized something.  Our wedding was a celebration not only of our love and commitment and the covenant we were entering into, but also a celebration of the community who was vowing to hold us to our covenant – to support us, love us, and encourage us in the good and bad times.  In that light, it seemed completely appropriate that we would celebrate our anniversary in the same fashion as we celebrated our wedding – surrounded by the community that holds us accountable to our vows.

Ever since the first anniversary, we have made a point of celebrating our special day with others.  Sometimes the gathering has been large; sometimes quite small.  Sometimes we have celebrated with family, and sometimes we have celebrated with friends.  We have celebrated our anniversary with people who did not even know us when we got married, and we have celebrated with people who knew us before we knew each other.  Each year, the celebration reminds us of the blessing of friends and family in our lives and how we could not grow and thrive in marriage with the support of a lot of others.

What I like about the tradition we have developed is that the tradition pushes against secular expectations.  Secular expectations tell us that we should have a dreamy, romantic night with expensive gifts exchanged (don’t get me wrong – I am all for date nights and presents!).  Secular expectations would tell us that marriage is private.  But that is not what the Church tells us.  Sacred expectations are that marriage is blessed within the context of a community.  Sacred expectations are that the community should ask how marriages are going – not just to gossip or vent, but to continue to live into the vow that the entire community takes to help marriages thrive.

So today, I ask for your prayers: prayers that my husband and I might continue to find joy in one another, might continue to find love and support in our marriage, and might glorify God in our life together.  In return, I lift up prayers today for all my friends who are married:  those who are in those first years of wedded bliss, those who are struggling with all sorts of marital challenges, and those who are just treading water.  I also lift up prayers for those who long to be married, but have not found a partner; for those who have lost their spouses to death; for those who are divorced; and for those who long to be married legally but still live in places where that is not an option.  We are all the community of faith, and we all need one another.  I thank God for all of you today!

Sermon – Genesis 32.22-31, P13, YA, August 3, 2014

Tags

God, healing, image, Jacob, name, Sermon, transformation, wrestle

One of the things we often talk about in church is our relationship with God.  We talk about God as a companion on our journey – one who walks with us as we grow and develop and change in our faith life.  Some of us enjoy that image because the image recognizes the ways that our relationship with God evolves over time.  We talk about God as one who is in dialogue with us – one who needs us to listen as much as we talk.  Many of you have talked to me about how often you forget the listening part of your relationship with God, not realizing how your prayer life has become more of a monologue than a dialogue.  We talk about God as one who requires vulnerability – one who wants not just the glossy versions of ourselves that we present to the public, but also the messy, angry, and sometimes ugly versions of ourselves that we rarely let anyone see.  Some of us have felt a sense of comfort and freedom in vulnerability, while others of us have found vulnerability too challenging.  But rarely do we talk about God as sparring partner – a prize fighter, capable of leaving real physical scars, leaving us marked visibly for others to see.

That is the image we get from our Old Testament lesson today.  In order to understand how Jacob comes to wrestle with God at the Jabbok, we need to go back in Jacob’s story.  Jacob is a twin, the brother of Esau and son of Isaac and Rebekah.  Jacob receives his name because the name Jacob means, “the one who takes the heel.”[i]  Because he grabs on to the heel of his brother as he follows Esau out of the womb, he is named Jacob.  The name turns out to be quite appropriate.  Jacob will be grabbing and grasping for much of his life.

Jacob’s life unfolds like a soap opera.  When Jacob is older, we are told that Jacob manipulates Esau out of his birthright.  Then, Jacob tricks his blind father Isaac into believing that he is Esau so that he can cheat Esau out of the blessing due to him as the firstborn male.  Jacob flees for his life from his angered brother Esau, returning to his family’s homeland.  There he meets Rachel and falls in love.  Unfortunately Rachel is the younger of two unmarried sisters, and the tradition is the eldest is married first.  In a twist of fate, Jacob is on the receiving end of deception when he is tricked into marrying the older sister Leah.  He has to continue working for Laban to get Rachel too.  But not to be outdone, Jacob manipulates Laban, and manages to trick Laban into giving Jacob most of the family’s livestock before Jacob flees yet again with his large family and wealth.  But Jacob can only run so long before fate finally catches up with him.  Some twenty years since leaving home, Esau is in hot pursuit of Jacob.  Scared, Jacob sends some gifts as an attempted bribe for Esau.  But he hears that Esau is approaching with 400 men, and so Jacob splits up his family and sends them ahead of him, leaving Jacob alone at the Jabbok in the dark of night.

This is where our story picks up today.  The story is a bit confusing, but basically Jacob wrestles with God all night long.[ii]  We are told that the two seem to fight as equals, but at the end of the scuffle, God strikes Jacob in the hip, leaving Jacob with a limp.  Jacob asks for a blessing from God, once again grabbing in life.  God asks Jacob his name, and instead of lying to God like Jacob lied to his father, Jacob comes clean.  “Jacob,” he says.  Now this part may sound simple enough, but God is not simply asking for and getting Jacob’s name.  Jacob is confessing.  “I am Jacob – grasper of a heel.  I have grabbed my whole way through life:  cheating, conning, scheming, plotting, and taking what does not belong to me.  I am thoroughly psychologically broken, and now you have broken me physically.  So please, give me, cheater that I am, a blessing.”  And what happens next is a total transformation.  God gives Jacob a new name, “Israel.”  God names Jacob, “Israel,” because Jacob is one who struggled with God – yisrael.  No longer will Jacob be known as the grasper.  Instead Jacob will be known as one who struggled with God – and though marked by a limp, is one who came out a new person – Israel.  With his new name, “Jacob enters into a new future, and passes his name, faith, and future on to his descendants, who bear that name even unto this day.”[iii]

The reason why I tell you the whole of Jacob’s story today is because we cannot fully understand the metaphor of wrestling with God until we understand Jacob as a person.  Jacob, father of the people of God, is by no means a shiny example of faithful living.  From birth, Jacob seemed destined for a life of manipulation, attempts at control, a willingness to deceive for personal gain, and constant scheming.  And though we would like to wag our fingers at Jacob, the truth is, there is a little bit of Jacob in each of us.  The reason we disapprove of Jacob is because at some point in our lives we have been a grasper of heels.  Perhaps we have not deceived on such a grand scale as Jacob, but we have certainly tried to manipulate situations toward our own personal gain.

I am reminded of the movie Mean Girls.  The movie chronicles the ways that high school girls manipulate, lie, and maneuver to become and stay popular.  At the center of the movie is a character called Regina George, the most popular girl in school, who is simultaneously loved and hated by her peers.  Most of the characters despise her, but oddly also find themselves drawn to her and want to be like her.  By the end of the movie the entire charade collapses, and all the girls come to an unspoken agreement to stop pretending, manipulating, and scheming, and simply be themselves.  Regina manages to redirect her aggressive ways into sports, and the satisfaction mellows her in the rest of her life.

Though Regina’s transformation was not a spiritual one, her change is as dramatic as Jacob’s – a total change in the way she operates, but not without the scars of the past.  I would imagine if we asked either Jacob or Regina if they would give up a limp caused by God or scars from high school, both would say, “no.”  The battles were necessary for the complete transformation of both – and the lingering injuries help remind them to never go back.  The reason they would say no is because the wrestling, the battle, the sparring has transformed them into something new and wonderful.  No amount of limping could detract from the new blessed lives each of them can now live.

The same is true for us.  There are parts of our lives that cannot simply be healed or gently be brought to God in prayer.  There are parts of our lives that we are going to need to enter into battle with God for in order to transform them.  The wrestling is necessary because the wrestling forces us to push through whatever is separating us from God and who God calls us to be.  And for those of us who are particularly stubborn or prone to grasping, the wrestling is required to break down our wills enough to get us to the place of being able to confess – confess who we really are to God.  Then, and only then, will we find our transformation – a renaming of who we are so that we can be fully who God invites us to be.  But be forewarned – no one leaves the ring from a match with God without a few scars.  Amen.

[i] Denise Dombkowski Hopkins, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), 6.

[ii] Amy Merrill Willis, “Commentary on Genesis 32.22-31” as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/ preaching.aspx? commentary_id=2132 on July 30, 2014

[iii] David Lose, “Tell Me Your Name,” July 24, 2011 as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post= 1597 on July 30, 2014.