Genesis 32:3-31
As you might imagine there a whole lot of things that surprise me about being a pastor. I have only been at it for two years, one month and 21 days, not that I am counting, but there are a whole lot of things that surprise me about this work. I could make a long list, including sheer amazement on the part of my parishioners that I do “normal” human things like dance, grocery shop and sunbathe and bewilderment that I do not in fact have special access to God. I am surprised by the depth and beauty of love and commitment I have seen expressed for this wonderful and odd thing that we call church and I am surprised to discover that I am not alone in finding it somewhat difficult to get up on Sunday morning. But the thing that surprises me the most is how many of us seem to think that we are somehow supposed to have our faith “figured out.” Have you noticed that? Questions of faith, it seems, are often relegated to the position of distant second as statements and creeds are upheld on a pedestal. Questions are perceived as foundation breakers and earth shakers. But questions imply a depth of inquiry and profound yearning, while statements can leave little room for new insight. Perhaps it is a tragic error of Christendom, communicating in one way or another that as people of faith, we are supposed to understand fully what it means to love God and to follow God. I once heard someone get angry when another person declared communion to be a beautiful mystery…confusing being in awe of a sacred ritual with a lack of conviction and faith. Mystery does not mean lost or faithless, in fact I would argue just the opposite. Perhaps on some occasions questions are more faithful than certainties. Questions remind us never to idolize that which human beings have created and to always be open to the possibility that we got it wrong and God has more to say. So since when does being faithful mean that we have to have it all figured out?
A few years ago the United Church of Christ embarked upon a vast and wildly successful advertising campaign. The church wanted to make a point of welcoming those who could be categorized as seekers or those who had not yet found a home in the institutional church. The campaign was grounded in a quote from Gracie Allen, “Never put a period where God has put a comma,” and advertised the slogan, God is still speaking. Even though it irritated Christian fundamentalists across the country, as it was perceived as a threat to the belief that God’s work in humankind as found in scripture was the end of the story, but “God is still speaking,” is really just another way of saying what our Congregationalist predecessor, John Robinson said in 1620. As the pilgrims prepared to leave for the new world and before they departed, their pastor offered them a Word. The Pilgrims were taking a leap of faith, not knowing what was ahead for them and John Robinson said to them, “Remember that there is yet more light and truth to break forth form God’s holy word.” In other words, God is still speaking, God has more for us, more to say, more to show us, the vision isn’t finished, our questions aren’t answered we don’t have to have it all figured out.
But why is hard for many of us to be okay with that? During one of my Bible study sessions at my previous congregation, we were engaging in a marvelous discussion about the afterlife. One person was speaking about exactly what heaven would look like; she had details and images, and looked forward to experiences that could be had there. She was so sure that she knew what to expect, as if she had already been there. And then we turned to the text, to what the Bible actually says about heaven, we read that it would be paradise; that it had many rooms, that it is like a man sowing seeds in his field, like yeasts and mustard seeds, like a merchant looking for fine pearls, and whatever it was God would be there. The woman was astounded and shocked, sad and anxious. “Well that doesn’t sound like what I imagined.” She wanted to know exactly, to know specifically what it would be. Metaphors and poetic descriptions failed to satisfy. We are assured that in all things God is with us- that not even death can separate us from God, but the truth is when it comes to heaven we know little more than it is God’s realm, and that’s about it. But the human longing aims to understand, to touch to grasp the very things that by nature we cannot. It is perhaps a task of the human creation. We are driven to seek, to discover, to understand, to know something that we simply cannot know fully. And somewhere along the way we have confused our call to ask, to seek, to search, to long, to yearn, to wrestle with figuring things out. But friends, I can’t help but to wonder if the struggle itself is holy, if dancing with our questions and using them to get closer and go deeper is nothing less than our call as people of faith, and it doesn’t mean fully figuring things out.
But there is a bit of a catch, you see the only way to really hold our questions to God is to be willing to be changed, to really let our questions lead us and guide us, to shape us and maybe transform us. The text we read earlier describes just such a scene. We read of Jacob who is the stuff of legends. He is wily a character and he is on the run. His family is dysfunctional. His parents Isaac and Rebekkah played favorites and therefore Jacob hates Esau and to say that relations were strained would be a gross understatement. Jacob snaked Esau out of his family birthright, therefore denying him a double share of the family inheritance. And then, Jacob and his mother lie to steal the family blessing from his sick and dying father. So Jacob is on the run. He is running from pain, from Esau’s threat to kill him. He is running from what he has done and left undone. He is running from his questions and fears. He is running from himself. He is running from God. He is running from the messiness of human life, from the fact that he hadn’t figured things out. Finally, Jacob collapsed into a deep sleep and perhaps he finally surrenders and then the struggle begins. The text does not tell us that the one with whom he is wrestling is God; we are told he is wrestling with a man. But the struggle is fierce. They wrestled and wrestled, dirt flying, figures moving about like shadows intertwined in the moonlight. When it is finished, it is the man who asks Jacob to let him go and Jacob refuses, that is until he receives a blessing. The man gives him more than a blessing, but a new name, he is to be called Israel. He is to face the world anew, change his life accept his call, stop running, stop running from his questions and offer God all that he is. And the man takes a cheap shot, socks Jacob in the hip, giving him a permanent limp and Jacob declares, “For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life is preserved.” Whatever the struggle, Jacob believed it was God’s very being that he was wrestling with. He dared to engage, dared to jump in, dared to wrestle and he came out with a limp yes, but a new identity, and a new life.
And do you notice something about Jacob’s wrestle with God? It isn’t clean and tidy. Not everything is resolved. The family pain is still there. The questions and fears are still there. But the new eyes, and new heart, the peace with what is occurs even amidst the vast and deep sea of unknowns. 'Abaq, the Hebrew word translated as wrestle, can also mean to grapple or get dusty. Wrestling requires getting to the heart of things, getting close and uncomfortable, being in awkward positions and unpredictable situations. But it is real, earthy and holy. As Christians, I believe part of being faithful is asking questions and being willing to proclaim that we are mere human beings, in awe of our God who promises to be with us in all things and through all things, but we do not have it all figured out. And that space between question and proclamation leaves room for God to move in us and change us, to turn our hearts and inspire our minds. Friends, wrestle with God. Offer your questions and mysteries. Offer your wonderings and amazement. Offer your marvel knowing that this dance, this struggle, this wrestling is precious and holy and the very place where God will come to us and perhaps even change us. Amen.