“Wrestling and Reconciling”
Genesis 32:22-33:17
Rev. Dr. Deborah L. Clark
February 22, 2015
“Thank our God for Sisters, Brothers.” Our hymn of preparation this morning was originally written for a union thanksgiving service in New York. It became the gathering hymn for the very first gathering of the National Council of Churches, because it speaks to powerfully to a central principle of our faith. We are children of one God, and so we are sisters and brothers, siblings all.
We use these words to convey our sense of responsibility to care for one another: a women starving in South Sudan is my sister, and so I must do what I can to ensure she has food. We use them to convey the sense that we are all connected: when my brother in Ferguson is suffering, I suffer too. If we are drawn to St. Francis, we might expand our sibling connections to all of creation–brother sun, sister moon, our siblings the wolves. We refer to our fellow church members as sisters and brothers in Christ.
Sometimes we use these words–sisters, brothers all–to paint a picture of comfort, harmony, a peaceful sense of home. Those of us who actually have sisters and brothers know the picture isn’t always so pretty. Chances are, the first person we ever fought with was a sibling. Sibling rivalry can be a safe laboratory for learning conflict resolution skills, or it can be the source of bitter lifelong battles. Brother and sister are loaded words.
In spite of our churchy tendencies to romanticize sibling relationships, the Bible lays out their complexity, sometimes in gory detail. The first siblings, of course, are Cain and Abel, and we know how that relationship ends–in a jealous, murderous rage. Ishmael gets sent far away because his presence threatens his brother’s role in the family. Rachel and Leah are used by their father to trick a suitor, and end up vying for the affections of the husband they share. Twin brothers Jacob and Esau begin their lifelong battle while still in the womb. All this in the first book of the Bible.
The Jacob-Esau rivalry is the backdrop for today’s scripture readings, for this strange pair of sacred conversations. As the story is told, the as-yet-unborn Esau tugs at his brother’s heel to rearrange their positioning in their mother’s womb, so Esau will be born first. When he grows up, Jacob is not content with his second-son status. He talks his not-so-bright brother into trading his birthright for a bowl of lentil stew, and then, with his mother’s help, fools his blind father into giving him the blessing that rightly should have gone to Esau.
Esau is furious, and Jacob flees for his life. He settles down, marries, has children, tends his equally sneaky father-in-law’s sheep, all the time worrying about when this unresolved sibling feud will come to a head. Eventually, Jacob’s conflicts with his father-in-law get to be too much, and so he leaves, with his wives and his family and stolen sheep, to return to the land of his birth. He knows this means he will have to face his brother.
Jacob and his family arrive at the Jabbok River, a symbolic boundary between the land of his father-in-law and the land of his parents and his angry brother. There, alone at night, Jacob has this dream-like wrestling match, a physical sacred conversation with only a few words
Who is this character with whom he is wrestling? Is it another human being–maybe his brother or someone sent by his brother? Is it a dream about his brother? Is it an angel? Is it God? Is it his own conscience? The scripture gives us conflicting information, as though the intention is for us to ask these questions without finding clear answers.
What we do know is that this wrestling match changes Jacob. From that moment on, he has a limp, a physical reminder of his human brokenness. He demands a blessing, and he receives one. He doesn’t ask for it, but along with the blessing he receives a new name–Israel. Behind that name is a new sense of purpose–parent and leader of the people who will be called the Israelites.
Often, when we read this passage, we stop there, and focus our reflections on the spiritual wrestling matches we all experience in our lives–moments we struggle with doubt, with the meaning of our faith, with our understanding of who God is. But there’s more to the story–a second sacred conversation. If the first one is ethereal, this one is down-to-earth, with all the awkwardness of broken human relationships.
The sun rises; the dream-like night wrestling is over. Jacob looks up, and what he sees is all too real, definitely not a dream. His brother is coming toward him, accompanied by 400 men. Jacob rearranges his entourage so his family is safe, then he adopts a posture of younger-brother submission, bowing to the ground seven times. He is shocked when his brother runs forward, not to attack but to embrace him. While Jacob was off dealing with his fear of this moment, apparently Esau was doing his own work, slowly letting go of his rage.
When the embrace is over, though, neither one know quite what to do next. Jacob offers gifts; Esau refuses; Jacob insists. Esau suggests they travel together; Jacob declines. Esau then tries to reciprocate with his own gifts; now it is Jacob’s turn to refuse. The awkward dance of reconciliation ends with each heading a different way. This is not a “reunited forever” kind of ending. They recognize they cannot live side-by-side; reconciliation in this case means freedom for both of them from the hold fear and anger have had on their lives.
These two very strange interactions–one dream-like, one realistic, both sacred–offer insight into our Lenten theme. What makes a conversation sacred?
These stories remind us that sacred conversations are often difficult ones. They can be painful, like a wrestling match that leaves us limping. They can be incredibly awkward, as we try to find words to bridge a chasm between individuals with very different interpretations of reality.
Sacred conversations often leave us wondering what just happened. Was the character who wrestled with Jacob a human being, an angel sent by God, or somehow both? The stranger who challenges me to see the world in a new way–is she just a random person, is she an angel, is she somehow both? Was Jacob wrestling with himself, or with God? This internal dialog going on between my head and my heart–is God speaking through one of those voices, or perhaps through both of them? It is only natural to want to pin down the answers, but we honor the sacred mystery of these conversations when we acknowledge these unanswerable questions.
Sacred conversations do not involve perfect people, but rather deeply flawed hunan beings who bear the image of God. Holy conversations force us to face ourselves–to confront the things we have done, to acknowledge our fears and our regrets. They bring to the forefront the reality of our brokenness–revealing the limp that was already there.
Sacred conversations change us. They call us to claim a new identity, to see ourselves in a new light, to recognize a new possibility for our lives. The identity shift might be a dramatic one, like Jacob’s new name, or it might be subtle–a slightly deeper understanding of how much God loves us.
Sacred conversations are in the service of healing. They might simply raise our awareness that healing is needed. They might be a tentative first step toward understanding with someone who has hurt us. They might be an acknowledgement of the need to part ways, to let go of the hold a destructive relationship has had on our lives.
Finally, sacred conversations convey God’s blessing–the blessing that comes from claiming our humanity, the blessed promise of healing, the blessing in the assurance that God is at work in our lives.
In this Lenten season, I invite you to be open to Sacred Conversations. What part of your self, what part of your life, is calling you into a wrestling match? Don’t be afraid to enter into the ring. Trust that as you wrestle with your past, your disappointments, your longings, you will receive a blessing. You might discover a limp you didn’t know was there; you will be given a new name, a new purpose.
With whom do you need to have an awkward conversation? Don’t worry that you can’t figure out the right thing to say; trust that God can work through the most halting, inarticulate words to bring healing and hope. Know that even the smallest move toward reconciliation is a holy step in the right direction.
May God bless us with courage and grace, that we might open ourselves to the gift of Sacred Conversations. Amen.