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| "The Meeting of Jacob and Rachel" Wm. Dyce (Scottish, 19th Cent.) |
“The sun rose upon him as he passed Penuel[i],
limping because of his hip.” (Genesis
22:31)
I must confess feeling a weird kinship with gimpy Jacob, the hero of our First Lesson in RCL for Pentecost 18, Year C (Genesis 32:22-31). Many moons ago, on the Saturday before I was to celebrate my very first mass as the pastor of Faith Lutheran Church of Philadelphia, I indulged in my favorite hobby at the time, horseback riding in Fairmont Park. I had my horse up to a pretty good canter when I lost my balance and fell from the saddle. Figgy, the horse I rode back then, was a very polite mare and stopped to let me climb back on. I didn’t think anything of my little spill until I rode her back to the barn. As I was currying her down and cleaning up the enormous dump of poop she always made after a ride, I felt a certain stiffness in my inner thigh. I started to suspect something might be amiss.
By the time I’d driven back home from the barn I was in so much pain I could barely get out of the car. I’d either torn or severely sprained a groin muscle. Three times in my life I’ve broken bones, but I never hurt so much as I did after that fall. I limped—literally—for months after that accident.
Shortly after my fall, it came to pass
that I had go to Center City[ii] for some churchy thing.
When a pastor wears clerics in Center City, it’s always wise to have a roll of
one dollar bills in an accessible pocket because you’re going to get hit up by
any number of sidewalk mendicants. I call this “paying the bum tax,” which is,
perhaps, a rather uncharitable characterization, but doing it is in keeping
with Jesus’ instructions[iii]. I was walking down
Walnut Street when I spied a middle-aged African American lady sitting on some
unidentified object in front of a store. She was bundled up from the cold (it
was December) and had two or three over-stuffed shopping bags at her feet. She
seemed to be speaking to the passers by, and I guess I took her to be a street
person. I prepared to hand out the alms I suspected she’d ask of me, but, just
as I limped passed her, she said, “You’re Jacob, and the Lord has put your hip out
of joint.”
When I turned around to talk to the lady, she had vanished just like the mysterious wrestler in the story from Genesis.
We don’t know if the wrestler was God or an angel or just Jacob’s conscience. When we meet him he’s returning to his homeland, the land promised to his grandpa, Abraham. He blew town years before after screwing his dimwitted twin brother Esau out of his birthright—an act to which Esau took considerable umbrage and determined to kill Jacob in retaliation. Jacob escaped to his Uncle Labon’s land and fell butt-over-teakettle in love with his smoking hot cousin Rachel[iv]. Laban forced Jacob to work for him seven years before he allowed him to marry her, but, on what would’ve been Jacob’s wedding night, Laban pulled a gypsy switch and substituted Rachel’s not-so-gorgeous older sister, Leah, in Rachel’s place. Then, having tricked Jake, Laban made him work another seven years to marry Rachel. During fourteen years in Laban’s employ, Jacob put away quite a nest egg—mostly at Laban’s expense. Unfortunately, he couldn’t seem to get Rachel pregnant. He had no trouble at all knocking up Leah, but he broke her heart and never loved her even though she bore him many sons. He also had children with the handmaids of both Leah and Rachel[v].
Now, older, presumably wiser, the dad of eleven boys and one girl, and the husband of two sisters, Jacob stands at the edge of the river, ready to return to his native land and claim the promise God had made to his father and grandfather before him. Only one catch: Esau is coming his way with 400 other dudes, and Jacob can only assume they haven’t come to throw him a Welcome Home party.
What does he do? He sends his family and servants (along with a considerable bribe!) ahead as an advance party to soften up Esau, and he spends the night alone on the eastern bank. But he can’t sleep. He wrestles with God or with himself the whole night. I’ll bet he had a lot to consider—his dishonest dealings with his brother and father, his marital life, his relationship with his in-laws, and the promise he hoped on faith to inherit from God. What did it all mean? It had darn well better have been worth it, because he stood a really good chance of being dead the next day.
But Jacob was a tough old bird, telling God, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.” And Jacob is blessed, but he is also left limping. In the gospel lesson (Luke 18:1-8), Jesus tells us to keep crying day and night, to keep believing, to keep praying and asking, to keep holding on and demanding the blessing. But he doesn’t say we won’t be wounded in the process.
According to the Pew Research firm, only 64% of Americans consider themselves Christians.[vi] Compare that with about 30% of us who have no religious affiliation whatever. You won’t need to read a crystal ball or bird entrails to figure out churches are going to experience an odyssey of changes in the very near future. Some of us are going to get knocked down and come up limping. Big changes are on the way, but it’s no time to be quitters. For anyone who feels the faith of our ancestors has something of value to share with the world, we’ll just have to hang on like Jacob did—crying, wrestling, and demanding the promised blessing.
It’ll be worth it.
Thanks for visiting me this week. I’m always glad when you stop by!
[i]
Literally “Face of God” in Hebrew. It’ll make sense if you know the story.
[ii]
That’s Philly speak for “downtown,” in case you’re not a native.
[iii]
See Luke 6:30
[iv] We’re
told that the day he met her “Jacob kissed Rachel and wept aloud.” (Gen.
30:11). That chick must’ve been a really good kisser!
[v]
That kind of thing was considered okay in that culture.
[vi]
For more on this click https://www.pewresearch.org/religion/2022/09/13/modeling-the-future-of-religion-in-america/
I've noticed you have become more outspoken and I like it!
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