We begin with the Gospel, which ends with what I believe is the most penetrating question Jesus ever asked—or asks.
Lk 18.1-8
Jesus told his disciples a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart. He said, "In a certain city there was a judge who neither feared God nor had respect for people. In that city there was a widow who kept coming to him and saying, `Grant me justice against my opponent.' For a while he refused; but later he said to himself, `Though I have no fear of God and no respect for anyone, yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming.'" And the Lord said, "Listen to what the unjust judge says. And will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them? I tell you, he will quickly grant justice to them. And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?"
We turn to the OT reading for the answer.
Gen. 32.22-31
The same night Jacob got up and took his two wives, his two maids, and his eleven children, and crossed the ford of the Jabbok. He took them and sent them across the stream, and likewise everything that he had. Jacob was left alone; and a man wrestled with him until daybreak. When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he struck him on the hip socket; and Jacob's hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him. Then he said, "Let me go, for the day is breaking." But Jacob said, "I will not let you go, unless you bless me." So he said to him, "What is your name?" And he said, "Jacob." Then the man said, "You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with humans, and have prevailed." Then Jacob asked him, "Please tell me your name." But he said, "Why is it that you ask my name?" And there he blessed him. So Jacob called the place Peniel, saying, "For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life is preserved." The sun rose upon him as he passed Penuel, limping because of his hip.
This story, the story of Jacob besting God, tells us not only that the Son of Man will indeed find faith on the earth when he comes but also what that faith is that he seeks, and how he finds it in his coming near.
“Jacob was left alone…”
Whatever we might expect, this is not a story of a conversion, at least not in any neat sense. Jacob does not in this encounter turn from bad to good. No, this is the story of a confirmation. Jacob is not released from his past; he is reconciled to it, as he is reconciled to himself.
“…and a man wrestled with him until daybreak.”
Who is this “man” who waylays Jacob in the dark by the river’s shallows? A bandit? An angel? If so, whose? Esau’s? Jacob’s? Or perhaps a territorial spirit?
Whoever he is, what does he want? Why attack? Why fight all night? Why fear the dawn? If he doesn’t know who Jacob is, why assail him? If he does, why ask his name? And why refuse to reveal his own identity?
Elie Wiesel cuts right to the quick:
The mysterious aggressor? The other half of Jacob’s split self. The side of him that harbored doubts about his mission, his future, his raison d’être; the voice in him that said: I deserve nothing, I am less than nothing, I am unworthy of celestial blessing, unworthy of my ancestors as much as of my descendants, unworthy to transmit God’s message to man. Here, the episode’s dimensions shift: we witness a confrontation between Jacob and Jacob. Says the Midrash: God created the world so that day would be day and night would be night; then came Jacob and he changed the night into the day. Explanation: At Peniel, for the first time, Jacob behaved in the same way at night and during the day. That night the two Jacobs came together. The heroic dreamer and the inveterate fugitive, the unassuming man and the founder of a nation clashed at Peniel in a fierce and decisive battle. To kill or be killed. It was a turning point for Jacob. He had a choice: to die before dying, or to take hold of himself and fight. And win.
"What is your name?"
Jacob was conceived in trouble. His mother, Rebekah, after years of infertility, finally conceives—and the twins “struggled together within her” (Gen. 25.22) so violently she was convinced they would kill her. Desperate, she turned to the Lord:
And the Lord said to her,
“Two nations are in your womb,
and two peoples born of you shall be divided;
the one shall be stronger than the other;
the elder shall serve the younger.” (Gen. 25.23)
At first glance, the prophecy seems clear. But, as Robert Alter explains, “the Hebrew syntax leaves unclear which noun is subject and which is object—‘the elder shall serve the younger,’ or, ‘the elder, the younger shall serve.’”
When the boys come to term, Esau, red-faced and hairy, is born first, by no more than a breath, and the younger appears “with his hand gripping Esau’s heel” (Gen. 25.26). That, of course, is how Jacob got his name.
His name is not a curse, not an accusation. It sounds like one, however. And that ambiguity, coupled with the ambiguity of the prophecy his mother had received about him and his brother, hangs over them all, shadowing their every move.
“Jacob”
Years and years later, as Isaac lays dying, Rebekah tries to convince her youngest to trick his father into giving him the blessing reserved for the elder son. Jacob balks: “Look, Esau my brother is a hairy man and I am a smooth-skinned man. What if my father feels me and I seem a cheat to him and bring on myself a curse and not a blessing?” (Gen. 25.11-12).
He does not want to deceive his father. At least he does not want to be cursed by his father as a deceiver. But Rebekah, perhaps fearing her old prophecy would also die if she did not act quickly, urged him to obey her words: “May your curse be on me…” (Gen. 25.13).
Isaac is easy prey. And after the deed is done, while the smell of Jacob’s trick is still lingering at the mouth of his father’s tent, Esau discovers the ugly truth:
When Esau heard his father’s words, he cried out with a great and very bitter outcry and he said to his father, “Bless me, too, Father!” And he said, “Your brother has come in deceit and has taken your blessing.” And he said, “Was his name called Jacob that he should trip me now twice by the heels My birthright he took, and look, now, he’s taken my blessing.” (Gen. 27.34-36)
Jacob, at last, seems to have lived down into the shadow of his name. But insofar as that is true, it must be at least in part because his brother’s suspicions and his mother’s desires—to say nothing of his father’s credulity—pressed him toward it.
"You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel.”
Jacob has already received the blessing. What does he want from this man? Whoever he is, this man gives Jacob something no one else can give him. He gives him the chance to take, rightfully, what is his. He gives him the chance to be a true heel-grabber—a wrestler. At first, Jacob is described as a “simple” (tam) man—innocent, integral, quiet, peaceful (Gen. 25.27). But the man know that he cannot fulfill that integrity until he has learned to fight—for himself and as himself. And that is why he confronts Jacob, forcing the heel-grabber to meet him head-on, face-to-face. Wiesel is right:
This is the context in which we must reread the episode at Peniel. Jacob needed to provoke God to justify his place in history. Only thus could he surpass himself and become Israel. And as dawn broke, he did become Israel. He had to cross night, go to the end of the confrontation—face solitude and anguish—to become worthy of his name. At dawn Jacob was a different man. Whatever he touched caught fire…
“Tell me your name.”
The man says “you shall no longer be called Jacob.” But in point of fact he is. In the immediately following line, in fact, we read: “then Jacob asked him, ‘Tell me, I pray, your name.” (Gen. 32.29). Throughout the remainder of the Scriptures, he is known as both Jacob and Israel. And the mystery of that relation—Jacob’s relation to himself as the man who bested God in contest—is hidden inside the wonder of the man who cannot be named.
This is how Hebrews names him: “By faith Jacob, when dying, blessed each of the sons of Joseph, bowing in worship over the head of his staff” (Heb. 11.21). As he father lay dying, Jacob acted deceitfully. But at the moment of his own death, leaning on the staff that helped him on his limping way, he spoke the blessing over each of Joseph’s sons. And his blessing smelled of adoration.
“I have seen God face-to-face and I came out alive.”
We are not who we fear we are. Not who others suspect we are. Not who our enemy accuses us of being. But we cannot know the truth of ourselves, cannot believe that truth to be true, apart from contending for it. And we can contend for it only once we are forced to be alone, to face ourselves alone, to fight everyone, even God, for the blessing that is by God’s decision rightfully ours.
And that is why God comes to us as “the man.”
Again, Wiesel:
Jacob, the nonviolent, the timorous, Jacob the weak, the resigned, the coward who always succeeded in avoiding confrontations, particularly violent ones, suddenly resisted the aggressor, plunged into the fight and returned blow for blow. And there was nobody around to come to his rescue, or even to give him moral support, or even to admire him. The metamorphosis seems so incredible, one wonders to whom or to what it should be attributed. To the attacker perhaps? Was he the one who succeeded in transforming Jacob into an inflexible and invincible warrior? Was this what Jacob had needed in order to become aware of his own strength, his own truth and the hopes he personified? Had he really needed an adversary, a dangerous adversary in order to become Israel? Does Israel owe that much to its enemy?
Yes.
Believe it or not, it is rarely our lack of trust in God that kills us, that steals our joy, and keeps us from living life-giving lives. Instead, it is our inability to believe in ourselves, to accept what God insists is true of us and to live from that confidence. And this is why Jesus comes as he does, wounding us with his wounds, so we can bless as we have been blessed. He comes, as Origen says, as King of kings and Lord of lords, comes to make us his equals; not just heirs but joint-heirs and co-laborers; not slaves but friends. So, he forces us to prove it to ourselves, forces us to act in faith.
“When the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?”
Faith, in the end, the faith Jesus comes seeking, just is fight—the readiness to stand up to yourself for yourself, to face off with God and to face down your demons (as he did in the wilderness, in the garden, on the cross). And that fight is awakened in us only by his coming as the mysterious, wounded and wounding “Son of Man.”
Because he once-for-all assumed humanity to himself, Jesus is freely, actively present in, through, and with any and all creatures and creaturely likenesses. Yes, he plays in ten thousand places, lovely in limbs, lovely in eyes not his. But far more often, times without number, he comes without beauty, without comeliness, catching us alone, working under the masks of our worst fears, forcing us to fight so that we can win—and thus know ourselves as more than conquerors, consorts of the unnameable and all-too-vulnerable God.
This is such an awesome homily ... our group studied the lectionary very intently looking at from various perspectives however this is one that touched us the most ... coming face to face with Lord and with ourselves even wrestling with ourselves and the Lord for the blessing that is truly Jacobs. Then also with Luke & Genesis there is an action & a response ... so many times we find ourselves carrying the traumas of the past only to find out in both of these cases that the Lord who loves us and knows all ... is able to grant the very thing that seems so impossible to possess. The outcome on both ends were good & merciful because we have a good good Father. Wow 2Timothy 3-4 wrecked me because Paul speaking to his spiritual son Timothy affirming him and sharing with him sound wisdom...speaking into his life... thanks so much Phyllis Ford
Amen! This is so good. Thank you.