Blessing the Ordinary (MPLS)

Genesis 32:9-31

And Jacob said, ‘O God of my father Abraham and God of my father Isaac, O Lord who said to me, “Return to your country and to your kindred, and I will do you good”, I am not worthy of the least of all the steadfast love and all the faithfulness that you have shown to your servant, for with only my staff I crossed this Jordan; and now I have become two companies. Deliver me, please, from the hand of my brother, from the hand of Esau, for I am afraid of him; he may come and kill us all, the mothers with the children. Yet you have said, “I will surely do you good, and make your offspring as the sand of the sea, which cannot be counted because of their number.”’

So he spent that night there, and from what he had with him he took a present for his brother Esau, two hundred female goats and twenty male goats, two hundred ewes and twenty rams, thirty milch camels and their colts, forty cows and ten bulls, twenty female donkeys and ten male donkeys. These he delivered into the hand of his servants, each drove by itself, and said to his servants, ‘Pass on ahead of me, and put a space between drove and drove.’ He instructed the foremost, ‘When Esau my brother meets you, and asks you, “To whom do you belong? Where are you going? And whose are these ahead of you?” then you shall say, “They belong to your servant Jacob; they are a present sent to my lord Esau; and moreover he is behind us.” ’ He likewise instructed the second and the third and all who followed the droves, ‘You shall say the same thing to Esau when you meet him, and you shall say, “Moreover your servant Jacob is behind us.” ’ For he thought, ‘I may appease him with the present that goes ahead of me, and afterwards I shall see his face; perhaps he will accept me.’ So the present passed on ahead of him; and he himself spent that night in the camp.

The same night he 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.

It’s hard to know whether the name makes the person or the person makes the name. 

The labor and delivery nurses were skeptical when I said Baby A would be Solveig, strength from the sun and Baby B would be Tove, the goddess of Thunder. 

How can you know which one is which? 

But I knew. I had been privy to their wrestling matches inside my body for months. I knew who snuggled and who stormed.

And when they were born, the nurses agreed. We couldn’t begin to know everything about them, but we could tell one thing for sure. Solveig was sunshine and Tove was Thunder. 

I have a soft spot for Rebekah, the mother of Jacob and Esau, who cries out to God to make them stop fighting in her womb, who asks God to deliver her from the torment of war within. And I feel for her when God replies, Just you wait. They’ll be like this on the outside, too. They won’t keep to simple stereotypes about birth order, either. The younger one will rule over his big brother. 

Rebekah can’t begin to know everything about them, but she can tell one thing for sure. Rules will be broken and brothers will struggle.

Maybe you remember the stories about ruddy and hairy Esau born with Jacob grabbing at his heel, trying to squeeze out first and take the good stuff owed to firstborn sons. While Esau hunted and labored outside growing strong, Jacob kept to the tents, ears near to the gossip and women’s work, making plans and taking matters into his own hands. 

He tricked a ravenous Esau into trading his birthright for a bowl of stew. 

Later, he stole his father’s blessing intended for Esau, by posing at his brother, lying to his father, and taking something from them both. 

Jacob’s mother helped him escape the wrath of Esau by sending him to her brother’s house. Surely Uncle Laban would give him work and keep him busy for a few years while Esau calmed down and picked up the scraps of an inheritance torn and tattered. 

And so Jacob found a fresh start as a shepherd, tending flocks and banking on the promise that after seven years of service, he would be able to marry his cousin Rachel, for whom he felt love at first sight. 

But playing tricks runs in the family and on his wedding night, Jacob found himself in bed with her big sister Leah. Awkward. And not the deal. The rules about birth order finally caught up with him and it would be seven more years until a wedding with Rachel. 

Jacob thrives and so do his flocks, in part because he is cunning and strategic about breeding the strongest animals out of Uncle Laban’s flock and into his own. Laban tries to outsmart him, but God assures Jacob that he will thrive—and that it’s time to return to the land of his father and mother and brother.

Between Leah, Rachel, and two of their maids, Jacob fathers a dozen sons and many more daughters. They make plans for the journey, gathering everything to which they have a claim (and some extra heirlooms besides). 

It was an Irish goodbye that made Laban suspicious and so he pursued them, making threats and accusations until the two decided to set up a stone marker in the wilderness that would remember a promise: Jacob would be faithful to Laban’s daughters and take good care of his grandchildren and the two men would go their separate ways, letting the past stay in the past.

Now this is where it gets vulnerable. With Laban behind him, Jacob turns his face toward his homeland and has to acknowledge the baggage with his brother. He has to come to terms with what he’s done and left undone, all while Esau is heading his way, armed with 400 men. 

Jacob won’t be able to sneak by Esau or hide all of his earthly wealth, so he gets busy dividing his livestock and servants and stuff into camps set apart from one another. He considers the cost-benefit if one camp is attacked and the other can flee. And then he sends servants ahead to Esau with gifts—hundreds of goats and ewes and rams and camels and cows and bulls and donkeys. 

Maybe, he thinks, maybe if Esau meets us in vulnerable waves to find presents and bribes and humble words, it will soften his anger toward me. Maybe these things will be enough to distract him from my shame and save me from my sin.

And so he parcels everything and sends his kin ahead: everything he has ever stolen and borrowed, everyone who is counting on this plan to work and trusting him with their life. 

And then, finally, as the sun begins to set, it’s just Jacob. No heel to grab onto, no birthright or blessing, no multi-level marketing scheme up his sleeve. Just Jacob.

It depends what translation you read, but someone comes to wrestle with him that night. A man? An angel? God? Or is he wrestling with himself? It’s an even and stubborn match that goes on until daybreak when the one with whom he wrestles hits Jacob’s hip socket and it pops out of joint. But even then, Jacob doesn’t let go. 

I will not let you go unless you bless me.

What is your name? 

The last time Jacob asked for a blessing, he lied. He deceived his own father by claiming to be Esau. But this time he’s honest. 

My name is Jacob and I will not let you go until you bless me.

Me. Just me. The real me.

I am longing for a blessing that is actually for me, that calls me by my name and says I’m enough and worthy of blessing.

There is a blessing and a new name, and they know that Jacob is a scheming trickster, but that’s not all he is. 

Your name shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, because you have struggled with God and with humankind and you are still here. 

I imagine that when he rises, he feels like himself and the limp slows down his gate because, for the first time in a long time, he’s not running.

Dear Church, we know a thing or two about running, about metrics that say more is better, about making strategic piles when we feels scared, about wondering if we are enough. 

Personally and Universally. But also as Bethlehem.

Seven years ago. Consolidation. Five years ago. Chris died. Two and a half years ago. Eight months ago. Ministry Site Profile.

I know we can name 
– What we miss
– What we used to be
– What we hope happens next

But today the scripture is daring us to send it all ahead, to hold this moment lightly, to remain in the quiet vulnerability of our actual selves and the call to be the church here and now.

Get audacious like Jacob and wrestle a blessing for this—whatever this is!—out of God. Hold God near to your breath and body, the truest version of you, like you fully expect God to show up in what’s scary, exhausting, uncertain, and hard. Not because God will take the struggle away, but because God promises struggle means we are alive in this world and that this is not the end. 

We get to practice today. That’s what we do in worship together—we get to practice believing with our breath and bodies that the gospel is coming true during interims and in-betweens. 

In a few minutes we’ll speak a word of God’s peace to one another and send what we have to offer ahead of us—our time and talent and treasure. And then we’ll come to the table and hold out empty hands for a taste of abundant life in the midst of struggle. 

Friends, if you aren’t exactly traveling light today, if you feel like Jacob dividing what you think you have into anxious waves, if you are still packed for where you’ve already been, if it’s been a minute since you wrestled and remembered who you actually are…

You’re in luck. This is where we get to practice.

This is where we peel off the measures and names the world offers to reveal our first and forever identity: Beloved. Already enough. Child of God.

So touch your hip. Notice your body, it’s pace and posture today, the way you wrestle with being fully alive. 

Bless us God. We will not let go until you bless us. Until you set us free from trying so hard to be something other than Beloved. 

Remind us that we are your body, here and now. That we are your church here and now. Help us get up move forward like we already have everything we need to struggle and rise and live.