The Beauty of Worship, and Service

I hope you find the Instructed Eucharist this Sunday to be helpful and enlightening. It really is an awesome thing that our God does in The Holy Eucharist. I can testify to how the spiritual food of Christ’s Body and Blood has been my “Blessed Assurance” that “Jesus is mine” ever since I first stepped into an Episcopal Church with Laura on Easter Sunday in 1984. My heart could have become hardened by personal grief, anger at the world’s injustice, and political calculation. But the Holy Communion of bread and wine, shared with so many brothers and sisters, has soothed my heart all these years.

Nothing is more important to my sense of priestly ministry as the liturgical worship of this church. I would never call Rick Warren a liturgical Christian. But it is his Purpose Driven Church, published before the better-known Purpose Driven Life, from which Christ Church draws its mission statement. “Christ Church exists to respond to God by becoming an outward and visible sign of Christ in the power of the Holy Spirit through worship, evangelism, discipleship, fellowship and ministry thus fulfilling the Great Commission.”

Worship, Evangelism, Discipleship, Fellowship and Ministry. Those are the five basic purposes of a Christian church, according to Warren. And during John Carlisto’s time as Rector, Christ Church adopted those purposes. The order of those purposes, however, was our choice. Worship comes first. It is the source from which all the other purposes are fulfilled. Without worship that nourishes the heart and soul, we don’t have a chance of making any headway on the other purposes.

But if worship is the beginning and the source of the church’s strength, it is not the final purpose. Worship is the first purpose of the church. “Ministry” is the final purpose. And by “ministry” in the New Testament, is meant “service.” To minister to someone is to serve them. To be a minister is to be a servant.

So as a church, we begin by serving God in our worship, and conclude by serving our fellow human beings. If we focus all our service on God, but fail to extend that service outside the walls of the church, then we are getting spiritually fat. If we undertake service of others without forgetting who really has the power, and who we’re ultimately serving, we will inevitably burn out. Our strength for service will fail if we forget the source of our strength.

I hope and pray that the new church will be a beautiful offering to God, and that our worship will nourish us, and inspire us for service. The beauty of Episcopal worship, in our architecture, our music, our time-tested words, and in the taste of bread and wine, is unique among the communities that call themselves “Christian.” There is also beauty in the diversity of faces whom we serve. Through every face, we see the face of God who made them and loves them.

There is beauty in our worship, where we glimpse the mystery of Almighty God with whom all things are possible, even the changing of bread and wine. There is beauty in the faces of a community (or communion) of smiling faces, different yet one in Jesus Christ. Worship and Service are both the purpose, the reason why we get together and call ourselves a church. Let us embrace them both.

Defeating Death: 16th Week of Ordinary Time

"On this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it" (Matthew 16:18)

Exodus means "departure." To make one's exodus is to leave, to begin a journey. The narrator of our story in Exodus calls the descendants of Jacob "Israelites." But here, and throughout the Old Testament, others call them "Hebrews"--"those from beyond"--outsiders, wanderers, nomads, people without a place to call their own. The people of Israel did not call themselves Hebrews. They did not want to think of themselves as homeless wanderers, even though, in one sense, that's what they were. How had their story begun? "Leave your land," God had told Abraham beside the Euphrates River in modern day Iraq. "Leave your family and your father's household for the land that I will show you" (Genesis 12:1).

And so Abraham and Sarah had made their way west to Canaan, where they had lived out their lives as "Hebrews," wandering outsiders with no land to call their own, save the burial ground that Abraham had insisted on buying from the local Canaanites when Sarah died. And so his son Isaac and grandson Jacob had remained outsiders in the eyes of the Canaanites, and the Egyptians to whom Jacob and his sons had fled during the famine.

So here they are, slaves in Egypt, who will be led out by Moses in their Exodus, or departure, from Egypt toward the promised land of Canaan. No one wants to be a Hebrew, a wandering outsider with no place to call their own. And even when you know that you're on the way to a better place, the old place can look mighty tempting when you're in between, not knowing what the new home will be like, or how much longer it will take to get there. As we follow the Israelites, more than once will we see them complain that never had it so good as when they were slaves in Egypt. But still, it's not easy to be a Hebrew, a wandering outsider, looking back in nostalgia on a place that only exists in your memories, then looking ahead of you to try and make out just one tree in the desert as a sign of water, an oasis. As "liturgical" Christians, we may feel at times like outsiders.

But we are also an oasis. We are a place of refreshment for those outsiders who need to know that they are welcomed by God in this holy place wherever they are in their spiritual wandering. We are an oasis, a place of refreshment where Jesus Christ is as close to us as the taste of bread and wine on our tongues. I give thanks for all those who have wandered in to this oasis, found refreshment and renewal, then continued on their journey. I give thanks for those who have stayed. And I give thanks for those who may yet to find their way here by God's grace.

Jesus and his disciples are wandering too. They haven't been in the Promised Land which the Israelites eventually conquered for awhile. Last week in Matthew's Gospel, they were in Tyre, on the Mediterranean coast. Today they have moved inland, but are still far away from Jerusalem. Jesus is preparing his church for life without him in the flesh. It won't be easy for his church as they wander, set down roots in one place, then be forced to uproot themselves. And the forces that will harass them are as strong as Hades.

"On this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it," Jesus promises Peter, and the church that he and the rest of the Twelve have handed down to us. Hades was the Greek god of the dead, and his kingdom in the underworld was named for him. So, death is the great enemy that struggles against the church but will not overpower or stand against it. This promise of Jesus could mean that we as a church will be able to resist the assaults of death. Or it could mean that we as a church are to storm the gates of death and defeat it. Or, perhaps, it means both, depending on where we are. Either way, death is the enemy against which we struggle and prevail. Death will neither overpower us or stand against us.

When we take bread and wine, bless it, break it and share it, while proclaiming Jesus' Resurrection, we defeat the forces of death that would sap our faith in the power of his death and rising. When we teach our children and watch them take the promises of Christ for themselves, we defeat the forces of death that would sap our hope for the future. When we commit ourselves to feeding the needy children of our schools, we defeat the forces of death that would make us complacent about the sufferings of the present. When we distribute beans and rice to those who come with whatever need they have, we defeat the forces of death who would deny the power of grace to soften their hearts, and ours as well.

This is the journey we Hebrews are on; to worship our God in the beauty of holiness and to taste and see that God is good. This is the journey we are on; to provide a place of hospitality where other seekers may ask their questions and find their answers in God's good time. This is the journey we are on; to let the kingdom of heaven be seen here and now in this world, and not be some pie in the sky that we only get when we die. That is not what Jesus means by prevailing against death. That is not the hope that kept the children of Israel from wasting away in a foreign land. Wherever we wander, God in Jesus Christ shares our setbacks, so that we are not alone in them. And wherever we wander, God in Jesus Christ is prevailing with us.

Worship, Effortless and Non-Optional

I decided to canvass the Parish because I had heard some parishioners lobbying for changing the time. They would appreciate an extra hour to get ready on Sunday morning. Others thought it might be easier to get visitors to come at a later time. Sometimes, the people lobbying for a change end up making more noise than those who are happy with the status quo. So, everybody has had the opportunity have their voice be heard.

As of today, it’s 36 in favor of 9am, 22 in favor of 10am. That’s 63 percent to 37 percent. If this was an election, we’d call that a landslide. But this isn’t an election, with winners and losers. And in a small parish like ours, 22 voices can’t be ignored.

That said, I suspect that a clear majority appreciates being able to come to church early, and have the rest of their Sunday to relax. And if we did switch to a 10am time for starting worship, that would raise the question of Sunday School: before worship or after. If we had Sunday School at 9, would anyone come? If we had it after, would anybody stay?

So, what are the options? Given that the majority of parishioners don’t want to move the time to 10, that would not seem to be an option. Could we split the difference, and start at 9:30? I notice that someone has written “summer” beside 9am, and “winter” beside 10am. I assume that a later start in the cold season would also feel like a warmer start, and an earlier start in the heat would feel a little cooler.

In that case, I could envision going to a 10 am start on the first Sunday of Advent, then switching to 9am on the first Sunday of June. But would people be able to get used to making that shift in their schedules twice a year?

Why does all this matter? Our mission at Christ Church is to be “an outward and visible sign of Christ in the power of the Holy Spirit through worship, evangelism, discipleship, fellowship and ministry.” Worship comes first, as it must. None of the other purposes can be achieved without taking the time to make ourselves present to God, together as one church. Sunday is not “optional.”

But I appreciate that the “world” is making it harder to fit church into our already too busy schedule. So, while it’s important for us to make the effort to come together as one body, one communion in Christ, I also want it to be as effortless as possible. So, what do you think? What do you need on Sunday morning to be refreshed, renewed, and strengthened to be that outward and visible sign of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ?

Breaking the Cycle: 15th Sunday of Ordinary Time

“Don’t be angry with yourselves that you sold me here.” Joseph told his brothers. “Actually, God sent me before you to save lives.” (Genesis 45:5)

To truly rejoice with this beautiful reconciliation between brothers, we need to go to the bottom with them. We need to go to the depth of the sin and dysfunction that went back generations. This is a dysfunctional family in ways that all of us can recognize at least parts of in our own families. To be in a dysfunctional relationship is to be alienated from that person with who we still find ourselves in relationship with. And to be alienated, from God and each other, is sin. We can trace the alienation that was handed down from the grandfather, Isaac, to the father, Jacob, to these brothers who were so alienated from each other that were ready to kill. But today’s conclusion to this family drama offers the hope of reconciliation.

It began with Isaac, to whom Abraham’s servant brought Rebekah to comfort him after the death of his mother, Sarah. But in the end, neither of them really found comfort with each other. Instead, as they distanced themselves from each other, they attached themselves to the hips of their two sons, Isaac to Esau, Rebekah to Jacob. Why? Perhaps it was because Esau was a “man’s man,” hairy, muscular, an outdoors man and hunter. But Jacob was a “quiet man who stayed at home,” presumably closer to his mother. And when Rebekah disguised Jacob in goat hide to con the father’s intended blessing for Esau, The family is split in two as Jacob is forced to go east to escape his brother’s anger.

Jacob makes his way to the ancestral homeland, which his grandfather Abraham had left. He finds his way to his relatives. And missing his mother, what does he do? He falls in love with the first girl he sees, Rachel. But then his uncle Laban tricks him into marrying Rachel’s sister Leah before he is allowed to marry Rachel. And so we are told, “Jacob loved Rachel more than Leah.” But Leah wins the battle of who bears the most children, six to Rachel’s two. But those two are Joseph and Benjamin. Rachel died as she gave birth to Benjamin. So as Jacob was overly attached to his mother, Rebekah, and his second wife, Rachel; so he fuses his heart and soul to the two sons that Rachel gave him. And as the two brothers Jacob and Easu, struggled for dominance, so does the favored Joseph struggle with his brothers.

The rest of the story leading up to today’s reading is familiar to most of us. Either you know it from the Bible, or also from the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical. Joseph with his amazing Technicolor dreamcoat boasts about his dreams of his brothers bowing down to him. They throw him in a well, then sell him into slavery in Egypt. But because of his ability to interpret dreams, Joseph is able to warn the Egyptian Pharaoh of the coming famine, and becomes the second most powerful man in Egypt. He marries, and has a son whom he names Manasseh because, he said, “God has helped me forget all of my troubles and everyone in my father’s household.” Now that would be nice, if it were true.

And then, who should appear before him but his brothers in need of food, and bowing before him just as Joseph dreamed. But was that really the point of the vision God had given him all those years earlier? Perhaps there is a chance that the cycle of over-attachment and alienation, handed down through three generations, can be broken. But to do that, Joseph and his brothers must replay the painful events that led them here. The brothers must face up to the wrong they did and change their hearts and lives. And Joseph must replay the pain he suffered, and how he contributed to the bad feelings between himself and his brothers. Then he has to choose to forgive.

So first; Joseph verbally abuses them, and takes one of the brothers as a hostage. He sends the rest back with food, but demands that they return with Benjamin, the youngest son of Rachel, whom Jacob clings to for fear that he will be killed as he was led to believe that Joseph was. And so the brothers say to themselves, “We are clearly guilty for what we did to our brother...So now this is payback for his death.” Basically, Joseph’s brothers seem to think that the world is run by karma: what goes around comes around. Eventually, with the famine continuing and the food running out, Jacob lets the brothers return to Egypt, with Benjamin. Joseph arranges to have a silver cup placed in Benjamin's sack, and then accuses him and is ready to make him a slave. But then, just before today’s reading from Genesis, Judah, whose idea it was to sell Joseph, replays that moment. But this time he offers himself as a slave in place of Benjamin.

Some might think that Joseph has been cruel in the way he manipulated them. And as he sees the change in the hearts and lives of his brothers, Joseph changes his heart as well. “Don’t be angry with yourselves that you sold me here,” Joseph pleads with them. “Actually, God sent me before you to save lives.” Through the years of bitter struggle, shame, and guilt, God has watched, and opened the doors for Joseph and his brothers to walk through, if they were brave enough to replay the pain and evil of the past, trusting that instead of leading to alienation, this time it would lead to reconciliation.

And so the generational cycle of attachment and alienation is broken in this family. And just in time. The people of Jacob, also known as Israel, will need to stick together. Eventually, a new Pharaoh will forget how Joseph saved the Egyptians from starvation. And for 400 years, the Israelites will suffer the toil of slavery, until Moses comes. But that's a story for another time. This day, there is reconciliation, and softened hearts. Where are you in this story? What attachments do you need to loosen? What alienation and bitterness do you need to stop avoiding? What reconciliation do you hope and pray for? I pray that we may hear this story of attachment, alienation, and reconciliation, and make it our own.

The Boat and the Church: 14th Sunday of Ordinary Time

“Be encouraged! It’s me. Don’t be afraid. Come.” (Matthew 14:27)

When did you first begin to think about God for yourself, as someone other than whatever your parents told you about him? For me, I think it was the age of seven. I was on the beach in my hometown of Vero Beach, Florida, with my parents, looking out at the Atlantic Ocean before me. And for the first time, I really looked at that vast expanse of water. And I saw a ship just coming into view over the horizon. For the first time in my seven-year-old life, I got a glimpse of just how vast was this world I had been placed in, and how small I really was. And I realized that whoever made that ocean, and the ground on which I stood had to be even more vast.

When I was eight, my mother moved me and my older brother to Knoxville for a year while she studied for a Master’s degree in Public Administration, so that she could go from being a schoolteacher to a school administrator. In that year, this Florida boy discovered snow, and the Great Smoky Mountains. Later, my college geology professor would tell me that the region called Appalachia, from Northwestern Georgia all the way to southern Maine, is probably the oldest land mass on Earth. When we left to go back to Florida, I cried much of the way. My mother dismissed my tears, saying that I was just going to miss the pool at our apartment complex. But I remembered the mountains. They touched something in my eight-year-old soul, a desire for permanence?

I’ve come to the conclusion that there are two types of people in the world, “beach people” and “mountain people.” There is something in the vastness of the ocean, and the constant motion of the waves that speaks to some of their spiritual need to be on the move, to flow with the changes of life and world. Others need a high rock to stand on. They need permanence. They need that which endures and survives.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus’ disciples know what it is to have to trust God amid the stormy waters. And they know what it is to beg for firm ground underneath them. They don’t want to go out into the water. Jesus “made” them get into the boat and go ahead of him to the other side of the lake. It would be accurate to say that Jesus “forced” his disciples to leave without him. They were forced to venture out into the water, symbol of all the chaos and unpredictable disasters that haunt this world. And their only rock, their only protection against the violent wind and crashing waves, was their boat. And that boat was getting “battered” by the waves and the wind. The Greek word translated “battered” literally means, “to torment,” “to torture.” So here is this little church. All the disciples that Jesus has fitting into this boat. And here is this church being tortured by the physical forces of the water and wind. Here is this church of terrified disciples, afraid for their lives, and their hopes for the future.

Look around us, and see the angled roof above us. Imagine all the churches with those angled roofs. Then imagine those buildings turned upside down, and understand that we all are the church in a boat, tormented by unpredictable winds and crashing waves which we fear will swamp us. But then, look outside the boat, and see our Lord and Savior, walking on the very water we fear will drown us, and saying, “Be encouraged! It’s me. Don’t be afraid.”

And then Peter, in his mix of sincerity and recklessness, says, “Lord, if it’s you, order me to come to you on the water.” You know, Peter, that Satan said something pretty similar to Jesus from the top of the Temple: “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down.” Maybe you might want to trust that Jesus will come to you in the boat that is the church. And yet, Jesus responds, not with a rebuke, but a simple word, “Come.” And so Peter takes a risk in faith. He steps out onto that vast expanse of water, heaving to and from as the waves crest and crash. And yet he makes it, for at least a little bit. Then, when his trust fails him and he cries out, “Rescue me!” there is Jesus right beside him. He would have come to the disciples in the boat. But he is also there on the restless and unpredictable sea.

For much of my adult life, my love of the mountains went with my search for the rock, a search for certainty. But as I’ve gotten older, and hopefully wiser, I’ve rediscovered that seven-year-old child who saw the ship coming over the horizon and realized how small he was. But I’m not scared of that smallness. I’m not afraid of the water. I know that there is a God who made the ocean, and who made you and made me. And the God that made us sees us. And God’s Son walks toward us and our small battered boat wherever we are. God’s purpose for each of us, and for this boat, will be achieved regardless of the storms that torment us. And if we hear Jesus calling us to come to him on the water, then we can do so, knowing that even if we fail, he will be there to take our hand.

When I was in seminary, a spiritual director led me in a guided meditation to meet “my Jesus.” In my mind, I went to a special place, which for me turned out to be the beach. Since imagination is one of God’s gifts to us, then God can guide that imagination. I visualized a candle on the horizon that came closer to me on the water, and then took shape as a man, who was very happy to see me. We sat on that beach and talked. And then he got up. I said, don’t go. And he offered his hand and said, come with me. What is it like walking on water? As God gave me the spirit to imagine it, it felt like a very hard sponge. It gave ground beneath my steps, but it remained firm.

Whether in this fellowship hall, or in the new church that is coming, Jesus is making us go out into the water, where we will be battered by the waves. But whatever comes, he is also coming with us. And if we dare to walk with him, he will always be close enough to us to reach out and grab us. So be encouraged! It’s him. Don’t be afraid. Come.

Respecting Borders While Hoping For None

In case you have not already heard, I should let you know that this past week; the Episcopal Diocese of Alabama joined with the Roman Catholic dioceses of Birmingham and Mobile, and the Methodist North Alabama Conference, in a lawsuit against the new immigration law in Alabama. I have a copy of the legal complaint filed in federal court, and will share it with anyone who wishes to read it.

In the lawsuit, the churches argue that the recently passed law violates the rights of their members under the First Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, which states: “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof.” This Amendment, like the rest of the first ten Amendments, originally applied only to the U.S. Congress. But under the 14th Amendment to the Constitution, the protections of the Bill of Rights are now understood as applying to the states as well as the federal government.

According to the churches filing the lawsuit: “Biblical teachings to extend hospitality to all people without reservation are obligatory to all members of Alabama’s Episcopal, Methodist and Roman Catholic religions.” And these “Bible-based instructions to feed the hungry, shelter the homeless and clothe the naked are in direct conflict with the Law’s restrictions against assisting” those immigrants who don’t have legal status.

Having studied the law, the four bishops filing the lawsuit have concluded that in order to avoid violating the law, members of their churches will have to verify the immigration status of anyone they assist with food, shelter, transportation, education, or other services. They will also be prohibited from helping any illegal immigrants attend worship services.

Among other things, the new law makes it a crime to “conceal, harbor or shield” immigrants without legal status; and to “encourage or induce an alien” without legal status “to come to or reside in this state.” There are many ministries in our diocese which provide food, shelter and education to the needy. If the new law goes into effect, those who serve in those ministries will have to choose between practicing their religion and complying with the law.

As I wrote a few weeks ago, I share the frustration of those who believe that a sovereign nation should be able to control its borders and regulate who comes to this country. The Federal government has failed to do that for years now. And it has created a class of people who live in a legal No-Man’s Land. They are unable to become citizens; but the obstacles to a mass-deportation are too many to overcome. But the new law has created a climate of uncertainty for many who fear becoming criminals by simply serving the needy. And in that respect, the Alabama Legislature and Governor Bentley overreached in their understandable desire to enforce the law.

As Americans, we live within national borders that should be respected. As Christians, we live in another kingdom that has no borders. And as Christians we cannot turn away those in need simply because they do not share our nationality.

I understand that at least some of you are disappointed by Bishop Parsley’s action. I understand that you have seen changes in this city that you did not ask for. Clearly, this town that we all love is struggling with many things: the loss of business, cultural changes, the lack of opportunities for young people, and natural disasters. But there are also reasons for hope: a state-of-the-art school and fine arts center, a passion for artistic excellence typified by our marching band, a renewed commitment to attracting new businesses; and last but not least, a new church and fellowship hall that will be more able to bridge Christ and community.

Can we see a kingdom without borders within the borders of our community? I hope so. In the meantime; my door is open to any of you who wish to express your frustration, and your hope.

The Blessings of Wrestling: 13th Sunday of Ordinary Time

It’s quite a story that we’ve been following the past few weeks from the Book of Genesis—Jacob and Esau. It began even before they were born. “Rebekah became pregnant. But the boys pushed against each other inside of her, and she said, ‘If this is what it’s like, why did it happen to me?’ So she went to ask the LORD. And the LORD said to her, ‘Two nations are in your womb; two different peoples will emerge from your body. One people will be stronger than the other; the older will serve the younger.’ When she reached the end of her pregnancy, she discovered that she had twins. The first came out red all over, clothed with hair, and she named him Esau (meaning "hairy"). Immediately afterward, his brother came out gripping Esau’s heel, and she named him Jacob” (meaning he who cheats. Genesis 25:21-26, Common English Bible).

Two sons destined to be rivals, a rivalry that would be inherited by the descendants, the nations of Israel, and to Israel’s south, Edom. One, physically stronger, rough and hairy all over. The other, more clever, grasping for the advantage, and not above cheating to get his way. If you were to make a TV series of this story, you could call it, “Hairy and the Heel.” We’ve heard different parts of the story these past few weeks. We heard how Jacob wrestled the birthright of the older son from Esau with a bowl of stew. We missed the episode in which Rebekah helped disguise Jacob in Esau’s clothing and goat hide. So, when the blind father, Isaac, wishes to bless his oldest son, he gives that blessing to Jacob instead. Not surprisingly, the “Heel” then has to high-tail it out of Canaan in order to escape being killed by “Hairy.”

Then, we heard God enter this story for the first time. There is the Heel, on his way to an unfamiliar place, unsure of his fate. But it is to this man, whose name means, “cheater,” that God shows a ladder to heaven, with angels ascending and descending, and then repeats the promises he made to Jacob’s grandfather Abraham, “Your descendants will become like the dust of the earth; you will spread out to the west, east, north, and south. Every family of earth will be blessed because of you and your descendants. I am with you now, I will protect you everywhere you go, and I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done everything that I have promised you” (Gen. 28:14-15).

What a God of unmerited grace this is. And yet, responding to this promise, our hero the Heel keeps putting conditions on his own submission to God: “If God is with me and protects me on this trip I’m taking, and gives me bread to eat and clothes to wear, and I return safely to my father’s household, then the LORD will be my God” (Gen. 28:20-21). Jacob is still wrestling for the advantages of wealth and security. Well, our hero makes it to his ancestral homeland of Haran, east of Canaan. He falls in love with Rachel. But his Uncle Laban tricks him into marrying the older sister Leah, and then getting Jacob to agree to work for him for seven years in order to marry Rachel as well.

Well, our hero the Heel finally gets out of Haran, with both wives, and a whole lot of livestock that he basically swindled from Uncle Laban. And he makes his back to Canaan, and his brother “Hairy.” Maybe the years apart have softened up Esau, made him ready to let bygones be bygones, not. The messengers returned to Jacob and said, “We went out to your brother Esau, and he’s coming to meet you with four hundred men.” (Gen. 32:6). What will our hero do now? He splits his camp in two, and begins sending messengers with gifts of livestock to his brother coming to meet him with four hundred men.

And then he spends the night alone by the river. Except that suddenly, he’s not so alone. “But Jacob stayed apart by himself, and a man wrestled with him until dawn broke” (Gen. 32:24). Who is this “man”? At first perhaps, Jacob thinks it might be Esau, who wants to kill Jacob himself with his own cold hands. As the night struggle wears on, perhaps Jacob wonders if all the demons in his life have come together on this night: the insecurities that drove him to steal all his older brother’s advantages, to hoodwink his father, and his uncle. Maybe all those pressures have built up in his heart and have burst out, so that Jacob is literally wrestling himself.

But as the night turns to dawn, and Jacob continues to struggle with this “man” who has faithfully struggled with him, he begins to sense that this is more than a man, and that the man he is wrestling with is the one man who might be able to help him. “The man said, ‘Let me go because the dawn is breaking.’ But Jacob said, ‘I won’t let you go until you bless me.’ And so God asks, “What is your name?” And Jacob speaks his name that is also a confession: “I am the Heel, the cheater.” And this faithful God says, “Your name won’t be Jacob any longer, but Israel, because you struggled with God and with men and won.” (Gen. 32:28).

God wrestles with us on our terms, for as long as it takes. We’re all victims of someone, or something, that has left its scars on our hearts, and God knows that. So when those scars leave us feeling insecure, God will wrestle with us, for years if necessary. This God of amazing grace will wrestle with us until we are ready to face the demons within ourselves, those insecurities that have led us to grasp for wealth and possessions, power and control, being “right” about the issue of the day, emotional comfort in whatever friends of the moment were willing to feed us. God wrestles with our complaints until those complaints become our confession.

And as God blessed the wrestler, “Israel,” so God blesses us, with what exactly? As Jacob limps toward his brother, he doesn’t know if Esau will accept his offerings of livestock. What blessing has God given Jacob? It’s not certainty about the future. It’s not a pat on the head that everything will be alright; although in the end Esau embraces his brother and the two are reconciled. Perhaps, the blessing is understanding of himself, the good and the bad within him, and the peace that comes from knowing that God has loved him and accepted him, warts and all. Perhaps the blessing is to be free from anxiety; to know that he can change his life; and if he falls, God will wrestle with him again as he picks Jacob up, dusts him off, and sends him on his way.

Through Jesus Christ, we have inherited the promise God made to Jacob: “Every family of earth will be blessed because of you and your descendants.” We all are Israel, struggling with God and men, and by God's grace winning. God’s hand is always there, either to wrestle with or to embrace. Take it.