Today, we recall a pivotal moment in the account of the great patriarch Jacob. Jacob’s life up to this point had been one of running and scheming. It was a life certainly worthy of a Netflix documentary, for it has all the gritty details we love to watch. When his older twin brother, Esau, was perhaps a bit impetuous and naïve, he convinced him to sell him his birthright for a bowl of stew. Then, many years later, when his father Isaac was on his deathbed and blind, he disguised himself as Esau and took the blessing which belonged to his brother. This led to many years of wandering and uncertainty as he fled the wrath of Esau. Guided by his mother, he went to his uncle Laban and served him for many years. It is a bizarre story. Yet, it leads to great prosperity for Jacob, many wives, children, and livestock. In fact, this success eventually turns Laban against him, and Jacob is on the run once more. But in his fleeing from Laban, he is going headlong back to Esau, and who knows if his wrath has abated after twenty years. Who knows what is in store for Jacob? But one thing we can be sure of is he did not expect to be attacked in the middle of the night.

At the ford of the Jabbok, Jacob sends his wives, children, and all his possessions before him, and he was left, for a moment, alone. There in the solitude and darkness, he is attacked. Someone grabs hold of him, and before he knows what is going on, he is locked in a battle for his life. He wrestles with the unknown assailant through the night, his muscles straining, fear and anger rising in his heart as he engages over and over again with no sign of ending the brutality. Sweat soaks his garments as his bruised and bloody limbs press on for an end to the contest. And then, in a surprising moment, the attacker simply touches his hip and puts it out of joint. In agony, all he can do is hold on, cling to his opponent as the sun begins to rise.

Finally, the unnamed assailant speaks, “Let Me go, for the day has broken,” He says. In the light of the new day, as the darkness recedes, we learn the awesome and terrifying truth: The one Jacob has wrestled with is God Himself. God attacked him in the night. God wounded him, and Jacob will not let go. He cries out, “I will not let You go unless You bless me.” He seems to understand that the only way out of a fight with God is a word of blessing from God Himself. He has nowhere else to run, no other schemes to get through this fight. And there he receives a new name, Israel. It is a name which means “to wrestle with God.”

How much of our life is consumed in such a contest? A fight that flows from your faith itself? Frances was a member of my congregation in Georgia. She had a beautiful singing voice and loved to participate in the choir. Like many young women in that congregation, she was married to a sailor. Kings Bay Naval Submarine Base was the lifeblood of our town, and the men would regularly ship out for around three months at a time, during which there was usually no contact between their families back home.

Though she had been through this routine many times before, this time was particularly stressful. About a month before he was to leave, she found out she was pregnant. They were overjoyed, excited about the prospect of beginning their family together. She came regularly to church, to midweek Bible Study, and to all the fellowship activities we had going on. She was serious about her faith and began to dream what it would be like to pass it on to a little blessing from God. Then, one day, she showed up in my study in the middle of the day. She knocked gently on my open door, which got my attention. When I looked up, I could see the puffy eyes from crying, and her usual captivating smile turned to trembling sorrow. She had lost the baby. In fact, she had just come from the doctor. She was alone without her husband around, alone in the darkness of shattered dreams, alone with questions of why God would allow this to happen. This is wrestling with God.

I have watched Christians pray with great fervor for God to bring healing to someone they love, like the husband who is watching his bride be slowly consumed by Alzheimer’s. He prays it might be a misdiagnosis. Then, he prays he might just have more time with her. Then, he prays for the strength to care for her, to love her even when she no longer remembers his name. He wrestles and fights with God, longing for some hope, some relief from the darkness that consumes him. Does God even care he is suffering? Are his prayers making a difference?

Saint Paul famously said we are grafted into Israel. We are grafted into those who wrestle with God. To be a child of God is to be caught up in the fight of faith. Often, wrestling is the reality you face when you experience the Law of God, His holy and just commands on your life. You fight hard but cannot overcome. You do not live as if God mattered most. You live for yourself, for your desires and glory. So, the Law pummels you, never letting you catch your breath, holding you down. But faith is the dawning of the day. It is the rising of the sun which reveals that we wrestle with God Himself, and there is no hope of winning. All we can do is what Jacob did. We hold on. For the answer, the end of the fight, the solution must come from God Himself.

Every prayer, then, is our cry: “I will not let You go unless You bless me.” Where else can you go? Where else do you run? You run from the unknown God who you wrestle with in tears and sorrow to the God who comes to bless, the God who was born of Mary, who lived, suffered, and died for your sins. And in the victory of the empty tomb, He declares you will live even though you die. There is a more glorious day to come that stretches on into eternity. It will be a day without tears or sorrow or death anymore. He blesses you with forgiveness of all your sins and blesses you with welcome into the eternal wedding feast.

So, we come, weary and exhausted from our wrestling, carrying the burden of our sin and shame. We come to hold fast to the promises of God, knowing that our only hope is a word of blessing from our Lord. And He gathers you together, as the light of the new day shines, and says, “Take and eat, this is My body given for you. Take and drink, this is My blood shed for you for the forgiveness of all your sins.” Here is a foretaste of the feast to come. Here is the gift of salvation itself. Here Christ comes to you. Perhaps, here we can say with Jacob, “I have seen God face to face, and yet my life has been delivered.”