St. John’s United Church of Christ
August 10, 2008
A Sermon by the Rev. John Krueger
Living With a Limp Genesis 32:22-32
Jacob is facing his day of reckoning, the dreaded time when he will face his older brother, Esau. You remember the story, Jacob being the younger of a contentious set of twins. He chafed with the reality that in the culture of his day only the first born enjoyed a privileged position. The second son was a nobody.
Jacob though this birth order custom was unjust and plotted to take things in his own hands, to make it right. What he couldn’t change by the accident of birth timing he sought to undo with craft, deceit and guile.
First, he took advantage of Esau when he was very hungry, Esau trading a bowl of porridge for the rights and privileges of being the first born, correcting that accident of birth by moving up to the first position. Then, with his mother’s help, he tricked his father into giving him the highly prized family blessing as he dies, securing the two prized possessions – the Birthright and the Blessing. When brother Esau realized the full extent of the deceptions, how this blood brother had swindled him not once but twice, he is enraged and vows to kill Jacob.
Jacob does the wise and prudent thing, leaving home to escape his brother’s wrath. He flees to Uncle Laban’s home, his mother’s brother, and becomes wealthy in his own right. He marries two of Laban’s daughters, first Leah, then Rachel, and soon has eleven sons and a daughter, supposedly to live happily ever after.
But that is not how the story goes at all. There is a nag in his life, an itch he cannot seem to scratch, unfinished business that keeps his life in turmoil. Twenty years after leaving home, it is time to face the music, time to confront his swindled brother, time to see if the shattered family ties can be salvaged.
Jacob is determined to not return home like a prodigal son, with hat in hand, begging for mercy, apologetic about a promising life now wasted. Jacob has made it big in the land of Uncle Laban. He has prospered, greatly prospered, so he can make a significant peace offering of penance, perhaps buying the good graces of his brother.
200 female goats and 20 male goats, 200 ewe sheep and 20 ram sheep, 30 milk camels with their colts, 40 cows and 10 bulls, 20 female donkeys and 10 male donkeys, all of this will be a good gesture to buy back his brother’s affections.
All of this is carefully orchestrated by the calculating Jacob. First he will send the goats, followed by the sheep, then the camels, then the cattle and finally the donkeys, five waves of gifts for the wronged brother. The parade continues with his maids and their children and then his wives and their children, with Jacob last in this impressive procession. That ought to soften the heart of Esau, even though he probably has brooded over the injustices for 20 years. All is in readiness. The animals, wives and maids and children are safely across the Jabbok River. Tomorrow there will be this encounter, brother with brother.
Jacob chooses to stay behind, not crossing the river, alone with himself and his thoughts. He hopes for a good night’s rest before the fateful meeting.
But there is this strange account of a wrestling match with an unnamed adversary that continues until daybreak. There is no rest for Jacob but rather a physically draining contest with this opponent. Is this a symbol, a dream, a nightmare, a sign of Jacob’s continuing contest with brother Esau? Is this a contest between Jacob and a God-figure, with Jacob’s soul hanging in the balance? Is this a confrontation with Jacob himself, Jacob with Jacob, the good and the bad of this complex biblical figure who is both a conniving crook who wrecks the family peace and then becomes the beloved father of the 12 tribes of Israel?
The wrestling match seems to be ending in a draw, both wrestlers physically spent, until Jacob suffers a wound to his hip, an injury that results in a noticeable limp. He is given a new name, Israel, “the one who strives with God,” for his efforts. Most significantly, he receives a blessing from his partner, a blessing now earned in contrast to the blessing he stole from his brother 20 years earlier.
As the new day dawns, Jacob journeys to meet his brother, a meeting that goes better than Jacob could have imagined, thanks to the forgiving, gracious spirit of Esau. But Jacob goes with a limp, limping his way through this reconciliation with Esau, limping into his new role as the patriarch of the 12 tribes of Israel.
What are we to make of this old, old classic story? Is this just a quaint story of other people long ago or is this a story that gives us insight into ourselves?
The first disclaimer is to be careful when folk tells us that the answer to all of our social problems is to return to the family values of the Bible. Be reminded of this story, and many other biblical stories, that show deception, violence, exploitation, incest, or abuse, many things a good family should NOT be. It’s also true that there are a variety of family structures in the Bible, Jacob with two wives and two child-bearing maids as just one example of the variety of family configurations.
But more importantly, and the lesson I take from this story, is this: We are not destined to live fairy-tale lives, with a minimum of difficulties and that stunning postscript: they lived happily ever after. Instead, we live in a hard-knocks world, the daily newspaper and news stories making that very clear. We may start out with naïve notions that with grit and luck and talent and good intentions our lives will be wonderfully different and better, freed from the troubles and compromises and mean things that confront other mere mortals. We may think our faith in God, our intention to live as Christians, will somehow insulate us from the dire circumstances that plague the less fortunate ones around us. We try to shield our children from some of these realities, protect them as much as possible, try to soften some of the rough, harsh edges of life.
But we are flawed people who live amongst other flawed people. We are more selfish than we intend to be at our best. We are more competitive than we suppose. We are more irritable and unpleasant than we want. We act out of self-concern and self-protection as often as we seek the good of the neighbor.
All of that makes life a messy business, and to use the images of this story, we often wrestle with adversaries. These adversaries may be ghosts from our past, reminders of mistakes made, lingering feelings of regret, remorse. These adversaries may be contemporary challenges, tasks not yet accomplished, issues still unresolved, promises not yet fulfilled, encounters that loom on the horizon. Or these adversaries may be struggles within ourselves, the urge to do good for the neighbor and the conflicting urge to take care of ourselves, the impulse to be loving, forgiving, caring and genuine and the competing urge to hunker down and withdraw.
We’d like to stride, confidently, into each new day, assured of our ability to be the child of God we want to be. But, more accurately, we limp into our future, hobbled by the accumulation of all that has shaped our lives so far, all the compromises, the scars and wounds and hurts that have left their marks on us. We are mindful of regrets, lost opportunities, deeds we wish we could undo, words we would like to take back, all that and more, the causes for our limp.
We are not the perfect specimens of God’s created order, and never will be, but we are God’s blessed and beloved children, nevertheless. The wrestling leaves its mark, that distinctive limp, but the limp can be a sign of honor, for we have contested with all of this, and we are still here, still making our way into God’s future, limping but blessed.
Jacob, limping Jacob, faced his estranged brother and the broken relationship was healed. The family was reunited, reconciled, made whole again, and there was new promise for the days before him.
We too limp our way into God’s promises, thankful for forgiveness and a chance for a new start, grateful that there is still time. We are hopeful, knowing that God is a God of mercy and hope.
So, take solace in the limp that marks each of us as a child of God. It is both a sign of our past and an indication of God’s acceptance of us for God-work yet to be done.