Wrestling with your demons
Thumbnail image: Eugène Delacroix “Jacob wrestling with the angel.” In public domain in U.S.: published before 1925.
Link to video: https://www.facebook.com/stlukesferndale.org/videos/345223783154043
Clare L. Hickman
St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Ferndale
August 2, 2020—Proper 13A
Genesis 32:22-31; “Logos” by Mary Oliver; Matthew 14:13-21
Jacob wrestled all night. All night, he strove with a mysterious being: is it a man, is it an angel, is it his own inner demons, is it God? Did this story begin as a folktale about a river spirit, which loses its power when dawn comes?
What is it, that keeps Jacob up all night?
The story leaves all of those options open, and speaks to us of layers of truth, with the full meaning only revealed when we allow them to speak to each other. Which is to say, for instance, that to confront one’s own inner demons IS to come face to face with God, and receive blessing.
Jacob wrestles all night. Jacob, who competed with his older brother Esau even in the womb, grabbing his twin’s heel in an effort to beat him out of their mother’s body and claim the older son’s position (Gen 25:26). Jacob, who later persuaded his famished brother to trade his birthright for a bowl of soup (Gen 25:29-34). Jacob, who was aided by his mother in deceiving his elderly father, making the savory dish Isaac had requested, and putting an animal skin over his back so that he seemed as hairy as his brother Esau, thus stealing the blessing that the dying father wished to give his elder son (Gen 27:1-29).
Jacob, whose life has been defined by competition, and trickery, and ceaseless effort, reaches this riverbank. He has already faced some of his comeuppance, when Laban tricked him by marrying him first to Leah, before his beloved Rachel. But now he is going home, and knows he will soon face his brother. He sends everyone else on ahead, because he somehow knows that this night is something he must face alone.
All night, he wrestles with the mysterious figure. A man, a river spirit, an angel? His own inner demons? God Himself?
Yes.
Jacob has so much to wrestle with. There’s so much to grab onto, when it comes to Jacob; so many ways we recognize ourselves in his wanting and his striving, in his questions and his doubts, in his eternal bargaining and hedging (after he has a celestial vision of a ladder and angels, with God promising him a great inheritance, he still replies, “IF you do everything you promised me, then sure, you will be my God!” Gen 28:20-22).
He's about to face his brother, whom he betrayed so badly. Whose future he stole. And he knows, surely, that he does NOT have the gift of humility and reconciliation. Half the night, he was probably wrestling with the belief that he had nothing to apologize for: I deserved that blessing, and I had the right to sell him that soup. Plus, I had to work an extra seven years for Rachel’s hand in marriage, so that makes us even. And to the extent that he does feel guilty, that is not an emotion that humans enjoy, so we often react with anger and defensiveness, lashing out at those who have pointed out our wrong-doing.
No wonder he was up all night.
But he kept going, and kept struggling. Through the pain. Past exhaustion. All the way to that last blow to his hip that leaves him permanently limping, reminded of all that has led to this long night. Off he goes, with a blessing that leads him into his brother’s arms.
He has sent gifts ahead, and he approaches with a series of seven deep salaams, and yet still he fears his brother’s response. Esau, however, does not even need/wish to receive the gifts. Instead, he rushes to his brother with arms open wide.
Such are the gifts that a faithful life can bring. All our human gifts and failings bring us to a constant, all-night struggle with our own flawed self, and in facing them, we come face to face with God. And then, we just might receive the grace of another, whose failings are different, and whose gifts are precisely what we need. Jacob the deceiver is blessed by his brother, the one who trusts and forgives, which then makes Jacob more forgiving.
Such is the life of faith, which leads us to struggle so mightily with our own inner demons. With our strengths, that can so often become weaknesses when they are allowed to run unchecked. And so, we find ourselves, in the middle of the night, striving with mysterious and unexpected forces, only hoping that the dawn will bring us to the embrace of God.
We are such an incredible mix of gifts and faults. Which is why, if we’re honest, we approach the Gospel with such trepidation, knowing that our demons might raise their heads. Here, for example, is Jesus, surrounded by a great multitude. And they are hungry. They are so hungry, and it is overwhelming. We feel pity for them, but nonetheless, we have no idea how we can possibly meet their needs. Maybe Jesus will do it without any help from us? No, apparently not. “You give them something to eat,” he says. We have to act. We have to respond. We have to find some way to meet the needs of a multitude. So, though our every fiber says that it’s impossible, that we cannot possibly find enough to get it done, we begin the work.
What do we have? Turns out, it’s not nothing. We have something; we have five loaves and two fish. And so we begin. We take on the work of love, to feed the hungry. And it turns out, we have enough. Who knows how? We just know that the feast of God becomes abundant. We just know that the feast of God will overflow, as soon as everyone is invited to the table. Everyone. Not just the huge crowd that has already been drawn to Jesus, but baskets of leftovers that are clearly meant for all the people in the land. Twelve baskets=twelve tribes. Everyone.
Everyone. No matter how unsure we are about how on earth to set the table. No matter how that inner voice insists that resources are scarce. No matter how worried we are about whether they all deserve it, or whether they don’t worship the right way, look the same as us, or have the right politics. Everyone.
This feast, this abundant feast set for all God’s children, is one of scripture’s chief visions of the Reign of God. It stands in sharp contrast to the feast thrown by King Herod, at which political corruption and conniving led to the death of John the Baptist. Set beside Jacob’s story, it contrasts with the ways in which he used his brother’s and his father’s hunger to get what he wanted. God’s feast is different, bringing life to all! And if we can face into our doubts (our demons) about it, that work will bring us into the hospitality of God. We will be given the gift to see what we have, rather than being mired in all that we lack. And we just might receive the courage to begin working towards that vision, trusting that the miracle will come.
Therefore let us keep the feast! Alleluia, Amen!