Weight of the Cross

Matthew 16:24-26

 

        While history is filled with examples of the church’s failure, I think we too often forget that revisionist history often excludes the exploits of Godly people. I am reminded of this whenever I get into a conversation concerning international politics. Folks who have never heard of Urban II want to blame the debacle in the Middle East entirely on the Crusades. I do not deny the church has a bloody history. But it also has a redemptive history based on Christ’s mandate that we strive be better each day at who we are and what we do. As Christians, we are encouraged to awaken each morning to the directive, “Deny yourself and take up the cross.” Beyond our history, beyond our misreading of history, beyond our yesterdays is this proclamation that we need to bring our faith to any conversation and offer our backs as part of any solution.

        I wrote those words three years ago. August of 2017 was not an ordinary month if you live in this part of Virginia. A week before Charlottesville had been the center of the media universe. Each of us had an opinion on what should have happened or perhaps what should not have happened in the streets of Hooville.  But that was three years ago. Now it is history. The narrative of that tragic day has been rewritten and revised. The lessons of that day, if there were any to learn, have been disregarded, perhaps neglected. Some don’t even recall what actually happened. Did anyone, on that fateful day deny themselves and take up the cross? What an odd question to ask. What does cross bearing have to do with riots in the streets? I wished I had asked myself that question three years ago.

Most of my opinions are formed by asking, “What will it cost me?” Sadly, too often that is an economic question reducing my answer to pure practicality. Once in a while the question creates an ethical dilemma which I quickly turn into a moral imperative. Then the real problem emerges.  I am right; therefore someone else is certainly wrong. So much for self-denial; So much for cross bearing.

        Last Monday was the fourth anniversary of the death of Sarah Armstrong. Sarah loved the idea of the cross. Me, not so much. Sarah grew up in a family dominated by the missionary philosophy of saving the world. Her father spent a lifetime in and out of the mission field. Songs like The Old Rugged Cross were sung regularly in her church. 

        While I know the song well I wrestle with words like, “The emblem of suffering and shame.” The idea of “Bearing that shame” no longer fits into my peculiar incarnational theology. We would argue, thankfully never agreeing to disagree for in our disagreements insights were discovered.

        We did agree while many people wear the cross, few choose to bear it. It is supposed to identify who we are and whose we are but I fear it is more of a symbolic icon. We place it on top of our churches. It remains a huge seller in jewelry stores.    If asked its significance I suspect most folks would speak about the wonders of resurrection and heaven. How many folks consider wearing the cross as a radical act of moral integrity?  

        When I was 13 my father gave me a Celtic cross. That cross hung around my neck for at least fifteen years. When my father gave it to me to remind me I was a Presbyterian. Then he added, “When you have to make a decision between what is right and wrong, clasp this cross in your fist and pray for insight.”  That cross was often quite heavy.

        When Jesus spoke to his disciples about cross bearing, he never mentioned the “wonders of the resurrection.” The cross was at the center of the paradoxical language Jesus was so fond of speaking. “When you lose yourself, you will find yourself.” “The one who loses his life for my sake will find his life.” “Deny yourself and take up my cross.”

        These sayings were treasured by Christians who lived in a culture threatened by talk of a man who had defied death. To disprove these claims, folks were executed.  When they did not rise from their graves, Rome declared the story of Jesus to be no more than a myth.

But the story would not die. It continued to be told. The Roman Empire collapsed under the weight of its own self-importance but the church lived. Today we are no longer threatened by the prevailing culture. The Nelson County Police Department is not sitting in our parking lot waiting to arrest you for worshipping Christ.  The church has ceased to be a threat to anyone.  We still “Cling to the Old Rugged Cross” but we have conveniently moved it to a wall in the sanctuary where it safely hangs between two candles. George MacLeod once remarked, “The original cross stood between two thieves on the town garbage heap. That is where the church should be.”

When we tell our story of faith let us always celebrate the empty tomb as our symbol of resurrection. But that was never the role of the cross. If we truly desire to be disciples of Jesus then we are called to live up to a higher standard. Bill Coffin liked to say, “Self-interest has never been wrong. But what kind of self are you interested in becoming?”

The Biblical story and the story of our faith lifts up folks who denied themselves and became cross bearers.  The biblical story celebrates folks who lose themselves in acts of compassion. The Samaritan stops to rescue an injured man. The shepherd goes into the night to find the lost sheep. The prodigal is welcomed home. The widow is lifted up. Jesus gathers children around him. The way of the cross is not always profitable or predictable. Sometimes it might not even be safe. The way of the cross is seldom easy. In the midst of life’s confusing narrative, Jesus puts the cross in the palm of our hand, and dare us to do the right thing.

When I was a child, just like Sarah, I sang The Old Rugged Cross. But there was another song we also sang titled I Love to Tell the Story. I am sure you all know it. I love to tell the story, twill be my theme in glory; To tell the old, old, story; Of Jesus and his love.     (stop)

How will history record our exploits? It will depend on how we tell the story. Stories are more than words, they are action taking flight. To tell the Jesus story we must live the story by becoming love incarnate. That will never happen until we deny ourselves and pick up the cross.       Amen.

God Remembers Us

Exodus 1:8,9; 2:23-25

 

        “A new Pharaoh arose in Egypt who did not know Joseph.”   Any of you ever suffer from memory loss?  Of course you have.  Yesterday Deb asked if I had taken the trash to the dump.  Actually she was politely reminding me of a task unfulfilled.  I was guilty, caught red handed.  There was only one imaginable defense.  “I forgot.”  Those two words are the magic elixir for any situation.  Kids certainly know this.  “Done your homework?”     “I forgot.” “Shouldn’t you have been home two hours ago?”   “I forgot.” “Weren’t you going to move out of the house when you turned 30?  …………………….  “I forgot”.

        It is unfair to blame children for what we taught them.  Years ago my kids would invite their friends over to the house.  I would stroll into their room unannounced to introduce myself.  After the friends left Martina would say, “Dad, what was that all about?  How am I ever going to have any friends if they know I have a parent?  You are off limits when I have guests.”

        I would look down at the floor, roll my eyes, and say,
“I forgot.”

        She would sarcastically respond,  “How could you forget?  You never forgot that you used to walk 10 miles to school, uphill, both ways.  You never forgot that Ted Williams once batted .406 for a season and ended with a life time average of .344.   If you can remember that, why can’t you remember my need for privacy?” 

        Martina was right.  Most of us suffer from selective memory.  We remember what we want to remember and then let the other things sort of get pushed to the side.

        Pharaoh had selective memory.  He didn’t want to remember Joseph.  To remember Joseph was to remember a time when the children of Jacob and Abraham were considered equals to the children of Egypt.  To remember Joseph would call into question the new labor laws Pharaoh was placing upon the Hebrews.  To remember Joseph would have given the slaves an identity, a name, a reason to exist and Pharaohs of any century refuse to acknowledge anyone else as equal.

        Joseph was forgotten, not just by Pharaoh, but also by Joseph’s great-grandchildren.  The Hebrews had settled in and made Egypt their home.  They liked Egypt.  The climate was good. The Fertile Basin lived up to its name. The Egyptians pretty much left them alone.  They forgot Joseph.  They stopped telling the stories of Abraham.  Holy memories would remind them Egypt was not their home.  So they forgot, and in the process of forgetting they forgot the covenant with Yahweh, “You are my people and I am your God.”

        Eventually, the Pharaoh who forgot Joseph became paranoid about this growing group of people who conveniently had also forgotten.  Pharaoh became convinced that one day the Hebrew people would remember, and those memories would give them hope, and that hope would cause them to rise up against those who enslaved them.  So Pharaoh increased the work load.  Pharaoh limited the supplies given to the slaves.  Finally, in a final act of desperation, Pharaoh began to eliminate the population.  All male babies were to be slaughtered at birth.  The very work force was to be eliminated to keep it from remembering.  Isn’t it strange how paranoid empires become when a government sees itself as more important than the communities it serves?

        The Hebrew people, with the notable exception of a few exceptional women, had no idea how to respond.  With no past and no God all they could do was cry out to what they believed to be an empty sky.  They were helpless, desperate, and alone.  They cried out because they were broken.  They cried out because they had lost hope.   They cried out, and because of their cries, an incredible story began with Moses and the burning bush and ended with Joshua and the Israelites crossing the Jordan River.  Pharaoh might forget. The Hebrews might forget. But God never forgets.  Remember this verse.  Underline it in your Bible.   Exodus 2:24, “God heard their groaning and God remembered the covenant.”

        The Hebrews moment of salvation began when Israel realized her helplessness and cried out.  Pharaoh told them to shut up.  No one was interested in their problems.  But Pharaoh was wrong.  God heard and God responded, bringing order to disorder by declaring God always stands in solidarity with the abused, the forgotten, the hurt, and the exploited.  Exodus 2 confirms God will not only hear our cries but God will respond. Now, unless you happen to be Pharaoh, that is great news. 

Of course Pharaohs of this world count on us not screaming.  The Pharaohs of this world expect us to keep everything bottled up inside where it affects nothing but our blood pressure. Screaming is impolite, even gauche. Sometimes I have one of those days where everything is going sideways.  When I get home I grab a pillow, put it over my face, and scream as loud as I can.  No one hears it, no one is bothered by it, and I feel better…….for a few minutes. Of course I don’t sleep that night and the next morning the problem is still there. I screamed…. silently…… to myself. Pharaoh loves silent screams. Pharaoh loves the cry no one hears; Pharaoh depends on the cry no one wants to acknowledge.

I miss and yet don’t miss walking the halls of a nursing home.  You can’t be there ten minutes without hearing someone scream.  After 40 years in ministry I am still not used to it.  I wish they would stop.

I miss yet don’t miss my visits to the hospital.  Everyone is trying their best to maintain order but it is impossible. People in pain are afraid and often they voice that fear.   

        I miss yet don’t miss being in your homes during a moment of crisis. The combination of confusion and self-imposed guilt becomes too much and tears appear.  As your minister I should respond with the appropriate word of hope.  But sometimes all I do is offer a tissue.

        These cries leave us helpless and often embarrassed.  We wish folks would suffer silently but they don’t.  Through the years I have come to understand why.  The story of the Exodus teaches us when we get ourselves between a rock and a hard place we would rather suffer than expose our pain. We forget God has always stood against Pharaoh in solidarity with the hurt and forgotten.  Sometimes we need to cry out. Other times God expects us to hear the cries of others.

        Both crying out and acknowledging the cries of others is an audacious act. Pharaoh depends on silence. But the God of Abraham, the God of Jacob, the God of Joseph, and Moses, and Joshua, and David, and Elijah, and Jeremiah, and Isaiah……..the God of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ waits…….and listens…… and remembers……..and responds.  

        Who frees the slaves? Who heals the sick? Who lifts up the widow? Who rescues the orphan? Who claims both indigenous and immigrant?  Who declares every life sacred? Who remembers us even when we think we are forgotten?

        CERTAINLY NOT PHARAOH!                (stop)

        “God heard their groaning and remembered.”

        To some, those are foolish words. To others, it is a dangerous proclamation. But to we who still cling to burning bushes and resurrections, they are our marching orders.

        Listen! The cries of those around us are numerous.

        Remember! God’s moral imperative is etched on our hearts.

        Respond! We are the hands, and ears, and eyes and feet of God.                                                                                 Amen.

Expect Nothing in Return?

Genesis 45:1-15; Luke 6:35


Someone once said: Love your enemy. Do good to them. Forgive them. Expect nothing in return. Wow! What an idiot. Obviously that person did not live in the real world. We all have enemies. What fun would life be if we didn’t have someone to talk about? On the other hand, our personal investment in an enemy is minimal if at all. But what happens if you have been harmed by someone you really love? How do you continue to trust them? How do you do good to them? How do you forgive them? How can you expect nothing in return?


Twenty years ago had a great sermon on this dilemma called, What Would Jesus Do. Today I find Jesus, the person I quoted, not so helpful. All I dare do is share a story. Once upon a time there was a young man possessed by dreams he couldn’t keep to himself. Those dreams became the source of ambition and jealousy, love and hate, even glory and spite. The young man’s name was Joseph, the eleventh of twelve sons. He was his father’s favorite.


Decked out in a beautiful robe given by an adoring dad the dreamer proclaimed one day his brothers would bow down and declare him to be their Lord. Joseph is seventeen. Judah is close to 30. It has been seventeen years since the eldest heard a tender word from his father. Now the runt was demanding the keys to the kingdom. Knowing the father would never turn down Joseph’s request, the eldest decided the best way to squelch a dream was make it a nightmare.


A scheme was created. The dreamer was invited to join his brothers in the field. Once beyond the protection of his father, Joseph was stripped, gagged and thrown into a pit. The siblings sold Joseph to slavers, then dipped the dreamers coat into the blood of an animal. The soiled garment was offered to the father as proof of death. In reflecting on this story Elie Wiesel comments, “When brothers become enemies, God refuses to participate and becomes only a spectator.”


Joseph was taken to Egypt where he was purchased by an officer of Pharaoh. He became Potiphar’s most trusted slave until Joseph’s good looks placed him in a compromising situation. Potiphar’s wife attempted to seduce the young Hebrew but Joseph rebuked her advances. The scorned wife claimed Joseph insulted her and Potiphar threw the boy into prison. But the story did not end. We are told, “God was with Joseph and made Joseph favorable in the eye’s of the chief jailer.”


Once again the dreamer began to dream. The dreams predicted life and death. The dreamer became known as one who spoke the truth regardless of the consequences. Joseph was brought before Pharaoh where he predicted seven years of plenty and seven of draught. Believing the foreigner, Pharaoh put Joseph in charge of grain collection and distribution. The dreamer was now 30.


Seven years later a famine entered the whole region. The children of Jacob feared they would not survive. The eldest, Judah, addressed his father. “If we stay here we will die.” Jacob responded, “If we go to Egypt we will be enslaved.” Judah countered, “Better to live as a slave than die free.” Jacob, no longer trusting Judah said, “Go to Egypt but leave Benjamin with me.”


The ten older brothers headed south, never suspecting who they would encounter. Even the dreamer had not imagined this scenario. Joseph was married to an Egyptian woman and had two sons. His only links to the past were memories of his father and youngest brother Benjamin.


Judah and the brothers arrive. Joseph not only recognized them, he realized Jacob and Benjamin were absent. The plot thickened. There was neither love nor forgiveness in the heart of Joseph. Not realizing it was Joseph who stood before them, the brothers were at a huge disadvantage. The Egyptian inquired about their family. The brothers’ told of their father and the younger brother at home. Most of us would have screamed, “What about the brother you nearly killed and sold into slavery?” But not Joseph. He had waited too long time to misplay this hand. He demanded the brothers prove they were telling the truth by bringing the younger brother to Egypt.


Benjamin arrived, the grain was given, silver was planted in Benjamin’s bags, and Benjamin was arrested. Joseph was ruthless, cunning, and vengeful. He had forgotten nothing. He was willing to do anything to separate the younger brother from Jacob’s malignant family. After 20 years of dreaming and scheming Joseph was now ready to have his older brothers bow down in absolute fear. But the one thing Joseph had not counted on happened. Judah begged for mercy, not for himself but his father. He begged to be allowed to take the place of Benjamin.


Joseph had not anticipated compassion from this brother he hated. Joseph had been dead to his family for twenty years. He could not believe the events of the past few days. He had the power to destroy Judah with a single word. But Judah, the source of all Joseph’s pain begs, “Don’t break my father’s heart.”


Joseph, no longer able to control himself, broke down and cried. Judah was in the crosshairs and Joseph could not finish the execution. All he could manage was a whisper. “I am Joseph. Is my father still alive?”


Joseph held all the cards. He could have snapped his finger and Judah would have been executed. I imagine Joseph screaming, “God you put me here. What am I supposed to do?” The dreamer was given no vision by the God who remains a spectator in family quarrels. The story ends with Judah being tolerated without any expectations.


Eventually the entire family moved to Egypt. They stay long enough to forget Jacob, and Joseph, and even Yahweh. One morning they woke up and discovered their status had changed from visitor to slave. Only then did Yahweh move from the bleachers to the playing field. God chose to stay clear of this family’s bitter dysfunctional behavior even as it drove them further into the darkness. But when they hit rock bottom, when all expectations were gone, Yahweh devised a plan to bring them back to the Promised Land. 


      It is amazing how the Genesis stories mimic the relationships between brother and sisters, friends and family. These stories remind us while we frequently claim God as our champion, God refuses to take sides. Yet through a grace which is beyond our understanding, God eventually helps us find our way home. It doesn’t make sense. But then neither does most family squabbles.


To God be the Glory. Amen.

What Are You Doing Here?

I Kings 19:1-15a What does the MVP do after winning the Super Bowl? He runs off to Disney World. What did Elijah do after he defeated the prophets of Baal at Mt. Carmel? He ran also, but not to Space Mountain. After God poured fire down on the alter Elijah built, it began to rain for the first time in three years. Delirious with joy, Elijah jubilantly ran toward the city of Jezreel. He wanted to be the first to tell Jezebel that Yahweh, not Baal was responsible for the rains that were cascading from heaven. It was only natural Elijah wanted the chance to brag about his victory. I am sure the prophet figured once Ahab told Jezebel about the fireworks on Mt. Carmel, the Queen would fall to her knees, begging Yahweh for forgiveness. If that is what he believed, Elijah greatly underestimated his adversary. Jezebel, outraged by this turn of events, sent a very clear message to Elijah. She informed the prophet of the Lord that he was as good as dead. Elijah, standing at the edge of the city, filled with excitement over God’s great victory, heard the edict of the Jezebel. Hours before, the people of Israel had slaughtered the Queen’s prophets. Minutes before, the King had fled into the city in disgrace. All of the momentum was on the side of Elijah. The prophet and the Queen stood toe to toe. And Elijah blinked. Fear swept over him as he headed south, back into Judah where he would be safe from the Queen’s long arm. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him. The victor of Mt. Carmel became the coward of Jezreel. But who could blame him? Jezebel never played fair. She was a woman scorned, a woman s fighting for her kingdom. What was Elijah fighting for? He was the only prophet of Yahweh left. The people of Israel were no allies. They would turn on him as quickly as they had turned on the prophets of Baal. So Elijah ran, and he kept on running until he made his way deep into the wilderness. He stayed for 40 days and 40 nights, praying that God would let him die in peace. Sometimes I wonder which is harder, life or the expectations of God? Have you ever found yourself in a situation where you have made all the right moves, for all the right reasons and even made all the acceptable sacrifices but failed? Your motives were pure, your actions were noble but your accomplishments were limited, if at all. Well meaning and caring friends come to offer support and words of comfort. Because they know nothing else to say, time honored phrases are uttered. “You tried your best”. “Maybe it just wasn’t to be”. My all time favorite is, “There is nothing else you could have done.” Their words are soothing but not convincing. You wonder if there wasn’t something else that could have been done. When everyone leaves, when the silence and the darkness begins to replace the evening light, slowly, hesitantly, and perhaps even fearfully you dare to wrestle with life, its consequences and how to begin to pick up the pieces. Kate Wolf, a brilliant poet who left us much too soon sang, I’ve been walkin’ in my sleep, Counting troubles ‘stead of counting sheep. Where the years went I can’t say, I just turned around and they’ve gone away. Now I find myself on the mountainside, Where the rivers change directions, Across the Great Divide. Elijah sat alone, high on the Great Divide, far away from Jezebel, surrounded by his own demons. If you have ever had the courage to question your actions at the end of the day you know the voices that fought for that crowded space within his psyche. On Mt. Carmel Elijah had witnessed the power of God in a way most of us can not even imagine. Then less than 24 hours later, Elijah had allowed his fear of death to override God’s promise of life. Even 40 days in the wilderness could not erase that image of his fleeing from Jezebel. And so he sat, more spiritually dead than alive, afraid to confront his own shadow. He sat, looking for direction but hoping it might not come. He sat, waiting for God, fearful God might actually show up. The inner conflict within was disrupted by the eruption of earth and sky. Outside the cave a storm like Elijah had never witness engulfed Mt. Horeb. This man who had fled Jezebel walked to the edge of the mountain. Lightning flashed around his head, but the memories of his failure lingered. Rain fell like a waterfall across his shoulders but his soul remained stained. Rocks split below his feet imitating the brokenness of Elijah’s own heart. Then the rain, the thunder, even the ground became silent. Elijah stood, daring not to move, desperate to hear anything other than the pounding of his own pulse. And God spoke, “Elijah, what are you doing here?” “The finest hour I’ve ever seen, Is the one that comes between The edge of night and the break of day. It’s when the darkness rolls away.” (Kate Wolfe) How marvelous that God understands us. How marvelous that God knows that sometimes the complications of life are overwhelming and we reach our limit. How marvelous that God knows that sometimes we have ridden one river for so long that we need to change directions. How marvelous that God doesn’t add to our guilt, doesn’t multiply our insecurities, doesn’t make demeaning statements like, “I am so disappointed in you” or “I expected more from you”, but rather says exactly the right thing, “What are you doing here? Get back on your feet. You may have momentarily lost confidence in yourself but you are mine and I am with you always. There is work to be done and you are still the one I am counting on.” Some of you may remember those moments with your first born when the task of the day was to remove the training wheels and let your child take her first solo ride on a two wheeler. That was an ugly day. First I had to convince Martina to get on the bike as she asked the inevitable question, “Will I fall?” We all know falling is part of the biking experience but I looked at her and said, “Don’t worry. You will be fine.” Together we took off. I ran up and down the sidewalk, running along side the bike with my hand on the seat to steady the ride. At some point, and I don’t know if it was when my confidence in the Martina had risen or my legs couldn’t run any further, I let go. And off she went, flying free, at least for a moment. Then she began to wobble and there was no way I could catch up in time to prevent the inevitable. She crashed! Immediately she looked my way as if I had caused it. When I reached her, there were two choices. I could coddle her, kiss her wounds and put the bike in the garage. Or I could coddle her, kiss her wounds and say, “What are you doing on the ground? Let’s try again. I will be right with you.” My daughter’s response was immediate. She remembered those five seconds of exhilaration. Before I could say another word, Martina was back on the bike and down the street. God lifts us up and puts us back on our feet. Jezebel might give us a temporary setback but the God of Elijah still remains uncompromised by whatever staggers our human endeavors. When we retreat to the Holy Mountain, or even the seclusion of a darkened room, when we are looking for a word of encouragement, some enlightenment, even acknowledgement of our trials, the silence is broken by God’s holy affirmation. Perhaps John Whittier phrased it best. Breathe through the heat of our desires, God’s coolness and God’s balm. Let sense be dumb, let flesh retire, Speak through the earthquake, wind and fire, O still small voice of calm. Listen; not in the calamity of the moment but in the quiet secluded spot occupied by the God of breathtaking silence. Listen; God will speak. Listen; God will revive your weary soul. Amen.

Midnight at the Oasis

Genesis 32:22-31

We have all had one of those moments when a choice, or a decision, lay before us.  We lose sleep, we worry, we procrastinate, but the deadline, a deadline that could forever change our lives, gets closer.  As children we made decisions about picking friends. Later we picked colleges, occupations, spouses, not necessarily in that order.  I suspect all of us have looked back and explored how those choices shaped our lives.  As adults, we understand all too well the radical nature of life changing decisions. We weigh all the options, hopefully we pray, but most of all we wrestle with our soul in a never ending battle of trying to make the right choice.  And sometimes, at midnight, we go down to the river, wondering who or what might greet us.     Such was the dilemma of Jacob.  Jacob was a scoundrel, liar, and cheat. And those were his best qualities.  He worked hard to manipulate life to suit his purposes, but this did not excuse him from his inevitable appointment with the river.  Jacob was no role model.  He is not the first person who comes to mind when we think of a biblical character we might emulate.  And yet, like it or not, I imagine there is a little of Jacob in each of us.   Unlike his grandfather Abraham, Jacob was no hero.  He lived life running away from his problems.  He fled Esau and Laban without even saying good-bye.  What was there to say?  He stole the birthright from Esau.  He stole two daughters and the family jewels from Laban.  If anything, Jacob was the anti-hero. 

Unlike his father Isaac, Jacob was no poet.  Isaac defined his life by that ghastly incident in the mountains with his father.  When Abraham lifted the knife to slay his son, Isaac saw his past, and his future written before his eyes.  Isaac won Rebekah with his words and blessed Jacob with his vision.  But Jacob, the man who saw a ladder descend from the heavens, never spoke of his dream in poetry or song.  Jacob saved his words to manipulate, to placate, to exaggerate, in order to control the moment regardless of the lasting consequences.  Jacob was no poet, for poets speak the truth.  Jacob was just a liar, molding his desires, his appetites, regardless of the damage done to the innocent.  Jacob could not see the future, therefore tomorrow became his greatest enemy.  His fear of the unknown drove Jacob to finally confront his destiny and his God.

Jacob had been away from home for nearly fifteen years.  His mother and father had died and Jacob had skipped both funerals.  His brother did not relinquish responsibility of the land.  Under Esau the herds had grown and the land had flourished.  But despite all Esau’s labor, Jacob still owned the birthright. Legally the land still belonged to the younger brother who had fled in the night.  Esau could not turn his back on his father’s dream and Jacob was aware this.  Jacob knew Esau had cultivated what was technically his.  What Jacob could not know was how Esau would react once the prodigal returned home.  In the light of day, Jacob figured there was no way he could manipulate his brother a second time.  In the light of day, Jacob anticipated that Esau would respond selfishly and self-servingly. Jacob figured Esau had to be waiting on the other side of the river with nothing but revenge on his mind.   

But at night, another voice entered the consciousness of the manipulator.  At night, Jacob encountered the God of Beth-el.  At night, Jacob had seen a ladder descending from the clouds.  At night, Jacob was reminded that God would remain with him, regardless.  So at night, Jacob went down to the river.

The tough thing about making a decision is not the final decision.  We already know what we are supposed to do.  Choosing between right and wrong is not all that difficult. Acting on what is right is the problem. There are so many complicating factors which confuse our minds.  Doing the right thing is not always advantageous. Doing what is right often works against our best interest.  Living a life where our self interests are set aside for the sake of a loved one, or a beloved community, might require sacrifice on our part.  Jacob was no hero.  For an entire life, his needs, his desires, his wishes, always superseded the needs, the desires and the wishes of his community.  Jacob had learned to manipulate everyone, but God.  And now it was night.  He had no place to run, no place to hide.  Standing by the river, on the edge of his destiny, Jacob encountered a stranger. 

Was it an angel?  Was it God?  Perhaps it was the deepest side of his psyche harboring all his doubts.  Perhaps Jacob was attacked by an inner voice that said, “I am nothing, I am unworthy of my blessing, I am unworthy to continue the covenant established with my grandfather Abraham.”  Perhaps Jacob engaged in a battle between the one destined to be a dreamer and the manipulative fugitive who was always prone to run away.   Aren’t our truest victories the ones we achieve over ourselves?  Perhaps Jacob was forced to confront himself and found there was no place left to run.

As tempting as it would be to draw these conclusions, the text suggests Jacob encountered more than just his own psyche.   We all know sometimes the choices between lawful or unlawful, or between right and wrong, can be manipulated to serve our own purposes.  So we ask the more difficult question, “What is Godly and what is ungodly?”  This conversation moves us beyond our conventional answers and challenges us to explore life as seen through the imagination of God.  Nowhere in Jacob’s limited psyche did he imagine that Esau might be waiting across the river with forgiveness in his heart.  We constantly find ourselves captured by the limited choices WE believe to be possible.  Jacob had no idea what would happen when he encountered God.  Few of us do.  But for the first time in his life, Jacob did not run away.

Was he ready to repent?  Was he hoping God would bail him out?  Was he curious?   Maybe Jacob was all of the above.  Maybe he was just tired of running. When our last resort is to wrestle with God, are we any different than Jacob? Tormented and confused, hoping for a miracle, we stagger toward the river. Only the miracle we discover is seldom what we expect.

What Jacob encountered was not a solution but a presence.  Jacob went to the river and discovered God was already there. 

He fought with God, for Jacob had fought God all his life.  After all isn’t it better to fight God than to be without God. 

He struggled with God, for Jacob struggled with God from the beginning. Isn’t it better to struggle with God than be alone?

They fought all night until all Jacob could do was hold on to that which he could not even understand. This wretched man confronted holiness. This dishonest man found himself challenged by truth.   This frightened man discovered a Holy Refuge.  This barren man encountered an Unimaginable Love.  Inspired by everything he had never been, when the sun rose and his darkness exposed, Jacob limped across the river. Finally, Jacob understood he had never been alone………..

And neither are we.

To God be the glory, Amen.