The Ways We Wrestle
I.
Jacob’s story of wrestling an angel leaves far too many questions. He struggles all night with an unnamed being of magnificent strength, seeking a blessing. He receives, at the end, a name and a lifelong limp. Which one is the blessing?
II.
A name can hold such meaning. The act of naming can hold such power.
III.
Jacob receives a new name for himself but the angel refuses to reveal his own name. Perhaps, if Jacob-who-was-now-Israel had kept his own name and instead heard the name of the one who deigned to wrestle with him all night, the story would have been different.
IV.
Even in earliest times, names held meanings. Adam, from the biblical creation narrative, means “of the earth.” I picture the Creator flinging galaxies and stars in constellations so vast, then kneeling like a child with his hands in the dirt, forming and molding and breathing life. Then offering a name. Of the earth.
The place from which he came.
That place to which he would, one day, return.
V.
I want to pull back the lens from the story focusing on Jacob and the angel. I want to see the other stories unfolding that night. Rachel, sent over the river ford with her young son, her only son, waiting for the sun to rise. Did she also wrestle with an angel that night? Did she also ask for his name?
VI.
If I had known the full story, I think, my own stories would be easier to write, to tell, to live. I do not want to see only these few trees, so close up I can trace my finger on complex patterns of bark. I want to rise up and see the forest stretching, see how far it goes, count the trees like counting stars. But the trees stretch so high, and I do not have wings.
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