Wrestling with God

The Old Testament reading in the lectionary for today comes from Genesis 32, when Jacob is camped out by the Jabbok River on the eve of meeting Esau, the brother he swindled so many years before. 

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I'm guessing he is nervous, maybe even afraid. 

He has already had an encounter with the supernatural a few chapters (and years) back, when he dreams about a stairway to heaven, with angels going up and down. Now, married to two sisters and with a retinue of children and servants, he spends the night alone, maybe to psych himself up to see Esau again for the first time in years.  

The last time they saw each other, Jacob stole Esau's blessing. Indeed, Esau had sacrificed his birthright for Jacob's stew, but the blessing of their father Isaac was stolen through deceit.  

Indeed, I'd be nervous, too.  

Jacob sends his wives, kids, and servants across the river to spend the night alone. Some say he is hiding behind them like a coward, and I'm inclined to agree.  

When I think about what comes next, I have to scratch my head. A stranger approaches Jacob and they begin to wrestle. How come? Was it a display of machismo? A good-natured tussle? Admittedly, it's weird how little we know about the circumstances of the encounter. 

Here's the text:

The same night he arose and took his two wives, his two female servants, and his eleven children, and crossed the ford of the Jabbok. He took them and sent them across the stream, and everything else that he had. And Jacob was left alone. And a man wrestled with him until the breaking of the day. When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he touched his hip socket, and Jacob's hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him. Then he said, “Let me go, for the day has broken.” But Jacob said, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.” And he said to him, “What is your name?” And he said, “Jacob.” Then he said, “Your name shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with men, and have prevailed.” Then Jacob asked him, “Please tell me your name.” But he said, “Why is it that you ask my name?” And there he blessed him. So Jacob called the name of the place Peniel, saying, “For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life has been delivered.” The sun rose upon him as he passed Penuel, limping because of his hip. Therefore to this day the people of Israel do not eat the sinew of the thigh that is on the hip socket, because he touched the socket of Jacob's hip on the sinew of the thigh.

Genesis 32:22-32 (ESV)

Like I said, it's a weird story. Wrestling, hip displacement, hanging on for a blessing, asking about names. What's going on? 

Today, what I need to know is that Jacob's name was changed from one that means "deceiver, supplanter" to one that means "he who wrestles with God and prevails." 

Jacob was probably a bundle of nerves that night. The wrestling was probably a welcome distraction. And maybe I'm wrong, but I hear a tone of playfulness in the voice of the stranger--"Why is it that you want to know my name?" 

I was raised in Bible Belt East Texas, where good women submit to the men in their lives and don't stir up a fuss. I thought that's what being a woman of God looked like, too, for the longest time. So I sank into depression because I was angry and nervous and unable to fight it, like that was what accepting my circumstances as God's will was supposed to look like.

But then I encountered the anxious, nervous, cowardly Jacob who wrestled with God and prevailed. He wasn't scolded for what he did, wrestling with God like friends who reach fisticuffs. No--it's a mark of honor to wrestle with God, so much so that Jacob takes a new name, Israel, which means "wrestles with God." 

I used to hear annoyance and frustration the voice of the stranger at the petulance of Jacob. Now I hear a playful tenderness.  

"Amanda, why is it that you want to know my name?" 

Just to hear the voice of God as if he delights in me rather than being frustrated with me? It's a game-changer.  

God isn't after my subservience; he is after my heart--this fiery, anxious, love-filled heart of mine that loves a good fight.  

It is not lost on me that God's people came to be known by Jacob's new name, a people who wrestled with the God who wasn't above the fray, willing to let himself be drawn into relationship, into weakness and even defeat, into victory with the humans he made in his image. 

He is the God who wrestles with his people and lets us win. That is good parenting, confident parenting. It's a kind of love that sees who I am--fiery passions and fearful anxieties included--and lets me pick apart the arguments, question the theology, dismantle the systemic injustices, rage at the suffering of children--and develop my voice to share what I've seen, what I am learning, and who I have experienced God to be. 

I am not too much for God and he is enough for me. I've learned that through the wrestling.   

The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob is not overwhelmed by my personality or my weaknesses. The Father of our Lord Jesus Christ is not ashamed that I fail at conforming to the subservient woman mold. It's not a mold he intended for me, and he comes to wrestle with me, to reveal to me that my body tells my story, just like Jacob's limp did for him and the generations that came after him. (O that my wrestling with God would change the way my children see food!)

Don't be afraid to wrestle with him. When you find yourself clinging on, ask for a blessing. Ask to know his name. And walk in the beautiful weakness that the struggle reveals in you, because the rest of us need your God story.  

 

 

Is it a sin to be overweight?

Do you want the short answer or the long answer?

The short answer is no.

The long answer is noooooo.

For so long, I have carried around baggage attached to the pounds my hips bear. This baggage is shame, and this shame is for being overweight.

I cannot remember a time in my life where I did not feel the weight of being fat. I know a lot of people don’t like the term “fat.” It’s a word that I am not completely comfortable using, but I think that it is important to press through my awkwardness.

Being overweight is not a sin.

Being fat is not a sin.

If you’re overweight, how does that statement strike you?

Well, it sounds good but I don’t know if she’s right. I’ve done so much to put myself where I am today, and this weight I carry is a result of poor decisions…I don’t know if I can agree with her. 

I totally get you.

Let’s think about it another way.

My mom who is the fairest of the fair–red hair, pale skin, freckles galore. She is simply stunning even in her grandmothering years. I inherited her fair skin, not the deliciously tannable skin of the Cuban stock my dad comes from. My skin shows the years I have gone outside without sunscreen. I have freckles (a mark of beauty, in my opinion) and I have sun damage. I have this sun damage because of a number of factors which may not be apparent at first glance. Mostly, though, it’s because I kept forgetting to put sunscreen on as a kid engaged in the limited outdoor sporting activities forced on me by public education.

I have this skin damage and I could have done something to prevent it. Even now, I could buy creams and wear more sun protection. But even though it’s there, I have no feelings of moral failure about it the way I do about being overweight.

What’s the difference?

I can’t speak for other cultures or other times, but I do know that in our American culture, weight has been attached to a kind of morality. If I eat right and exercise, or at least try to do so, I have moral currency to deposit in the Bank of Health. (I’ll lay aside, for the time being, the Bank of Physical Perfection.)

How many times have you heard this line? As long as you’re healthy…as if health is a measure of a person’s self worth.

It’s not about a number on the scale, I have heard.
It’s not about your outward appearance.
It’s not about the size you wear.
It’s about your health. 

So if I am overweight and in a bigger size than most stores sell, I don’t get any health bucks. If I carry more padding than is culturally attractive, I don’t get any health bucks.

“Let’s do something about this,” someone might say. “Let’s add some money into your Bank of Health account.”

I can do this in a few ways–actually start working out. That’s like 5 health bucks per workout. I could give up gluten–that’s like a hundred a week. If I want to be healthy and so I am trying and failing–either by missing my workout or by eating healthy all day until I blow it with ice cream after the kids are in bed–I earn one health buck for trying.

That’s what we’ve learned, right? What counts is that I’m trying not to be fat anymore?

But what if I don’t want to try anymore? What if I refuse to play the game where being overweight is equated with being morally inferior?

What if I recognize that no matter how little or how much I weigh, or how well or how poorly I fit into clothing, weight is not a moral issue? 

That takes a whole restructuring of how my mind works towards food, exercise, health, and physical appearance.

It means once I convince myself that being overweight is not sinful, I can be content with myself even when I’m not trying to be healthy. No more shame about not trying to get to the gym. 

It means that food can be enjoyed, because I’m not basing my eating decisions on how good or how bad a person this apple pie is going to make me.  No more shame about eating a tortilla that isn’t ‘carb balanced.’

It means that I can love myself more freely because I have stopped judging every freaking thing I do in relation to how much I weigh or how I look.

It means that I can love the people around me more freely because I have stopped judging myself and so I can stop judging other people for how they look, eat, or move.

To get to this place, I have to stop using language that attaches moral value to food. No more “good food, bad food.” Food is morally neutral.

And that’s a good place to begin.

by Amanda Beck

This post was originally published at paintedwithoutmakeup.com.