“Hip out of Joint”
By Rev. Dr. Jason Byassee
Sunday, June 21, 2026
Reading: Genesis 32:22-31
It’s good to be back with you.
I’m spending most of the summer at a Chautauqua in northern Michigan called Bay View, but will sneak back here from time to time, especially for an important weekend like this one. The series I’m stepping into is called Your Favourite Story. It lets Dayle and Joanne, and our guest preachers bring the fire from their favourite places in scripture. Scripture as a whole is the church’s favourite story. This is the book we live by. The guest preacher at Bay View last week said this: “We don’t read scripture for information. We let scripture happen to us.”
Well, what happens to us when we read about Jacob wrestling with God?
The story is wild. Some background. Jacob’s very name means “heel-grabber.” That is, usurper. Thief. He and his brother Esau are twins, already fighting in the womb. And when Esau is born first, his unborn brother Jacob has his hand around Esau’s heel. Jacob’s arm emerges from Rebekah before the rest of him does. In that culture, the firstborn son inherited most of the family’s land and property and authority. But Jacob is determined to take all that and more from Esau. Now, Esau is oafish and a little dumb, so when he’s hungry Jacob offers him soup. In exchange for his birthright. Done. Later Jacob and his mother Rebekah trick dying Isaac into blessing Jacob instead of Esau. They lie and deceive their husband and father. And when Esau discovers it, scripture says, Esau “cried out with an exceedingly great and bitter cry, ‘Bless me, me also father!’” Too late. Now Esau’s birthright and his blessing are gone, swindled away by his fiend of a little brother.
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks says stories like these are the key for future peace on our planet. God has a chosen people: through Jacob. And a not-chosen, Esau. But look who the Bible’s sympathy is for: Esau. The not-chosen. He’s the one the story cries out for.
Esau is the father of Israel’s historic enemy and neighbour, the Edomites. These stories show how Israel understands its neighbour, its enemy, its aggrieved and defrauded brother. Steal what you can, and then get out of their way, they’re dangerous. Maybe it’s time now for Jacob to pay?
Just before our passage today, Jacob hears that his brother is coming with a posse. Four hundred strong. So, Jacob sends animals. Lots of animals. Two hundred female goats; 20 male goats; 200 ewes; 20 rams; 30 milch camels (that’s a lot of milch camels); 40 cows; 10 bulls; 30 donkeys. A whole zoo. This is a bribe, a bag of money, please don’t kill me, here’s all this wealth. Or in the Bible’s more stately prose, “They are a present sent to my lord Esau.” Jacob figures “I may appease him with the present that goes ahead of me.” Meanwhile Jacob sends his family, his wives and his children away. If the bribe doesn’t work, he wants them nowhere nearby when vengeance comes.
Jacob prays and reminds God of the promise: “Deliver me, please, from the hand of my brother, from the hand of Esau, for I am afraid of him; he may come and kill us all, the mothers with the children. Yet you have said ‘I will surely do you good and make your offspring as the sand of the sea, which cannot be counted because of their number’.” Remember, God, you said you wouldn’t just spare me, you’d bless the whole world through me. Seems less like a prayer and more like manipulation. Then Jacob sleeps. Fitfully. Alone. Waiting for his fate.
Y’all: Jacob is the father of the people of God. His 12 sons will head the twelve tribes of Israel. He is all of our forefather in faith, Jews and Christians alike. And he is not a good man. He’s a conniver, a grifter. I admire his grit. But his honesty? His virtue? Martin Luther used to say he drew no strength from the stories of saints. But the stories of the misbehaving patriarchs of Israel: those gave him courage. Because if God can make use of people like this, God can probably even use him.
And suddenly someone is upon Jacob. Wrestling with him. At night, in the dark. Jacob has every reason to think this is death that’s finally caught up with him.
Now, have you ever really wrestled? Like not the fake WWE TV stuff, but grappled on the ground? You’re exhausted in seconds. I still sort of “wrestle” with my grown sons. They may be young and strong, but I still got em in the girth department. And I’m dead tired in moments. Real wrestling is exhausting. And here it goes on for hours in the dark.
But Jacob wins! He’s got this intruder bested. Jacob keeps him in that chokehold. And the other begs to be set free. It’s almost day. What is he, a vampire? But Jacob won’t set him free without a blessing. Now this is wonderful. Jacob already has his father Isaac’s birthright and blessing, robbed from his brother Esau. How much blessing does one person need? But the angel gives it. And renames Jacob. You are no longer Jacob but Israel, for you have striven with God and prevailed. The place is renamed Peniel, which means face of God. For Jacob says, “I have seen the face of God and lived.”
This is my favourite story. And I’m not alone. It has set artists to painting and sculpting, as you’ve seen already. Check out this from Jacob Epstein, 20th century British sculptor. It’s bigger than life. That thing weighs tons. Or this one, more a three stooges sort of take. The story has also set poets to scribbling. Emily Dickinson wrote this, which looks charming enough, until its last line.
A little East of Jordan,
Evangelists record,
A Gymnast and an Angel
Did wrestle long and hard
Till morning touching mountain
And Jacob, waxing strong,
The Angel begged permission
To Breakfast to return
Not so, said cunning Jacob!
I will not let thee go
Except thou bless me Stranger!
The which acceded to
Light swung the silver fleeces
Peniel Hills beyond,
And the bewildered Gymnast
Found he had worsted God!
Jacob has wrestled a blessing out of God and will limp for the rest of his life. His name is changed to Israel, which means one who wrestles with God. This battle wounds him. But he wins! And forces God to yield, say uncle, and bless him.
This next poem is so violent I hesitate to read it to you. But here goes. It’s from Michael Symmons Roberts.
His fist smashes my face.
That’s no wrestler’s move;
so it’s bare knuckles now. Okay.
There’s blood in my eye,
the lid swells to a hood.
I use my head and butt him.
His lips bloom like a rose,
but he’s still ticking, clicking
his tongue on the roof of his mouth.
Gamesmanship: the harder
I hit, the louder he clicks.
We raise the stakes:
he jabs me on the nose
to get my hands up,
then with otherworldly speed
he lands a right hand in my guts.
Agony: I’m folded,
dumbstruck, gasping like a fish.
He backs off a moment,
then he knees me in the jaw.
My teeth split the tip of my tongue.
I’m spitting now, incensed.
I grab two fistfuls of his shirt,
swing my foot behind his legs.
Shove. He staggers, falls
with me on top of him.
We’ve landed in the Jabbok creek.
I dunk his face to cool him off,
to make him choke and talk.
He comes up clicking still;
I slap him. He stares at me.
Are angels speechless? This one’s
wingless, solid without weight.
Perhaps he’s trying to talk?
It could be ‘t’ or ‘c’: some stammering
Gabriel with a message?
I relax my grip to listen,
he sees his chance and turns us,
rolls me in the stream,
taps the hollow of my thigh,
and something gives. He helps
me up. He’s damaged me.
Somehow he’s slid my hip
out of its bone-cup, left me
clipped and limping.
When I stand, his clicking stops.
It dawns on me; that was no stutter,
but a beat. The dance is over.
‘You had me there’, he says
‘I had to do your leg to settle things.’
He brushes off his shirt,
I hobble to the water’s edge to wash.
I shout to him ‘What was your name?’
I don’t know if he hears me.
Anybody still think life with God is easy? It’s not. It’s like . . . that.
I started by saying we let scripture happen to us. Is this what happens to us when we meet God? I was taught that to meet God meant you get to go to heaven. Here it looks like you get the stuffing beat out of you. If so, why would we recommend it to anyone else or take it up ourselves?
Maybe this is what it means to be Israel. The very name means to strive with God. When I say Israel, I mean all the daughters and sons of this man by the river with the ruined leg, including our Jewish neighbours here and around the world. I also mean us Christians, whose faith in Jesus Christ makes us part of this story too. But I wonder if Israel means something more? If you wrestle with God, then you’re Israel? If you find faith as hard as an all-night battle, well, then you’re in. A friend of mine is from Brazil, where everyone grows up either Catholic or evangelical, ask any Brazilian if they’re a Christian they’ll say yes of course. So, my friend learned to ask this more interesting question instead: do you take God seriously? Ooh, that’s good, isn’t it? Is God a force in your life, who might leave you injured?
Today is father’s day, a happy one to all of us with fathers, which pretty much includes the whole human race. As ever prayers for mercy for those with a father-shaped wound in their lives. I’m guessing for most, this relationship is good and complex both. For some reason my mind goes today to an orphanage in Russia where Jaylynn’s church went on a mission trip in the early 2000s. Relationships with Russia were happier in those days, so a bunch of Methodists were in a city called Oryol with these kids, around 8-10 years old. I was the most able-bodied adult in our group and these kids wanted to wrestle with me all day. They climbed on me like a jungle gym. To be an orphan means you have no parent, no father, no one to climb on. For a moment, I could sub in for that absence. Went a long way not to preach to kids, or pray with them, so much as to wrestle with them. We learned those boys would likely end up in the Russian army. Some are probably at the front against Ukraine now, or dead or maimed there, in Putin’s outrageous war. Lord have mercy.
I’ve told you before of my own father, who I love and admire, who struggles with Alzheimer’s now, bless him. But I want to tell you today about a man in another church I served who I also love. Bobby Sharp is his name. As a child he had polio and was isolated in a hospital for months, alone and afraid. He still walks with a limp from his polio. Being in the hospital and quite curious and observant made him interested in healing. Why are some nurses and doctors so encouraging? Others less so? He wanted to help others who were sick. So, he went to seminary. But he felt like he could get to more ordinary people with Jesus if they couldn’t see him coming. So, he took his ministry into other fields: teaching economics and then university administration. He always saw these as ministries, ways to serve Jesus and other people. When I had my back injury and picked up my limp, I told people I was trying to be like Bobby. He’s trying to be like Jacob. Fatherhood is more than biology. It’s showing someone else how to human. How to be wounded and blessed both.
We baptize little Sunny today, from a multi-generational family in our church, Lord bless her every day of her life. The church has always spoken of baptism as a sort of death by drowning. I made the sign of the cross on her forehead, since we’re joining her to the man on the cross. The drowning and the cross are harder to see behind the cuteness and the finery. When someone bravely steps forward to become part of the church, I always want to warn them, I’m sorry, but we’ll wound you. We don’t mean to, we’re pretty nice people here even as Canadians go, but every community injures. Even when we’re on our best behaviour. Because we’re human. And we all care passionately. And this God stuff is potent. So, we’ll disagree, argue, hurt one another, learn to seek and grant forgiveness. Sunny we’re glad you’re among us but it won’t be easy.
Some outsiders to the practice of faith criticize it as a crutch, because life’s hard and believers apparently can’t handle that. I don’t mind admitting I need a crutch at times. But anyone who joins the church in hopes that it’ll solve their problems soon realizes, well now you gotta whole bunch of new problems you didn’t have to have. Suddenly you have to care about people across the world and across the room. And you promise to love your enemies. And forgive even yourself. You think this is easy?!
I mean, have you tried being part of a congregation? It’s hard! Like in any family we fight. It seems easier to ghost out, to try to live life on your own. But ultimately that’s an empty way to live—on your own. The church is hard, it’s the cross we’re crucified on. And so, it’s the way to life.
You get my point: life with God isn’t easy. But it’s good. There’s no life that’s easy. Life with God burdens you with problems you didn’t have to have. But it’s the way to life abundant. Let me give you some examples.
I met a woman recently who cared for her husband for more than a decade as he suffered from dementia. It consumed her. But she took seriously the vow she made “in sickness and in health” and tended to him. Bless her. Listening, I went into my pastor-sympathy, I’m so sorry mode. And she looked at me like I’d cursed. ‘No, see, I’m one of the lucky ones. He was kind, we had a good marriage. And I learned more and lived more caring for him than I ever could have on my own.’ Can you imagine that? Caring for an ill spouse for years and reflecting that you’re the lucky one? I don’t think that makes sense to many people. But if you think life with God is a wrestling match, a cross, then it makes perfect sense. Lord, give us all such patience, such “luck.”
Flannery O’Connor said you learn more from a long illness than you’ll ever learn from a long trip to Europe.
Wrestling with God can look less dramatic. It can look like, well, whatever you do on an average Tuesday afternoon. The Avett Brothers are a renowned band from back home. I saw how far they’d come from Methodist youth groups in North Carolina when I saw them perform with Bob Dylan at the Grammys. I got to interview one of them once and ask how he viewed success. Seth Avett said the band’s success isn’t any more important than anybody else’s.
It would be inaccurate to say that those events are any more worthy of attention than the triumphs of anyone else: another sober day for a recovering alcoholic, or a machinist getting a raise, or a child passing the fifth grade.
Y’all remember 5th grade? That was hard work! He continues.
Every single person has a growing line of successes and failures. I think the trick is appreciating what you’ve done and having the right kind of pride for it, as the wrong kind will have you thinking that you’re somehow above your neighbor, which is a silly and potentially dangerous notion.
A gentle wrestling there. I wish we had politicians as wise as some rock stars! Someone said “Be kind. Everyone you see is fighting a mighty battle.”
I can’t leave this text without making this point. Look how far God will go to be with us in person. The story isn’t 100 percent clear this is God in-person. The artists mostly depict it as an angel with wings. But Jacob marvels that he’s seen God face-to-face and has lived. The place is called Peniel, which means Face of God. Okay, so Jacob is wrestling with the almighty. And again, note this: Jacob wins! Sure, God does some damage—injures Jacob’s hip. But God can’t seem to get out of Jacob’s grip without conceding a blessing. God comes to be with us in the sweat and strain of life. Meeting God leaves you wounded, and then blessed beyond imagining, like every mother who’s ever given birth. What an embodied, almost indecent view of God. Like God might even consent to, I don’t know, get born from a Jewish mom and no dad. Enter into the dirt and grime and sweat of human life to show us the very face of God, so we and others might see and live. And limp.
I almost forgot to update you on what happens with Esau, the swindled brother whom Jacob is sure is coming for revenge. The forefather of Israel’s historic enemy. Remember Rabbi Sacks said stories like this hold out hope for peace on our planet? Look here, just a few verses after what we read. “Esau ran to meet him, and embraced him, and fell on his neck and kissed him, and they wept.” And here you thought “love your enemy” was Jesus’ invention. Turns out Esau wasn’t coming to kill Jacob, but to reconcile with him. Sometimes the enemy who jumps you in the middle of the night turns out to be God. The brother you’re running from is only chasing you to offer grace. Either way, embrace them, hold on, and don’t let them go without a blessing. That limp you leave with will remind you what sort of blessing this is, for you and for all creation. Amen.