Don’t Let Go

Don’t Let Go

I will not let you go unless you bless me. Genesis 32:26

JACOB WAS FACING AN UNKNOWN SITUATION that filled him with dread. Would the brother he had deceived so many years earlier come out to embrace him or kill him upon his return home? Time had either healed old wounds or allowed them to fester uncontrollably. And Jacob, returning to his homeland with wives and children and quite a bit of success, didn’t know how Esau would respond.

The night before this potentially threatening reunion, Jacob had another mysterious encounter—this one with “a man” who appeared as a manifestation of God. They wrestled in the dark, just as Jacob had figuratively done with God for much of his life, and Jacob refused to let him go. This divine encounter is layered with profound and unsettling meanings, but at least one aspect of it is clear: God allowed and even invited human tenacity in his presence. Jacob insisted on a blessing, and God gave him one. It came at a cost, but it resulted in a new outlook on life and a new name. Jacob’s identity was shaped by a stubborn refusal to let go of God.

That doesn’t fit many people’s definition of God, but God is used to defying definitions. Like an adult who gets down on the floor to wrestle with a child, he is willing to restrain his strength and let us “win” for the sake of a meaningful relationship. He is not content with slavish obedience and constant reminders of his unknowability, however justified they are in light of his majesty. He is eager to enter into a give-and-take relationship with lowly humans, even (or especially) those like Jacob who have a dysfunctional past, never disavowing his lordship but always inviting transformation. He rather enjoys the insistence of one who will not let him go until he or she is blessed.

Jesus encountered people like that (Matthew 15:21-28) and encouraged the same (Luke 18:1-8). While many are reluctant to pester God, God encourages and provokes pestering. Something happens to us in the process, even if the wrestling is uncomfortable. We may come out of it with a limp, but also with a new perspective and sense of identity—and the blessing of knowing our God.

Storm the throne of grace and persevere therein, and mercy will come down.