Homily | Wrestling with Love 🤼‍♂️

19th Sunday After Pentecost

Readings of the Day: Genesis 32:22-31 | Psalm 121 | 2 Timothy 3:14-4:5 | Luke 18:1-8

There’s this big church I heard about. They teach their kids five simple rules about faith:

1. The Bible is true.

2. It teaches about God.

3. God is real and has a plan for everyone.

4. God lets us make right and wrong choices, and we show love by obeying.

5. Jesus loves us and wants us to love Him back.

Sounds right, doesn’t it? Sounds… responsible. Like the IKEA instructions for holiness… Simple diagrams...

But here’s the problem. There’s no gospel (good news) in there. It’s all on us. God gives the test; we’re left to pass or fail.

This is what Paul warns Timothy about… People with “itching ears,” looking for a version of faith that keeps them in control. A faith that says if you stay strong, make good choices, and keep your nose clean, God will reward you. It feels right, but it keeps us in opposition to God.

It makes us polite Christians. Too proud to be needy. It keeps us from the very first step that people in recovery have to take: to admit we’re powerless on our own. We pious souls who come to this beautiful sanctuary every Sunday can’t even make it to step one that our friends in the basement on Tuesday night make.

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Enter, Jacob…

Jacob isn’t polite. He’s not keeping a safe distance. He’s in there all night, sweaty and desperate, hanging on to God and refusing to let go.

That’s what faith looks like. Not tidy or dignified, but clutching God with white-knuckled hands, saying, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.”

Now, the story says an angel of the Lord struck Jacob’s hip. Sounds harsh, right? What kind of God picks a fight with poor old Jacob? What kind of God kicks a man when he’s down—literally?

But maybe the “strike” isn’t an attack at all. Maybe it’s a wound of love—the moment Jacob’s illusion of self-sufficiency finally breaks. This would mean the pain isn’t punishment; it’s the false self cracking open so grace can make itself known.

I think that what Jacob experiences as a fight is really his ego resisting eternal self-giving love. God isn’t wrestling against Jacob; God is wrestling for Jacob—untangling Jacob from the illusion that he’s alone.

If you’ve ever tried to hug a cat that doesn’t want to be hugged, you understand this dynamic. The cat thinks it’s being attacked. It scratches and hisses. But you’re just trying to love it. Well, when it comes to God, you and I are the cat.

Why? Because we’re scared. Scared that if we stop performing, stop holding it all together, no one—including God—will be there for us. The ego’s favorite prayer is: “I’ve got this, God. I’ll handle it.” We even say it sincerely. Politely.

But here’s the beautiful, terrible truth: with God, there is no ‘over there.’ That’s the ego’s delusion. God is already here—closer than your breath. Your heart would have no pulse if it weren’t for this truth. What feels like wrestling is our resistance to God’s love - or even the right to exist - without earning it.

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Let’s look at the cross for a second. Jesus doesn’t wrestle our sin into submission. He absorbs it. On the cross, our violence meets His open arms. In Him, our struggle becomes God’s heartbeat. Love wins not by overpowering, but by outlasting. Love’s strength is endurance. That’s what God is like—the Good emptying itself because that’s what the Good does.

And that’s why the widow in Jesus’ parable is such a sage. Like Jacob, she’s desperate. She keeps showing up, not because she has it all together, but because she has nowhere else to go. Jesus says, “That’s faith.” Not polish. Or perfection. But holy persistence. And even that persistence is the Spirit praying in us—God’s endurance breathing through our lungs.

I know that feeling. You do too. Those nights when it felt like God and I were in the ring… Me swinging away, God waiting for me to tire out. Luther called this Anfechtung: holy affliction or struggle that kills pride and frees us from the illusion of self-sufficiency. Out of that, trust (faith) rises.

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When the night ends, Jacob walks away with two things: a limp and a blessing. The limp is permanent—he’ll never walk the same. But it’s not God’s cruelty—it’s love’s transforming touch.

The body learning what the heart just discovered: you’re free from the burden of pretending you’ve got it all together.

That limp is grace’s tattoo. The mark of someone freed from believing they could ever even want to stand alone.

And the blessing? A new name: Israel. The one who strove (and was seized by God). He didn’t earn the name; he received it when his defenses crumbled.

What if you really believed your messy prayers, your doubts, your 3 a.m. pleas don’t annoy God, but delight God? That God is Godding through you when you struggle against an idea about God that is anything less or more than pure self-emptying love? That God isn’t conflicted about you at all? The struggle is only in our hearts, learning to accept what’s already been given.

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So when you come forward for Holy Communion today, don’t come politely. (No pushing or shoving, please.) Don’t come proud. Come like Jacob—needy and honest. At this Table, Christ meets you for you—not as an opponent, but as His own body and blood, given and shed for you. He places Himself into your empty hands, and by the Spirit, His life rises within you. Not because you achieved it, but because He dwells in you and will not let you go. Ever.

This is the God who is there beside every river, in every darkness. He finds us trying to manage alone, and whispers, “You are free from running. From fighting. I’m not here to wrestle you—I’m here to hold you.”

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So, I thought I’d take the liberty to write 5 rules of faith for our little church here... Actually, they’re not rules. Rules are things we have to follow ‘or else.’ Maybe see these as encouragement for responding to what already is and cannot be changed.

1. You are free from trying to earn what’s already yours—existence itself is grace.

2. God isn’t somewhere else—you live and move and have your being in Love.

3. Weakness isn’t failure; it’s where Christ’s life is most active. There is nothing to fix about weakness.

4. Prayer isn’t getting God’s attention—it’s remembering you never lost it.

5. You can rest now. Love has you and will never let you go.