I don’t know if I’d still be a Christian if the story of Jacob’s epic wrestling match near the river Jabbok wasn’t in the Bible. To call this tumultuous encounter between an ominous stranger and a lying trickster my “favorite” Bible story doesn’t feel quite right, yet I am indebted to it. More than any other narrative in Scripture, Jacob’s story has helped me cling to my faith. It has given me permission to bring my whole, turbulent self before God, engaging with the Divine in ways that often feel contentious before they become consoling. In this reflection, I want to share how Jacob’s experience shapes my view of God and why this wrestling match has become my portal into faith.

As the story unfolds, Jacob is returning to the place of his birth after twenty years away, preparing for a reunion with Esau, the brother he wronged through deceit and manipulation. Jacob is filled with trepidation, uncertain of how Esau will receive him after all these years. In an attempt to protect himself, he sends his wives, concubines, children, and possessions ahead across the river. Alone at night, Jacob’s vulnerability is palpable; stripped of his wealth and his elaborate family, he finds himself isolated in a desolate place. It is here, in this dark solitude, that a nameless, faceless stranger leaps out of nowhere and throws him to the ground.

This moment resonates deeply with me. I wonder how many of us have found ourselves alone in the dark, grappling with battles we wouldn’t recognize as God’s work until much later. Scholars have debated the nature of the encounter—was Jacob attacked by robbers? Did he suffer a panic attack? Whatever the case, it doesn’t truly matter. For me, it highlights a profound truth: the epic battles of our lives—be they with guilt, shame, fear, doubt, grief, or unforgiveness—are ultimately battles with and about God. It is in God’s presence that we confront the struggles that bend, break, and remake us. God is always there, wrestling with us—not for our detriment, but for our transformation.

Jacob and God wrestle throughout the night. Their limbs become entangled as they engage in this profound struggle, and as dawn approaches, Jacob is nearly certain he will prevail. The tension in this moment is palpable. I remember being terrified by this story as a child, envisioning a violent man emerging from the darkness, grappling with Jacob until dawn. The narrative struck me as ominous, leading me to question the nature of a God who allows such encounters. Wasn’t God supposed to be loving and protective? Yet, the God who wrestles with Jacob isn’t the delicate deity I imagined. This God is wild, mysterious, and unyielding. The Hebrew word for “wrestle” means “to get dusty,” indicating a God who is willing to engage with us in the grit and messiness of life.

Jacob’s God is not fragile, easily offended, or upset. Instead, this God invites our struggle, our persistence, and our strength. As the night wears on, the stranger, recognizing Jacob’s determination, strikes him on the hip socket, dislocating it. This pivotal moment illustrates a harsh reality: sometimes, we must confront our weakness to discover our strength. Jacob’s grip transforms from one of aggression to one of desperate need.

In our success-driven culture, defeat is often viewed as a failure. Yet, the story teaches us that sometimes defeat is a mercy. It is through our wounds that we gain insight and understanding, and we learn that bruising and blessing can coexist in God’s kingdom. Jacob’s experience reveals that engaging with God can lead to transformation, even when it is uncomfortable, painful, or challenging. In this sacred space of wrestling, we confront the truth of who we are and ultimately find healing in our brokenness.

At dawn, the stranger asks Jacob to let go, but Jacob, tenacious as ever, insists, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.” This declaration encapsulates the essence of faith. It’s a reminder that sometimes “winning” is simply refusing to give up. Our spiritual journey often involves clinging to God amid confusion and doubt, trusting that there is a blessing hidden within our struggles.

The stranger then asks Jacob, “What is your name?” This question carries significant weight. Jacob, whose name means “heel grabber” or “deceiver,” is confronted with the truth of his identity. Twenty years earlier, he had lied to his father, claiming to be Esau to receive the blessing that was not rightfully his. Now, facing the stranger, Jacob is compelled to confront who he truly is. The act of naming is transformative. When we acknowledge our past, our flaws, and our mistakes, we open ourselves to God’s healing grace.

The stranger responds, “You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with humans and have prevailed.” This new name signifies a shift in Jacob’s identity. He becomes a wrestler, one who grapples not only with God but also with the complexities of life. This blessing may seem paradoxical, but it’s a powerful reminder that our struggles shape us. Wrestling with God is not an act of rebellion; it is an affirmation of our relationship with Him.

As the sun rises, Jacob renames the place of his wounding “Peniel,” declaring, “I have seen God face to face, and yet my life is preserved.” This act of renaming signifies the importance of acknowledging where God meets us in our struggles, the places where we encounter the Divine in our darkest moments. These “Peniels” remind us of the transformative power of God’s presence in our lives. They are the sacred spaces where we learn to embrace our bruises as badges of honor, signifying our journey toward wholeness.

In our lives, we are often led to these sacred wrestling matches, where we confront our fears, doubts, and insecurities. It is in these moments of vulnerability that we discover our true identities and the blessings that come from embracing our struggles. We must not shy away from these encounters, for they are the very places where we are shaped and transformed.

May we brave these sacred spaces time and again, recognizing that God is ever-present in our wrestling. Let us embrace our bruises and limps as testaments to our resilience and faith. In the end, we are bruised but blessed, and it is through our struggles that we find our true selves and our purpose in the grand design of God.