“Most people think wrestling with God is a sin. They think it’s failure. But it’s not. Wrestling with God is a sign of intimacy because you can’t wrestle with somebody who’s far away. You can only wrestle with somebody who’s up close and next to you” (Jon Acuff). 

I’m sitting at my computer, listening to the sound of the sound of the heavens applauding the majesty of God through the falling rain. I’m thinking about what it means to wrestle with God, of all the things to be pondering on a very wet Wednesday evening.

I don’t know exactly what wrestling with God looks like. I don’t know how it felt for Jacob to wrestle with God– actually wrestle physically with God– and live to tell about it. I do have a few ideas I’d like to share.

I know you can’t wrestle with God from the comfort of your pew with pious words and a lukewarm heart. You can’t wrestle with God and stay clean and neat and tidy. You can’t remain in a place of safety and wrestle with God at the same time. Wrestling means scuffed knees, getting dirt and possibly blood on your clothes, and pushing every muscle in your body past what you thought you could endure.

If I’m wrestling with God, I’m holding on with everything I’ve got. I’m holding on for dear life to the very Essence of Life itself, the One who said, “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.” I’m not getting out at the first hint of pain and sacrifice. I’m staying the course and not quitting until I get a blessing.

If I truly encounter the living God this way, then I won’t walk away the same as I was before. Jacob the trickster walked away as Israel, the one who strove with God. The one from whom a nation would be born and from whose line the Messiah would come.

I may limp like Jacob, but I’d rather be lame and have God’s blessing than be whole and miss out on what God had for me. Is that what you want, too?