One night, a narcissistic cheat grappled with God and was changed forever. He went from “a cheater” to “The Victor.” But he carried scars from that battle with him for the rest of his life.   

 Breakthroughs in the Christian life rarely come easy. They are not happy accidents we drift into. They often include an agonizing struggle because God refuses to help the fake you. He’ll only deal with the real you.

 That was the case with Jacob in the Old Testament. He had charmed his way through life, holding God at arm’s length. He literally lied, cheated, and stole his way through his young adulthood, until God grew weary of his facade.  

 As is often the case, Jacob’s past caught up with him. The scene is ominous. Jacob is traveling through the harsh Middle Eastern wilderness, on his way home. He’s leaving Uncle Laban’s and making a 500 mile trek across the desert. All of his family, livestock, and possessions are with him. He’s on the final leg of his journey when he gets word that his brother, Esau is coming to meet him with 400 men. Esau, the brother Jacob cheated twice, once for his birthright and once for his blessing. Esau had vowed to kill him. Twenty years have transpired. But you know what they say about revenge: it’s a dish best served cold. 

 Jacob was “greatly afraid and distressed” (Gen. 32:7). He tries his old tricks again. He begs God to deliver him (9-12). He sends multiple waves of gifts to appease his brother (13-21). He splits his camp into two parts to ensure the survival of his offspring (22-23).

 And that leaves just Jacob. Raw. Defenseless. Vulnerable. ALONE. That’s key. The narrative is short but arresting, “And Jacob was left alone” (vs. 24). No more tricks. No more charm. Just the real Jacob. All by himself. Finally. No distractions. No noise. No family. No servants. No escape. We’re afraid of being alone. 

 Louis C.K. is a comedian and philosopher. He was on Late Night with Conan O'Brien years ago talking about the culture of smartphones and what they do to us. He said: 

 "Smartphones are taking away our ability to just sit there. That's being a person. Because underneath everything in your life there is that thing, that empty—forever empty. That knowledge that it's all for nothing and that you're alone. It's down there. And sometimes when things clear away...you're not watching anything...you're in your car, and you start going, 'Oh no, here it comes...I'm alone.' It starts to visit on you. Just this sadness. Life is tremendously sad, just by being in it. That's why we text and drive. I look around, pretty much 100 percent of the people driving are texting. And everybody's murdering each other with their cars. But people are willing to risk taking a life and ruining their own because they don't want to be alone for a second..." He’s right. 

 Jacob couldn't check his phone, text ten random people, or death scroll for hours. He couldn’t bury himself in busywork, or binge a new series on Netflix. It was just Jacob, left alone in his fear, distress, and anxiety. His family and servants are gone. It must have been quiet. Esau's silence is terrifying. No word of peace. No olive branch extended. Jacob is a burdened man. 

 In Hebrew, the word “distressed” means trapped, in a corner, folded in on yourself like an envelope. Stuck. He wants God to show up and rescue him. “Deliver me. Save me. Rescue me from my brother’s hand.” But we know the truth: God is going to come and rescue Jacob from his deepest problem: Jacob. 

 When I got my DWI, I don’t remember talking to anyone for days. That was a rare occurrence for me. And it was life-changing. That’s when I began to deeply reflect on my life. Or rather, to re-think my life. I didn’t much like the way it was going. To say I was disillusioned would have been an understatement. In his book, Life Together, Dietrich Bonhoeffer mentions the importance of disillusionment and shattered dreams:

 The sooner this shock of disillusionment comes to an individual and to a com­munity the better for both. A community which cannot bear and cannot survive such a crisis, which insists upon keeping its illusion when it should be shattered, permanently loses in that moment the promise of Christian community. Sooner or later it will collapse. Every human wish dream that is injected into the Christian community is a hindrance to genuine community and must be banished if genuine community is to survive. He who loves his dream of a com­munity more than the Christian community itself becomes a destroyer of the latter. (Life Together, 27).    

 Jacob’s dream had to be shattered. His false self had to die. He had to face reality. He needed to be alone and face God. His entitlement and perspective had to undergo a paradigm shift. So God got him alone. And that’s when things got interesting. Verse 24 is just one sentence. But it breaks into the narrative like a primeval scream. “And a man wrestled with him until the breaking of the day.” Can you even imagine what Jacob must have been thinking? A robber, after his money? Esau, after his life? I’ll wager he didn’t think it was God after his heart.     

 Solitude, disillusionment, and shattered dreams can be great classrooms. Martyn Lloyd-Jones was a young doctor in Britain in the 1920s. He became a Christian, abandoned his medical career and entered into full time pastoral ministry. His reason is interesting.

 In those days, British physicians were heroes. They were respected. They were brilliant. They were well paid. They had enormous status. One of the physician heroes Lloyd-Jones’ looked up to was dating a woman who suddenly died. It was a great tragedy. 

 He came by to see Lloyd-Jones on a cold day and asked, “Would it be okay if I sat here for just a bit?” Lloyd-Jones answered, “Of course. Please, sit up next to the fire.” Lloyd-Jones says the man pulled up a chair, sat down, and stared into the fire—for two hours. He didn’t say a word. He acted as if his friend wasn’t even there.

 Lloyd-Jones saw a powerful person, a mover and shaker, a person who had life by the horns, a person he aspired to become, but he realized this man was absolutely out of resources. He was devastated. He had nothing with which to actually face the harsh realities of life. Lloyd-Jones reflected on watching that man staring at the fire: “I suddenly saw the vanity of all human greatness. If a guy like that can’t handle life, how in the world do I think I can handle life without God?”

  Like the man in front of the fire, Jacob suddenly realizes that he is utterly alone with no resources to help him face his crisis. And it is at that moment that God wrestles him to the ground in a profound act of redeeming grace. 

 Isn’t it interesting that God waited until Jacob was alone, afraid, and in the dark before breaking into the scene. But God was just getting started…