Wrestling with God - Glenn Conjurske

Wrestling with God

by Glenn Conjurske

Though spiritual men of all ages and persuasions have unhesitatingly applied Jacob’s wrestling with God to prayer, there are some who are offended at the application. Some suppose it improper that a man should wrestle with God. “Woe unto him that striveth with his Maker! Let the potsherd strive with the potsherds of the earth.” (Is. 45:9). Others suppose it unnecessary to wrestle with God. God is love, and has proved by a multitude of great and precious promises that he is willing to bless, and why then must we wrestle with him for the blessing? Suffice it to say, such objections do not move me. I believe it both proper and necessary to wrestle with God in prayer. The fact is, Jacob did so, and was blessed for it, and named “Prince with God.” We know that Jacob had the promise of the blessing before he wrestled, and indeed, before he was born, yet the fact remains that he obtained the blessing by wrestling with God for it.

The account of Jacob’s wrestling with God is full of deep and holy mysteries, no doubt, but it is exceeding precious nevertheless—-and precious not only in spite of those deep mysteries, but because of them. And mysteries notwithstanding, the passage is simple enough to simple faith, which does not stumble over the deep things of God, but lays hold of them.

Ponder, then, the precious account: “And Jacob was left alone; and there wrestled a man with him until the breaking of the day. And when he saw that he prevailed not against him, he touched the hollow of his thigh; and the hollow of Jacob’s thigh was out of joint, as he wrestled with him. And he said, Let me go, for the day breaketh. And he said, I will not let thee go, except thou bless me. And he said unto him, What is thy name? And he said, Jacob. And he said, Thy name shall be called no more Jacob, but Israel, for as a prince hast thou power with God and with men, and hast prevailed. And Jacob asked him, and said, Tell me, I pray thee, thy name. And he said, Wherefore is it that thou dost ask after my name? And he blessed him there. And Jacob called the name of the place Peniel: for I have seen God face to face, and my life is preserved. And as he passed over Penuel the sun rose upon him, and he halted upon his thigh. Therefore the children of Israel eat not of the sinew which shrank, which is upon the hollow of the thigh, unto this day, because he touched the hollow of Jacob’s thigh in the sinew that shrank.” (Gen. 32:24-32.)

Jacob was in great trouble of mind. Twenty years earlier he had stolen his brother’s blessing, and fled before his brother’s threats to kill him. He must face that offended brother on the morrow—-coming to meet him with four hundred men. He had done everything which his natural shrewdness could do, and was now “left alone,” full of evil forebodings. Conscience was undoubtedly against him. He had stolen his brother’s blessing by deceit and contemptible trickery. The wrath of his brother was justly against him. But was God for him? The promise of God which had been given to him at the foot of the ladder, in the midst of the angels of God ascending and descending, while he pillowed his lonely head on the stones—-the blessing of God which had been vouchsafed to him for twenty years in the house of Laban—-the visions of God by which the Almighty had strengthened his heart in the midst of his sufferings—-the angels of God which had met him by the way when he parted from Laban—-was all of this now to be brought to nothing in a moment, while the sin of his youth was visited upon him by the wrath of his brother and four hundred men?

With such hopes and fears filling his breast—-his flickering faith tossed as a ball between such chidings of conscience and such tokens of the mercy of God—-was Jacob “left alone.” At the end of his resources and the end of his wits, and “left alone.” A blessed place, as we shall shortly see, for the eye of God marked the place, and soon set foot on it—-though not in such a manner as Jacob would have chosen.

Behold, this “man” seeks him out to pick a quarrel with him. We may be sure that one of the last things Jacob would have chosen on such a night was a wrestling match with an intruder. Jacob did not seek this wrestling match, nor initiate it. God did. And to what end? Ah! blessed God, who seekest out the solitude of thy fainting servant in his extremity, to initiate a wrestling match with him, to the very end that thou mightest be overcome! The potsherds of earth strive with their fellows that they might win. The God of heaven strives with the potsherd of earth that he might lose. The almighty Creator picks a quarrel with his frail creature, that he might give him the victory.

But Jacob knew nothing of this. He knew only that an intruder had sought out his place of solitude to pick a quarrel with him, when he could least have desired any such thing. But—-“prince with God” that he was—-he rose to the occasion, and wrestled, and prevailed, precisely as the God who initiated this quarrel designed that he should do.

But how can a man wrestle with God and prevail? How can the trembling, fainting soul overcome the Almighty God? By faith, by importunity, and by perseverance. Faith is irresistible with God, but this has nothing to do with glib and lukewarm faith. It is the faith which wrestles which overcomes. It is importunate and persevering faith which is irresistible with the Almighty, and such faith is virtually almighty itself. “All things are possible to him that believeth.” (Mark 9:23).

But “possible” and “easy” are two different things, and that glib and lukewarm faith which thinks to gain its purposes easily, without wrestling with God for them, will never gain them at all. Yet how little is this understood. I preached one evening years ago in a little church in Michigan. I spent half the time describing the possibilities of faith, based on the great and precious promises of God, and the second half describing the difficulty with which those possibilities are to be attained, based upon the actual experience of Bible saints. An old lady came to me afterwards and said, “The first half of what you preached tonight I have heard all my life. The second half I never heard before.” This is too bad, for that faith which expects to get the blessing of God easily is sure to be defeated. The faith which wrestles overcomes, and procures its desires.

Let it be plainly understood that the very fact that we are obliged to wrestle with God for the blessing implies difficulty in receiving it. It implies some unwillingness on the part of God to give it. In spite of his great and precious promises, in spite of his loving and merciful nature, there is some sense in which he is determined to withhold the blessing. Indeed, it is plain enough from numerous scriptures that he gives his blessing only upon certain conditions, and those who fail of those conditions never receive the blessing at all. “Ye have not because ye ask not.” “Men ought always to pray, and not to faint.” Those who faint receive no blessing. Mark, it is not merely that Jacob wrestled with God. God wrestled with Jacob. Each sought to overcome the other. Each sought to defeat the other, and it was God who began the match. Though God may be Saviour, Benefactor, Provider, yea, and Friend, yet when he wrestles with us he is none other than our opponent, to be defeated, and such we must regard him, if we are to wrestle at all. It is God who initiates this struggle, as he did with Jacob. He places himself in the position of an antagonist. He deprives us (or those we love) of good, afflicts us with evil, removes our supports, takes from us our resources, backs us as it were into a corner, where we must wrestle.

Now let us understand the nature of wrestling. When we wrestle with a man, our sole aim is to overpower him—-to overcome him. We aim to pin him down, and hold him fast. But understand also, the wrestling of Jacob with God was no sporting event. He was not wrestling to show his strength. He was wrestling in earnest for the blessing. He did not aim to pin down his opponent for a few seconds, for the mere glory of the victory, and then let him go. Not so, but “I will not let thee go except thou bless me.” This was no sport or play. He meant to pin his opponent down and hold him fast until he gave him the blessing. He aimed at nothing short of this, and would stop at nothing short of this. “Let me go, for the day breaketh,” was nothing to Jacob. He has but one reply on his tongue, but one purpose in his heart: “I will not let thee go except thou bless me.”

But how is a man to wrestle with God? We cannot take hold of his body and limbs, as Jacob did. What, then? We wrestle by argument and persuasion. We bring forth our strong reasons and arguments why he should—-why he must—-bless us. We plead his own words and promises, and by these pin him down, so that he must give us the blessing. This is our plea, that though God had no obligation to promise, now that he has done so, he is obliged to perform. What? will the God of truth not keep his word?

But God wrestles in return. He lays yet heavier burdens upon us, while he turns a deaf ear to our pleading. He shows us what sinners we are—-pins us down with the plain fact that if we would press our claim with him, we can claim nothing but damnation.

Nothing daunted, we rejoin that in spite of all our unworthiness, we have yet the promises of God. What if I am a sinner? Was Jacob no sinner? Was David? The Bible is full of promises, and all of those promises were made to sinners. Penitent sinners, no doubt. Sinners who have cleansed their hands and purified their hearts, to be sure. Yet still to sinners. Did God make all of those great and precious promises, to raise our hopes to the height of heaven, only that he might dash those hopes down to the ground—-and then venture to tell us that “God is love”? I may be unworthy of the blessing, but this is unworthy of God.

And to our arguments we add our tears. We aim not only to persuade the Lord, but to move his heart. Thus does the man of faith wrestle with God, and the plain fact is, God is overcome by such pleading. Whatever resistance there may be in the heart of God, and for whatever reason, it is all broken down by such wrestling, and his blessing is secured.

But I turn to an example. The best example I have ever seen of a man wrestling with God is found in the artless account of the life of William Huntington, which he entitled The Kingdom of Heaven Taken by Prayer. After a lengthy period of the most severe conviction of sin, fighting all the while against the most diabolical temptations, and just sinking into despair, he writes,

“When I came into my little tool-house, to the best of my remembrance, I did as I usually had done; that is, I pulled off my blue apron, and covered my head and face with it; for I was like the poor publican, I could not even look up to God; I was afraid he would damn me if I offered to do it.

“I kneeled down, and began to pray extempore, in the language of one desperate, precisely thus; `Oh Lord, I am a sinner, and thou knowest it.

I have tried to make myself better, but cannot. If there is any way left in which thou canst save me, do thou save me: if not, I must be damned, for I cannot try any more, nor won’t.’

“The very moment the last sentence had dropped from my lips, `the spirit of grace and of supplications was poured into my soul,’ Zec. xii.10; and `I forthwith spake as the Spirit gave me utterance,’ Acts ii.4. I immediately prayed with such energy, eloquence, fluency, boldness, and familiarity, as quite astonished me; as much as though I should now suddenly speak Arabic, a language that I never learned a syllable of. And the blessed Spirit of God poured the sweet promises into my heart, from all parts of the scriptures, in a powerful manner; and helped my infirmities greatly, by furnishing my faultering tongue with words to plead prevalently with God. Yea, that blessed Spirit enabled me to compass the Almighty about with his own promises; which were so suitable to my case, that his blessed Majesty could not get out of his own bonds.”*

Most interestingly, Huntington in the very next sentence refers to this as “wrestling”—-which is certainly what it was. Huntington’s example also affords me an opportunity to answer what is probably the most plausible objection against the idea of wrestling with God. It is thought to be irreverent that a sinner should wrestle with God. He forgets his place as a sinner, and thinks to stand on an equal plane with God. But such a manner of wrestling with God we cannot too strongly reprobate. No man of faith forgets his sinfulness. It is doubtless our sinfulness which makes it necessary to wrestle for the blessing at all. We hardly suppose the angels need wrestle with God for their blessings. There was no profane irreverence toward God—-no forgetfulness of his sinfulness—-in William Huntington, who would not so much as dare to lift up his face to God. Yet he wrestled with him, and prevailed also. He overcame the Almighty with his own promises.

But observe, it is no light thing to overcome the Almighty. This is no glib sport. This is not reading a prayer list, nor any dull, formal, routine, dry-eyed mouthing of prayers. This is the work “of one desperate,” as Huntington aptly says. This is a matter which springs from the deepest depths of a burdened soul, and engages all of its powers in a hand to hand struggle with the Almighty.

And observe further, if it is no light thing to overcome the Almighty, neither is it any light thing to wrestle with him at all. This is an exhausting struggle, and likely of long continuance too. “There wrestled a man with him until the breaking of the day.” Jacob must spend the long and weary hours of the night in this struggle. For us the conflict may be much longer. We must wrestle until we receive the blessing, and this may not be a matter of hours, but of months or years. Yet those who are determined never to let go their hold until they receive the blessing will prevail at last.

But here we enter the realm of some of the deepest mysteries of faith. Jacob prevailed with God, but he was never the same afterwards. He was both blessed and injured in the same wrestling match, and I frankly suppose that the way of the Lord with Jacob is the way of the Lord with all his saints. There is a price to pay to be a prince with God, and the price is not a light one. Though God will be a conquered foe in the night’s conflict, he will yet be God in the morning, and man will yet be man. He will abide still in his place of supreme majesty and power, and man in his place of weakness and dependence. He therefore puts forth his hand to touch the hollow of Jacob’s thigh, and leaves him lame for life.

But what holy mysteries we find in this touch! The God who had been wrestling the whole night with Jacob, grappling with him hand to hand, arm to arm, chest to chest, and thigh to thigh the whole night through, and yet “prevailed not against him,” now in one moment touched him, and injured him for life. What vast stores of almighty power does he hold in reserve, while he allows a frail and sinful worm to overcome him! And then, the nature of that touch! We are abashed both by what it was, and what it was not. He could have “touched” his head, and sent him away a drivelling idiot. He could have “touched” his heart, and left him a lifeless corpse. But no, he touched “the hollow of his thigh.” Oh, it was a hard touch, from the effects of which Jacob never recovered, but went limping to his grave—-yet such a gentle touch, considering what it might have been. He touched what Jacob was sure to feel, and yet what he could easily spare.

But it seems there are yet deeper mysteries in this touch. If we ask why the Lord thus touched his opponent, the account seems clear enough on the surface. “When he saw that he prevailed not against him, he touched the hollow of his thigh, and the hollow of Jacob’s thigh was out of joint as he wrestled with him.” He “saw that he prevailed not,” and he took measures to turn the odds. He gained an advantage by this touch. “The hollow of Jacob’s thigh was out of joint as he wrestled with him”—-surely no condition in which to overcome his opponent. And yet for all that, Jacob prevailed. It was the Lord’s design that he should, yet God made it no easy matter. But if God meant that Jacob should prevail, why should he injure him at all? We are not much inclined to tell why God does what he does, but surely in that touch he caused Jacob to feel his weakness, and feel it in such a way as he could never forget. Every step he took for the remainder of his days was a reminder of it. As Jacob was filled with awe afterwards, saying, “for I have seen God face to face, and my life is preserved,” so he must have been filled with awe also that he had overcome the God who could lame him for life with a touch. The victory on these terms was not likely to foster any pride in the victor, but only a profound sense of his own littleness, and the majestic greatness of his conquered foe.

It was doubtless also that touch which taught Jacob who it was with whom he wrestled. Before that touch, he wrestled as with a man, merely to overcome the intruder. After that touch he wrestled with God, and said, “I will not let thee go except thou bless me.”

But it seems the deepest mystery in this touch may yet remain. By this touch the Lord established a tender, personal, and permanent bond between Jacob’s soul and his own. The injuries which the Lord inflicts upon his own do not turn their hearts from him, but just the reverse. They draw their hearts the closer to him. They establish the most tender ties. They forge the most precious links. And that injury which was inflicted on that night in which Jacob wrestled with God and overcame him, we may suppose was from that hour one of Jacob’s most precious possessions. He bore in the hollow of his thigh the impress of the touch of the Almighty, and could he despise it? It was the emblem of the grace of his conquered foe, and no doubt the occasion of a thousand rich contemplations for the remainder of his days. The limp in his gait was the price of the blessing in his hands, and the one may have grown as dear to him as the other. But here I am but a child in experience and understanding, and I forbear to say more.

I return to where I began, and affirm that it is not only legitimate to apply Jacob’s wrestling with God to our doctrine of prayer, but necessary. Those who will not do so have a shallow and defective doctrine of prayer, which is very likely a reflection of shallow and defective theology in general. It is theology which too little knows either God or man, and too little understands, therefore, the relationship between them. To me it is plain enough that those who have never wrestled with God know little of prayer.

Glenn Conjurske

But it is of the greatest interest to inquire why men do not wrestle with God—-for it seems plain enough to me that men will wrestle with God, in spite of their doctrines or notions which exclude it, when they have reached that state of soul which demands it. What stands in the way of that state of soul? I may note in passing that I believe that such things as modern technology, modern medicine, and modern affluence do their share to contribute to the problem, for these things all conspire together to draw men away from that place of conscious dependence upon God, in which importunate prayer is a necessity. A little cash will now procure many of those things for which men were once required to wrestle with God. It remains true, no doubt, that no amount of cash will procure spiritual blessings, and that there is no easy path to the deep things of God, but how many Americans know this? The old proverb “No pain, no gain” has been all but forgotten. A people who are so accustomed to acquiring everything with ease are very likely to lose sight of the fact that the things of God cannot be acquired in that manner. I read in an old book the other day of a couple of women who walked thirty miles to attend a gospel meeting—-and such accounts are common enough in old books. But is there one woman alive in America who would do so today? Or one man? I shall be told, of course, that there is no need. Perhaps not, but how many would do so if there were a need? But these things only by the way. However largely modern technology and modern affluence may contribute to it, the real root lies deeper:

The real reason that men do not wrestle with God is to be found in modern lukewarmness. I suppose the church has never been so self-satisfied as it is today. That spirit which says, “I am rich, and increased with goods, and have need of nothing”—-or almost nothing—-has never been so rife as it is today. Hunger and thirst are almost non-existent. There is need enough, but little felt need. Cheap and shallow substitutes are everywhere taken in the place of the deep things of God, and the church is content with them. Shields of gold are as scarce as ever they were, but in the midst of the modern profusion of “brasen shields,” no need is felt for gold. The whole extent of the hunger in most of the modern church lies in a languid wish that the brass might be polished a little brighter. Gold is never thought of. Men are too ignorant of the Bible and the history of the church to know what gold is. One of the most patent features of Laodicean lukewarmness is its actual ignorance of its own poverty—-its actual belief that it is rich and increased with goods, while in fact it is wretched and miserable and poor and blind and naked. Now where such a spirit prevails, in the church or in the soul, men do not wrestle with God. They feel no need to do so. This is the real and only reason that men do not wrestle with God. They cannot do so while they feel no pressing and desperate need to do so. None but those who hunger and thirst for the blessing of God will ever wrestle with him for it. Those who are content with their present attainments, their present ministry, the present state of their church—-these will never wrestle with God. Neither will those who are but slightly discontented with their present condition. Neither indeed will those who are very discontented, but languid and lazy. When men become desperate and determined for the blessing of God, they wrestle with him, and prevail also.