A few years back, while in the throes of a struggle that would inevitably change my religious identity forever, I pondered the story of Jacob wrestling with a mysterious visitor through the night. In the book of Genesis we read the account of Jacob grabbing hold of the strange angelic man, refusing to let go even after serious injury that would leave him crippled for life, and finally declaring: “I will not let you go unless you bless me!”
The man, identified in the passage as God, does bless Jacob. He also gives him a new name, “Israel,” that means “man who struggles with God” because of his life of contending with everyone and Jacob, now Israel, limps into the new day forever changed.
That story resonated with me.
The tenacity of Jacob mirrored my own a few years ago.
My mom had always told me that my name meant “strong-willed” and she paid the price for her declaration with an intensely determined son—a son who would who, after traumatic birth, needed that will to fight and would go on to contend with his parents and everyone else in the stuggle to survive.
Unlike many religious folks who seem to think that “contend for the faith” means something akin to wishful thinking, always waiting for God to do something and general agreeableness, somehow I got in my head an idea that it means grabbing hold and never letting go until we are blessed by God. It is Jesus who likens sincere faith to a persistent widow who relentlessly pursues justice for herself against an adversary until her plea is heard.
My struggle to find the meaning in my struggle, documented in prior blogs, did not end within the Mennonite denomination as I had hoped. My hope against hope, all of the seemingly meaningful coincidences in my pursuit of the impossibility (like when she literally walks by me and reads “with faith all things are possible” at the same moment of my doubts), ended cataclysmically—my priorities instantly changed from a struggle to find meaning to a fight for spiritual survival.
Since then I’ve kept very busy, have been awestruck by the beauty of Orthodoxy and have found a good reason to venture out of Milton—which I’ll tell you more about that at the right time. But, despite all of that activity, it has been very difficult to regain that sense of meaningfulness that propelled me to pursue, with reckless abandonment, that special purpose. It is harder now to believe there is anything that is truly knowable or that the narrative we create for our life is reliable or ever more than a delusion.
People believe many things, some of those beliefs inspire them to incredible accomplishments, and the power of belief cannot be understated. But the connections we make between events or the significance we assign or attribute to things, that is something that takes place in our minds, it is not objective reality, and is open to debate. In other words, we must decide for ourselves whether something is simply causality and just a coincidence or Divine Providence.
Things like confirmation bias and conspiracy theories are pretty easy to discern for those not blinded under their spell. However, the problem is that everyone seems to think that everyone else is under a delusion (except for themselves) and believes that they somehow see reality for what it is. Whether Mormon, Mennonite, Muslim or atheist, we all have our reasons for what we believe and can all find the issues with what the others believe. And, yet, amazingly enough, many somehow remain confident that their own conclusions are correct.
I can’t really claim to know much of anything anymore. Everything I believe could be a product of my need to create a meaning for my existence. Trust of my own ability to discern meaning took a huge hit a couple years ago with the rejection of those who I had entrusted with my spiritual well-being. They dismissed my judgement, my experiences and my visions (never even gave them serious consideration) which has left me no choice but to reconsider. My hopes and their ‘realities’ could no longer be reconciled.
The good news about my predicament is that I’ve finally done something I could never do before and that is live completely for the good of another person. In the absence of an overarching narrative and without any greater meaning behind events, I’ve been free to simply live. I can go to work, go to church, love the people whom I love, and can survive just fine that way without need of anything more.
Still, I would love to give confident answers about hope and meaning to those suffering through terrible tragedy or illness. And do want to more fully embrace Orthodox Christian faith and grow spiritually through the examples of the many who have walked the path of suffering and salvation before me.
However, sometimes, after wrestling through the night, we need a break. The meaning behind the chaos of life can come later date and we just need to survive. Whether my faithful pursuit of impossibility (or my grabbing hold of God refusing to let go until being blessed) will ever bear meaningful fruit I do not know—maybe, maybe not?
But what I do know is that there was one precious soul on the opposite side of the world who refused to let me go, an Orthodox priest was there at just the right moment to provide some direction when I needed it most, and whatever meaning there is behind all that I’ll leave for y’all to decide…