Wrestling and the Bread: Blessing in the Particular

Call to Worship

This week—a Thursday, or one day off from my typical Wednesday night sermons—we begin a new series which is to be titled, “Participation in Christ—The Blessed Sacrament.” I aim to finish this series in 3 weeks with 4 sermons (and I promise to be firm in my declaration here—no more and no less than that number). Why 4 in 3 weeks rather than weekly? I will be preaching my first Sunday here on June 15th. With that will likely come more people, and I encourage you all to come, but I want these next few weeks to be preparatory for that Sunday, in which the Blessed Sacrament—i.e., also called The Eucharist, the Lord’s Supper, Communion, or the bread and wine given as Christ’s body and blood—will be partaken in as a community. The gift of communion has been deep on my mind the past few weeks, and I hope to share with you all a brief introduction towards what the American preacher Charles Spurgeon referred to as “the moment we are nearest to heaven [when] we spend those moments at the Lord’s table.” Even better, today is Ascension Thursday, where the church universal celebrates Christ’s ascension into heaven. Now, from what I know, even though there is offered communion here every Sunday, the last time we were all able to take it together was that Thursday of Thanksgiving last year, when I preached on the word and practice ‘Eucharist’ and its Greek origins meaning, literally, ‘thanksgiving’ (giving thanks). But over these next few weeks, we will delve more into what this ancient practice has meant and means still for us as Christians—i.e., those in Christ.

Scripture Reading

So this evening, let us delve into Scripture. Our Scripture readings tonight are twofold—one from the Old Testament, one from the New.

Old Covenant

A reading from the Covenant of Works, the Old Testament, in the first book, Genesis. May God bless the reading of His word,

Genesis 32:23–32 “He took them and sent them across the stream. And he sent across whatever he had. Then Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him until daybreak. When he saw that he had not prevailed against him, he touched the socket of his thigh; so the socket of Jacob’s thigh was dislocated while he wrestled with him. Then he said, “Let me go, for the dawn is breaking.” But he said, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.” So he said to him, “What is your name?” And he said, “Jacob.” He said, “Your name shall no longer be Jacob, but Israel; for you have striven with God and with men and have prevailed.” Then Jacob asked him and said, “Please tell me your name.” But he said, “Why is it that you ask my name?” And he blessed him there. So Jacob named the place Peniel, for he said, “I have seen God face to face, yet my life has been preserved.” Now the sun rose upon him just as he crossed over Penuel, and he was limping on his thigh. Therefore, to this day the sons of Israel do not eat the sinew of the hip which is on the socket of the thigh, because he touched the socket of Jacob’s thigh in the sinew of the hip.

This is the word of God.

The Sanctus

[ Insert Here ]

I encourage you all, if you are able, to stand for our next reading. Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.

New Covenant

A reading from the Covenant of Grace, the New Testament, the words of our Lord Jesus Christ, who, spoke life the same night that he was betrayed,

The Holy Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ, according to Mark. Glory to you, Lord Christ.

Mark 14:22 “While they were eating, He took some bread, and after a blessing He broke it, and gave it to them, and said, “Take it; this is My body.””

This is the word of God.

Prayer of Divine Invocation

The Lord be with you. And with your Spirit. Let us pray.

Almighty God, to You all hearts are open, all desires known, and from You no secrets are hid: Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of Your Holy Spirit, that we may perfectly love You, and worthily magnify Your holy Name; through Christ our Lord. In harmony, and in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, your people say, Amen.

Sermon

The verses chosen today, from the Book of Genesis and the Gospel of Mark, may at first appear random—especially the former with seemingly no mention of the Lord’s Supper—but, they’ve remained deeply implanted in my mind. Now why? I started reading a fiction book recently titled Gilead, set in 1956, written in the form of a series of letters from a dying minister to his son. A beautiful concept really, especially with our recent reflections on Job’s mortality in my last sermon series. Now, the minister describes preaching on these two pericopes—certainly not giving much detail, less than one paragraph—but, on his justification for the pairing, he writes,

I wanted to talk about the gift of physical particularity and how blessing and sacrament are mediated through it. I have been thinking lately how I have loved my physical life.

A lot of that may sound like babbling nonsense to a lay mind. But that is okay, understanding these words in their proper biblical context is what will allow us to unlock the puzzle. In our case, the puzzle of the Blessed Sacrament—blessed by Christ in his last communal meal—in which Christ is truly and effectually present in the elements of bread and wine. What we find is that Christ’s incarnation—God becoming man—is understood as an example par excellence of our physical particularity, this gift described by the minister.

So what do we mean by physical particularity? To answer that, it helps to step back into the history of philosophy—a controversy we often take for granted today. It's the age-old question of universals and particulars. In the late Medieval period, theologians and philosophers alike wrestled with this: If God is truly universal—above all things (omnipotent), present in all things (omniscient)—how can He genuinely care for or interact with any one individual person? And how can the God who sustains galaxies also concern Himself with you—with your specific fears, your body, your name?

Or, summarily put: Is God so transcendent, so “other,” that He becomes impersonal? Or is He so immanent, so near, that we risk reducing Him to our own scale and image? What often happens is this false choice: Either God is wholly indifferent, a distant Creator who set the world in motion and stepped away; Or He is entirely familiar, knowable on our terms alone, and thus no longer infinite—no longer God. You’ll notice this project, of letting God be God—releasing Him from the box our minds want to place Him in—has been the guiding principal behind my sermons.

Here is the real question: Can God, who is universal, know and love us in our particularity? Can He hold together the vastness of being and still hold you in His heart? This is not merely a philosophical puzzle—it’s a spiritual struggle. And yes, we can and must wrestle with it in our minds and hearts. But the answer is a resounding yes, that he can know and love us as particulars because he is both universal and particular.

Our first Scripture reading takes this question, and metaphor, and spins it on its head. In Genesis 32, that is, we find a pre-incarnate Christ, the Angel of the Lord, wrestling with Jacob. In its background context, we know that Jacob has fled in exile from his older brother, Esau, who seeks to kill him. We turn to Genesis 32 at the end of Jacob’s exile. And, after, in Chapter 33, Jacob and Esau reconcile.

Reflect on that, Esau was angry for a wrong Jacob had done against him; Jacob flees, prays, repents, and practices self-penance; Finally, Jacob returns and the reconcile to a higher status than their former relationship. We will circle back to this in a minute. But in that crucial mediatory stage, between the fleeing and reconciling, is that climactic moment in which Jacob wrestles with a man, who, unknown to him, is God. And as we understand with the characterization of the “Angel of the Lord,” this man is a pre-incarnate Christ. Not fully human as He would under Mary, but able to tussle with Jacob such that Jacob’s thigh dislocated. Now Jacob, in his wearied insistence, grabs hold of the man. Now, listen to what Jacob says next,

I will not let you go unless you bless me

We find this repeated motif in both stories of blessing. For our New Testament passage is short, and begins as such,

Mark 14:22 While they were eating, He took some bread, and after a blessing He broke it

From the early church, the Eucharist has been referred to as the Blessed Sacrament. Let’s break these two words down. ‘Blessing’ holds many similarities to “consecrating,” except in that in blessing God is invited, while in consecration God is given to. So, in both stories, God in the form of Christ Jesus, or God the Son, invites himself into. Hence, when we hear at the latter half of Mark 14:22, “Take it; this is My body,” and understand Jacob’s name-change to Israel, we see a change of form (but not substance) in that which is present. This is where we turn to the word ‘sacrament.’ This word comes from the Latin translation of the Greek word for mystery—i.e., something undeniably true but unable to be fully understood by human comprehension. So, the Eucharist, in its blessing, breaking, and being Christ’s body, is a Holy Mystery in which God is invited and presented further than his ordinary means.

Magisterial theology would refer to the sacrament of the Eucharist, along with the other sacrament of baptism (which are called the Higher Sacraments in other traditions) and the Word (Written, Preached, and Lived), as “means of grace.” That is, the ordinary ways we receive and are made in Christ is through these means. In the Word, we read, hear, and understand Christ’s sacrifice for us. In baptism, we are washed and re-born a new creation in Christ. And in the Eucharist, we are able to particularly partake of Christ’s body, in our physicality and his real and true presence.

One final illustration of what blessing and sacrament mean are in the works of St. Augustine. More than any early church figure after the death of Christ, he deeply explained what the nature of the sacraments were. For him, they consisted of the thing and sign. As an example for today, the bread of the Eucharist is the thing, while Christ’s body is the sign, or thing signified. We partake physically the bread, and receive spiritually—from God invited—assurance of atonement, and remission of sin. In the other sacrament—baptism—our salvation and being washed from sin is signified from the thing of water.

Apart from just the obvious sign of the bread, we see a similar notion in our Genesis passage, when the man says to Jacob,

Your name shall no longer be Jacob, but Israel (which means “he who wrestles with God”); for you have wrestles with God and with men and have prevailed.

The physical wrestling with God and name-change was the thing, the spiritual and mental wrestling of faith and sanctification what is signified. Earlier I spoke of circling back to the context behind Jacob’s experience here. What I mean is that it encapsulates the story of salvation perfectly. Jacob, like all humans, has wronged someone and is in guilt. And, Jacob, like all humans, through Christ, finds themselves re-born. And finally, Jacob, like all humans, is reconciled, as we are with the Father who created us.

So in our opening quote on the gift of physical particularity in which blessing and sacrament are mediated: Do we not find in the story of Jacob wresting with God the universal, in mystery, interacting with the physical particular, imparting blessing? Do we not find in the story of Christ offering his body in the bread, in mystery, him presenting himself so that we can, in our physicality, partake of Him and in Him, after the bread is blessed and God is invited for us.

In our unique gift of being made particulars, that is, beings who can experience the world anew. Like reading your now favorite book for the first time. Not only are we given a new chance, new life, new hope, in Christ and through Christ, but are ever moreso present with that being described by the Apostle Paul as 1 Timothy 2:5 “For there is one God, and one mediator also between God and men, the man Christ Jesus,” such that, through Christ, we could be reconciled. Or, in our Old Testament text today, such that, through the Angel of the Lord (i.e., Christ) Jacob could be reconciled to Esau.

Look now, at Jacob’s final saying after being blessed by the man,

Jacob said, “I have seen God face to face, yet my life [lit. soul] has been preserved”

This idea of preservation is used all throughout Scripture in regards to salvation. In Ephesians, we learn that God chooses us, elects us, predestines us, and preserves us from falling. We transition, in the stage of sanctification, after being justified in God’s eyes in guilt and punishment, from the incapacity to not sin, to the choice. We are born again, made free again, broken from the bonds of sin, in Christ.

Thus we turn again to Mark’s account of the blessing of the bread, now able to uncover many similarities between his account and Jacob’s wrestling with God, which again reads,

Mark 14:22 While they were eating, He took some bread, and after a blessing He broke it, and gave it to them, and said, “Take it; this is My body.”

This comes to the essence of our series topic, on what the Eucharist means day by day. It’s not just a ceremony your local church may do weekly, but an opportunity to participate in the divine nature, by a particular provided means of grace, instituted by Christ himself. It’s not “this is a symbol of my truth,” or “this is a general idea of grace,” but—this is my body. Given. Broken. Eaten.

There are plenty of other texts in Scripture on the Eucharist, which we will get to for all to understand, but for today it’s best to remember that—as it’s called the Blessed Eucharist—it is instituted and provided for us by God, as God in His Son Jesus Christ, it’s mysteries may not always be right in front of our noses, but they are there. And that in the same way we partake, in our physicality, in Christ’s body in the bread, so that, as Peter writes,

2 Peter 1:4 He has granted to us His precious and magnificent promises, so that by them you all may become partakers of the divine nature

By our gift of physical particularity—that gift Jacob, Job, and the Apostles best exemplify in their relations with the God—we have become able to become united with Christ. In that union, that reconciliation—like was affected on Jacob after wrestling God to his brother Esau—we are restored to a higher position than we were ever made.

Do you see now the clear parallel between Jacob and Christ’s blessing of the bread? The blessing that comes through the wound, the physical mediation of divine presence? The same God who wrestled Jacob beside the river now takes the bread in His hands and says, “Take. Eat.” As he blessed Jacob, He still blesses us through the tangible.

And just as Jacob receives a name and walks away changed, so do we. In Communion, Christ gives Himself not to humanity in general, but to each believer in particular. To you. For you. “This is my body, given for you.” Here is the mystery of sacrament: The universal God chooses to be present in the particular. In bread, his body which sits at the right hand of the Father. In Jacob (named Israel) and the later Israelites, a forthcoming of Christ. God chose the particular so that we may be made universal—i.e. united to Him. This won’t be done until the last of days, but no not fret. Speak as the minister did, “I have been thinking lately about how much I loved my physical life.” We learn in Scripture that the flesh is nothing without Christ. Loving of our physicality, then, is only possible with acknowledgement and respect for our Creator.

Sacraments are not magical, but neither are they mere metaphors. They are the places where heaven stoops low enough to kiss the earth—where the infinite embraces the finite. Like Jacob’s limp after wrestling, the bread of Communion leaves its mark—not in injury, but in intimacy. This is not abstract grace. This is grace that can be chewed.

Against the temptation to make faith purely hypothetical, or conceptual, or ethical, or even vainly intellectual—The God of Jacob (i.e., Israel), the Apostles, you and I, is a God who does not love in general. He loves each of us particularly. He is both love and loving to all. He loves you. Personally. Physically. Spiritually. He loves you so much that He, who once offered Himself for all, is represented for us to partake.

And this term, “physical particularity,” may sound strange to modern ears, but it reaches to the very soul of what the Incarnation means: that God became not only human, but a man—with skin, with breath, with wounds. That the universal took on the particular. That the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.

So perhaps now you can see it: the clear parallel between Jacob and the breaking of bread. Blessing comes through contact, through wounds, through mystery. And just as Jacob wrestled with God and was changed—marked by a limp and given a new name—so we, too, come to this Table, receive Christ’s body, and leave changed.

“This is my body,” He says, “given for you.” The universal God, present in the particular. And he could not be God, i.e., be universal, either in relation to or in general, had it not been for His gifting of us particularity and His humbling to become particular too. God is universal, but he is bread. Given to you, for you, in love.

And I cannot wait in a few weeks to duly administer, when I preach on that Sunday, for the minister said, and I agree,

Normally I would not preach on the Words of Institution themselves— for the Sacrament is the most beautiful illumination of those words there could be.

And so we return to that quiet but profound line from the minister in Gilead: “I wanted to talk about the gift of physical particularity and how blessing and sacrament are mediated through it.” That thought—at once simple and expansive—has carried us through today’s reflection. For in Jacob, we see a man blessed through wrestling, through contact, through wound. In Christ, we see a Savior who blesses by giving His own body, broken and handed to us in bread. Both moments are mediated by the physical—by a touch, a limp, a meal—and through them, we witness the mystery of grace made tangible. This, then, is the gift of physical particularity: that God chooses to make Himself known not just in cosmic declarations, but in names, in bodies, in bread and wine. It is through this particularity that blessing and sacrament become not just ideas, but realities we can touch and taste. This is the great promise we carry into our series on the Eucharist—not simply to study a doctrine, but to be drawn into a mystery. May each of us come to see the Table not as ritual only, but as encounter—where the universal God meets us, and blesses us, in the particular.

Lord’s Prayer and Absolution

Now let us end in community by praying the Lord’s prayer, receiving absolution, and leaving blessed,

Our Father who is in heaven, Hallowed be Your name. Your kingdom come. Your will be done, On earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors. And do not lead us into temptation, but deliver us from evil. 

Almighty God we have forsaken you in thought, word, and deed. Have mercy on us, forgive us all your sins through our Lord Jesus Christ, strengthen us in all goodness, and by the power of the Holy Spirit keep us in eternal life.

For yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever. In the name of the Father, who creates, and of the Son, who redeems, and of the Holy Spirit, who sanctifies and purifies us before You, Amen.

Benediction

Now as you walk out tonight, wherever that may be, count yourself blessed before the Lord,

The Lord bless you, and keep you;

The Lord make His face shine on you,

And be gracious to you;

The Lord lift up His countenance on you,

And give you peace.’ Num. 6:24-26