St. John’s Episcopal Church
Tallahassee, FL
Genesis 32:22-31
Here at St. John’s
we have been on a bit of a journey
these last few weeks.
Something lovely and beautiful is brewing.
It started a couple weeks ago
when our beloved friend Mary Call Proctor
stood right up here and spoke to us.
She talked about love—
how there are so many wonderful things at St. John’s,
so much to look at,
so much to behold,
so much history and beauty to appreciate—
but as she so rightly taught us,
we don’t love things . . .
we love people.
(If you ever want to feel good,
just have Mary Call Proctor look you in the eye
and say, “I love you,”
like she did to all of us two weeks ago.
It’ll melt your heart!)
Then last week, Alli Schoonover stood in this very pulpit
and delivered a beautiful sermon about gratitude:
how gratitude is grace in motion,
how we grow in our life even when we grow just one step,
how gratitude can change everything
about who we are
and how we relate to God.
So, if Mary Call talked about love,
and Alli talked about gratitude,
what is it that I want to talk about today?
I want to talk about losing.
Now don’t get me wrong.
I’m not talking about the kind of losing
that happens late at night
far away on a certain coast
that is not the Atlantic Coast.
(Thoughts and prayers for that whole situation.)
No, I’m talking about losing of biblical proportion.
I’m talking about that beautiful story
that we just heard of
Jacob wrestling with God. 1
* * *
Y’all, this is one of my favorite Old Testament stories,
because Jacob is . . .
well, he’s not the best guy in the book.
He’s a little shifty,
a little wily,
and gets himself in trouble . . . a lot.
So when we meet him today,
Jacob on the run.
He doesn’t know where he’s going
or what he’s going to do,
and there in the middle of the night,
under the cover of darkness,
somebody shows up.
It’s not clear in the text . . .
is it a man, an angel, God?
We’re not sure,
but it sure seems like God.
God engages Jacob,
and what do they do?
They wrestle.
All night long.
In the dust, in the dirt,
wrestling,
struggling,
fighting,
clinging.
But notice this:
God isn’t the one who won’t let go.
The sun starts to come up and God says,
“Hey, bro, I’ve got to go.
I have other things to do,”
but Jacob’s the one still holding on:
“I will not let you go until you bless me!”
And sure enough, God blesses him,
but not without popping Jacob
with a devastating blow to the hip.
So Jacob walks away with two things—
a blessing and a limp—
into his future with God.
This story, y’all?
This story is about losing to God
and losing ourselves to God.
* * *
It reminds me of a story
from a memoir by Nikos Kazantzakis. 2
He tells of a time at a monastery,
spending his days with an older monk.
One day he asked,
“Father, do you still wrestle with the devil?”
The monk smiled.
“Oh no, my son.
I have grow old,
and the devil has grown old with me.
We don’t wrestle much anymore.
These days, I wrestle with God.”
“God?! You wrestle with God?!”
the young man asked.
“But, do you hope to win?”
To which the old monk said,
“Oh no, my son.
I hope . . . to lose.”
* * *
Let me tell you why I love this church . . .
why I love you . . .
I love this life we share.
Because at the core of who we are,
we’re not trying to win anything.
In fact, we’re trying to lose.
We’re not out here
trying to be the best church in town.
We’re not putting on a big show.
Everything we do here
is for the glory of God
and because we love each other.
Here, we continually lose ourselves
in that love Mary Call talked about
and in that gratitude Alli expressed.
It sounds odd, but I guess you could say
we’re a church of holy losers.
(You’re welcome.)
We are simply people
who come here week after week
with whatever limp we carry,
whatever baggage,
whatever story we bring—
all our wrestling and striving—
and over and over we come to this holy place
to love God,
to be loved,
to love one another.
In so doing,
we keep losing ourselves in that love,
and every time we lose ourselves,
we become something new . . .
we become more and more the image
of our loving and giving God.
* * *
That brings me to what’s going to happen next week,
something extraordinary, something new.
It’s a new tradition we’re calling Consecration Sunday. 3
Consecration means “giving something over to God,”
letting God make it holy.
Next Sunday is a day
when we, as a church, will come together
and lose ourselves in God.
It’s going to be a day of joy and festivity.
After a glorious, rock-’em, sock-’em worship service
with trumpet and choir
and all the hymns you like the most,
all of us are going to feast
as the full family of God.
We’ll gather in Alfriend Hall,
hopefully spilling into Killeen Hall and others,
tables set,
chairs ready,
delicious food everywhere.
We’ll come together to feast
and to celebrate life at St. John’s.
No charge.
No QR code.
You just come to church and enjoy the day.
But here’s the hinge between the two,
the pivot between worship and feast.
You’ve probably noticed
you haven’t received a pledge card in the mail, right?
That’s on purpose.
You know what happens when we mail those cards.
They sit on the kitchen counter for weeks
until someone from the stewardship committee
has to make that awkward call:
“Hey, did you get your pledge card?”
We’re done with that.
Next Sunday, when you come,
your card will be waiting for you right here,
and we’ll fill them out and get them done
not like some private bill we reluctantly pay
but as a corporate act of worship.
So get ready.
Between now and next Sunday,
say your prayers.
Ask yourself,
“Is this my year to grow one step?
What do I want to offer to God?”
And at the end of the service, if you wish,
as we all make our way to Alfriend Hall to feast
you’ll have the opportunity
and place that gift,
that pledge,
that holy intention
right there on the altar of God.
I told you a couple of weeks ago
about a parishioner from my last church
said this was her favorite day of the year.
“It’s the one day of the year,” she said,
“that I—little old me—
get to touch the altar
of the Most High God.
I get to leave my gift there
at the place, on the table,
where God is always extending
his gifts to me.
Are you kidding me?
I get to do that?
We get to do that—together?
That is way it’s the best day of the year.”
* * *
So that’s my invitation to you, my friends.
Come next week ready to lose yourself
in that beautiful way we do here at St. John’s.
We’re not trying to be anything we’re not.
We’re not trying to be flashy or fancy.
We’re just the pilgrim people of God—
some of us, like Jacob, carrying the scars
of all our strivings—
coming here week after week
to remember who we are
and whose we are.
So come.
Come next week,
come the week after,
and the week after that.
Come and lose yourself
in the love of
the living,
loving,
giving
God.
Amen.