Dark Wings: A Retelling of Genesis 32:22-32 By Rev. Lilli Nye

That night, I decided to send Rachel and Leah and the children across the ford of the Jabbok without me. As they crossed the river the echo of their voices and the sloshing of the water gradually faded, though I could still see them, slightly, in the pale light.

I was alone. Behind me was the steep bank and I started up toward an outcrop where I could watch their progress. Night would not shelter them for much longer. The sliver of the new moon gave no light as it drifted toward the western horizon, but the stars were heavy and close and numberless—dense as a whole basket of barley spilled across a floor.

I found a path upward. Suddenly, I was sure I heard the sound of quick, light footfall behind me, and I froze, perfectly still, listening. All was silent, but the hairs of my skin stood on end. Something was near, watching, following. A beast that stalks its prey at night? I peered into the dim terrain all around me, but saw no living creature.

A few steps further and I was startled again by a sudden burst of enormous wings rushing up behind me. Like a terrified rabbit I cowered and covered my head with my hands, heart in my throat, certain that some great talons would seize me. But I felt only a swirl of wind and the brush of feathers as the thing flew past. Then silence again. Slowly I stood, trembling and troubled. Beast? Bird of prey? What was it, out there in the dark?

I hadn’t taken three more strides when a sharp jab between my shoulders knocked me sprawling into the gravel. As I lay stunned, I felt my assailant, now in more familiar form, press his foot into the center of my back.

Outrage took the place of fear in my limbs, and with instincts honed by boyhood wrestling matches, I twisted round and took hold of his leg, throwing him to the ground.

But it was the sight of him that made me gasp and truly took the breath from me: a winged being, as dark and shimmering, as empty and full of power as the night sky, his face fierce and lovely. A slight smile and then he lunged, and I was toppled again. It was clear that my task was to fight, as I have always fought. Strange and furious were the next moments as we battled.

“Who are you!” I demanded. “What do you want!”

He would not answer. Lithe and very strong he was, calm and skilled, slipping ever from my holds and threatening to gain mastery. But I had the force of righteous anger in me. As cunning as he was, he could not subdue me.

“Who are you!” I growled again. On and on we struggled together, strength against strength, will against will, spirit against spirit.

He struck me violently in the hip, and I felt a pop and a tearing and I cried out in pain. I was wounded and knew now I had only a desperate chance to conquer him. At last I twisted him into a hold he could not escape, my arm around his neck. His eyes like flaming water slid toward the glowing horizon and he stopped struggling against my grip.

“Let me go,” he said. “You must let me go, for the day is breaking.”

“I will not—until you give me a blessing.”

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Jacob.”

“You will no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, because you have striven with God, and with humans, and have prevailed.”

I let go, and we stood up, face to face.

“Please, tell me…what is your name?”

“Why do you need to know my name?” He placed his hand upon my shoulder and smiled, and with a whirl and rush of wings, he was gone.

I stood there in the stillness, panting. Suddenly I laughed out loud.

“I name this place ‘God’s Face,’” I shouted to the rocks, to the sky, to the rim of sun that was glowing like a coal in the cradle of the hills, “for I have seen God, face to face, and I am still alive!”

I turned, blessed and bewildered, and began to limp toward camp.