The other day I was looking in the mirror and noticed that my hair is thinning a bit, and there are some significant grey hairs here and there. Of course, those marks have physiological origins but they aren't without emotional and spiritual depth as well. Those marks are there because I am probably not sleeping enough, certainly working hard, going in every which way trying to squeeze just one more hour out of my day for one of a whole host of responsibilities, opportunities, obligations which abound in my life.

Each one of those lines has a cause and tells a story. One grey hair is from getting up in the middle of the night to put my son back to sleep after her comes into our room. Another is from worrying about my daughter and her occasional meltdowns. Another comes from working with Vicki as we partner in the holy, and exhausting, enterprise of running a home and raising a family. Then there are so many grey hairs I’ve gotten from work, from late nights working, from my journey through helping families in mourning and in pain, and the list goes on.

So each one of those grey hairs tells me I am alive, confirms that I am working, sometimes struggling, to live out a life of meaning, service and purpose. Each grey hair is a reminder of why I am here, what I have done and what still remains to do.

In this week's Torah portion we return to the story of a young man, Yakov Avinu, Jacob or forefather, who is ready to look in the mirror, so to speak, and confront his grey hairs of his ongoing life's struggles. For the last few weeks we have watched Jacob grow up, struggle with so much in his life and now he faces his greatest struggle—his wrestling match (with a man, an angel, Esau his brother, his conscience, God or perhaps all of the above) alone in the desert. In this match, however, Jacob is left with more than a few grey hairs.

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 wounded the hollow of his thigh; and Jacob's thigh was out of joint, as he wrestled with him. And he said, Let me go, for the day breaks. And he said, I will not let you go, except you bless me. And he said to him, “What is your name? And he said, Jacob. And he said, Your name shall be called no more Jacob, but Israel; for as a prince you have power with God and with men, and have prevailed. And Jacob asked him, and said, “Tell me, I beg you, your name.” And he said, “Why is it that you ask after my name?” And he blessed him there. And Jacob called the name of the place Penuel; 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 limped upon his thigh. (Genesis: 25-32)

Jacob is simply becoming a man, stepping up to the responsibilities in his life. He is facing his past failures, facing his current fears and facing the work still to be done on the path that lies ahead. He is ascending in his life and I imagine he has a self-congratulatory feeling as he so boldly and bravely steps up to his life. And yet, this kind of "wrestling," as rewarding and meaningful as it certainly is, is not without wounds, pain and scars. Though we will never know what Jacob faced out there in the desert, we do know that after this encounter he is never the same again. Jacob spends the rest of his life limping and with each and every step Jacob is reminded of that fateful, transformative night.

Each and every one of us, by the very fact that we are alive, have faced and endured struggles—or we will. Some of these struggles have been more profound than others. Some of them we have faced head on and others we have simply endured. Some we arose from victoriously and some we were left in defeat. Regardless, each of us is always changed by those struggles, sometimes transformed, sometimes not, but never, ever left unscathed.

Physically our bodies show the markings of our struggles. And, of course, beyond the physical scars, each of us has so many other scars on the inside.

We all have been mistreated, neglected, at some time or another. By the very fact that we are alive, we have accumulated scars of all kinds. These scars will accompany us to the grave; scars which will always continue to keep us limping along. Scars and limps are simply a part of life. The question is not whether we will accumulate them; rather, the question is how will we come to see them?

My hair loss, and my grey hairs, reminds me that I’m alive, still here, still fighting. The scars remind us of all that we have faced and all that we have endured. Each line on our face is a sign of victory, the victory of a battle faced and a spirit which will not relent.    

Whether or not we won that battle we are winning the war as we continue to persevere, continue to face our lives, continue to journey down the road, even if it is with a limp—especially if it is with a limp.

Shabbat Shalom.

© Ranon Teller 2007

Sermon Classification: 141A