Foundational Stories - Genesis 32:22-31

I was sorry not to be with you all a couple of Sundays ago, but I spent that week at Choir Camp, held annually at Subiaco Abbey. I have always loved singing with a choir and helping kids learn to love music and liturgy, but what compelled me most about Choir Camp this year was being part of its cherished legacy. This summer marked 50 years since Choir Camp began in 1976. Many of its founding leaders are still involved today, and most of the staff grew up attending as campers.

I listened in as the counselors told stories to the campers about Choir Camps of yore - some true, some…embellished. Many of them were stories I had told those same counselors when they were young campers, stories about once in a lifetime performances, musical mishaps, and general teenage shenanigans. To my delight, I also heard campers telling stories I’d never heard before. And I got to watch them have experiences that they will tell about in years to come.

Our passage from Genesis today is a foundational story for our faith community. Jacob wrestling with the unknown man and being given the name Israel is one of the most researched in all of scripture, in part because of the setting of this holy wrestling match. You may have noticed that the place name is spelled two different ways in two adjacent verses: Penuel and Peniel. Although our scriptures are rife with misprints and redactions, both intentional and unintentional, the Peniel/Penuel situation is probably not the result of something so singular or perfunctory. Instead, it has to do with the varied and dynamic ways that communities tell their stories.

First, it is likely that the story of what happened at Peniel got passed down. Parents told their children who in turn told their children that this is what happened to their ancestor, and therefore this is who they are now: a people who see the face of God and survive. But it is also likely that centuries later, the Israelites who did not previously know the story found themselves in a seemingly endless cycle of struggling and surviving, and happened to know of a place whose name means something like “we survive.” So they began to tell a story about that place, in order to claim their identity and make sense of their world.

Over time, the two storytelling practices melded into one, with some leftover deviations in spelling. And thus you and I have received a legacy of meeting God in difficult circumstances, but not being overcome. This is how storytelling creates identity in the Kingdom of God. We inherit stories that become our own, and we also look to the past to help us make sense of the world we find ourselves in.

Here’s my modern example. In 2020, when we had to shut down for Covid, we are all looking for hope in our distress, particularly about the future of Christ Church. Thankfully, there were folks who had been here long enough to tell the rest of us, “we’ll be fine, this place has been through worse.” And there were also newcomers, like me, who read the stories of Christ Church in wartime and in fires, and we recognized ourselves in those old stories. We owned our identity as a community that takes curve balls on the chin and keeps going.

This combination of passing down stories while simultaneously creating new ones, is how lore is made. It’s where origin stories come from. It’s how groups of people find their common identity. And this kind of storytelling is, of course, alive and well at Christ Church. We are blessed with members who have been part of the Christ Church family for many years, and whose ancestors were part of the family too. They have incredible stories to tell. Just last week, I overheard a lifelong Christ Churcher regaling a few staff members with a family tale about the building of the third and current church building in the early 1940’s. It is a gift to be part of an historic parish.

And of course, we are embarking on a lot of new adventures these days. The youngest members of our community will come of age in a building, a culture, and a ministry we don’t even fully know yet. They will pass along the stories we tell them, and they will create new stories that come to define this place long after you and I are gone. It is also a gift to be part of a living, growing, changing parish.

As with many gifts of the Spirit, our gift in storytelling comes with a mission. The Body of Christ is a community of people marked by indomitable hope and unrelenting joy, even and especially in times of trial. We have no shortage of stories to depict that hope and joy, and we are surrounded on every side by people in dire need of Good News. So we have to tell the stories of Christ and what he means to us. For me, that might mean telling my friends about how his message of radical hospitality changed my worldview.

And we have to tell the stories of this place, how our friends and neighbors here have supported us in hours of need. I must remember to tell folks about how Christ Church showed up and showed out for my dad’s funeral in an ice storm. And we have to tell our stories of resilience and creativity, like how Christ Church got kicked out of their own church during the Civil War, so they pushed a small organ from house to house each week for worship.

What I’ve learned from Choir Camp and from Christ Church and from Jacob and his wrestling match is that if we are to embrace our identity as a people saved by the grace of God, then telling our foundational stories matters, now more than ever. So, this is a sermon with a charge at the end. I hope you’ll tell a few of your most important stories this week, and I hope you’ll listen to a few, as well. It’s up to us to pass on a legacy of hope and joy, and all we need to accomplish it is a few minutes to spare and someone to share them with. Amen.