Ethan’s Dad: It has been four years, but I continue to wrestle with it as I did right after it happened. The main differences are that the struggle is not there all the time and the questions are quieter and more subtle. I function fairly normally most of the time now. The fight sits in a pit deep within and emerges at various times — sometimes predictably, like in the week of all weeks in March, and sometimes unexpectedly, like when Ethan’s twin brother randomly does or says something that makes me wonder what Ethan would have said or done right next to him. It no longer pervasively cripples, but it does loom.

One recent example is when I (again) heard death generically described as a natural part of life. Mentally I understand why people say this: because people die every day, and everyone will experience loss in their lives. Certainly, with the pandemic that reality has hit home in a lot of places this past year. In a way, I suppose the statement is meant to be a comfort, so that you know everyone has a sense of what you have experienced. But there is a part of me that cannot help but take it as a gross trivialization of a genuine wrong. The fact is that not every parent loses a child, and not every parent only has two months with a child. My point is not to rank our pain above someone else’s, but to make people stop and think about what they are saying. All death is loss. All death is tragic. All death is wrong in the sense that it was not God’s original intent for His special creation called humanity. We know this and we feel it because the part of us that is not physical — our spirits — tell us so. The fact that Ethan was eventually going to die does not make his premature death any less tragic. We hold “celebrations of life” for people who live long and make lasting impressions on those around them. Ethan never had that chance. We can be thankful we got the opportunity to hold him — absolutely that was infinitely better than if he had not survived the first ambulance ride — but there is nothing wrong with mourning the fact that we did not get to see him (and Ethan did not get to experience) crawling, or walking, or talking, or laughing, or jumping on the trampoline, or reading a book, or giving us a hug, or . . . . the list is as long as a regular life. Death in this present world is a natural part of life, but a child’s death is not in the natural order of things. And, in any event, just because something is “natural” does not make it right. That is the very reason Christ calls us to be new creations and why He is coming back to bring a new Heaven and a new earth where there will be no more death, or mourning, or crying, or pain. The old will pass away and He will make all things new. (Revelation 21:4-5). Until that day, I will struggle with this loss.

Some might say that struggle is wrong. That I am failing to find peace in Christ. That I am arrogantly challenging God and His ways, which are perfect and irreproachable. But I don’t think God really sees it that way. Recently in BSF we studied the story where Jacob wrestles a “Man” from night until daybreak. The Bible records it this way:

“Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him until daybreak. When the man saw that he could not defeat him, he struck Jacob’s hip socket as they wrestled and dislocated his hip. Then he said to Jacob, ‘Let me go, for it is daybreak.’ But Jacob said, ‘I will not let you go unless you bless me.’ ‘What is your name?’ the man asked.

“‘Jacob,’ he replied. ‘Your name will no longer be Jacob,’ he said. ‘It will be Israel because you have struggled with God and with men and have prevailed.’ Then Jacob asked him, ‘Please tell me your name.’ But he answered, ‘Why do you ask my name?’ And he blessed him there. Jacob then named the place Peniel, ‘For I have seen God face to face,” he said, ‘yet my life has been spared.’ The sun shone on him as he passed by Penuel — limping because of his hip.” (Genesis 32:24-31, CSB).

I have to confess that I have always found this story to be a strange one. It raises a lot of questions. Chief among them is: Who is this “man” that Jacob wrestled? There are several clues suggesting that the “man” is God in human form; indeed, it very well might be Jesus before the Incarnation. First, the “man” is able to dislocate Jacob’s hip just by touch. Second, Jacob seeks a blessing from the “man.” There would be no reason for Jacob to do that unless he believed the “man” was of divine origin. Third, the “man” renames Jacob. In ancient times, naming something indicated dominion over it.

You might wonder: “If it is God, who is all-knowing, how come He had to ask Jacob his name? But God does this all the time, that is, ask a question He already knows the answer to. He did the same in the Garden of Eden when He asked Adam and Eve where they were after they ate the fruit, and when He asked them what they had done. God did the same with Cain when He asked Cain where his brother Abel was after Cain had killed him. God does not ask such questions to gain information, but rather to test the respondent’s heart. Here, God wanted to see if Jacob would respond differently than he had when Isaac had asked who he was when Jacob and his mother were conspiring to trick Isaac into giving Jacob the blessing Isaac meant for Jacob’s brother, Esau. There Jacob had lied about who he was; but to the “man” he was honest about being Jacob, which means “the deceiver.” In essence, he was confessing who he had been to God.

A fourth clue as to the identity of the “man” is that when Jacob asks for His name, the “man” responds with incredulity at the question. This reaction is either because the “man” believed Jacob should have already known who He was, or because no name is adequate to describe God. It is reminiscent of when Moses asked God at the burning bush who he should tell the Egyptians sent him to them. God responds: “I am who I am.” (Exodus 3:14). That response may seem tautological, but that is the point. There is nothing that describes God except God because He is incomparable.

Fifth, the “man” does bless Jacob. God is the only one who truly can shower people with blessings because everything good comes from Him. (James 1:17). The sixth clue would seem to be a giveaway: the “man’s” translation of Jacob’s new name, Israel, is that Jacob “struggled with God and with men and has prevailed.” This would seem to indicate that the “man” is simultaneously God and man. Finally, after the “man” leaves, Jacob names the place where this event occurred and says that he has “seen the face of God” and yet his life had been spared. This is a big statement because even Moses only saw God’s “backside” because God said no one could see Him in his glory and live. Of course, seeing this human representation of God was different than seeing God the Father, but it was still clearly awe-inspiring for Jacob.

Okay, so if the “man” was God, why in the world was Jacob wrestling Him? After all, that seems like a losing proposition — wrestling the most powerful being in existence. Yet, then we see another curveball because the text says “the man saw he could not defeat [Jacob],” and then that Jacob “prevailed.” How is it remotely possible that Jacob could prevail over God? And again, why are they wrestling at all, alone in the middle of nowhere?

This is where the reasons this story is in the Bible start to be revealed. The answer to the first question is, of course, that God let Jacob win, though not without providing him with a reminder of his own weakness (the hip which produced a limp). Why would God let Jacob win? Because it is only through God’s seeming defeat that the true blessing could come. For you see (this observation comes courtesy of St. Augustine), we have here a picture of the Cross: the place where man and evil seemingly prevailed over Jesus, bringing about His death, but only because He (and God the Father) willingly submitted to it. He did this because it was only through the death of the perfect, spotless, Lamb of God that sin’s penalty could be paid, and that we could be given the blessing of new (and eternal) life. The “man” lets Jacob win, and only after that does He give Jacob his new name, Israel, and give him the blessing. And what was that blessing? Seeing God and (in a sense) being granted new life. In the end, this is also our blessing when we trust in Jesus.

But what was essential for all of that was the struggle, the wrestling that lasts the night and then gives way with the dawn of morning. Jacob starts alone in the night, no doubt wondering whether God is really with him, whether God really loves him and will keep His promises to Him. This is the true beginning of the struggle. Then the “man” appears and the fight ensues. As the fight goes on, no doubt Jacob’s inner struggle intensified: needing to will himself to go on as he grew weaker, reproving himself for mistakes that may give the “man” an upper hand, coming to realize that he was not at all worthy to be engaging in a match with this “man” in the first place. Then comes Jacob’s “victory,” which solely comes by grace from the “man,” which is demonstrated by the injury inflicted solely by the “man’s” touch. The blessing follows only after Jacob realizes who the “man” really is: he sees God and lives. But Jacob does not (and perhaps could not) experience this revelation without the struggle and hurt, the effects of which he would bear for the rest of his earthly days.

Jacob had to come to a place where he understood that he could no longer be who he was: the deceiver relying on his own wits to thrive. Instead, he needed to rely on the Truth — God — in order to receive the blessing that would last for eternity. The only reason Jacob “wins” this struggle is because the Lord is involved in it. If Jacob had only been wrestling with himself, he would have lost from despair — as anyone who has experienced bouts of depression can attest. Thus, struggles of belief do not lead anywhere if they do not actively involve God. God does not despise being tested or challenged if the one posing the challenge is genuine and honest. When Satan tempted Jesus by telling Him to throw Himself off the Temple because God’s angels will rescue Him, and Jesus says, “It is written: Do not put the Lord your God to the test,” Jesus refers to frivolous testing, challenges that mock God, as Satan proposed, rather than genuine questioning that comes from a seeking heart.

So, when I struggle with Ethan’s death, with God allowing such an evil to transpire, I do not think God despises it, blames me for it, or turns His back on me because of it. I think He expects it, hopes for it, and engages with it. The last thing He would want me to do is ignore it or assume He could have done nothing about it (and in doing so deny that God exists). The question is whether I am getting somewhere in the struggle. If it is a perpetual stalemate, then nothing comes of it, the dark of night always remains with no ray of sunshine peeking through the gloom. But if I am “winning,” even ever so slowly, by His grace, then I am coming closer to seeing God for who He truly is. That “sight” might not be the benevolent uncle or Santa Claus that people often like to imagine God being, but something more complex, scary, and mysterious. But if it is closer to Him, then the expectation of who He is needs to be shattered to make the vision clearer.

This is why our understanding of God and the incarnation of Jesus changes (or should change) over time. As children, we are taught about the God who created, who promised with a rainbow, who parted the sea, and who protected in a Lion’s den. These stories reflect the timeless character of God, but as we grow we ponder the presence of the Tree of Knowledge, the children who died in the flood, the Christians in the Roman coliseums who were torn apart by lions. Likewise, early in our walk, we are taught about Jesus the teacher, the healer, the good shepherd who cares for His sheep. These ideas are not wrong: they absolutely need to be a foundation for what follows, and we must be reminded of them throughout our lives. But they are not the whole story. For there is also Jesus the turner of tables in the Temple, Jesus the stern rebuker of the Pharisees, Jesus the questioner of Peter and confronter of Saul, Jesus the washer of feet, Jesus the anguished in the Garden, Jesus the transfigured on the mountain, and more.

In its essence, “the struggle” means coming to a better understanding of Christ’s death and resurrection: “seeing God” for who He really is more clearly on this side of Heaven. To be honest, that is what this wondering about Ethan’s loss produces in me. Resolution does not fully come because on this side I cannot see it all — but I yearn to, and do, see more. I would be lying if I said that the view is entirely easy on the eyes of my heart, but if my heart is closer to His, then that is something. It does not replace Ethan, but He knows that, because He knows our sorrow:

“You keep track of all my sorrows.
You have collected all my tears in your bottle.
You have recorded each one in your book.”(Psalm 56:8, NLT).

“He was despised and rejected—
a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief.
We turned our backs on him and looked the other way.
He was despised, and we did not care.” (Isaiah 53:3, NLT).

And one day there will be a restoration:

“It will happen in a moment, in the blink of an eye, when the last trumpet is blown. For when the trumpet sounds, those who have died will be raised to live forever. And we who are living will also be transformed.

“For our dying bodies must be transformed into bodies that will never die; our mortal bodies must be transformed into immortal bodies. Then, when our dying bodies have been transformed into bodies that will never die, this Scripture will be fulfilled:

“Death is swallowed up in victory.
“‘O death, where is your victory?
“‘O death, where is your sting?’” (1 Corinthians 15:52-55, NLT)

On that day, the struggle will cease because I will see Jesus clearly, I will see Ethan again, and there will be rest for my soul.