Beauty in Breakdown - a sermon

Beauty in the Breakdown

Rev. Alison Longstaff, March 16, 2014

Bath Church of the New Jerusalem

2 Samuel 7:1-7, 11b -13, and Mark 13:1-8; HS 8165:2

(these readings are found at the end of the sermon)

In Swedenborgian theology, we believe that the Bible contains the story of each person’s spiritual journey from first awakening through to full enlightenment and integration. 

Among other things it tells the story of every stage of our relationship with God in great detail.  I truly love this way of understanding the Bible.  The more I study the Scriptures through this lens, the more beauty and compassion I find in its pages. 

You may already know all this, being in George Dole’s congregation, but let me review it anyway.  It begins in Eden, a garden with a tree of life and a big river, and all sorts of good fruits to eat.  We begin in a garden—a garden with only one way out and no going back once we leave—like the womb, like the innocence of early childhood.  There follows a lot of grief and bloodshed, magic and miracles, mistakes and renewals in the middle of the story, and then it ends in the Holy City, the New Jerusalem.  What a ride!

Now, the Hebrew Testament describes our spiritual birth and childhood years. It then progresses through our adolescent years, with our struggle to find identity and a spiritual presence.  Then it moves to the more settled years of young adulthood, still with struggles and battles, but with a “landed” identity.  Then there is a time of relative peace, (“relative” is in italics) under King David.  Finally we reach a pinnacle in King Solomon—whose wisdom was renowned around the world.  King Solomon who had wealth and fame and many, many wives.

I don’t know about you, but in my upbringing, it was King Solomon’s reign that was the pinnacle of the Hebrew Testament.  He had ALL the answers: “The wisdom of Solomon.”  Solomon was IT.  Solomon had arrived.  In fact, after his story, it is all rather down-hill, and nobody addressed that part in my childhood.  I guess the assumption was that we would get to the Solomon phase spiritually and not let things all slide after that.

But if the Biblical arc is the story of each person’s spiritual journey from first awakening through to full enlightenment and integration, how can Solomon’s reign truly be the pinnacle?  If so, our spiritual story is that we peak early, and then gradually become corrupted, broken, and lost. And everything after that is an attempt to regain what was lost and patch up what was broken. Well, that’s depressing!  Maybe we need to take a deeper look.  What else might Solomon’s story be illustrating in the human psyche? 

In our reading from 2 Samuel, we hear a conversation between God and King David.  David is living in a stone and wood house, and declares to God that he wants to build a stone and wood house for God too.  And what is God’s answer?  Do you remember?  God says, “I have not dwelt in a house from the day I brought the Israelites up out of Egypt to this day. I have been moving from place to place with a tent as my dwelling. Wherever I have moved with all the Israelites, did I ever say to any of their rulers whom I commanded to shepherd my people Israel, ‘Why have you not built me a house of cedar?'”

God’s response is essentially, “No thank you.  This whole tent thing has really worked for me.”  God doesn't want a stone and wood house.  He does tell David that Solomon will build him a temple, but he never says he wants it, simply that that is what Solomon will do.

Think about it.  When God’s house is a tent, it is right down among the people.  It travels to where it is needed most.  It is designed to be taken down, moved, and set up again.  It is flexible.  Soft.  Not rigid.  It goes to the people where they are.  There is no security of place, perhaps, but in exchange for that security, it moves, lives, and meets the people where they are.  It is humble.

Once a temple is built, the place of worship is well, literally set in stone.  From that moment on, the practice of Israelitish worship changed profoundly.  The priesthood no longer went to the people; the people had to come to the priesthood.  Worshipers, no matter how far away they lived nor how poor they were, were expected to travel to the temple location in southernmost Canaan to worship “properly.”  The center of worship no longer moved around among the people according to God’s leadership, it was locked down to one place, and under the priesthood’s leadership. 

Because of this, worship inevitably became about the place and the building itself, not about the living, moving God.  The temple itself and its rituals became what was sacred.  In fact, when the temple was eventually torn down, the people no longer knew who they were, nor how to follow God without the temple.  This is a common spiritual story, yes?  When we are sure we have IT—when we think we have “arrived”—we stop learning. Religious certainty brings arrogance, self-centeredness, spiritual laziness, and a disconnection from reliance on the living God.

This inner shift happens every time we let rituals and habits and external customs replace or serve as a substitute for conscious, loving, attentive faith.  It is when law takes over from gospel. It is when formulaic answers take over from thoughtful reflection.  It reflects the times and ways we get attached to our traditions and “the way things have always been” and the familiar comforting faces, and we stop hearing how God might be calling us to welcome the stranger and be open to new spiritual life. 

Physically and metaphorically, stones provide security and power.  Stones make great foundations.  (And they are great for hurling at other folks, though perhaps that is not what we are meant to do with them.)  Stones are just what we need to keep from being washed away in a flood or blown away in a wind-storm.  But stones are not flexible.  They are not easily moved.  And they make lousy tents.  They are like bones—essential for support, but never meant to replace flexible, living muscles.

What follows almost immediately upon completion of the Temple in the Biblical story arc is division, corruption, breakdown and collapse, disintegration and death.  The final stories in the Old Testament are all about the loss of integrity in the Davidic line, the steady, systematic destruction of the great kingdom of Israel, and the eventual exile of what was left of the Israelitish nation into Babylon.  Bit by bit, Israel loses its center until finally the temple itself is destroyed.  We are left with stories of exile, and pages and pages of prophetic wailing.

 

Psalm 137 “By the rivers of Babylon, There we sat down, yea, we wept when we remembered Zion.” 

“Zion” is a metaphor for Jerusalem, for the temple, and the whole land of Israel.  In our personal lives Zion represents the center of all in which we have built our trust.  The center of our hopes and dreams.  The center of our universe.  Our spiritual and emotional foundation.  When we place our trust in something that is not spiritual, it is inevitable that it will let us down.

The building, the grandeur, and the eventual fall of the temple hold a metaphor about our spiritual journey.  It is the story of the destruction of inflexible, non-inclusive spiritual attitudes in the human race, and in each human heart.  God allows us to build these inflexible doctrines and beliefs in our hearts if we insist.  We do love security! But God cannot allow us to continue in such rigidity, or all that is truly spiritual in us will die.  Though the Hebrew Testament ends here, it is not the end of the story.  It is time for a paradigm shift.  In our spiritual hearts, the stone temples we have built must fall in order to set the stage for “Jesus” to come.  God incarnate, living, breathing, and walking beside us with a voice and a heartbeat wants to enter our story.  For the living God to come, the old and the rigid must be broken down.

God never commands us to build a “temple.”  God prefers to live in our hearts in a tent.  It is we who crave the certainty, the stability, and the … well, laziness we can relax into once we set our beliefs in stone—once we make church about membership standards or what people should believe—about buildings and rules, about in and out, about the right people and the wrong people.  We do this.  Humans do this with religion. It is so comfortable!  And individually, we all tend to cycle through phases of this in our own journey as well.  That is why this story is in the Bible.  We don’t have to do this, but most of us do do this at some time or another. 

We find this metaphor even within our human bodies.   Born soft and full of cartilage, with skull bones that float over the surface of our brains, we begin to harden from the moment of birth.  We ossify.  Much of this is necessary, or we would be too vulnerable and our bones would be too soft to support our weight when we stand. But we continue to stiffen and become increasingly rigid if we do not steadily work at our fitness and flexibility.  Unless we make an effort, we will relentlessly devolve into spiritual and physical gristle and bone.

Keeping our physical muscles fully flexible means we must constantly work to break down the adhesions and small strips of scar tissue that inevitably build up within them.  The breakdown of those hardening tissues can be pretty uncomfortable at times.  But the breakdown is necessary if we are to continue to choose a full and flexible life.  (Can you tell I do yoga?) This is true spiritually too.  Individually and as a congregation, it can sometimes be uncomfortable—it can even hurt a little—to do the stretching and moving we need to do to stay vibrantly alive as a spiritual community.  What were once dreams too easily settle into old patterns and habits.  Those old habits and patterns will get in the way of our growth if we do not regularly reexamine, renew, and revitalize our traditions and practices, attitudes and ideas.

In the face of any pain, the human tendency is to clench and to resist, not relax.  We often hold our breath. Letting go is the last thing we feel inclined to do.  But whenever we can breathe more deeply and let go just a little, we find relief and growth.  A few more fibers ease up.  A joint creaks open another fraction.  In fact we find increasing ease of movement and joy in living when we repeatedly expose ourselves to any intentional growth discipline. Despite the occasional discomfort, it is SO good for us to keep moving, be it through a yoga class or spiritual growth group, through running or Bible Study, swimming or psychotherapy.

The breaking down of our attachments can really hurt.  But it is necessary.  And according to the Bible, it is breaking ground for something better.

You see, the arc of the Bible ends in the Holy City.  It is a city with twelve gates, all open wide, where everyone can enter and no one need leave.  And look! the tree of life is right there in the center, and so is the River, and there are all sorts of wonderful fruits to eat….  It is as if we never really left Eden at all.  Or maybe Eden was the foretaste or promise of what awaits us at the end of our journey. Maybe God has had a plan all along. 

Are you struggling with dying dreams and stiffening hopes?  Just let go.  Breathe.  Trust. God may be breaking down your dying tissues so that you can live again.  Remember, the Temple must come down for Jesus to be born.  And the loss of Jesus leads to the Holy City.  So just let go. You don’t need to know what is being broken down nor what is coming next.  Just keep breathing.  Keep showing up, and keep letting go.  There really is beauty in the breakdown.

Revised from a sermon preached Aug 22, 2010

Musical interlude was the following:

Daniel Nahmod: “I Don’t Need To Know”

When things go wrong, it's natural to wonder  

What celestial rule did I break?  

When things go right, it’s logical to ponder  

What credit can I take?  

But the truth is so much easier  

I don't need a master plan  

I can live here in the moment  

'Cause my life is in good hands  

  

(chorus)  

I don't need to know where the wind blows 

'Cause God knows 

I don't need to know what the future holds 

'Cause God knows 

I need never know how pain ends 

How my heart mends 

I can just let go 

'Cause God knows   

But still I find I'm crying out for answers  

Guess I'm still craving control  

And still I find I'm afraid of taking chances  

As if I could damage my soul  

But at this moment, I remember  

It comes so clear to me  

That the minute I surrender  

I'm as safe as I could be  

  (chorus)

The Readings 

2 Samuel 7:1-7, 11b -13

When King David was settled in his palace and the Lord had given him rest from all the surrounding enemies, ² the king summoned Nathan the prophet. “Look,” David said, “I am living in a beautiful cedar palace, but the Ark of God is out there in a tent!”

³ Nathan replied to the king, “Go ahead and do whatever you have in mind, for the Lord is with you.”

⁴ But that same night the Lord said to Nathan,

⁵ “Go and tell my servant David, ‘This is what the Lord has declared: Are you the one to build a house for me to live in? ⁶ I have never lived in a house, from the day I brought the Israelites out of Egypt until this very day. I have always moved from one place to another with a tent and a Tabernacle as my dwelling. ⁷ Yet no matter where I have gone with the Israelites, I have never once complained to Israel’s tribal leaders, the shepherds of my people Israel. I have never asked them, “Why haven’t you built me a beautiful cedar house?”’

“‘Furthermore, the Lord declares that he will make a house for you—a dynasty of kings! ¹² For when you die and are buried with your ancestors, I will raise up one of your descendants, your own offspring, and I will make his kingdom strong. ¹³ He is the one who will build a house—a temple—for my name. And I will secure his royal throne forever.

Mark 13: 1-8

13 As Jesus was leaving the Temple that day, one of his disciples said, “Teacher, look at these magnificent buildings! Look at the impressive stones in the walls.”

² Jesus replied, “Yes, look at these great buildings. But they will be completely demolished. Not one stone will be left on top of another!”

³ Later, Jesus sat on the Mount of Olives across the valley from the Temple. Peter, James, John, and Andrew came to him privately and asked him, ⁴ “Tell us, when will all this happen? What sign will show us that these things are about to be fulfilled?”

⁵ Jesus replied, “Don’t let anyone mislead you, ⁶ for many will come in my name, claiming, ‘I am the Messiah.’ They will deceive many. ⁷ And you will hear of wars and threats of wars, but don’t panic. Yes, these things must take place, but the end won’t follow immediately. ⁸ Nation will go to war against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be earthquakes in many parts of the world, as well as famines. But this is only the first of the birth pains, with more to come.

Heavenly Secrets 8165:2 Each person's power is limited, and when temptation stretches you to the absolute limit of your power, and you cannot stand up to anything further, you let go and begin to fall. Only then, when you have let go and started to fall, can the Lord catch you, lift you up, and deliver you from your despair. Frequently a person is then brought into a clear state of hope and comfort, and even into a state of bliss. Swedenborg, 

Wrestling With God - sermon March 9th

Wrestling With God

Genesis 32:22-31, Matthew 14:13-21; Secrets of Heaven 4572:2

Rev. Alison Longstaff

Bath Church of the New Jerusalem, March 9, 2014

     

Raise your hand if you've ever wrestled with insomnia.  There’s nothing like insomnia, especially before a big event.    You toss and turn and can’t get comfortable.  Maybe you’re all sweaty and tangled in the sheets.  Maybe you just begin to doze off and then something jolts you awake—a strange noise, or your partner’s snores, or maybe you have that half-dream where you step off something and wake yourself up trying not to fall.

How are we to take our issues with insomnia to God?  After all, the Bible doesn't talk about something as mundane as insomnia, does it? 

Actually, it does.  Today’s story is about natural and spiritual insomnia. It is about a part of our nature that just can’t let go and rest.  Today’s story shows us a man so inwardly tortured he can’t sleep. 

Jacob is definitely facing one of the biggest days of his life.  He is about to be reunited with his brother Esau.  Esau, whom he hasn't seen for at least twenty years.  Esau, from whom he stole the inheritance and then fled from.  Esau who wanted to murder Jacob the last time they were together.  Esau, who is on his way, with 400 men.

Yes, Jacob is facing a big day.  He may not be alive when it is over.  His wives and children may not be alive when it is over.   Jacob has sent waves and waves of gifts to Esau ahead of his party on the road.  He has sent camels and flocks of sheep and flocks of goats, which in today’s economy would be a little like sending several Mercedes Benz, a packet of high value stocks, and the deeds to a few castles in Europe; just in case he can appease Esau.

But Jacob is still afraid.  His company has just forded a large stream, but he decides to send his wives and children and servants—in fact, everyone and everything—back across the river to safety. And he, alone, will spend the night on the dangerous side—the side from which Esau is approaching.  Jacob is scared for his life.  He does not sleep well.  The text says a “man” wrestled with him until daybreak.  Insomnia can feel like that sometimes.

One thing that makes the Swedenborgian church different is that we have a systematic approach to interpreting the inner meaning of the Word.   Swedenborg tells us that crossing this particular stream in this story represents our approach to our spiritual work, pretty much at the beginning, when we have mostly been ignoring it.  The river Jabbok is a tributary to the river Jordan.  It is not the Jordan, but it feeds into it. So when we cross the Jabbok, we are just starting to prepare for the walk to heaven.  And when we are starting the journey toward heaven, we tend to be ashamed and embarrassed and afraid that we won’t make it. 

Biblical scholars cannot agree on the identity of the “man” who wrestled with Jacob here.  I suspect it was an angel of the Lord---one who represented God.  For after it was over, Jacob names the place Peniel, which means “the face of God.”   Wrestling represents temptation, and night represents temptation, so wrestling all night is one TOUGH temptation.  And if Jacob was wrestling with God, this probably represents a temptation regarding our relationship with God.  Do we even believe in God?  Do true followers ever doubt the existence of God?  Absolutely.  Should we feel guilty that we sometimes doubt God’s love and even God’s existence?  No.  It is actually a very normal and healthy part of our spiritual journey.  It is how we develop strong spiritual muscles.  It is how we grow.

Jacob represents our most natural level.  Our right-here, sensing, feeling level.  Jacob is the part that insists the sun goes around the earth, because that is what it looks like.  Jacob does not like abstractions.  Jacob wants everything to be at this level.  This part of us wants everything to be measurable and provable. It loves written-down rules.  It wants worship to be measurable and provable: “I sat in the pew, I said the words, I listened to all the talking; now I can check off ‘worship’ for this week and feel good about myself.” 

We all have this part of us, the part that struggles to believe in the mystical side of life.  Anything that can’t be measured, that is not concrete, feels out of control.  It is this part of our nature that is most attached to this physical reality. 

Don’t misunderstand me. “Jacob” is a really important part of us.  It is not bad.  It helps us navigate this crazy external reality.  And, this most external part of us is the means through which we can have such pleasure in a hug, a kiss, a belly-laugh, a baby’s weight in our arms.  It produces goose-bumps in response to transcendent experiences and usually loves those encounters, even as it struggles endlessly to understand them.

So Jacob wrestled all night with God.  This lasted hours, and neither one prevailed.  You know how long a night can feel.  This is just how much the natural part of us struggles to comprehend and find peace with the spiritual reality of our existence.   The two wrestled until daybreak, and—picture them in some sort of painful clinch-hold: go ahead and make it silly, because life is often silly—their arms and legs are all tangled and one has got hold of the other’s nose while the other is pulling the first one’s hair and they are both going, “ow, ow, ow….”   They are at an impasse.  It is a stalemate.  And the dawn approaches.

So, what happens?   The “man” strikes Jacob in “the hollow of his loin.”   Now, think about that.  This is a knock-down, drag-out fight.  What is the one defensive move that invariably gets a dude to let go?  You hit him where it hurts.  It is amazing how we can read these stories and romanticize what they are really saying.  And yet so much of the spiritual sense is found in the emotional content of a story.  In this fight, no blow was too low, it seems, even for the angel of God. I don’t mean to be irreverent here.  This is written this way because of its inner meaning.  The soft part of the loin, whether of male or female, corresponds to the union of love and wisdom in our soul.  This union is the goal of all creation.  Each one of us is on a journey to having our love and wisdom united, which is to become whole and integrated—like the angels, in heart and mind—to become people of genuine integrity and wise loving-kindness. 

Yet there is something about this “Jacob” part of us that will forever resist the descent of this love and wisdom into our lives.  This most natural part of our mind really wants physical, measurable proof of God’s love and God’s existence.  It wants concrete evidence and concrete tasks, so that there is no room for doubt or mistakes—see it as terribly insecure and needing constant reassurance.  But God cannot give this part of us such unassailable proof.  God can’t, because that would destroy our freedom. And God will never, ever destroy our freedom.

So we have on the one side, this desperation for proof, and this desperation for a guarantee of salvation.  This is illustrated by Jacob refusing to let go, even when he has been kicked “in the hollow of the loin”.  Ouch, ouch ouch!  Now that’s tenacity. Jacob won’t let go, even though holding on is hurting him a LOT.

How will this end?  In the story, we read that day is breaking, which means, this temptation is coming to an end.  Jacob, injured and refusing to let go, tells the “man,” “I will not let you go, unless you bless me.”   This is the desperation for reassurance.  We want to know we are still loveable; we want to know we will be okay.  Instead of answering the “man” (angel) asks, “What is your name?” which, in the spiritual sense is asking, “what is your spiritual quality?”  And Jacob says, “Jacob,” which means, “really external.” 

In response, the angel doesn't shame him or blame him or curse him for being so natural and external, he gives him a new name: “You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have struggled with God and with mortals, and have overcome.”  “You have struggled with God and with mortals, and have overcome.”  And this is what happens to us because of this temptation.  This natural part is given the ability to be more than it has been.  It begins to be able to transcend that very concrete nature.

In the spiritual sense the angel is saying: “You have showed great perseverance in this struggle between the mortal plane and the spiritual plane, and have transcended it.”  Swedenborg tells us, (in Heavenly Secrets 4570, if anyone wants to go look it up) that the changing of the name of Jacob to Israel represents a progression from a more external state to one more spiritual, and a lifting up of the natural towards heaven. “Israel” is when we have done our best with that wrestling and have overcome.  The struggle transforms us.  Still, forever after in the story, Jacob limps, and the name switches back and forth, sometimes Jacob and sometimes Israel.  Isn't that just like us?  Throughout much of our spiritual journey, we vacillate.  Sometimes we are in a more transcendent state, and sometimes we are back limping and struggling, doubting and fearing.       

Anyway, at this point in the story Jacob asks the “man” (note that it is Jacob, not Israel), “Please tell me your name.” In other words, “reveal your nature or essence.”  In many cultures even today, knowing someone’s name offers a certain power over them.  The natural is asking again, “Give me something I can write down and measure and argue about.”  It really wants that concrete stuff!   It wants a way to have power over the spiritual things.  But the “man” says simply, “Why do you ask for my name?”  And then, he blesses Jacob. 

It is as if God ruffles our hair and says with humor and mild exasperation, “Oh, you.”  And then gives us a big hug.

This life, this walk on this earth involves struggling to reconcile being both spiritual and natural at the same time.  We question the existence of God.  We question the benevolence of God.  We can’t help it.   We are stuck in time and space and are trying to comprehend the great I Am—Omniscient, Omnipotent, and utterly apart from time and space.   Jacob’s “thigh” is put forever “out of joint” by this struggle.  Jacob’s is.  He represents the part of us that just can’t quite get it.  Nevertheless we are blessed by this struggle: we become Israel, (which means God Triumphs or Transcends,) We develop the ability to transcend the merely natural. When it comes to living out a life of love and wisdom in conjunction in action, Jacob is resistant. But Israel can manage it.

Jacob’s approach to Canaan and approach to reconciliation with Esau corresponds to when we draw closer to God’s goodness on our journey.  God invites us to a new level of spirituality and a closer walk with God.  And Jacob—this most external part of us—becomes crippled by the contact.  Jacob limps forever after.  Israel goes on to establish a great nation. 

We can’t be legalistic when it comes to spirituality.   We can’t measure it or “prove” it.  It is not of this plane.  We are “spirits in a material world” indeed, and that is a baffling reality that trips up our concrete-mindedness on a regular basis.

But God doesn't condemn us for struggling this way.   He (or she) designed it this way.  It’s not our fault.  This story is in the Bible because this is what our spiritual journey looks like.  Jesus Himself eventually comes all the way down to this physical plane in a real way, and walks with us right here, right now.  And Jesus does not come to condemn us, but to save us and lift us up.

In our story. Morning has come.  Esau approaches.  Jacob, going on no sleep at all, faces the approach of his murderous brother, not just exhausted, but injured.  Crippled. 

And what happens when Esau finally comes upon Jacob?  Esau throws his arms around his brother, weeping for joy.  Esau has forgiven and forgotten long ago.  Esau, the red one, represents God’s love.  We often feel like sinners, sure that an encounter with God will kill us.  We hesitate to draw near, too aware of our own history, too ashamed.  We aren't at all sure that the camels and goats we have accrued along our journey (through trickery, I might add) will be enough to please God.

But God rushes past the gifts and embraces us.  God doesn't want our offerings.  Our gifts are not who we are.  It is you and me as we are that God is interested in embracing, not the show we put on, not the riches we hide behind.

We come broken and limping to God, and God sweeps aside all the distractions and swings us up into his arms laughing and weeping for joy.

Amazing.

So next time you are staring at the ceiling wondering when or if sleep will grace your eyelids, remember Jacob.  Know that no matter what you face the next day, it won’t kill you.  It can’t kill you, because God loves you.  It may be scary, it may be a struggle, it may leave you feeling small and inadequate, but you will live through it.  It is just the here and now, and it will pass.  It all will pass.

After all, you were born for God’s eternal love, not the job interview from hell, not that scary exam in your worst subject, not that threat of bankruptcy, or that cancer treatment, or whatever else you might be facing.  Those are the hills and mountains, the valleys and swamps along the way.  They build up our spiritual muscles.  They are making you and me spiritually buff!

The truth is, God loves each one of us more deeply than we can imagine. He is always pressing to draw us closer and to bless us more richly with His love.  In response, we wrestle with God and pull his nose and yank his hair.   And what does God do?  He blesses us! 

Amen.

Originally, When We Wrestle With God. Preached August 3^rd, 2008

The Readings

Genesis 32:22-31 ²² And he arose that night and took his two wives, his two female servants, and his eleven sons, and crossed over the ford of Jabbok. ²³ He took them, sent them over the brook, and sent over what he had. ²⁴ Then Jacob was left alone; and a Man wrestled with him until the breaking of day. ²⁵ Now when He saw that He did not prevail against him, He touched the hollow of his loin; and the hollow of Jacob’s loin was injured as He wrestled with him. ²⁶ And He said, “Let Me go, for the day breaks.”

But he said, “I will not let You go unless You bless me!” ²⁷ So He said to him, “What is your name?” He said, “Jacob.”

²⁸ And He said, “Your name shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have struggled with God and with men, and have prevailed.”

²⁹ Then Jacob asked, saying, “Tell me Your name, I pray.”  And He said, “Why is it that you ask about My name?” And He blessed him there.  ³⁰ So Jacob called the name of the place Peniel: “For I have seen God face to face, and my life is preserved.” ³¹ Just as he crossed over Penuel the sun rose on him, and he limped on his hip.

Luke 7: 20-22  ²⁰ When the men had come to Him, they said, “John the Baptist has sent us to You, saying, ‘Are You the Coming One, or do we look for another?’” ²¹ And that very hour He cured many of infirmities, afflictions, and evil spirits; and to many blind He gave sight.  ²² Jesus answered and said to them, “Go and tell John the things you have seen and heard: that the blind see, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the poor have the gospel preached to them.

HS 4572:2  Every joining together of goodness and truth within a person happens through temptations. This is because unhealthy attachments and wrong ideas resist and rebel against healthy and useful attachments and ideas (aka goodness and truth).  These unhealthy habits and thought patterns try by every means possible to prevent the joining of good to truth (or good emotions to right-thinking) or of truth to good (right-thinking to healthy emotions). A battle actually takes place between the spirits present with the person: that is to say, between the dark spirits (those governed by evils and falsities) and the angelic spirits (those governed by goodness and truth). But the person feels like that conflict is inside and calls it temptation. When the angels (spirits governed by goodness and truth) finally conquer and drive away the harmful spirits (governed by sick attachments and lies) the angelic spirits are filled with joy. This joy is also felt by the mortal as deep inner comfort. Yet the joy and comfort do not come because a victory has been won, but because new goodness and truth become joined in marriage inside their soul. There is joy every time good and truth are married, for each little marriage is a step toward the heavenly marriage, in which the Divine is present.