Jacob: The Rest of His Story

"Then he said, 'Your name shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with men, and have prevailed.'" (Genesis 32:28)

We do well to remember that the written word of God will never outperform the spoken word of God. Oral tradition—the ancient, living method of passing on the dialogue between God and mankind—maintained the history of our faith journey for many generations. The conversion of our story into the text of Genesis presented a unique challenge: written words, as factual as they may be, lack the inflection of a gifted storyteller animating history through voice and body language. Because manuscripts were once rare and illiteracy was widespread, a vital collaboration remained between the text and the reader, who functioned as a storyteller. Today, most homes possess at least one copy of the scriptures, yet the art of the storyteller—even within the church—has faded, leaving us to study the text without its original, living cadence.

Jacob’s life story, found in Genesis, is a prime example of this truth. Personal names in both the Old and New Testaments had significant meaning. Rebekah named her twin sons based upon her birth experience and her pregnancy—where Genesis 25:22 states, "the children struggled together within her." Esau translates as "hairy" or "rough-textured," revealing his physical appearance at birth. Jacob's name, however, was prophetic. Derived from the Hebrew word for "heel," it is the culmination of the two boys striving in her womb and the way Jacob came into the world—grabbing the heel of his twin brother. As his life unfolded, it took on the character of one who "trips up" or "supplants." Esau famously confirmed this, lamenting that Jacob had rightly earned the label “deceiver” by taking both his birthright and his blessing. Jacob spent his early years living up to that reputation, constantly looking for ways to gain an advantage over others through his own tactical strength.

His spiritual struggle—so completely human—is our struggle. He, like us, did not nor could he ever transform himself. He rather was purposefully buffeted by the transforming pressure of the Holy Spirit in accordance with God’s will, long before the New Covenant was established. Genuine transformation, while a New Covenant reality centered on Christ, nonetheless points back to work the Holy Spirit began in those who called out to the Lord long before the Incarnation. The Lord gave Jacob a new vision of himself—a new identity—but there was not yet the indwelling Model that Jesus’ followers possess today. He had to learn by trial and error, without the benefit of the Spirit’s constant presence or the life of Jesus on which to focus. His early life, consequently, was defined by his struggle to overcome those around him through his own cleverness.

Then in the dark of night at the Jabbok, everything changed: Jacob willfully grappled not merely with a strange man, but with our Good Shepherd—the pre-incarnate Christ Himself. The man who had spent decades striving with his brother, his father, and his uncle was finally brought to his knees by the very One he had been trying to outmaneuver all along. This is a picture of our own transformation. Our default is to always be in control, but our only true strength arises when we are finally broken by the grace of the One we tend to resist. Amidst their grappling, the Lord didn't just break Jacob's hip—He renamed him—shifting his identity from "Jacob," the heel-grabber, to "Israel," the one who wrestles with God.

And this is where the ancient oral tradition proves brilliant. In the verbal telling of Jacob’s story, the hearers intuitively imagined his constant struggle to settle into "Israel." His ongoing transformation was depicted in the toggling back and forth between the two names and inner characters. This dynamic is so clear when Jacob first learned that his son, Joseph, was alive; according to Moses, his heart fainted and he couldn’t believe it. But when the wagons Joseph sent to carry his father arrived, "the spirit of Jacob their father revived. Then Israel said, 'It is enough...'" This vacillation between "Jacob" and "Israel" continues to the very end of his life. After God explicitly reaffirms the name "Israel" at Bethel (Genesis 35:10), Moses’ text toggles between these titles 35 times for "Jacob" and 39 for "Israel"—an astonishing backdrop that goes almost entirely unnoticed by modern readers. As he travels down to Egypt, God speaks to him in a vision at night, explicitly calling out to his old identity: "Jacob, Jacob" (Genesis 46:2). When he gathers his sons around his deathbed to bless them, he uses both names in the very same breath: "Assemble and listen, O sons of Jacob, listen to Israel your father" (Genesis 49:33). Even the verse recording his actual death defaults to his birth name: "When Jacob finished commanding his sons, he drew up his feet into the bed and breathed his last" (Genesis 49:33).

We, as readers or hearers of the written account, understandably miss the full gravity of Jacob’s struggle—skimming right over the deeper nuances. But the original audience, with the helpful inflections and animation of a gifted storyteller, would have certainly picked up on the tension between Jacob’s two natures—Jacob and Israel. He was a work in progress, and through the added imagery and animation of a spoken presentation, Jacob’s internal battle becomes crystal clear. When Jacob musters the courage to fall upward into God’s promises, "Israel" arises. It’s the perfect snapshot of his journey: the old man, "Jacob," constantly needing the new man, "Israel," to pull him toward the light.

This vivid image of Jacob's inner struggle sadly fades away with the passing of the oral tradition. Yet, when the text is truly pondered, God’s wisdom can still unexpectedly arise and shine in the details preserved by the earlier generations. The fact remains that a story passionately told around an evening fire will always carry a weight that words recited dryly from text simply cannot deliver. A story once heard leaves a resonance that a silent page rarely achieves.

In his final days, Israel—although blind—knew to cross his hands—blessing Ephraim, the younger son of Joseph, over the older, Manasseh. It was a beautiful reversal of human expectation—a direct mirror of the principles Jesus would later teach. The man who began his life clutching his brother’s heel, desperate to seize the birthright, ended his life as a man who understood that God’s blessing is not a prize to be clutched, but a sovereign gift to be embraced. He finally stopped wrestling against God and started resting in Him. In the end, he knew which grandson was which and demonstrated that his transformation was complete—submitting to God's wisdom and way: "The first shall be last, and the last first."

Father, keep us mindful of our own “Jacob” moments, when we strive to control situations in resistance to Your will, for the sake of our own will. Help us to be still in trials to recognize that You are God. Teach us to yield to the leading of Jesus, the Great Shepherd, residing in us through the presence and power of the Holy Spirit, so we best advance the Gospel in all that we say and do—for Your glory, not our own. Amen.

mgb / sf

Note: The realization of the vascilation back and forth between Jacob and Israel was first brought to my attention through an amazing sermon given by Pastor Stewart Farley of Rhema Christian Center in Lewisburg, WV, whose initials are above to highlight his contribution - all through The Holy Spirit.