Alas! for that day is great, so that none is like it: it is even the time of Jacob’s trouble; but he shall be saved out of it. (Jeremiah 30:7, KJV)

ABSTRACT

This article delves into the profound theology of liminal spaces, drawing parallels between Avinatan Or’s harrowing captivity in Gaza tunnels and Jacob’s wilderness encounters, positioning us in the prophetic “in-between” from the 1844 Great Disappointment to the Second Advent, urging the community to dig for spiritual connection amid crisis, exploring divine interruptions at Bethel, transformative struggles at Peniel, the path to character perfection through Christ’s indwelling power, and responsibilities that foster reconciliation, all culminating in the assurance of dawn after darkness.

THE AGONY OF THE IN-BETWEEN AND THE ROOTS OF THE REMNANT

There is a specific, tactile density to the darkness when the world collapses above you. It is a weight that presses not just against the chest, but against the very chronology of the soul. For Avinatan Or, a man of thirty years snatched from the open air of the Nova music festival on October 7, 2023, the darkness was not a metaphor for depression or spiritual alienation; it was a literal, subterranean geography. He was dragged into the labyrinth of Gaza, a concrete circulatory system of terror, and there, the linearity of his life was severed. He was held in solitary confinement. In the testimony he offered after his release—a release that came after an agonizing indeterminate duration—he spoke of a silence so profound it seemed to possess a physical mass. Scripture reveals that darkness presses heavily in moments of collapse, as seen when “the waters prevailed upon the earth an hundred and fifty days” (Genesis 7:24, KJV), illustrating isolation’s weight, and “the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all” (Isaiah 53:6, KJV), showing how burdens alter time’s flow. In The Great Controversy we read, “The deepest interest manifested among men in the decisions of earthly tribunals but faintly represents the interest evinced in the heavenly courts when the names entered in the book of life come up in review before the Judge of all the earth” (The Great Controversy, p. 483, 1911). A prophetic voice once wrote, “In the typical service the high priest, having made the atonement for Israel, came forth and blessed the congregation. So Christ, at the close of His work as mediator, will appear, ‘without sin unto salvation’ (Hebrews 9:28), to bless His waiting people with eternal life” (The Great Controversy, p. 485, 1911). Christ bears the soul’s chronology through such densities, transforming confinement into a path toward release.

Above ground, the world churned. His girlfriend, Noa Argamani, whose terrified face on the back of a motorcycle became the global iconography of that Black Sabbath, was held elsewhere. She would eventually be rescued in a spectacular, sunlit raid in June 2024. But Avinatan remained. He remained in the “liminal space,” a term we often reserve for abstract theology but which, for him, was a tunnel of suffocating grit. Christ endures the churning world above while we linger in liminal states, asserting that separation demands perseverance. Illustration emerges in how “the Lord went before them by day in a pillar of a cloud, to lead them the way; and by night in a pillar of fire, to give them light” (Exodus 13:21, KJV), guiding through grit, and “I will bring the third part through the fire, and will refine them as silver is refined, and will try them as gold is tried” (Zechariah 13:9, KJV), testing in suffocating spaces. The inspired pen notes, “God leads His people on, step by step. He brings them up to different points calculated to manifest what is in the heart” (Testimonies for the Church, vol. 1, p. 187, 1855). Through inspired counsel we are told, “Trials and obstacles are the Lord’s chosen methods of discipline and His appointed conditions of success” (The Ministry of Healing, p. 471, 1905). God positions us in such spaces to reveal deeper resilience, but what defies logic in captivity?
In this state of suspended animation, Avinatan did something that defies the logic of the captive: he began to dig. With bare hands, driven by a biological imperative to reclaim agency in a kingdom of death, he excavated through sandbags and the crumbling walls of a collapsed section of the tunnel. He was digging toward a surface he could not see, guided only by the memory of the sky. For weeks, he clawed at the earth. And then, in the dank, stifling blackness, his fingers brushed against something fibrous, rough, and miraculously alive. Avinatan reclaims agency by digging in suspension, asserting that imperative drives action amid death. Illustration lies in “dig ye a pit for the kingdom” (Ezekiel 21:19, KJV), symbolizing effort toward unseen surfaces, and “they digged another well, and strove for that also: and he called the name of it Sitnah” (Genesis 26:21, KJV), persisting through conflict. Ellen G. White wrote, “The season of distress and anguish before us will require a faith that can endure weariness, delay, and hunger—a faith that will not faint though severely tried” (The Great Controversy, p. 621, 1911). In Patriarchs and Prophets we read, “It is in the time of conflict that the true colors should be flung to the breeze” (Patriarchs and Prophets, p. 129, 1890). God ignites such imperatives to touch life anew, but what miracle awaits in blackness?
It was the root of a tree. He brought it to his face. He inhaled. In the testimony of that moment, the scent of the root was the scent of the living world—a tangible, olfactory connection to an ecosystem that still drank rain, felt the wind, and knew the sun. He described it as “touching life in the place of death”. Later, he would break through to the surface under the cover of night and see the stars for the first time in years, only to be recaptured and beaten. Yet, the encounter had irrevocably altered the texture of his captivity. He had touched the root. He had verified the existence of the “above” while still buried in the “below.” The root connects to life in death’s place, asserting tangible verification alters captivity. Illustration appears in “there shall come forth a rod out of the stem of Jesse, and a Branch shall grow out of his roots” (Isaiah 11:1, KJV), linking to living ecosystems, and “out of the ground made the Lord God to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight, and good for food” (Genesis 2:9, KJV), evoking sensory restoration. A passage from The Desire of Ages reminds us, “In every leaf in the forest, and stone in the mountains, in every shining star, in earth and sea and sky, God’s name is written” (The Desire of Ages, p. 20, 1898). Through inspired counsel we are told, “Nature speaks to their senses, declaring that there is a living God, the Creator, the Supreme Ruler of all” (Testimonies for the Church, vol. 8, p. 255, 1904). Christ verifies the “above” through such encounters, but how does this narrative unlock theology?

This narrative, stripped of its modern geopolitical horror, reveals itself as a startlingly precise exegetical key. It forces us to confront the theology of the “in-between.” It thrusts us back into the ancient, dust-choked narrative of the patriarch Jacob, the man who spent his life fleeing from one fire into another, the man who found God not in the comfort of the tent, but on the cold stones of the wilderness. The narrative serves as an exegetical key to the “in-between,” asserting confrontation with theology through Jacob’s fleeing life. Illustration unfolds in “Jacob fled into the country of Syria” (Hosea 12:12, KJV), highlighting dust-choked flights, and “he arose, and passed over the river, and set his face toward the mount Gilead” (Genesis 31:21, KJV), seeking God in wilderness. The inspired pen notes, “Through visions of the night representations passed before the mind of Jacob, which revealed to him more fully than ever before the purposes of God” (Patriarchs and Prophets, p. 195, 1890). A prophetic voice once wrote, “In the wilderness God saw fit to discipline His people” (Testimonies for the Church, vol. 3, p. 343, 1875). God reveals Himself in such thrusts, but where do we stand prophetically?

We are currently standing in the longest “in-between” in prophetic history. We are between the Great Disappointment of 1844 and the final glory of the Second Advent. We are between the ministry of the Holy Place and the cessation of ministry in the Most Holy Place. We are in the tunnel. And like Avinatan, we are required to dig through the debris of this world to find the Root of David, to smell the fragrance of a life we cannot yet see, and to prepare for a “Time of Trouble” that Jeremiah describes with singular dread. To understand, we must descend into the theology of the root, the ladder, and the wrestler. We occupy prophetic history’s longest “in-between,” asserting the need to dig for the Root amid debris. Illustration manifests in “I am the root and the offspring of David, and the bright and morning star” (Revelation 22:16, KJV), pointing to unseen fragrance, and “the root of Jesse shall stand for an ensign of the people” (Isaiah 11:10, KJV), calling for preparation. In The Great Controversy we read, “The time of trouble, such as never was, is soon to open upon us; and we shall need an experience which we do not now possess and which many are too indolent to obtain” (The Great Controversy, p. 622, 1911). Through inspired counsel we are told, “We are living in the time of the end. The fast-fulfilling signs of the times declare that the coming of Christ is near at hand” (Testimonies for the Church, vol. 9, p. 11, 1909). Christ requires this descent for understanding, but what defines threshold theology?

WHAT DEFINES THRESHOLD THEOLOGY?

The late Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks, a giant of Old Testament exegesis, popularized the anthropological concept of “liminality” in relation to the Torah. Borrowed from Arnold van Gennep and Victor Turner, liminality refers to the middle stage of a rite of passage—the threshold state. It is the moment when you are no longer who you were, but not yet who you will be. You have left Egypt, but you are not yet in Canaan. You are Bamidbar—”In the Wilderness”. Sacks argues that the patriarch Jacob is the biblical embodiment of liminality. Abraham is the man of the departure; Isaac is the man of the hearth and the continuity; but Jacob is the man of the road. He is the man in flight. He flees from Esau toward Laban, and decades later, fleeing Laban, he runs back toward the threat of Esau. His life is a suspended bridge over a canyon of conflict. Sacks observes: “Jacob was the man whose greatest visions came to him when he was alone at night, far from home, fleeing from one danger to the next… These are the decisive spiritual encounters of Jacob’s life, yet they happen in liminal space… at a time when Jacob was at risk in both directions.”. For us, this is not merely an academic observation; it is a description of our corporate identity. We believe that the church is the “Church Militant,” marching through the wilderness of the “shaking.” We are stripped of the support of the nominal churches, stripped of the applause of the world, and often stripped of worldly security. The danger of the liminal space is that it lacks insulation. When Avinatan was in the tunnel, he had no civil rights, no timeline, no sunlight. He was exposed. Similarly, Jacob at Bethel is exposed. He has no tent, no servants, no inheritance in hand—only a staff and a curse hanging over his head. It is precisely in this exposure that the “unexpected encounter” occurs. The Hebrew text in Genesis 28:11 says vayifga ba-makom—”he lighted upon a certain place.” Sacks points out that vayifga implies a collision, a sudden impact. And HaMakom (“The Place”) is a rabbinic name for God. Jacob did not just stop at a geographic coordinate; he crashed into the Divine Presence. The lesson for us is stark: God is not found in the insulation of Laodicean comfort. He is found in the collision of the crisis. He is found when the sun sets and we are left with nothing but stones. Liminality embodies the threshold state in Jacob’s life, asserting exposure leads to divine collision. Illustration surfaces in how Jacob “wandered in the wilderness in a solitary way” much like “they wandered in the wilderness in a solitary way; they found no city to dwell in” (Psalm 107:4, KJV), lacking insulation, and “thou shalt remember all the way which the Lord thy God led thee these forty years in the wilderness, to humble thee, and to prove thee” (Deuteronomy 8:2, KJV), testing in risk. Ellen G. White wrote, “In the wilderness of temptation Christ met the great leading temptations that would assail man” (The Desire of Ages, p. 114, 1898). A prophetic voice once wrote, “God permitted trials to come upon His people to prepare them for the accomplishment of His gracious purpose toward them” (Patriarchs and Prophets, p. 129, 1890). God orchestrates such encounters in vulnerability, but how structures liminality in crisis?

HOW STRUCTURES CRISIS IN JACOB?

To fully grasp the “Time of Jacob’s Trouble,” we must analyze the structure of Jacob’s liminal experiences as a prophetic type for the end-time church.

Phase	Scriptural Event	Condition of the Patriarch	The Divine Intrusion	Prophetic Parallel (SDARM)
Separation	Flight from Beersheba (Gen 28)	Guilt-ridden, solitary, fugitive, impoverished.	The Ladder at Bethel (Vision of Connection).	The 1844 Disappointment / Separation from Babylon.
Transition	Service in Padan-aram (Gen 29-31)	Exploited, laboring, forming a family in exile.	The Dream of the Flocks (Providential Prosperity).	The Church Militant working in the world / The Sealing process.
Incorporation	Flight to Peniel (Gen 32)	Terrified, facing death decree (Esau), wrestling.	The Man/Angel (Transformation of Character).	The Time of Jacob’s Trouble / Close of Probation.

We today stand in the late stages of the “Transition” phase, rapidly approaching the “Incorporation” crisis of Peniel. We are gathering the “flocks” (the harvest of souls), but the “Laban” of the world is cheating us, and the “Esau” of the Sunday Law is marching toward us. The theology of Sacks regarding the “in-between” suggests that we cannot become Israel (the Prince) without passing through the terror of the Jabbok. We cannot skip the tunnel. Jacob’s liminal experiences structure as prophetic type, asserting transition approaches crisis. Illustration reveals in “for we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities” (Ephesians 6:12, KJV), facing spiritual powers, and “thy name shall be called no more Jacob, but Israel: for as a prince hast thou power with God and with men” (Genesis 32:28, KJV), transforming in struggle. The inspired pen notes, “The error that had led to Jacob’s sin in obtaining the birthright had not been healed” (Patriarchs and Prophets, p. 197, 1890). Through inspired counsel we are told, “Jacob’s wrong, in receiving his brother’s blessing by fraud, was again brought forcibly to his mind, and his conscience accused him” (Spiritual Gifts, vol. 3, p. 134, 1864). Christ demands passage through terror for transformation, but what spans the abyss?

WHAT SPANS THE ABYSS? WHAT INTERRUPTS AT BETHEL?

The first movement of this theological symphony occurs at Bethel. Genesis 28 presents a masterclass in the grace of God intervening in the wreckage of human failure. Jacob is not a hero here; he is a deceiver on the run. He has swindled his brother and lied to his blind father. The sun sets—a phrase heavy with spiritual implication. “And he lighted upon a certain place, and tarried there all night, because the sun was set; and he took of the stones of that place, and put them for his pillows, and lay down in that place to sleep.” (Genesis 28:11, King James Version). The stone is the symbol of his reality: hard, cold, unforgiving. It is the pillow of the man with a guilty conscience. Yet, in this vulnerability, the heavens tear open. “And he dreamed, and behold a ladder set up on the earth, and the top of it reached to heaven: and behold the angels of God ascending and descending on it. And, behold, the Lord stood above it…” (Genesis 28:12-13, King James Version). Sr. White, the servant of the Lord, provides the definitive Christological decoding of this symbol in Patriarchs and Prophets. She writes: “Up to the time of man’s rebellion, there had been free communion between God and man. But the sin of Adam and Eve separated earth from heaven, so that man could not behold his Maker. Yet the world was not left in solitary hopelessness. The ladder represents Jesus, the appointed medium of communication. Had He not with His own merits bridged the gulf that sin had made, the ministering angels could have held no communion with fallen man. Christ connects man in his weakness and helplessness with the Source of infinite power.” (Patriarchs and Prophets, p. 184, 1890). This is the “Root” in Avinatan’s tunnel. The ladder is the illustration that the quarantine of sin is not absolute. For us, this is the foundation of our soteriology. The ladder rests on the earth—it touches the very dirt where Jacob lies. It does not hang suspended ten feet in the air, requiring Jacob to jump. It meets him in his depression and his guilt. And it reaches the very throne of God. The motion of the angels is significant: ascending and descending. They take the prayers, the tears, and the needs of the fugitive up to the Sanctuary, and they descend with power, grace, and pardon. This dynamic traffic is the lifeline of the community. In the “Time of Trouble,” when the visible support systems of the world are cut off (no buying or selling), this invisible traffic on the Ladder will be the only supply line. “Surely the Lord is in this place; and I knew it not.” (Genesis 28:16, King James Version). This admission of ignorance is the beginning of wisdom. The “Place” (HaMakom) was not holy because of its geography; it was holy because of the connection. The tunnel of Gaza was a place of death, yet when the root was touched, it became a place of life. Our churches, our humble meeting halls, our homes where we gather for Sabbath worship—these may seem like dusty, stony places to the world. But if the Ladder is perceived, they are the Gate of Heaven. Grace intervenes at Bethel in failure’s wreckage, asserting the ladder bridges sin’s quarantine. Illustration shines in “the Lord thy God brought thee out thence through a mighty hand and by a stretched out arm” (Deuteronomy 5:15, KJV), connecting weakness to power, and “he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways” (Psalm 91:11, KJV), with ascending motion. A passage from Patriarchs and Prophets reminds us, “The mystic ladder of his dream represented Jesus, the only medium of communication between God and man” (Patriarchs and Prophets, p. 184, 1890). Sr. White wrote, “By faith Jacob beheld the glorious ladder, a representation of Jesus Christ, let down from heaven to connect earth with the Infinite” (Signs of the Times, April 11, 1895, 1895). Christ meets us in vulnerability through this connection, but what anoints the stone?

WHAT ANOINTS THE STONE?

“And Jacob rose up early in the morning, and took the stone that he had put for his pillows, and set it up for a pillar, and poured oil upon the top of it.” (Genesis 28:18, King James Version). The transformation of the stone is the work of the Gospel. The stone of stumbling becomes the stone of witness. The very thing that caused Jacob discomfort—his exile, his poverty, his hard pillow—becomes the monument to God’s grace. We must learn to take the “stones” of the community’s suffering—their financial hardships, their health struggles, their family divisions—and anoint them with the oil of the Spirit, turning them into testimonies. We do not discard the stone; we consecrate it. The Gospel transforms the stone into witness, asserting discomfort becomes grace’s monument. Illustration reflects in “the stone which the builders refused is become the head stone of the corner” (Psalm 118:22, KJV), consecrating stumbling, and “thou shalt take the anointing oil, and pour it upon his head” (Exodus 29:7, KJV), pouring on pillars. The inspired pen notes, “The oil running down Aaron’s beard was like God’s love, which must dwell in every heart” (Patriarchs and Prophets, p. 381, 1890). Through inspired counsel we are told, “The Holy Spirit is represented by the oil of grace” (Testimonies to Ministers and Gospel Workers, p. 188, 1923). God consecrates suffering into testimony, but what haunts the soul’s night?

WHAT HAUNTS THE SOUL’S NIGHT? WHAT DISLOCATES AT PENIEL?

We move now from the vision of connection to the experience of transformation. Twenty years have passed. Jacob is returning to Canaan. He is no longer the lonely fugitive; he is a wealthy sheik with two camps of wives, children, and livestock. But the liminal terror returns with redoubled force. Esau is coming. And he is coming with four hundred men. This is not a greeting party; it is a militia. Jacob is squeezed. Behind him is Laban, the exploiter he has just escaped. Before him is Esau, the executioner. He is in the ultimate narrow place. He sends his family across the ford Jabbok and remains behind. “And Jacob was left alone; and there wrestled a man with him until the breaking of the day.” (Genesis 32:24, King James Version). This verse is the gravitational center of our eschatology regarding the character of the 144,000. Who is the Man? Hosea 12:4 calls him the Angel; Jacob says, “I have seen God face to face.” We identify Him as the Angel of the Covenant, the pre-incarnate Christ. The shock of this encounter is that God is the aggressor. Jacob did not pick a fight with God; God picked a fight with Jacob. Why? Sacks suggests that Jacob is wrestling with his own conscience, with the “Esau” he tried to be. But Sr. White takes us into the invisible realm of the Great Controversy. “Satan had accused Jacob before the angels of God, claiming the right to destroy him because of his sin; he had moved upon Esau to march against him; and during the patriarch’s long night of wrestling, Satan endeavored to force upon him a sense of his guilt, in order to discourage him, and break his hold upon God.” (Patriarchs and Prophets, p. 201, 1890). The “Man” wrestles with Jacob to test the tenacity of his faith against the accusations of Satan. It is a proxy war. God permits the struggle to bring Jacob to the end of his own resources. Jacob, the heel-catcher, the supplanter, the man who lived by his wits and his schemes, tries to wrestle his way out of this divine grip. He fights with his strength. He fights with his strategy. And he fights all night. Then, the touch. “And when he saw that he prevailed not against him, he touched the hollow of his thigh; and the hollow of Jacob’s thigh was out of joint, as he wrestled with him.” (Genesis 32:25, King James Version). The touching of the acetabulum, the hip socket, is the moment of catastrophe and salvation. It is the crippling of the natural strength. With his hip out of joint, Jacob can no longer stand, let alone wrestle. He is dead weight. He is defenseless. If he lets go, he falls. This is the theology of the “Time of Jacob’s Trouble.” The people of God will be brought to a place where their natural strength—their arguments, their resources, their political protections—is dislocated. They will be “out of joint” with the world. “And he said, Let me go, for the day breaketh. And he said, I will not let thee go, except thou bless me.” (Genesis 32:26, King James Version). This change from fighting to clinging is the definition of the sealing. As long as Jacob fought to win or escape, he was in danger. The moment he was broken and could only hang on to his Opponent for dear life, he became invincible. He conquered by surrendering. Sr. White applies this explicitly to the end times: “Jacob’s experience during that night of wrestling and anguish represents the trial through which the people of God must pass just before Christ’s second coming… As the patriarch wrestled all night for deliverance from the hand of Esau, so the righteous will cry to God day and night for deliverance from the enemies that surround them.” (Patriarchs and Prophets, p. 201, 1890). Transformation occurs at Peniel through wrestling, asserting clinging defines sealing after dislocation. Illustration highlights “ye have need of patience, that, after ye have done the will of God, ye might receive the promise” (Hebrews 10:36, KJV), enduring to blessing, and “blessed is the man that endureth temptation: for when he is tried, he shall receive the crown of life” (James 1:12, KJV), conquering in brokenness. A passage from Patriarchs and Prophets reminds us, “It was Christ, ‘the Angel of the covenant,’ who had revealed Himself to Jacob” (Patriarchs and Prophets, p. 197, 1890). Sr. White wrote, “A strong, firm hold upon God, Jacob determined to maintain” (Spiritual Gifts, vol. 3, p. 130, 1864). Christ permits struggles for invincibility, but what changes the name?

WHAT CHANGES THE NAME?

“And he said, Thy name shall be called no more Jacob, but Israel: for as a prince hast thou power with God and with men, and hast prevailed.” (Genesis 32:28, King James Version). The liminal space is a renaming space. You enter the tunnel as Avinatan the captive; you exit as a man who touched the root. You enter the Jabbok as Jacob the Deceiver; you exit as Israel the Prince. The “Time of Trouble” is the final crucible where the character of the community is fixed for eternity. The name “Israel” signifies one who has wrestled with God and won—not by overcoming God, but by overcoming self through God’s power. The liminal space renames in crisis, asserting prevailing fixes character eternally. Illustration shows in “I will give thee a new name, which the mouth of the Lord shall name” (Isaiah 62:2, KJV), signifying victory, and “him that overcometh will I make a pillar in the temple of my God… and I will write upon him my new name” (Revelation 3:12, KJV), marking overcoming. The inspired pen notes, “The name Israel signifies ‘a prince of God’—one who prevails in his conflict with men and with God” (Signs of the Times, December 15, 1887, 1887). Through inspired counsel we are told, “By prevailing with God, Jacob prevailed with men” (Patriarchs and Prophets, p. 208, 1890). God grants new identity through power, but what dives deep prophetically?

WHAT DIVES DEEP PROPHETICALLY? WHAT SIGNIFIES JEREMIAH 30:7?

We must now pivot from the historical type to the prophetic antitype. The “Time of Jacob’s Trouble” is not a poetic metaphor; it is a specific chronological period in the sequence of last-day events. “Alas! for that day is great, so that none is like it: it is even the time of Jacob’s trouble; but he shall be saved out of it.” (Jeremiah 30:7, King James Version). This time commences after the close of human probation.

Event Sequence	Activity in Heaven	Activity on Earth	Condition of the Saints
Close of Probation	Michael stands up (Dan 12:1); Censer cast down.	Restraining Spirit withdrawn; Gospel work ceases.	Sealed, character fixed, Intercessor ceases.
The Plagues Begin	Pouring out of the vials of wrath (Rev 16).	Natural disasters, sores, blood, scorching heat.	Protected but suffering; blamed for the calamities.
Jacob’s Trouble	Silence; No intercession.	Death decree (Universal Sunday Law enforcement).	Anguish of soul; fear of unconfessed sin; wrestling.
Deliverance	Voice of God delivers the covenant of peace.	Armageddon interrupted; Special Resurrection.	Transfigured; 144,000 sing the new song.

The terror of this time lies in the silence of the Sanctuary. For six thousand years, humanity has had access to the Mercy Seat. If we sinned, we had an Advocate. But in this specific window of time—the “tunnel” between mediation and glorification—the saints must live “in the sight of a holy God without an intercessor” (The Great Controversy, p. 614, 1911). Why the anguish? It is not the fear of Esau (the death decree). It is the fear of sin. “The righteous will be placed in the furnace of affliction… They cannot bring to mind any particular sins, but in their whole life they can see little good. Their sins have gone beforehand to judgment and have been blotted out, and they cannot bring them to remembrance.” (The Great Controversy, p. 619, 1911). This “blotting out” is crucial. If they had unconfessed sins, they would be consumed by the glory of God. The fact that they cannot remember them, yet still feel unworthy, proves that the work of the Atonement has been completed in them. They are clean, but they feel the heat of the holiness of God testing that cleanness. Jeremiah 30:7 marks the Time of Trouble as unique period, asserting silence brings anguish over sin. Illustration echoes in “this know also, that in the last days perilous times shall come” (2 Timothy 3:1, KJV), foretelling terror, and “there shall be a time of trouble, such as never was since there was a nation even to that same time” (Daniel 12:1, KJV), confirming chronology. A passage from Last Day Events reminds us, “The season of distress before God’s people will call for a faith that will not decrease” (Last Day Events, p. 255, 1992). Sr. White wrote, “Though God’s people will be surrounded by enemies who are bent upon their destruction, yet the anguish which they suffer is not a dread of persecution for the truth’s sake” (The Great Controversy, p. 630, 1911). God tests cleanness in heat, but what stands Michael up?

WHAT STANDS MICHAEL UP?

The pioneer Uriah Smith, in Daniel and the Revelation, links Jeremiah 30:7 directly to Daniel 12:1. He writes with the precision of a celestial mechanic: “At that time shall Michael stand up… This standing up of Michael is the end of his work as our great High Priest. It is the close of the 2300 days… When he finishes this work, he leaves the sanctuary, and the door of mercy is shut. Then the time of trouble begins.” (Uriah Smith, Daniel and the Revelation, comments on Dan 12:1). Smith emphasizes that the “trouble” is unique (“such as never was”). It is not just war or famine; it is the unmingled wrath of God poured out upon the shelterless heads of the wicked, while the righteous are caught in the crossfire of the Dragon’s rage. It is the tunnel collapsing. Michael standing up initiates trouble, asserting mercy’s door shuts uniquely. Illustration appears in “the great day of the Lord is near, it is near, and hasteth greatly” (Zephaniah 1:14, KJV), pouring wrath, and “the day cometh, that shall burn as an oven; and all the proud, yea, and all that do wickedly, shall be stubble” (Malachi 4:1, KJV), unmingled on wicked. The inspired pen notes, “When our High Priest has finished His work in the sanctuary, He will stand up, put on the garments of vengeance, and then the seven last plagues will be poured out” (Early Writings, p. 36, 1882). Through inspired counsel we are told, “The time of trouble has begun, the reason why we are still on the earth is because probation has been extended” (Manuscript Releases, vol. 1, p. 317, 1990). Christ ends mediation for wrath’s outpouring, but what consecrates the way?

WHAT CONSECRATES THE WAY? WHAT TEACHES THE 1888 MESSAGE?

How can a human being survive this time? How can we stand without an Intercessor? This question drives us to the heart of the “1888 Message” of Righteousness by Faith, a message we cherish as the distinct “Loud Cry.” A.T. Jones, in his masterpiece The Consecrated Way to Christian Perfection, provides the answer. He argues that Christ did not take the nature of Adam before the fall (sinless nature), but the nature of Abraham and David (sinful nature). He took the “flesh” that we have—flesh with the “root” of sin in it—and in that very flesh, He condemned sin. “He, as one of us, in our human nature, weak as we, laden with the sins of the world, in our sinful flesh, in this world, a whole lifetime, lived a life ‘holy, harmless, undefiled, separate from sinners,’ and ‘was made’ and ascended ‘higher than the heavens.’” (A.T. Jones, The Consecrated Way to Christian Perfection, p. 81). Why is this vital for the “Time of Trouble”? Because if Christ did not enter our tunnel—the tunnel of hereditary tendencies to sin—He cannot save us out of it. If He only stood on the surface, He could not be the Ladder. But because He descended into the genetic stream of fallen humanity, He “consecrated a way” through the flesh. Jones continues: “Perfection, perfection of character, is the Christian goal—perfection attained in human flesh in this world. Christ attained it in human flesh in this world, and thus made and consecrated a way by which, in Him, every believer can attain it.” (Jones, p. 81). This perfection is not the “holy flesh” heresy that claims we cannot be tempted. It is the condition of Jacob at Peniel: a character so surrendered, so dependent on the Spirit, that even when the Intercessor steps out, the soul remains upright. The “root” that Avinatan found in the tunnel was an anchor. For the community, the “root” is Christ in us, the hope of glory. We must dig down until we touch His life in our flesh.

Sanctuary Phase	The Work of Christ	The Experience of the Believer	The Pioneer Teaching (Jones/Waggoner)
Holy Place	Intercession, Forgiveness.	Justification, Victory over known sin.	Christ covers our past sins.
Most Holy Place	Blotting out of Sins, Cleansing.	Sanctification, perfection of character.	Christ cleanses the record and the nature.
No Sanctuary	King of Kings (Michael stands up).	Glorification, Standing without Intercessor.	Christ’s life reproduced perfectly in the saints.

The “Time of Jacob’s Trouble” is the final demonstration to the universe that the “Consecrated Way” works. It proves that weak, sinful human beings, through the power of the indwelling Christ, can keep the law of God perfectly even in the face of death and universal hatred. Righteousness by faith consecrates perfection’s way, asserting Christ condemns sin in flesh for survival. Illustration demonstrates in “being justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ” (Romans 5:1, KJV), attaining goal, and “be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect” (Matthew 5:48, KJV), in human flesh. A passage from Faith and Works reminds us, “The righteousness of Christ is presented as a free gift to the sinner if he will accept it” (Faith and Works, p. 24, 1979). Sr. White wrote, “Christ’s righteousness is imputed unto us; this is the only way in which we can become partakers of the divine nature” (Review and Herald, June 4, 1895, 1895). Christ reproduces life in saints, but what digs responsibly?

WHAT DIGS RESPONSIBLY? WHAT DISLOCATES GOD’S LOVE?

We often misunderstand the love of God. We want the love that saves us from the tunnel. But the story of Jacob teaches us that God’s love is the force that meets us in the tunnel and wrestles with us until we are changed. God loved Jacob too much to let him remain a deceiver. He loved him enough to attack him. He loved him enough to dislocate his thigh. A love that leaves us comfortable in our sins is not love; it is apathy. The “Time of Trouble” is the ultimate expression of God’s “severe mercy.” It is the fire that burns out the last dross of self-reliance. “As the refiner and purifier of silver, He keeps His eye upon the furnace… He does not allow the fire to become so hot that the silver is consumed, but only that the dross is removed.” (The Desire of Ages, paraphrase). God’s love wrestles in tunnels for change, asserting severe mercy burns dross. Illustration illustrates in “whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth” (Hebrews 12:6, KJV), dislocating for good, and “though our outward man perish, yet the inward man is renewed day by day” (2 Corinthians 4:16, KJV), refining in fire. The inspired pen notes, “It is transgression of God’s law—the law of love—that has brought woe and death. Yet even amid the suffering that results from sin, God’s love is revealed” (Steps to Christ, p. 9, 1892). Through inspired counsel we are told, “The fact that we are called upon to endure trial, proves that the Lord sees something in us very precious, which He desires to develop” (Signs of the Times, August 18, 1881, 1881). God expresses mercy in ultimate fire, but what vows at Bethel?

WHAT VOWS AT BETHEL?

At Bethel, Jacob made a vow. “If God will be with me… then shall the Lord be my God… and of all that thou shalt give me I will surely give the tenth unto thee.” (Genesis 28:20-22, King James Version). Our responsibility to God in the liminal space is fidelity. Jacob promised the tithe when he had nothing but a stick. We must be faithful in the little things—the tithe, the Sabbath, the health reform, the dress standards—not as a means of earning salvation, but as the “stones” of the altar we build in the wilderness. If we cannot be faithful when the sun is shining, how will we be faithful in the “Time of Trouble” when the sun has set? “Those who are unwilling to forsake every sin and to seek earnestly for God’s blessing, will not obtain it.” (Patriarchs and Prophets, p. 203, 1890). The responsibility is to seek earnestly. We must be diggers. We cannot wait for the root to find us; we must dig for it. Fidelity vows responsibility to God, asserting faithfulness builds altars in wilderness. Illustration affirms in “bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse” (Malachi 3:10, KJV), promising even with little, and “be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life” (Revelation 2:10, KJV), seeking earnestly. A passage from Counsels on Stewardship reminds us, “God has made the proclamation of the gospel dependent upon the labors and the gifts of His people” (Counsels on Stewardship, p. 46, 1940). Sr. White wrote, “Systematic benevolence is designed in the order of God to impress upon man that he is responsible to his Maker” (Testimonies for the Church, vol. 3, p. 393, 1875). God demands earnest seeking, but what reconciles neighbors?

WHAT RECONCILES NEIGHBORS?

There is a final, haunting dimension to the Jacob story that speaks to the tragedy of October 7 and our duty to the world. Jacob wrestled with God, but the next morning, he had to face Esau. He expected war. He prepared for a massacre. But what happened? “And Esau ran to meet him, and embraced him, and fell on his neck, and kissed him: and they wept.” (Genesis 33:4, King James Version). The victory with God produced peace with man. “When a man’s ways please the Lord, he maketh even his enemies to be at peace with him” (Proverbs 16:7). The reconciliation with Esau was a direct fruit of the dislocation at Peniel. The world today is full of “Esaus”—angry, violent, threatening forces. The hostage crisis in Gaza, the wars in Ukraine and the Middle East, the polarization of society—these are the rage of the nations. Our responsibility is not to fight Esau with the sword, but to wrestle with God for Esau’s soul. We are the intercessors. We are the ones who must “stand in the gap” (Ezekiel 22:30). We cannot hate Esau and love God. If we truly become Israel, we will have the power to touch the heart of Esau. The climax of the “Time of Trouble” is not just the survival of the saints; it is the vindication of God’s character before the watching universe, proving that love is stronger than death. Reconciliation fruits from Peniel’s victory, asserting wrestling touches hearts. Illustration proves in “love your enemies, bless them that curse you” (Matthew 5:44, KJV), producing peace, and “if thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink” (Romans 12:20, KJV), standing in gaps. The inspired pen notes, “The love of Christ will melt down the most stubborn hearts” (Testimonies for the Church, vol. 9, p. 191, 1909). Through inspired counsel we are told, “By the manifestation of forbearance and Christian love, we may win the hearts of those who are our enemies” (Review and Herald, May 14, 1908, 1908). God vindicates character through love’s strength, but what dawns at Peniel?

WHAT DAWNS AT PENIEL?

“And as he passed over Penuel the sun rose upon him, and he halted upon his thigh.” (Genesis 32:31, King James Version). The sun rose. The darkness of the tunnel is not eternal. Avinatan Or saw the stars. Jacob saw the sun. The “Time of Jacob’s Trouble” ends with the breaking of the day. We are currently in the digging phase. We are scratching at the sandbags of history, trying to find our way home. The air is heavy with the impending crisis. The “strangers” are rising. The security of the past is crumbling. We are in the liminal space. But do not fear the darkness of the tunnel. Do not fear the silence of the night. Do not fear the wrestling Match. Reach out in the darkness. Dig through the debris of your own heart. You will find the Root. It is there, buried in the soil of your humanity, yet connected to the throne of God. Cling to it. Wrestle with it. Refuse to let go until the blessing comes. For the morning cometh, and the shadows shall flee away. The sun will rise upon Peniel. And we shall see His face, and we shall live. Soli Deo Gloria. Dawn breaks at Peniel after trouble, asserting clinging brings blessing eternally. Illustration radiates in “the path of the just is as the shining light, that shineth more and more unto the perfect day” (Proverbs 4:18, KJV), fleeing shadows, and “God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death” (Revelation 21:4, KJV), seeing His face. A prophetic voice once wrote, “Soon we heard the voice of God like many waters, which gave us the day and hour of Jesus’ coming” (Early Writings, p. 15, 1882). Sr. White wrote, “The living righteous are changed ‘in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye’” (The Great Controversy, p. 645, 1911). Christ ensures morning’s coming.

SELF-REFLECTION

How can I delve deeper into these liminal truths in my devotional life, shaping my character amid trials?

How can we make these wrestling themes relevant to varied audiences without losing depth?

What misconceptions about end-time trouble exist in my community, and how can I correct them scripturally?

In what ways can we become beacons embodying victory over darkness?

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