The Hard Path

Genesis 45:1-15

October 14, 2018 • Mount Pleasant UMC

Climbing a mountain seemed like a good idea at the time. From a distance, the path looked like a gentle slope and, after all, we had come to Atlanta to see and experience Stone Mountain. So, early on that Monday morning, we drove to the park, got on the train that would take us around to the climbing trail, and we started up. The kids were much younger then, and full of energy, so it wasn’t long before they took off and we could just barely see them. Cathy and I, however, were a bit slower. Well, I was anyway. Cathy could probably have moved along more quickly, but she was concerned about this heart patient. I kept telling her I was fine, the walk really was a gentle slope and when Christopher came running back down the mountain to see where we were and to ask why we were taking so long, I told him we were just enjoying the walk. That was pretty much true—until we turned that corner. Just around that corner the gentle slope turned into what in my memory is a 90-degree rock face. At least it seemed to go straight up. But, being a man, I wasn’t going to admit defeat, so I trudged on ahead. It wasn’t long before I was laying down, on my back, breathing heavily and praying hard. Cathy was, honestly, looking around for a way to get me off the mountain because the journey had become much harder than we ever imagined it would be.

It sort of feels like that’s the place we find Joseph this morning. For the last few weeks, we’ve been studying the life of Joseph in the book of Genesis, a life that started with such promise and hope. Early on in his life, he had dreams that he would be great, important and powerful, but those dreams seemed far away for the next few years as he was sold into slavery by his own brothers, accused of a crime he did not commit, and forgotten in prison. This morning, in the passage we’ve read, we’ve jumped ahead in his story, but hopefully you’ve been reading along this week as Joseph finally did get his time in front of Pharaoh, the most powerful man in the world, and because of his ability to interpret dreams, he was made second in command of Egypt during a time of great need. It seemed like everything was going great for Joseph, as he led Egypt through a time of plentiful harvests and helped them prepare for a famine he knows is coming. Through seven years of plenty, Joseph stores up grain so that the nation will have food when the famine hits. And then, right on schedule, it does hit, and people come to Joseph looking for help, so he sells the food he has stored back to the people. Did you notice that? He sells them back their own grain. It’s sort of like when we ask you to donate desserts for a fundraising dinner, then we charge you to eat the dessert you donated! Anyway, in that same time, Joseph gets married and has two sons born to him. The first he names Manasseh, which means “forget.” He says he chose this name because God has made him forget all his trouble and all his father’s household. The second he names Ephraim, which means “twice fruitful,” because God has made him fruitful in Egypt. Those names are important because Joseph is about to turn a corner, and everything he thinks he has forgotten will be standing right in front of him.

The famine reaches Canaan, where Joseph’s family lives, and I love what Jacob, their father, says. When he hears there is grain available in Egypt, Jacob says to his sons, “Why do you just keep looking at each other?” In other words, “Why are you just standing around? Don’t you know enough to go buy some grain?” So they go, and they end up standing in front of the brother they thought about killing so many years before. He recognizes them but they don’t recognize him. Some people wonder how that could happen, but you know, you change a bit in fifteen years or so. Look through the last few church pictorial directories and see how much you’ve changed! The last time they saw him, he was seventeen. Now he’s in his thirties, and more than that, he’s dressed as an Egyptian. The last thing they expect to see is their brother as second-in-command of the most powerful nation on earth; they sold him as a slave. They probably assume he is dead! On the first visit, Joseph doesn’t tell them who he is. Instead, he seems to toy with them a bit. He accuses them of being spies, locks one of them up until they can prove their story and then sends them on their way. He also secretly gives them back the money they paid for the grain. The rock wall Joseph faces has a mixture of compassion and anger, but at the root of it all is whether or not he has forgiven or even can forgive these brothers who tried to kill him, who tried to destroy everything he was and could become.

I remember the day it happened, and I remember the day they walked into church. James and Lisa had been through horrible tragedy and had lost their only daughter, and in the midst of that they came looking for something, a community to get them through the dark days, so they ended up at our church. It had been a cold day and the roads were slushy when Ricky McCall got a call saying someone was trying to break into his house. Because the house had been damaged and was empty, it was often a place teenagers and others broke into to hold parties. He knew people had been there, based on the evidence they left behind, but he had never caught anyone. So that day, he jumped in his minivan and hurried over to the property. He was going too fast for the conditions, and when he turned into his slushy driveway and slammed on his brakes, his vehicle slid 76 feet before he hit Elizabeth Miller. She became pinned under the van and the van, with Elizabeth under it, slid another 40 feet. McCall jumped out of his van and checked her pulse; she was still alive, but by the time the police arrived a few minutes later, she was gone. Elizabeth Grace Miller was nine years old and she hadn't been causing trouble that day, just playing in the yard. Now she was gone, and James and Lisa, her parents, were left with so many questions that had no answers. More than that, they were left with a knot of anger, hatred and regret deep inside them.

Undoubtedly different, but those same sort of feelings most likely welled up in Joseph when he saw his brothers approach him. They, too, had taken a part of his life away from him. All the possibilities that had existed, all the could-be’s and what-if’s that had hounded him while in Potiphar’s house and while in the dungeon must have come rushing back into his mind. You’ve been there, too. Someone has hurt you, someone has betrayed you, someone has taken something from you that is precious and every time you think about it, that knot of anger, hatred and regret wells up within you. If you see them, you have this urge to hit them or somehow make them pay and hurt at least as much as they have made you—preferably more. And it’s worse when they believe they haven’t done anything wrong and don’t need forgiveness. That just makes you even more angry. Have you been there? Have you stood in Joseph’s shoes? Have you been where James and Lisa were?

Or maybe you’ve been in the shoes of the older brothers, in the shoes of Ricky McCall, where you have been the one who did something to another that was hurtful, offensive, wrong. Maybe you’re the one who lives with regret, knowing that you can’t change the past and you can’t alter what happened. Some say that the hardest person to forgive is ourselves; we believe that God can forgive others, but what we have done—what I have done—is too bad, too awful, too horrible to be forgiven. At least, we think, we ought to have to do some penance, some way to prove that we really are sorry for what we did. We wrestle with forgiveness; it truly is the hard path. And yet it’s the path we have to take. It’s the path we need to take. For the health of of our soul, for the sake of our spirit, we need to walk the hard path.

Like Joseph, though, we wrestle with finding the path that leads to forgiveness. We’ve let a lot of weeds grow up in front of it so we sometimes get confused as to what path is the true one, which one will really lead to healing. Let me take a few moments, then, and try to help us clear out the weeds because there are some things that forgiveness is not. First of all, forgiveness is not overlooking the wrong. For the last few weeks, I’ve had a stack of picture frames laying on the floor in our family room, and honestly I got tired of looking at the pile. But, rather than dealing with it, what I chose to do is put a blanket over, cover it up. Now I don’t have to look at it! That’s sometimes the way we choose to deal with a wrong that has been done: we cover it up, we overlook it, we say, “Oh, it’s okay,” when it’s anything but. We’re going to get to the rest of Joseph’s story in a moment, but you’ll notice in the passage we read this morning when he finally reveals himself to his brothers, he doesn’t overlook what was done. He says, “I am your brother Joseph,” he says, “the one you sold into slavery” (45:4). Forgiveness is not overlooking the wrong; when we do that, we’re just stuffing it deeper inside and it’s got to (and it’s going to) come out somehow, some time.

Along the same lines, forgiveness is also not excusing the wrong. One of the first steps in forgiving someone is to name the wrong and call it wrong. Recognize the harm and admit the hurt. Joseph, a bit later in the story, will do this. He will say directly to his brothers, “You intended to harm me,” (50:20). He doesn’t say, “Well, I know you were just kidding around.” No, he names the wrong and he doesn’t let them shy away from it. “You intended to harm me.” When we excuse the hurt, when we attempt to write it off or explain it away, we may feel the hurt less but we will not experience healing because making excuses is not the same as forgiveness. In the case of Elizabeth Miller, many people at the church, including my wife, walked alongside James and Lisa as they struggled with her death and as the legal case against Ricky McCall progressed. It didn’t help, of course, that it was so public and spread across the area newspaper every week. But James, in particular, found that part of his healing came as he was able to ask the judge for justice, as he was able to speak up and state publicly when, to his understanding, McCall got off far too easy for the wrong he committed. For Elizabeth’s sake, he could not just excuse the wrong.

Forgiveness is also not figuring out the “why.” There are times where it might be helpful to know “why” some things happen, but honestly there are a lot of times when we just will not and cannot know. Joseph never asks his brothers “why” they did what they did; I suspect he already knows that they were jealous of him, but that’s not the point. Knowing “why” was not going to further the conversation or increase the chance of forgiveness. Sometimes, I think, we spend a lot of time talking things to death, thinking that if we could just figure out someone’s motive, it would be okay. We could explain it away or we could understand it or—or something. This seems especially true when child abuse or neglect has taken place. We want to know why those who were supposed to love us acted like they did, refusing to love or care for us. But the reality is we may never know why. Forgiveness does not require nor is it synonymous with understanding.

And finally, forgiveness is not taking the blame on ourselves. Sometimes when we try to find an excuse or a reason for the other person’s behavior, we come to the twisted conclusion that it must have been “my fault.” This is especially prevalent among abuse victims, where a spouse who has been abused will say things like, “I shouldn’t have made him mad” or “I knew that would push her buttons, so I shouldn’t have done that.” Maybe those things are true, but that doesn’t excuse any abuse that takes place. Let me say this as clearly as I can: there is never a reason or excuse for any kind of abuse at any age. Never. And it is not your fault. Taking the responsibility away from the other person does not aid in forgiveness, it is not some sort of “sanctified Christian response,” and it does not help the other person find healing either. Joseph did not say, “Hey, guys, I know I was annoying so it was okay that you threw me in that pit and sold me into slavery. I deserved it.” He may very well have been annoying, but that still does not mean the brothers were justified in doing what they did. Forgiveness is not taking the blame on ourselves.

So these are a few things forgiveness is not, but what is it? What does forgiveness look like? In contrast to the four counterfeits, I want to offer four pictures of forgiveness, four things that are essential for us, like Joseph, to live out forgiveness. First, to forgive requires facing the specific wrong that has been done to us. Joseph says, “You sold me into Egypt.” The rest of the rotten things that had happened to him after that were not directly the brothers’ fault, but their action had led to all of it. Joseph had to deal with that specific action if he was going to experience full forgiveness. For us, it may require actually writing it out; it’s far too easy to talk or even think in generalizations. But for healing to take place, it’s important to name in particular language what has been done to us. An ancient Chinese proverb says, “The beginning of wisdom is to call a thing what it really is” (Elliott, Joseph, pg. 160). “You sold me into Egypt.” What is your “Egypt”? Name it.

Second, we have to face our own hurt and pain and not minimize it. What are the feelings the action taken against you caused? Rejection? Humiliation? Neglect? Injustice? Cruelty or being put down? Loss? Betrayal? In every situation, someone has done something that destroyed a dream, just like Joseph’s brothers did in his life. So it’s important to name that hurt, that pain, that anger that dwells deep within you. Without naming it, the hurt and the pain will infect your soul and damage your spirit. When a surgeon wants to deal with an illness or a brokenness in your body, they first have to name it, identify it. Then healing can begin to take place. In many ways, a large part of this has to do with our pride. It’s our pride that tells us we have to put on a “tough front,” to pretend as if we’re not hurt, not in pain. It’s why our automatic response, when asked how we are, is “fine.” Right? To be able to move toward forgiveness, we have to put our pride aside. Or, as Pastor Stephen Elliott put it, “The costly price of forgiveness is always paid in the currency of pride” (160). We name our hurt and our pain.

The third piece of forgiveness is similar, and that is facing our resentment. This is where we have to learn to move away from Biblical platitudes and toward real life. God made us with the feelings we have, and no where in the Bible are we called to deny our humanity. God created us to feel, even to feel hurt, because when we feel hurt, we know something is wrong. That’s why it’s important to name it. As author Dr. David Seamands put it, “If you bury the hurts you bury the hates, and if you bury the hurts and the hates then you bury the possibility of healing” (Living With Your Dreams, pg. 123).

Then, finally, we have to face the cross of Christ (Seamands 114-125). The cross is the ultimate symbol of forgiveness. Jesus died there so that our sins and our brokenness could be forgiven and healed. From that cross, Jesus himself prayed, “Father, forgive them, for they don’t know what they are doing” (cf. Luke 23:34). The cross is the ultimate reminder of forgiveness, the place where we see how much we have been forgiven. If God can forgive us that much, how can we withhold that same experience from others? Paul put it this way when giving direction to the church: “Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you” (Ephesians 4:32). Though Joseph didn’t know of Christ, he somehow learned or sensed that God called him to live in forgiveness toward these brothers who wronged him. It was one thing to do that in theory; it was a whole other thing to do that when they were standing right in front of him.

James Miller learned that lesson in a similar way. One evening, he went to a support group in the community and came face-to-face with his daughter’s killer. McCall was already in the group. Since the accident, McCall had spent time in jail, then checked himself into a treatment center for alcoholism and trauma at a local hospital. The support group was part of his ongoing pursuit of healing, but when Miller walked in, McCall got up to leave. Miller tapped him on the knee and told him to stay. Later in the evening, James Miller handed Ricky McCall a note written on a napkin that read: "It's hard to say, but I forgive you. I must hold no hate in my heart to enter heaven and see my daughter again. I'm sorry I blew up at court one day. Please ask for forgiveness.” The two men hugged and cried. Now, personally, that’s a hard thing for me to imagine; James Miller certainly walked a hard path to get to that that point, but their story is proof positive that God can take the worst of situations and circumstances and use them for good. It begins when we pursue forgiveness.

So Joseph’s brothers, once they run out of grain again, return a second time to Egypt to get more food, and this time, Joseph tells them who he is. We don’t know how much time, exactly, has passed, but Joseph does tell them there are still five years left in the famine. And he tells them that, somewhere along the way, God has given him a bigger picture of how God was using even this: “God sent me ahead of you to preserve for you a remnant on earth and to save your lives by a great deliverance” (45:7). Joseph has learned, as we need to, that there is nothing God can’t use to bring about his purposes.

Do you remember what I said the first week about Joseph’s family—and about yours? Yes, we’re all a mess. Joseph’s family was a mess, and so is yours. And that’s one of the reasons I love Joseph’s story, because if forgiveness and healing and hope can come out of that mess, then there’s hope for you and for me and for all of us. So let’s practice what we say we believe. Who is it you need to forgive? I know it’s hard; forgiveness is a hard path to walk. If loving people were easy, everyone would do it. The easy path is what we have been walking as a culture, which is why we are in a place of attacking and name-calling and bitterness. We have lost the ability to engage in civil conversation. We can’t seem to disagree anymore without becoming angry and hateful. Forgiveness and Christian care is the hard path; it’s not easy, just as it was not easy for Jesus to give his life on the cross. It’s painful, it’s hard, and it pushes us out of our comfort zone.

So for our families to find healing, like Joseph’s began to, we have to begin to work in the area of forgiveness. Maybe that person who hurt you the most is in your family, or in your family of faith. A parent who wasn’t there, a relative who was abusive, a spouse who walked out on you. A friend who betrayed you in some way—told a secret, told a lie, threatened you or your family somehow. Maybe it’s a company or a boss who used your talents then discarded you. Maybe it’s a church or a pastor who violated your confidence. Maybe the person has died, and you think there’s no hope for resolution. You can go through the newsfeed or the printed newspaper these days and find so many situations that need the power of forgiveness active. What is it in your life? Where is the broken path in your life? What road do you look down and say, “That’s impossible. I can’t go there! I can’t forgive them”? Look at the cross. Do you think Jesus ever said that, ever thought that, as he looked down the corridors of time? There is nothing he can’t forgive, and there is nothing he can’t empower you and me to forgive. No matter how hard the path is to walk, he will walk with us. We just need to take the first step.

In just a few moments, I want to invite you to pray with me a prayer that will, I hope, start us on a journey down the hard path. But let me add a couple of caveats this morning. There are a couple of other things forgiveness is not that I need to mention and I hope you can hear me clearly. Forgiveness is not putting yourself back into a dangerous situation. This is especially true when there is abuse involved. We have this notion that, as Christians, when we forgive, everything is supposed to go back to normal. That is simply not true. Forgiveness is for the health of our soul, not so that we can be abused or hurt again. The shepherd boy David, for instance, once lived in the palace of King Saul, but Saul was jealous of David’s talents and tried to kill him by throwing a spear at him. He missed, and later David forgave Saul, but he did not go back to live in the palace so Saul could try again. Joseph arranged for a place for his family to live, but he did not go live with them. He didn’t give his brothers another chance to throw him into another pit. Our place is to forgive the Sauls, the brothers, not to expose ourselves to hurt and harm again (cf. Elliott 165

The second caveat is this: forgiveness does not replace the need for justice. Forgiveness does not erase the reality that there very well may be consequences to someone’s actions. My parents are here today, so I have to tell a story on myself but also on them. When I was in elementary school, one Sunday somehow I got the idea that the little offering plate we passed in Sunday School class was an offering for me. I think it was preparing me to be a pastor and collecting the offering, but maybe not. Anyway, one Sunday afternoon, my parents discovered that I came home with some extra change in my pocket. “Where did you get that?” And, not knowing any better, I told them that I took it from the Sunday School offering plate. Now, it wasn’t much, probably just a few coins, but the next Sunday, I had to go into class, confess to the teacher what I had done and give the change back. Now, the easy path, especially for me, would have been to just ignore it. Mom and Dad could have slipped the coins into the offering plate next week and no one would have been the wiser. But forgiveness does not replace the need for justice. I needed to learn something. That’s a small story, and I haven’t stolen an offering since, but I hope the point is clear: there are consequences to our actions and though forgiveness heals our soul, we may still have to pay a price.

It’s a hard path to walk, no doubt. Without question, it’s not easy, and that’s why it reminds me of that hike we took up Stone Mountain. It got hard enough that, as I said earlier, I had to lay down and rest for a while. I was breathing hard and Cathy said I turned a bit gray. But, after a time, I got up and walked (slowly) the rest of the way to the top (with Cathy hovering near). As you can see from the picture, we made it to the top, and once we got there, I had two thoughts. First of all, I noticed the tram that we were going to take down, and I began to wonder why I never thought about taking that up and walking down. So, just in case you ever go to Stone Mountain: take the tram up and walk down. Much easier that way, but then had we done that I wouldn’t have a sermon illustration. Because the second thought I had was this: the view was worth the climb. I think I especially appreciated the view more because it had been hard to get to the top. There’s something about the struggle that makes you appreciate the result on a deeper level. The view is worth the climb. When it comes to forgiveness, the healing is worth taking the hard path.

So, this morning, as we go to pray, you are more than welcome to come and kneel at the steps if you would like. I invite you to do that every Sunday, though there’s nothing magical or extra spiritual about doing that. It just helps some people, so if you are one who finds help by kneeling here, you’re invited to do that, but for all of us, I want to ask you to open your hands and either place them in front of you or on your lap, to symbolize your openness to whatever God wants to give you, however the Holy Spirit wants to move in your life. And we’re going to pray about those folks in our life whom we need to forgive. So, either in your seat or here in the front, let’s go to God and pray.