August 7, 2005: Trading on the Family Secrets
Genesis 37:1-4, 12-28; Psalm 105:1-6, 16-22, 45b
Eileen Parfrey, Springwater Presbyterian Church

If last week's story of the rivalry between Jacob and Esau told the consequences for family of "mother always loved you best," this week's tells the consequences for family of "father always loved you best." These are our ancestors in faith, and they don't exactly do us proud. Our first ancestor, Abraham, is willing to kill the only child of his union with Sarah. The nearly-killed child grows up to father twins, but he and his wife show such blatant favoritism toward separate twins-of-choice that Dad's twin threatens to kill Mom's twin. Now, Mom's twin has grown up to have a truckload of sons by four wives, and his favorite is such a brat that his half brothers decide to kill him.

Joseph. One of the most striking things about Joseph's story is that God not only doesn't have a speaking part, God doesn't even have a walk-on. Joseph's story begins in today's passage and runs to the end of Genesis, when he finally reveals himself to his brothers as ruler of Egypt. We don't know anything about Joseph's faith life. We never eavesdrop on his prayers, as we do Abraham's. Nor do we see him at sacrifice, as we do his grandfather, Isaac. Nor, unlike his father Jacob, does he wrestle with God. If you've read ahead, you know that, at the family reunion in chapter fifty, Joseph looks back at the sordid family saga that brought him to Egypt and says, "You intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good."

That is the sort of faith leap that can look like cheap grace. Your little girl died, but Jesus needed her in heaven. You couldn't afford grad school, but you're a great cab driver. Your strike out cost the team the tournament, but your form was good. Divorce is a great excuse to meet new people. Your cancer is inoperable, but at least you won't have to worry about Alzheimer's. What kind of grace is that?

Joseph's statement is not cheap grace. Not if you know anything about slavery. Not if you know about his unjust imprisonment. Joseph is looking back on a lifetime of treachery against him, perceiving that God used those events to save a people-the very people who were cruel to him. That's redemption. The conviction that God uses even tragedy to change things for the better. Even for the people who did you dirt. But then, this is the same God who used a political execution resulted to bring new life.

Joseph's story traces his change from spoiled, arrogant teen to wise and prudent statesman. Not as if God planned bad things for Joseph. But, in retrospect, when he is finally reconciled to his family Joseph can see God used his experiences to shape him, so that his rescue was in fact the rescue of a whole people. It was in telling his story to his family that he was able, finally, to see the work of God. An unassuming God whose purposes are at work in human history, even when we don't see them. A God whose ways are reliable and come to fruition. That we don't even notice God's work most of the time doesn't seem to stop God. Not that God would mind if we stopped once in awhile to say thanks.

One of the ways we say "thanks" is by telling our story, telling each other what has happened in our lives, what God has done, letting others point it out to us when we don't notice it. I read an article in Christian Century this week in which the author noted children's fondness for repetition-"Do it again!"-especially when it's something they really enjoy. Not because they're stuck, but because they are so full of life and spirit and appetite that repetition doesn't tire them. The same bedtime stories over and over. The same games repeated, the same mealtime rituals. Grown ups, the author said, aren't strong enough for this exuberant "Do it again!" life. God, however, is strong enough. God never tires of saying to the sun and the moon and the daisies, "Do it again!" God loves a good story told over and over.

When the Church gathers, we tell the same stories, repeat the same rituals. Because that is faith. Bible stories, sure, but also our life stories put next to Bible stories. These stories are different from the rest of the world's. They aren't about information or facts or even news. They aren't meant to entertain. They are meant to feed us, to sustain us, to form us, to shape us for a life of faithfulness.

Story telling is one of the great strengths of this congregation. We are a congregation of story-hearers and story-tellers. It's why we celebrate our church birthday every year. Why we treasure our centennial anniversary history book. Why we carried on so at the 100th anniversary in our "new" building. Why we tell each other the tales of how this congregation was founded. Why we rehearse for each other the milestones and characters who made this congregation. Because it's the stories that make us into Springwater. It's the stories that remind us that, maybe in the thick of things we can't exactly recognize God working, but since God was at work in the past, we can believe God is still at work now. The stories teach us how to trust in practical ways.

Everything I read about the future of Church in this country-and believe me, if the presbytery and the denomination aren't giving me stuff to read, the news media fills in the gap-everything I read about the future for Church in this country is that mainline denominations (us) are dying. The conclusion is that, unless we change we will die. Our presbytery alone lost 500 members last year. Springwater, for now, is different, having gained 10 net members for a gain of over 20 actual members since I came 5 years ago. This is partly being in the right place at the right time, but it is also because when people arrive at our doors, they feel welcomed and at home. But they've got to get here, first. If they don't show up, we can't keep them, and people won't show up unless they see a good reason to come. The world is a different place than it was 50 years ago. People may be dying for community, dying for real friendship, dying for real place, but they are too busy to make it happen. Their time is too over-committed. Every cultural message they hear tells them to believe they are what they wear, what they possess, what they buy, what they accomplish, how many and what activities their kids are involved in.

Church is different. Church says you are valuable because you are already loved. In Church, we remind each other that God already has a head start on the future, and it is a future full of life. And that's a terrifying thing, because God's future doesn't require us to buy a thing. And we can't control it. Or put it in a box to make it stand still. The thing about Church is that we actually believe our future is in the past. Not in the sense that we keep repeating the same thing over and over, whether it worked or not. But in the sense that, looking back, we can see where God has already been at work. That's where story comes in. Sharing our stories with each other. It gives hope.

Life might be easier if we could read the end of our stories, the way we read the end of Joseph's story. Wouldn't it be great if, even in the middle of the most hair-raising events of our lives (instead of just when we look back) we could say with great assurance, "Yes, but God means this for good." We could look at our broken dreams, the promises that were not kept toward us, the promises we didn't keep, the disappointments, the failures, the struggles, the mistakes we made over and over, the lost opportunities, the griefs, the start-overs, the dead ends. What if we could look at all those times when our lives didn't turn out the way we had hoped they would, and we could see that God used those things for good. Each failure a fresh start. Each disappointment a re-honing of our heart's desire. Each struggle fine-tuning our will to become God's will. Each loss replacing the emptiness of our hands with God's abundance.

What if we could believe that? What if we could live as if that was true? The world meant it for harm, God intends it for good. Not that God plots our mistakes, but as if God takes them into account and turns them into life-giving. As if God loves us so much that, even if we're thrown into the 21st century equivalent of the pit without water, things will be OK because God wills it. Would you live differently? I mean if you had that assurance. Would you find yourself in community with each other differently? If you knew you didn't have to worry about whether you were going to get that long-sleeved coat, or if someone else was going to get it before you. If you knew the rescue of countless others depended on your rescue-and the re-telling of the story of your rescue. Would you live differently?