The Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost

+ In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

I grew up with two younger sisters, and sometimes we would tell each other, “I love you.”

Sometimes, and perhaps more frequently, we would say things like, “I HATE YOU!” or “YOU’RE STUPID!” When I was 5, I got my mouth washed out with soap for saying things of this caliber.

I am happy to report that today we all get along really well.

These bursts of vitriol are undergirded by anger – something many of us feel quite readily. But anger is a complicated emotion, and anger doesn’t always blossom over petty, sibling-rivalry spats. 

About 6 years ago, a dear friend of mine was killed by a drunk driver in the prime of her life. That day still weighs heavily on me; I continue to offer prayers in her memory to this day. I remember being shocked and angry at the drunk driver, whoever they were. To this day, some smoldering bit of anger remains, despite my desire and my offerings to God to hold this anger and sadness.

For others in this room, there are perhaps even more painful, more cruel, experiences which contribute to anger deep in the bones. Perhaps it will never go away for you, for us.

And as I think about anger, drawing on my life and on the teachings of Christ, I think anger, examined and offered in prayer, itself is not inherently bad; but to act out of anger is a very fickle thing.

Anger easily morphs into a poisonous thing.

And I think Christ, and our Scriptures, tend to emphasize that we should be skeptical of the temptation to act out of anger. It almost always leads to atrocities, to evil, to a perpetuation of cruelty.

What makes anger so particularly insidious is that it not only can make us feel justified by our actions, but it also, perhaps more subtly, creates distance between me and someone else; between me and other people.

And, over time, this distance inevitably dehumanizes the other. And when people are dehumanized, horrors follow. Our capacity to recognize one another as imago dei, made in the image of God, becomes clouded, limited, shrouded.

Anger creates distance and distance creates hate.

But mercy, compassion, and humility – which are consistently virtuous and God-oriented traits – create the pathway for reconciliation. 

As we plod our way through Genesis, Dr. Stephen Cook, Professor of Old Testament at Virginia Theological Seminary, reflect on the Joseph cycle – where we are today. An aspect of Joseph’s account is that of distance with his siblings followed by deep relational restoration in proximity.[1]

Back in Genesis 37, Joseph – the youngest of his brothers – is favored by his father Jacob. But resentment builds up by the brothers (Gen. 37:4). The brothers “saw [Joseph] form a distance, and before he came near to them they conspired to kill him.” (Gen 37:18)

The brothers see Joseph from a distance. They want to kill him.

Distance and dehumanization, anger and jealousy and wrath; these are closely and intimately tied in our fallen, human condition.

They sell Joseph into slavery. For decades Joseph toils, through trial and tribulation, he becomes the right hand of Pharaoh in Egypt. And in so doing, he saves the lives of tens of thousands, if not millions, of people during a prolonged famine.

Approximately 22 years after he is betrayed by his siblings, Joseph’s brothers come to Egypt seeking grain during the famine. This is where our reading picks up today.

Over a decade of pain, abuse, slavery.

A few years in service and employ to a foreign empire, yet still a slave.

The roles are now so radically reversed. Joseph holds all the power. His brothers are helpless him. It is ripe for Joseph to, in anger, enact vengeance on his brothers; to enact what he may see as justice.

Instead, something quite miraculous transpires.

Joseph is merciful rather than vengeful, compassionate rather than hard-hearted, and humble rather than proud.

Joseph says to his brothers, “Come closer to me.” (Gen 45:4).

Recall that, decades ago, his brothers saw him from a distance.

And now, Joseph turns the beckons them.

Come closer to me.

That great gulf where anger and hatred may have festered all those years ago, that great distance between Joseph and his brothers, collapses.

Joseph weeps. He weeps perhaps for the marvel of being reunited with his family. 

He weeps, perhaps, for the decades lost to time that he was kept from his family.

He weeps in joy, now knowing that his family is alive. 

He weeps knowing that, despite the harm done to him, he yet loves these people. 

In this tender moment, Joseph’s tears bear the humble wonder of reconciliation; the tears poured out on the necks of his brothers, as we read “and he kissed all his brothers and wept upon them, and after that his brothers talked with him” (Gen 45:15).

The violence done unto Joseph has not been vengefully returned in retribution. Cycles of violence, which could have been, never will be, because of Joseph.

Rather, he follows the gift of God, what humility and mercy and compassion offer. His actions bring relationship, restoration, and wholeness.

My friend, Mtr. Beth, who is a new Deacon-soon-to-be-Priest at St. Philip’s, once told me, “Nothing is wasted in God’s economy.”

And Joseph knows this. He understands that despite the hardships encountered in life, opportunity for support, and help, and the grace of God have led him to recognize the odd dominos that have fallen and make him who he is today.

That is not to say that the ends justify the means.

But rather, what has happened cannot be changed; but what will be is not yet defined. 

And Joseph sees the grace of God weaving reconciliation in the midst of this.

Joseph could have festered for years, he could have used his power to enact vengeance. He was in a prime position to allow anger to take its own sense of justice and keep the distance between him and his siblings vast.

Rather he seeks reconciliation. And particularly in how Joseph reconciles with his siblings. He does not give into the seduction of anger. The that great temptation to interpose his sense of righteousness for wrongs done. He seeks to close the distance between the other.

Much as Joseph says, “Come closer to me,” Christ also says, “Come closer to me,” and closes the distance between us and God.

One last element: This is a sermon about acting out of anger in interpersonal ways and seeking interpersonal reconciliation which is good for the soul; this does not negate the necessity of justice, nor justice at the systemic scale, for the oppressed by any means; rather, that justice out to be sought not out of vindictiveness, but out of a means for being human together; otherwise, cycles of violence perpetuate. To delve into this more fully would take much longer, and has been done by much better people, than I can hope to offer at this moment in this setting.[2]

Ultimately, our faith teaches us that we ought to be very suspicious and skeptical of acting out of anger. Rather anger must be subjected to the light of Christ, in prayer, and discernment before seriously engaging it.

So, what are the places in our lives where anger writhes?

Who causes us to seek a righteous retribution?

Subject this to the light of Christ, in prayer and discernment, that our actions may be guided by mercy and compassion and justice; not by anger and vengeance.

Amen.

[1] https://substack.com/@drstephenlcook/note/c-314810551?r=4b7vxk&utm_source=notes-share-action&utm_medium=web

[2] Take, for instance, Howard Thurman’s Jesus and the Disinherited.