Genesis 45:3-11, 15
4 Then Joseph said to his brothers, “Come closer to me.” And they came closer. He said, “I am your brother, Joseph, whom you sold into Egypt. 5 And now do not be distressed, or angry with yourselves, because you sold me here; for God sent me before you to preserve life. 6 For the famine has been in the land these two years; and there are five more years in which there will be neither plowing nor harvest. 7 God sent me before you to preserve for you a remnant on earth, and to keep alive for you many survivors. 8 So it was not you who sent me here, but God; he has made me a father to Pharaoh, and lord of all his house and ruler over all the land of Egypt. 9 Hurry and go up to my father and say to him, ‘Thus says your son Joseph, God has made me lord of all Egypt; come down to me, do not delay. 10 You shall settle in the land of Goshen, and you shall be near me, you and your children and your children’s children, as well as your flocks, your herds, and all that you have. 11 I will provide for you there—since there are five more years of famine to come—so that you and your household, and all that you have, will not come to poverty.’ ” 15 And he kissed all his brothers and wept upon them; and after that his brothers talked with him.
Gospel: Luke 6:27-38
32 “If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. 33 If you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. 34 If you lend to those from whom you hope to receive, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to receive as much again. 35 But love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return. Your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High; for he is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. 36 Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.
37 “Do not judge, and you will not be judged; do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven; 38 give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give will be the measure you get back.”
It would be easy, I suppose, to take our reading from Genesis this morning – one scene in the sweeping story of Joseph – and narrow it down to this: everything happens for a reason. Or to be even more specific and troubling, everything happens for a reason that God intends. Joseph’s brothers, motivated by jealousy, sell him into slavery in Egypt. But after all is said and done – all the hatred, betrayal, grief, and deceit – Joseph declares to his brothers, “Do not be distressed or angry with yourselves because you sold me here, for God sent me before you to preserve life…it was not you who sent me here but God.”
It would be almost as easy, I suppose, to take the words of Jesus from our gospel reading this morning – a few sentences in a longer speech and an even longer life of ministry – and do one of two things: 1) explain them away as Jesus just speaking in hyperbole again, taking things to their extreme to make a point or 2) using them, as so many have, to justify compelling someone else to stay in an abusive relationship or to just forgive and get over it already.
There is no doubt in my mind that many have suffered from even well-meaning people using these biblical words to define someone else’s reality or to command someone else’s response to injustice, evil, and suffering. It’s easy to make the Bible say what you want it to say to distance yourself from any wrongdoing, to justify your own action or inaction, to maintain your own privilege, or even to preserve your faith in an almighty, omnipotent God.
So I think we can agree we’re not going to tell someone else, displaced and despised by a perversion of justice, those whose very lives are threatened now, to love their enemies and to pray for those who mistreat them. We’re not going to tell someone else, deep in grief, that this terrible thing that has happened is actually God at work for good. But we’re also not going to pick and choose from Jesus’ words and pay attention only to those with which we are able to easily and heartily agree. Instead, together, we will listen for the Spirit’s voice to sound in our hearts and minds. We will seek to hear what God is saying to us today, in this time and place.
Joy Harjo served three terms as the 23rd poet laureate of the United States, the first Native American to hold that honor. She calls this poem, “This Morning I Pray for My Enemies.”
And whom do I call my enemy?
An enemy must be worthy of engagement.
I turn in the direction of the sun and keep walking.
It’s the heart that asks the question, not my furious mind.
The heart is the smaller cousin of the sun.
It sees and knows everything.
It hears the gnashing even as it hears the blessing.
The door to the mind should only open from the heart.
An enemy who gets in, risks the danger of becoming a friend.
I wonder how the Spirit might be speaking through this poem, inviting us to listen ever more deeply to Jesus’ words to love our enemies and pray for those who mistreat us. The poem begins with a question that we might do well to consider ourselves. “And whom do I call my enemy?”
Enemy, in the Greek, is derived from the verb for hate. Who, or what, in my life, is animated by deep-seated hatred? Who, or what, is resolved to inflict harm?
The speaker of the poem turns in the direction of the sun, keeps walking, continues to reflect on the question, “Whom do I call my enemy?” “It’s the heart that asks the question, not my furious mind. The heart is the smaller cousin of the sun. It sees and knows everything. It hears the gnashing even as it hears the blessing.”
Together in this space, we trust it is the light of the Son, S-O-N, that illumines our way through life. It’s the light of Christ that shines most brightly in our world and refuses to be extinguished. In baptism, we are united with Christ; the Son’s light becomes ours. At the Spirit’s prompting, the Son light within us shines, and we are able to see things for what they are. We’re able to hear the gnashing – the sorrow, the suffering, the injustice, the sin – even as we hear the blessing – the steadfast, purposeful, liberating and justice-making love of God.
An enemy who gets into our furious mind by way of our shining-with-the-light-of-Christ heart, “risks the danger of becoming a friend.”
An enemy who gets into our furious, fevered minds by way of blessing and prayer risks no longer being an enemy. An enemy who gets into our fuming, frenzied minds by way of generosity and mercy, risks no longer being animated by deep-seated hatred, no longer being resolved to inflict harm.
An enemy who gets into our collective mind by way of the divine love Jesus intends, risks becoming a friend.
It sounds foolish and naive, useless and maybe even dangerous. It sounds impossible. But is anything impossible for God? Is God not in the business of transformation and resurrection, healing and hope?
Love does not lack accountability. Love doesn’t say things are okay when they’re really not. Love doesn’t make excuses or bury its head in the sand. Love recognizes its enemies. Love calls out hate and harm. Love – divine love – is powerful and fierce, always at work for good. It lives in us and frees us to be instruments of God’s saving and blessing the whole world.
Seven years before his death in 2020, John Lewis – member of congress and a core leader in the civil rights movement – sat down for an interview with Krista Tippet in Montgomery, Alabama. Krista asked the congressman about how members of the civil rights movement prepared to practice nonviolent resistance. He responded:
“We, from time to time, would discuss if you see someone attacking you, beating you, spitting on you, you have to think of that person, you know, years ago that person was an innocent child, innocent little baby. And so what happened? Something go wrong? Did the environment? Did someone teach that person to hate, to abuse others? So you try to appeal to the goodness of every human being and you don’t give up. You never give up on anyone. The movement created what I like to call a nonviolent revolution. It was love at its best. It’s one of the highest forms of love. That you beat me, you arrest me, you take me to jail, you almost kill me, but in spite of that, I’m going to still love you. I know Dr. King used to joke sometimes and say things like, ‘Just love the hell outta everybody. Just love ’em.’”
Jesus loved the hell out of this world, defeating hatred, despair, and death itself when God raised him from the dead. So, we trust the end of the story is no more crying, no more pain, God at home with us and the world at home with God. Already, even as we hear the gnashing of hatred and greed, we can hear the blessing of goodness stronger than any evil. So, we do not lose heart. We turn in the direction of the Son, and we keep walking. We attend to all that God is birthing in and through us. We take Jesus at his word. And we pray, “Lord, have mercy.” Amen.
Notes:
This Morning I Pray for My Enemies by Joy Harjo – Poems | Academy of American Poets
Strong’s Greek: 2190. ἐχθρός (echthros) — Enemy, hostile, hated
John Lewis — Love in Action | The On Being Project
Fighting with Love: The Legacy of John Lewis – A Book A Day (used for children’s message)