There is at my house a photograph I treasure. In that picture I am about three years old, and my father is holding me in his arms. My father is wearing the cap of a Shell Oil service station attendant. Nothing especially remarkable about that, except for what I hear in my memory whenever I see it. I hear over and over again my grandparents – my mother’s parents, not his -- saying, “Oh, you know your dad failed at running that station. He was no businessman. Gave people credit, and they didn’t pay. Ran the business into the ground, had to give it up. Failure.” That is exactly the word they would use. My grandparents saw their son-in-law as a failure. Too bad about Everett Smith. That was their theme, that was their interpretation of his life story, and whatever else he did seemed to count for very little. In the minds of his in-laws, there was only one interpretation of my dad’s life: failure. What sort of pain do you think that injected into my father’s spirit?
As a pastor, I have listened to a good many people tell their life stories. I’ve found that when they do, they speak about their pain. Listen just a little while, and people will describe for you how something scarred them. They will tell you about the cutting comment that stayed with them for years. They will speak about the caustic criticism they never quite shook off. They will tell you how they were put down or discredited or misunderstood, and that stays with them. Far more than all the positive words they received, people who tell you a life story will eventually tell you their cries of pain.
Do you have a life story like that? A life story that somebody might call a failure? A life story scarred by criticism, messed up by misunderstanding? Few there are who do not have something to look back on, and it hurts us still. We look back in anger, or in disappointment, or in fear. Something we have done, and we are still afraid it may catch up with us; or something done to us, and we don’t feel we ever got over it. We feel wounded.
Just speaking about this, I can remember harsh things that people said to me when I was as young as ten or twelve years old. “Clumsy ox – I don’t want you on MY softball team.” “Piano practice – that’s for sissies.” “I suppose you got an A again – teacher’s pet.” Stuff that stings! You say, “Get over it”, and I have. But my life story, and yours, I’m guessing, includes some painful moments. In the words of the old spiritual, “My soul looks back and wonders how I got over.”
I know of a man who had a bright future as a youngster. He was so intelligent and capable, so much the apple of his parents’ eye. This young man, part of a large family, was a standout. Something about him just caught your attention, and you knew he had tremendous potential. He was so brilliant, and his parents just couldn’t do enough for him. They gave him all sorts of advantages. They showered gifts on their standout son. This young man was born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth, and everything was set to go for a very successful life.
But he had not reckoned on something sinister that was brewing, right in his own family. Something that would take a terrible turn and change his life forever. He had not counted on an element of pain that could have turned this young man into bitterness. Could have, but did not.
You know this young man. His story is told in the Book of Genesis. His name was Joseph. Joseph of the coat of many colors. Joseph, son of Jacob and Rachel, sold into slavery by his brothers, shipped off to Egypt, where they hoped he would disappear. Joseph, who survived, only to be clapped into prison because of Potiphar’s wife and her lies – but you remember how Joseph became the king’s right hand man, and lived to confront his brothers again. I don’t need to repeat the whole story for you – how those brothers came to Egypt looking for food, but did not even recognize Joseph. You remember how Joseph made them go back home and bring their aged father; you remember how there was reconciliation and a whole new day for that family.
But now let me take you to a crucial spot in the story of Joseph. Let me take you to the moment when Joseph’s father, Jacob, has died. Because the old man has died, the family structure is likely to change. You’ve seen this kind of thing. You can guess what’s about to happen. I’ve done a lot of funerals after which somebody would say, “I don’t know what’s going to happen to us now; Mama was the glue that held us together.” And sure enough, months later you find that brothers and sisters are not even speaking to each other. Well, now, in this Bible story, a band of brothers who have been loyal to their father are looking at disintegration. They know that without Jacob around to keep things “nice”, all the old garbage is going to come out. And so Joseph’s brothers named their fear. “Joseph, with our father gone, we’re worried. We’re worried that you will retaliate and get even for all we did to you. Joseph, now that Jacob is dead, and you are in power, what can we expect from you? We’re scared, Joseph, that things are going to get mean now that Daddy isn’t here to keep you in check!” They were scared out of their wits! Why? Because they knew they had inflicted pain; because they knew that past pain pops out precipitously and does damaging things.
But just listen to the answer they got! Joseph said:
“You meant evil against me; but God meant it for good, to bring it about that many people should be kept alive, as they are today.”
You meant it for evil, but God … but God meant it for good. Joseph found a way to live past the pain of his family experience and redirect his life. If you and I are going to learn to live large, I believe there are lessons for us in the life of Joseph. How do we get past old defeats? How do we get past the pain inflicted on us others? Watch Joseph.
I
First, let’s think a bit about the source of pain. Let’s think about where those bruising defeats come from. What is the source, really, of the pain that inhabits your life and keeps you from living large?
Is it circumstances? Some of us came out of grinding poverty. I’m sure you’ve heard all the sentimental stories about how wonderfully fulfilling it is to be poor. But you know better, don’t you? Being poor wears out both the body and the soul.
If it wasn’t poverty, then was it prejudice? There are some in this room I could not begin to instruct about how prejudice feels and how shattering it is to the spirit. I need not recount for many of you the stuff that has been thrown in your faces and the language that has been spat at you. We wonder how we ever get past all the stuff that people can do to us. Not just what they do physically; more importantly, what they do emotionally, how they attack spiritually. A whole lot of folks, even the ones that look privileged, have painful life stories to tell, born out of prejudice.
I do not discount any of that. Poverty, prejudice, any negative life experience indeed injects pain. But did you know that sometimes we bring pain on ourselves? Can you see that sometimes we invite the pain that others inflict? Now I’m not talking about blaming the victim. Not at all. But isn’t it true that sometimes we bring on ourselves some of the stuff that comes down?
Joseph had been too good a young man, good in all the wrong ways. In some circles we’d call him “uppity.” Too high and mighty. Do you remember Joseph’s dreams? “Brothers, I dreamed that you were stars, but I was a superstar, and you bowed down to me.” “Brothers, I dreamed that you all were little puny shocks of grain, and you bowed down to my megahaystack?!” Oh, I don’t know anybody who likes being put down. And so Joseph’s brothers resented him. He acted as though he was too good for them, and they began to seeth.
Is it possible that we bring hostility on ourselves by our own arrogance? Is it possible that we invite others to gang up on us because we project a superior air?
A couple of years ago, I was in a committee meeting, talking about renovating a building for use by a seminary on whose board I sit. When the idea of finding an architect came up, I said, “The church where I used to be pastor has in its membership five or six architects, and I imagine one of them might like this job.” But the pastor across the table said, “My church has in its membership the head of the American Institute of Architects, who has already said he will do the job for free.” Hmm. Then the conversation turned to legal work, getting some contracts drawn up. Who could do that work? And, not having learned anything on the architect item, I said, “The church I used to serve has several lawyers in it, one of whom is a specialist in contract law. I could ask her to review the contract.” And he said – this same pastor across the table – “Well, we have about two hundred lawyers in our church. We can do it in one day’s time.” Wow! How do you think I felt? I felt kind of small. I felt kind of cheap. I felt resentment. Should I have felt that? No. Was it right? No. But was it real? Yes. Because when, like Joseph, you put yourself out there as superior you invite attacks. When you set yourself up as the best and the brightest, in this competitive world of ours, somebody is going to shoot you down.
When my soul looks back, and I see how the sin in my life invites hostility, I wonder how I got over. When my soul looks back, and I see that some of the things that have happened to me I asked for, I wonder how I got over. And when my soul looks back at how we Christians represent our goody-goodness to the world, and act as though we had a corner on all things decent, I wonder how we expect to get over our message to a broken and hurting world! Surely I do not condone that militant Islam that seems to want to destroy all things Western; but is it possible that in our arrogance, in our we-have-it-right-and-you-don’t attitude, we have invited their rage?
Put it down as point number one: if you are proud and arrogant, if you are self-righteous and superior, like Joseph, just expect hostility. Just wait for the pain. It will come. When my soul looks back and I see my own sin, I wonder how I ever got over.
II
However, there is another side. There is another perspective. For there are some people who are easily drawn into hostility. There are some who get caught up in the blame game. Why? Because life is hard, life is tough, and we think we need a scapegoat. We’ve messed up and we need somebody or something to blame. And so we are drawn into scapegoating.
Have you ever felt you were being attacked, and you just couldn’t believe that those you thought were your friends were in on this fight? Have you ever found yourself overwhelmed by the hostility of others who seemed to be totally out of control? Then maybe you can sense what I’m talking about. When things go badly wrong, we just cannot admit that we messed up. Confessing sin is tough. And so we find some other reason to explain our problems, we find some way to interpret why we’ve failed. We look for a scapegoat, somebody else to blame.
There’s poor Joseph, out there in that field, with all of his brothers. They are thoroughly put off by this arrogant, know-it-all, mama’s boy brother of theirs. Some of them begin to think of some pretty serious stuff, like killing the rotten kid. One or two put the damper on that. But in the end ten brothers gang up and sell Joseph out! Ten of them, a unanimous decision!
Wasn’t there somebody who would hold out for decency? Wasn’t there at least one who would hold back the others? Wouldn’t you think that out of ten, one would stand up for justice and for mercy? No, not one. Not one. They ganged up on Joseph and sold him down the river and never looked back. What was this about? It was about scapegoating. It was about taking their own inadequacy and blaming it on somebody else.
What do you make of the hostility toward the Jews in Nazi Germany? How could a nation in which the gospel had been preached for more than a thousand years turn, with such awesome violence, against the Jews? It’s partly about race, and partly about religion. But it’s mostly about a failed economy in which so many were poor, so many hungry – and the Jews looked too prosperous. They looked too successful. And so the Jews became a convenient whipping boy. All it took was a little rhetoric, a little stirring of the pot, and it wasn’t long before six million died in the ovens of Auschwitz and Buchenwald. Where were the Christians to stand up and stop that? Snowed under by their own insecurities and blinded by their own failures. Scapegoating.
What do you make of the redneck phenomenon in the American South? How do you explain a certain class of white folks who seem unbending in their distaste for African-Americans? Some of them go to church and hear the good news and even sing, “Jesus loves the little children, red and yellow, black and white”. And yet their hearts are full of venom and oppression. How do you explain that? Because when people cannot achieve on their own, when they can’t make it happen for themselves, they look for somebody to blame. And people of color become very convenient scapegoats.
Mark this down, and take it to heart. If they are ganging up on you, it probably means you are doing something right! If they hate you for no good reason, it just might mean that your life is so together that it invites resentment. There will always be some who cannot stand for others to be doing well, and who must tear them down. When that happens, it’s not really about you. It’s about them. It’s not really about what you have done. It’s about what they have not done. They just can’t handle others’ success.
When they gang up on you, then, as Joseph’s brothers did on him, do not pity yourself. Pity them. Pity those who in the smallness of their lives must find scapegoats so that they will feel larger than they are. Pity them, for theirs is a life of futility and frustration. And count yourself blessed to be persecuted for your own success. The Lord Himself says it, “Blessed are you when they persecute you and say all manner of evil against you falsely, for My sake.”
Oh, when my soul looks back, I wonder how I got past the fears of the futile and the cries of the clueless. I wonder how I got over.
III
Ah, but, brothers and sisters, we do know how we got over, don’t we? We do know how we got past pain and prejudice, now, don’t we? Don’t we really know who brought us through when everybody was ranged against us? Don’t we really know who made a way when there was no way? Don’t we understand who it was that exalted every valley and that made low every mountain and hill? Don’t we really know that when we faced anger, when the whole world seemed ready to do us in, there was one who understood, there was one who brought us through? Surely we know. Joseph knew. Joseph knew who was involved with this.
See them now: Joseph’s brothers -- cowering, trembling, repentant now that they’d been caught, frightened because the shoe was on the other foot – all of them bowing before the viceroy of Egypt and pleading pitifully for mercy. A day late and a dollar short, a little like certain public figures caught in compromising relationships. Not really repentant, just scared to death. Joseph’s brothers, thinking that now it’s all going to come down on them. “Oh, Joseph, please, please forgive us!” They knew they deserved punishment; they were sure they were going to get hard time. But do you remember what they got? A word from their brother:
“You meant evil against me; but God meant it for good, to bring it about that many people should be kept alive, as they are today.”
You meant it for evil, but God … But God intended it for good. You did your worst, but God did His best. You were bent on destruction, but God was set for construction. You were focused on death, but God was focused on life. You put down, but God lifts up. You thought you had everything under control, but it is God who is truly in control. You meant it for evil, but God – but God – but God took all your messing around and turned it into good according to His purposes.
Our souls look back and wonder how we got over. We got over because God intended us to get over. We got over because God is at work in all things for good for those who love Him and are called according to His purpose. We got over because God, in the most dismal of days and in the darkest of shadows, is still on His throne and is still pursuing His purposes.
When my soul looks back and wonders how I got over … oh, one day they ganged up on my Jesus. With brutal force and cruel arms they wrestled Him to a green hill far away and stuck Him up there to die. He was too good for them. They couldn’t abide it that He would heal the sick; they couldn’t deal with someone who would listen to the poor and dine with sinners. They couldn’t handle it that the people shouted “Hosanna”. They couldn’t stand for anybody to be that good; He had to go. He showed up their shallowness. He exposed their pitiful piety. So they decided to fix my Jesus forever and put Him where He would never bother them again. Their hammers struck Him, blow on blow. Their mouths showered spite at Him. They tore His flesh; they wounded His heart. They gave Him the greatest of pain, making Him feel abandoned even by God. They meant Him nothing but harm.
But God .. but God .. but God who spared not His own Son but freely gave Him up for us all. God intended it for good. God intended it for our redemption. And on the third day He rose again, so that all would know that right is not forever on the scaffold, wrong is not forever on the throne. But standeth God within the shadows, keeping watch above His own.
Our souls look back and wonder how we got over, but we know. We know. It’s in the simple phrase, “But God.” But God.
When I see that picture of my dad, taken sixty-six years ago, I no longer see a failure in a Shell Oil cap. I see a man for whom love mattered more than anything else. I don’t see a failed businessman. I see a man of faith who just took it when others ganged up him. When I see that picture of my dad, in whose heart there should have been pain for all that was done to him, I see only that what others meant for evil, God meant for good, to keep our family alive and to bless my soul with love. When I know that life story, with all its pain, I know that others meant it for evil, but God … but God … the same God who raised the Lord Jesus from death, that same God meant it for good. And so when my soul looks back, today I know how I got over. I know.
