I’m convinced that the best education in the world is the one you gain listening to other people tell their life stories. So much can be learned just from hearing what others have been through. This past week I attended a workshop for ministers. It was supposed to be about creating and handling diversity in the church. At first I thought it wasn’t worth my time, because two of the presenters didn’t show up and the other two just told their own life stories. As I look back, I need to modify that judgment. It’s not so much that it wasn’t worth the time; it’s more that it wasn’t what I expected. I expected the usual scholarly lecture with three points and a poem. What I got was a couple of life stories. One person told about being both male and female in his makeup. Let me tell you, that stretched my knowledge a good deal! The other person spoke about having to flee his homeland in the trunk of a car, inches from death – something I’ve never even come close to facing. Those life stories seem more important than they did at first. I learned about how others deal with oppression. Far better than a textbook lecture. A story. The best education in the world is the one you gain listening to other people tell their life stories, looking back through the prism of time and interpreting why things happened as they did.
I’m pleased to learn that our youth ministry is going to include a ministry of visitation, so that our teenagers will be visiting some of our most senior members, the ones who can’t come out to church any more, but who have wonderful stories to tell. I want to encourage our youth, when you go, listen. Ask a couple of “how was it when you were young” questions and turn the seniors loose to look back for you. You’ll learn something. You’ll learn that it is possible to live without a computer, possible to survive without being wired for MTV, and even possible to get around without four-on-the-floor!
But you cannot be around people telling their life stories for long without picking up something about their hurts and their pain. Listen just a little while, and people will begin to describe for you how something scarred them. They will tell you about the cutting comment that stays with them after many years. They will tell you about the caustic criticism that they never quite shook off. Listen just a little while to anybody who is telling you his life story, and you will hear a cry of pain. Few there are who do not have something we look back on, and it hurts us still. It haunts us. It hampers us, after all these years. We look back in anger, or in anxiety, 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 look back, our very souls look back, and we feel wounded.
Yes. I am sure of it. I have seen too much and heard too much. After nearly fourteen years as your pastor, and after countless conversations, visits, phone calls, letters, and other communications, I can only stand here and look at you and feel the power of the old spiritual, “My soul looks back and wonders how I got over.” How indeed did we get over, any of us, when there was so much against us? When my soul looks back, don’t I wonder how I or you or anyone got over?
I know a man who had had a bright future as a youngster. He was so intelligent, so 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. Had he been a member of this church, his picture and his bio would have been posted out here on the bulletin board with all the other glamorous, accomplished young people who are a part of our church. Oh, he was so brilliant! Seems like his parents just couldn’t do enough for him. They gave him all sorts of advantages. They showered gifts on their standout son. For this young man, life was just a bowl of cherries, ripe for the pickin’. Born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth. Ready to roll.
But he had not reckoned on something sinister that was brewing, right in his own family. Something that would take a terrible turn and would change his life forever. Something that could, in fact, have turned this young man into bitterness and hostility, something that could have ruined his life, inside and out.
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 it all, became the king’s right hand man, and lived to confront his brothers again. I don’t think I 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 let me take you to a crucial spot in the story. Let me take you to the moment when the father, Jacob, has died. The family glue has come unglued. The family structure is about to change. You’ve seen this kind of thing yourself. You can guess what’s about to happen. Twelve brothers, who have been bound to their father, are looking at disintegration. They know that without Jacob around to keep things “nice”, all the old hatreds, all the old garbage is likely come to the surface again. And so Joseph’s brothers came and named their fear. Joseph, with Dad gone and buried, we’re worried about you. We’re worried that you will retaliate and get even for all we did to you. Joseph, now that Jacob is dead, what’s next? What can we expect from you? Listen to the answer they got!
“Even though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good, in order to preserve a numerous people, as he is doing today.”
I
My soul looks back and wonders how I got over. We do, don’t we? We wonder, now, how we ever got over the stuff that was done to us. Grinding poverty. Blatant discrimination. The failures of others around us to do what they should have done. We wonder how we ever got past all the stuff that people did to us. Not just what they did physically; more importantly, what they did emotionally. How they attacked us spiritually. Every one of us, even the most privileged, have stories to tell. It was rough!
But did you know that sometimes we bring it 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 sometimes we bring on ourselves some of the stuff that comes down.
Joseph had been too good a young man. Too good, and he knew it. Uppity. High and mighty. Do you remember Joseph’s dreams? Brothers, I dreamed that you were stars, and 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 was too good for them, and they didn’t like it.
Is it possible that sometimes we bring hostility on ourselves by our arrogance? Is it possible that sometimes we invite others to gang up on us because we project a slightly superior air?
Have you ever met the kind of person who is never wrong? You just cannot catch him in a mistake? Oh, you might think it’s a mistake, all right, but he isn’t going to admit it. He will always one-up you. Anything you can do, he can do better. Anyplace you’ve been, he’s been there too, only more often. Anything you’ve seen, he’s seen too, but he saw it in Technicolor and surround-sound? You know the kind of person I mean? And you find yourself competing with him whether you want to or not?
And the thing is, it’s not that this person necessarily thinks he’s better than you, it is that he acts like he does. He just sends off vibrations that make you feel inadequate and cheap. A couple of Sundays ago I regaled you with laughter when I talked about how competitive Baptist preachers are. We had a good time sending Yolanda off to seminary, and, remember, I told her she could always tell the Baptist boys because they would be the ones steeped in statistics and making you numb with their numbers. Now, surely you guessed that I was not making that up. Surely you guessed that I am chief of sinners at that point. Surely it wouldn’t surprise you to know that when pastors get together and start talking about their churches, I brag on you. Old, prestigious First Baptist Church is averaging 175 in attendance; we are averaging 235. Gotcha! Your children’s program is struggling? We just got a special $5000 gift for ours, yah, yah, yah. Now the facts are all correct; but there is something corrosive in the spirit, isn’t there? The heart of it isn’t right. When somebody’s just a little too good, he provokes hostility. He invites anger. Doesn’t excuse it, doesn’t make it right; but it does explain it.
Well, I got my comeuppance this week. Sitting 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, our church has in its membership several architects, and I imagine one of them might like the 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. I thought I saw an arrogant toss in that pastor’s head. 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, our church has several lawyers in it. I could ask one of them to review the contract. And he said – this 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 a slight 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 want to shoot you down.
When my soul looks back, and I see how the sin in my life could invite 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.
II
But you know, the other side of this is that there are some people who are easily drawn into hostility and hatred, because life is hard for them, and they need a scapegoat. They need somebody to blame. And so they get drawn into a circle of hatred.
If you’ve ever felt yourself attacked, hit from all sides, and you just couldn’t believe that some of the people who attacked you were in on this fight, then maybe you can sense what I’m talking about. Because we’ve got to find some reason to explain our own problems; we’ve got to find some way to interpret why we’ve failed, so we’ll look for a scapegoat.
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? No, not one. Not one. They ganged up on Joseph and sold him down the river and never looked back. All of them. What was this about? It was about scapegoating. It was about taking their own inadequacy and putting it on somebody else.
What do you make of the rise of the redneck phenomenon in the American South? How do you explain a whole social class of white folks who seem unanimous in their distaste for African-Americans? Some of them go to church and hear the good news and probably even sing, “Jesus loves the little children, red and yellow, black and white”. They don’t disagree, exactly. 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 African-Americans become very convenient scapegoats.
What do you make of the rise of 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 really not about race; and it’s certainly not about religion. It’s about an economy in which so many were poor, so many were hungry – and the Jews looked too prosperous. They looked too good, too successful. The Jews were 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.
If somebody is oppressing you .. if they are ganging up on you .. if it feels like there is a conspiracy against you .. it probably means you are doing something right! It probably means that your life is just too together. And there will always be some who can’t stand it. 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.
Oh, look at Jesus, on His way to the cross because the powers that be couldn’t stand His success. 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 the sinners. They couldn’t handle it that the people, in love, shouted “Hosanna” and spread their cloaks out for Him to enter the city. They couldn’t stand for anybody to be that good; He had to go. He had to go.
When they gang up on you, as Joseph’s brothers did on him; when they conspire against you, as Jesus’ crucifiers did to 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 sheer futility and frustration. And count yourself blessed, blessed to be persecuted for your own success. Oh, when my soul looks back, I wonder how I got over. I wonder how I got over.
III
Ah, but we know how we got over, don’t we? We know how we got past the hatred and the suspicion, now, come on, we know, 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, who exalted every valley and who 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, one who brought us through? Surely we know that. Joseph knew it. Joseph knew who was involved with this.
Joseph’s brothers, cowering, trembling, repentant now that they’d been caught, frightened because the shoe was on the other foot – the lot of them bowed before the viceroy of Egypt and pleaded pitifully for mercy. A day late and a dollar short, not unlike the Southern Baptist Convention a few years ago apologizing to black Americans for complicity in segregation. A day late and a dollar short, not unlike the Pope this week apologizing to the Jews for the Catholic church’s simpering silence during the holocaust. Joseph’s brothers, trying to explain, hoping for the best. Here’s what they got.
Even though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good, in order to preserve a numerous people, as he is doing today.
You intended it for harm, but God intended it for good. You did your worst, but God did something else. You were bent on destruction, but God was set for construction. You were focused on death, but God was focused on life. You were headed for putting down, but God was headed for lifting up. You thought you had everything under control, but God was just getting ready to show you how little you had under control. You intended it for harm, but God intended it for good.
How did we get 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 purpose.
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 stand Him. He showed up their shallowness. He exposed their pitiful piety. One day they decided to fix my Jesus good and put Him where He would never bother them again. Ten times ten terrible times they banged each nail. They gave Him pain. Seven times seven spiteful sayings they spat at Him. They wounded His heart. They intended nothing but harm to Him.
But God .. but God .. who spared not His own Son but gave Him up for us all. God intended it for good. And on the third day He rose again, so that all would know forever that right is not forever on the scaffold, wrong is not forever on the throne. But standeth Christ within the shadows, keeping watch above His own. Our souls look back and wonder how we got over, but we know. We know. But God. But God.
I have a photograph that I treasure. In that photograph I am about three years old, and my father is holding me in his arms. You look at my father and you see that he is wearing the cap of a service station attendant. He was the manager of a Shell Oil station. Nothing especially remarkable about that, except that the story my grandparents always told whenever we looked at that picture was, “Oh, you know your dad failed at running that station. He was no businessman. Gave anybody credit, and they didn’t pay him back. Ran the business into the ground, had to give it up.” My grandparents always told that story as if it were a story of failure. It was always recited as a story about a man who was too good, and so the world took advantage of him. A flop, to be written off and dismissed. Nobody. I don’t buy that interpretation any more. I don’t buy it at all. I don’t 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 caring father, a genuine believer, a man who just took it when others ganged up on to criticize. And when my soul looks back, and I wonder how I got over, I have to look at only one life story to know that all things do finally work together for good for those who love God and who are called according to God’s purpose.
