I had an epiphany this week – a real insight! It was not one that I expected. It was not one that I sought. It just came to me. It came to me at a very important moment. I had been invited this week to go to the announcement of the Ambassador of The Office of Religious Freedom. I went, along with maybe two or three hundred other people, to hear the Government of Canada give an announcement as to who the new ambassador would be.
I went to this event with some reservations – and fear and trembling! Whenever there is a mixture of the Church and the State I get a little uneasy. Whenever religion and politics rub shoulders, I am cautious. I have witnessed enough over the years, particularly in my days in South Africa, to be quite concerned when the two become too close. But a concern I usually have when they do, is actually for the freedom of faith and the freedom of religion, not the freedom of people from religion.
In this case, I went with great anticipation wanting to hear what would be said. The ambassador was announced. He sounds like a fine young man. I was intrigued by some of the speeches that were given. But there was something that superseded all of this that was my epiphany, namely the audience itself. I know that a lot had been invited and were there specifically because of an initiative of someone else. But it was fascinating for me, either lining up before we went in to the mosque or having coffee and donuts liberally afterwards, to be able to talk to some of the people who were there. I entered into fascinating discussions.
I had a discussion with a young woman from Ottawa, who was a professor and belongs to the Falun Gong movement, a prayerful and mystical movement, mainly in China. She talked about how her faith is inhibited there. I listened to a man who is an Iraqi Roman Catholic who, because of the war and the devastation and the problems in the country, had found many of the artifacts in his church destroyed, artifacts that date back hundreds and hundreds of years. They will never be restored. He was broken-hearted.
I spoke to a Coptic minister, who had grown up in Egypt, but was now serving in North America. He talked about the fear that he had, and that even though members of his former parish are actually quite wealthy, as he said, if they do not have the freedom to practice their faith, what is their wealth really worth? I spoke to a Muslim man who grew up in India and as a minority suffered even to the point of losing his job simply because of what he believed.
We were holding the event in an Ahmadi mosque. The Ahmadis are a persecuted group within Pakistan, shunned by the Muslim community as not being really Muslim. Ironically, the Ahmadis have certain beliefs about Jesus, which are further from what I believe than what Muslims believe. You would think it would be strange then that I would be concerned about their welfare. But, when I heard the story, I was. You see, regardless of all the machinations of politics over the years, the reality is that people who try to practice their faith in the world often face conflict, persecution and death. It was humbling.
I know that when one talks about such matters, particularly for those who have covered the event, nearly everything has revolved around the political realities of an ambassadorship, but I leave that for others to discuss. It seems to me that one of the things that has been sadly lacking in discussion of this are the realities of life on the street for millions of people around the world. It is for those people that I am most concerned. It is for those people that I want to hear their stories.
When I do this, I realize two things: one is how easy it is for religion itself to become distorted, for it to be abused and used against others, how easily that can happen, but it also brought back to me a profound sense about what I actually believe. You see, I am not someone who embraces syncretism. Syncretism believes that we are all one and the same, and there are no differences between the world’s faiths and the particularities of faith should be ignored. I believe to the contrary; there are considerable differences of history and culture and theology.
As a Christian, it seems to be that the more I look at Christ, the more I am actually drawn into my concern and my compassion for the ‘other’. As a Christian, the more I look at Christ, the more I see the needs of people suffering around me in the world and the more I want to embrace them in his name. When I look at the teachings of Christ and the things he espoused and how he himself acted towards the ‘othe’r, it seems to me that in treating the Samaritans and in the way he embraced those who were the outcasts in society, there is much for me to learn and for me to hold on to.
That is why I find this story from the Book of Genesis so fascinating. Indeed, in many ways this passage from Genesis speaks to us and our world with concreteness and an absoluteness that is riveting. The story that we find in Genesis 45 is found in all the great monotheist religions – Islam, Judaism and Christianity. We share this story. Yet, we look at this story differently. We look at it through the lens of what we actually believe.
The story is very simple. To put it in context, it is the story of Joseph. Joseph was born of the family of Jacob, with many siblings. Just as with many families, some siblings are treated with a little more respect than others, and Joseph was one of those. So, some of his siblings turned on him in a nasty way. After he had been given what many of us know as the coat of many colours, they decided to throw him into a pit, to take blood from an animal and put it on the coat and return to their father saying that Joseph is dead.
Joseph isn’t dead. Joseph is picked up by travellers. They eventually take him to Egypt. There, through a series of events Joseph rises to power. He interprets the dreams of Pharaoh, he is able to provide wise guidance, he makes a wonderful civil servant, and Joseph becomes a powerful person. But the moment we encounter in the passage is the most touching in the whole of the book, because of famine in the land where his brothers lived had driven them to Egypt to find food, they now find themselves in Joseph’s presence.
In this encounter, in this moment between Joseph and his brothers, we see something absolutely magnificent. What we see in this is God at work! This is what makes the story of Joseph so profound and so powerful. In the moment where Joseph reveals himself to his brothers, God is revealed: the type of God that we worship and adore.
In this story, and you could look at it in an entirely secular way, you can read the story of Joseph up until now as a story between siblings and their father, between a government and states, and the rise of the political figure. In fact, the musical, Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat did just that. It told the story without much reference to God.
In Genesis 45, God becomes real and Joseph brings God alive in the story, for Joseph humbles himself: he weeps, he cries, Joseph gets on his knees and he can be heard by the Egyptians and by Pharaoh. He is in the presence of his brothers, and he is deeply moved. He is so moved in fact that in the fifth century, Caesarius, the bishop of Arles, wrote this about Joseph’s tears when he saw his brothers:
Joseph tenderly kissed each one of his siblings and he wept over them individually. As Joseph moistened the necks of his frightened brothers with his refreshing tears, he washed away their hatred. Joseph came down from his lofty position as a ruler and he hugged his brothers and he wept over them.
Martin Luther, the great reformer, says, “Is this not a picture of someone who was an archetype of Christ? Is Joseph not the forbearer of Jesus himself?” After all, in the Book of Philippians, in Chapter 2, it says, “Jesus humbled himself, taking the form of a servant.” I think Luther is right. I think Joseph in a sense paves the way for Jesus.
I think that Joseph’s self-giving embrace of his brothers was a sign of God doing something profound. But what was it that God was doing? Well, clearly God was ahead of things. When you look at the text this is what Joseph says, “I am Joseph. Is my father still alive?” But his brothers could not answer him so dismayed were they at his presence. Then Joseph said to his brothers, “Come closer to me.” And they came closer. He said, and this is the key I think in the whole part of the Book of Genesis, “I am your brother, Joseph whom you sold into Egypt, and now do not be distressed or angry with yourselves because you sold me here, for God sent me before you to preserve life.”
For Joseph, it was God who was at work in all this. Does it mean that God had been responsible for throwing him in the pit? Does it mean that God was responsible for the envy and the hatred of the brothers? No! What God is responsible for is changing and turning around that hatred and that conflict. It was God who came and broke into the situation and transformed what was really a period of great darkness into great light: that even the brothers who had thrown Joseph into the pit could be forgiven by the grace of God who had gone before. This is what our understanding of God is all about. This is exactly what we believe. This is the heart of our faith, practically.
In the fourteenth and fifteenth century, there was a very profound Christian and her name was Julian of Norwich. She was a mystic. She grew up in a very troubled world. Ironically, and I say “ironically” for we will have two Bishops of Rome in some ways in the next few weeks, it was the other time in history where there were two: one that was in Rome, with the other one in Avignon. In that case though, they were competing with one another.
It was a time when the Church was divided down the middle. It was a time when Scotland and France were at war against England, and Julian saw the devastating effects of the Hundred Years War. It was a time of the Black Plague, which killed a third of the people in Europe. Ironically, it was the clergy, and it was the nuns who ministered to people in their darkest hour when they were at their most sick who paid the greatest cost, for by caring for these people, they themselves died.
Julian herself contracted the plague. She was very ill, and dying. She wondered how on earth in the midst of all this suffering God could be at work. Is there any way that God could change this? She said that it was as if, in a moment of great despair as she was with a dying person, God came to her, and of her vision, she wrote the following: “The good Lord answered me, and all the questions and doubts that I could raise, saying most comfortingly to me ‘I may make all things well, and I can make all things well, and I shall make all things well, and you will see yourself that every kind of faith will be well.’”
For her, this was not just some blind optimism; this wasn’t just some wishful thinking: this was the recognition that God can turn around that which has often been evil and wrong, and turn it into good, for that is what Joseph did with his brothers. In a sense, Joseph was also concerned for the guilt that his brothers were facing. He says to them, “Look, I don’t want you to be disturbed by this revelation that I am here. I want you to live freely because of this.” Unfortunately, guilt has a way though of holding us down and taking away our freedom.
I read a lovely story, an anecdote, about a brother and sister who went to visit their grandmother and their grandfather. One of the gifts that the grandparents gave to the girl and the boy was a sling shot – I don’t think that would happen today – and told them to go out into the woods to play with it. So, the boy in particular embraced this idea and went out into the woods, tried to hit everything that he could, and kept missing. He was so frustrated he came back to the garden and saw that his grandmother had a pet duck, so he got out his slingshot and he killed the duck. Realizing that it was mortally wounded and not realizing what would happen, he decided to take the duck into the woods and bury it, and hope that his grandmother would never find out. The only problem was that his sister saw everything.
The next day, they were back at their grandparents and the grandmother said to the sister, “Would you mind washing the dishes?”
She replied, “Oh, I don’t need to wash the dishes. My brother will wash the dishes.” And, as he grimaced, she whispered to him, “Remember the duck.”
The next day, the grandfather said, “We’re going to go fishing, and we are going to have a wonderful time, but I only have one place in my car to take you.” So, he went to his grandson and he asked him if he would like to go.
His sister butted in and said, “I would like to go, but of course my brother understands, doesn’t he?” And, she whispered to him, “Remember the duck!”
This went on for days. He was tortured by her reminding him of the killing of the grandmother’s duck. He couldn’t take the guilt anymore! So, he went to his grandmother and he said, “Grandmother, I am sorry, I have to confess I have killed your duck.”
The grandmother said, “Oh, I know, dear. I saw from my window what you had done. I have forgiven you, but I was waiting for you to tell me. Anyway, I have seen you suffer enough over the last week because of your sister. Now is the time for you to be free. You no longer have to tremble when you hear “Remember the duck!”
Joseph’s brothers had done all kinds of wicked things, really wicked things and Joseph comes up to them and says, “You are free. I forgive you.” This is a sign; this is a symbol of God’s treatment of us, God’s compassion in going before us. This is because what this story is ultimately about is that the way that God changes and turns around that which is broken is by the power of forgiveness, and Joseph is the archetype of what it means to forgive.
We have all been talking, have we not recently, about the change that is going to take place in the Papacy in Rome, or as David McMaster continually reminds me, “The Bishop of Rome” is his title. I think about that often, and we pray for him as he makes this major change in his life. But, it is actually not Pope Benedict that has moved me so much over the years as his predecessor, John Paul II.
There was one moment in particular when John Paul II worked his way into my heart – and I say this as a Protestant. It was a moment when there was an attempt on his life on March 13, 1981 He was saved, and he recovered. But it was what happened on December 27, 1993 that was so powerful. It was then that the Pope invited the would-be assassin to meet with him. In a small, dark room with two chairs and a table and two or three other people present, the Pope sat down with Mehmet Ali Agca and forgave him. He put his hand on his forehead, which to a Muslim is a powerful symbol, and he said, “You are forgiven.”
We don’t know what took place in that conversation. We don’t know the events that led up to it. And we certainly don’t know what Mehmet felt afterwards, except this: that he felt a profound sense of release and would be eternally grateful for that one act of forgiveness. Where does this come from, this desire to forgive? What understanding of God do we have from which it arises? Joseph and his brothers in Genesis 45! Where do we see it fulfilled but on a cross between two thieves at Golgotha! And what does the world need in the midst of its strife and its struggles and its conflicts, but the God that Joseph knew, who had gone before him and forgiven his brothers and in so doing, paved the way for Israel itself!
A powerful lesson – the most powerful lesson – for anyone in our day and age! Amen.