God's Providence: The Long And Short Of It
Sermon
Sermons On The First Readings
Series II, Cycle A
Object:
We human beings are naturally fond of happy endings. We have an innate sense of the way things ought to be, and that part of us is profoundly satisfied when things turn out that way.
The episode that we read today from the story of Joseph is a classic happy ending.
It's a beautiful scene. The nearly blameless hero of the story, Joseph, has been finally rewarded for his wisdom and faithfulness, exalted to a high position of authority and prestige. After years of unjust suffering, he is comfortably situated. After almost unspeakable enmity between him and his brothers, we see this marvelous and emotional reunion. People who had been cruel are forgiven. People who had been antagonistic to one another now embrace one another. And a father whose heart had been broken by tragedy -- and whose family had been broken by enmity -- will see his son again and have his whole family reunited.
The events that lead up to this happy ending were entirely guided by the providence of God. Joseph is quite clear on that point. Five times in as many verses, Joseph makes explicit reference to what God has done: "God sent me before you to preserve life" (v. 5). "God sent me before you to preserve for you a remnant on earth, and to keep alive for you many survivors" (v. 7). "So it was not you who sent me here, but God" (v. 8). "(God) has made me a father to Pharaoh, and lord of all his house and ruler over all the land of Egypt" (v. 8). "God has made me lord of all Egypt" (v. 9).
But this happy ending was improbable -- and the providential hand of God invisible -- in the events that preceded this moment. Rewind the tape just a little, and see how far removed Joseph once was from this good place and this happy ending.
Joseph grew up as the favorite son of a wealthy father. But he was not the only son of his father, and his father's favoritism worked against him in the minds and hearts of his older brothers. They resented Joseph's most-favored status. They objected to the special treatment he received, and they found intolerable the precociousness with which he spoke and conducted himself. Indeed, Joseph's brother so resented him that they sought to get rid of him. Permanently.
Their original plan was simply to murder him. It was unapologetic, unsophisticated, and cold-blooded. But after the one brother with a conscience intervened, they adopted Plan B: Throw Joseph into a pit in the middle of nowhere, where presumably he would starve to death and there would be no blood on their hands.
But then, over the horizon, along came a still-better option. A caravan appeared, and the traveling merchants provided a non-violent and happily profitable way for the sons of Jacob to rid themselves of Joseph. And so, not long afterward, Joseph was hundreds of miles from home, sold as a slave to Potiphar, an important and wealthy Egyptian.
Back home, the brothers took advantage of Joseph's distinctive coat to create an alibi. Pouring animal blood on it, they took it to their father as apparent evidence of Joseph having been attacked and devoured by some wild animal. So he was given up for dead. No one was out looking for him. There were no "Have you seen this child?" posters being distributed. No one was going to find him or rescue him. His situation was inarguably hopeless.
By any reasonable expectation, young Joseph knew that he would never go home again. He would never see his father again. And he would probably never be a free man again.
Then things got worse!
One day, while Joseph was doing his chores around his master's house, his master's wife approached him. Apparently this had happened before, on several occasions. When Potiphar was not around, his wife would flirt with Joseph and try to seduce him. And on this particular occasion, she was more insistent than usual.
The Bible recommends that we flee from temptation, and that is precisely what Joseph did. He did not hang around to indulge the flirtation, engage in witty repartee, or toy with double entendres. He did not go toe-to-toe with temptation; he ran away from it. As he sought to escape, she caught hold of his cloak and held on tight. Determined to get away, Joseph slipped out of that outer garment, leaving it behind in her hands.
Now, for the second time in his life, Joseph's outer garment was used to suggest an untruth about him. Angry and hurt, Potiphar's wife took Joseph's garment to her husband, claiming that Joseph had attempted to rape her. The article of clothing left behind was interpreted as tacit proof of her claim.
There's not much hope for justice when the master's wife brings an accusation against the foreign slave. Joseph was arrested and put in prison.
This part of the story, of course, is half of the reason why Joseph became one of the favorite characters for the children of Israel. Throughout their history, they identified with his experience of unjust suffering. They understood the righteous being wronged. When Jews through the centuries looked back and saw the honorable young man suffering, the innocent young man being punished, they nodded knowingly.
Meanwhile, the other half of the reason why the story of Joseph became a favorite for the people of God was the way that Joseph's troubles turned into Joseph's testimony. For in the end, the story of his suffering became a story of God's providence.
While Joseph sat in prison, he had occasion to meet two men who had been officials serving in the court of the king of Egypt. Joseph had a significant encounter with both of them during their briefly overlapping prison sentences, and one day, years later, one of those royal officials remembered Joseph, and brought him to the attention of the king.
By the end of Joseph's story, this foreign-born, one-time slave, one-time prisoner is the second-in-command over all of Egypt. He rides in the king's chariot, and he wears the king's ring. He is an internationally known figure, whose wisdom and leadership influences the entire region, saves countless lives, and changes the economy and shape of Egyptian life for generations to come.
That brings us to the beautiful happy-ending scene that is our Old Testament lection today. Joseph is reconciled to his brothers, who repent, and whom he forgives. He is able to invite his whole family to join him in Egypt, where they settle on the best land in the entire country. He is reunited with his father: able to live with and provide for his father during the final years of his life, able to have his father meet and bless his own children, and able to be at his father's side when he dies.
But go back and consider again Joseph sitting there in that Egyptian dungeon. Calculate how far he was from every good thing. How far was he from his home back in Canaan? He had no realistic hope of returning there ever again. How far was he from his family? His brothers hated him, and his father thought he was dead. How far was he from Potiphar's elegant home -- from that pleasant environment, from that level of responsibility, from that degree of freedom, such as it was? All of that was gone for good. A foreign slave convicted of attempted rape on his master's wife: that profile isn't given a second chance.
As he sat there in that dungeon, how unimaginably far was Joseph from the king's throne and chariot? From power and importance? From the best land in all of Egypt? An impossible distance.
Here is a thing we need to understand about ourselves: Distances are very important to us. From the time we are children, we pester our parents from the back seat: How much farther? Are we there yet?
But that standard fare from children is not limited to children. When something we hope for as adults seems a long way off, we get discouraged and wonder if we'll ever get there. When we sense that it's close -- that we're close, that we're almost there -- then we take heart and feel encouraged.
The only reason children are always asking, "How much farther?" is because they can't calculate it for themselves. As adults, however, we are always calculating how much further something is, for distances are very important to us.
Distances are important to us, you see, because we believe that distance makes a difference. And, of course, it does make a difference to us.
But it doesn't make a difference to God. As people of faith, that is a truth that we need to embrace. In God's providence, a thing is not more likely because it is close, and it is not less likely because it is far away.
At first blush, that seems like foolishness. What manner of blind faith is required to ignore reality and to deny improbability? But this is not ignoring the earthly reality; rather, it is affirming God's reality.
In some science class along the way, we learned about the concept of significant numbers. If I am measuring the distance between my house and my children's school, a tenth of a mile is a significant number. If I am measuring the distance from the Earth to some other galaxy, however, a tenth of a mile is no longer significant.
Likewise, against the vastness of God's knowledge and God's power, the seemingly great distances in our lives are just tenths of miles. They are not significant numbers to him.
So, let me ask you: What are the impossible distances in your life today? What good thing seems so far away it is unreachable? It may be in your marriage or some friendship. It may be in your finances or your physical health. It may even be in your relationship with God.
From where you're at this morning, it may be very easy for you to imagine where Joseph was at, for you may also be at a place where you don't want to be and didn't expect to be. You may be in a place that is a long, long way from where you once were or from where you want to be.
Trust that distance to the providence of God. Then hold on for an unbelievable ride. Amen.
The episode that we read today from the story of Joseph is a classic happy ending.
It's a beautiful scene. The nearly blameless hero of the story, Joseph, has been finally rewarded for his wisdom and faithfulness, exalted to a high position of authority and prestige. After years of unjust suffering, he is comfortably situated. After almost unspeakable enmity between him and his brothers, we see this marvelous and emotional reunion. People who had been cruel are forgiven. People who had been antagonistic to one another now embrace one another. And a father whose heart had been broken by tragedy -- and whose family had been broken by enmity -- will see his son again and have his whole family reunited.
The events that lead up to this happy ending were entirely guided by the providence of God. Joseph is quite clear on that point. Five times in as many verses, Joseph makes explicit reference to what God has done: "God sent me before you to preserve life" (v. 5). "God sent me before you to preserve for you a remnant on earth, and to keep alive for you many survivors" (v. 7). "So it was not you who sent me here, but God" (v. 8). "(God) has made me a father to Pharaoh, and lord of all his house and ruler over all the land of Egypt" (v. 8). "God has made me lord of all Egypt" (v. 9).
But this happy ending was improbable -- and the providential hand of God invisible -- in the events that preceded this moment. Rewind the tape just a little, and see how far removed Joseph once was from this good place and this happy ending.
Joseph grew up as the favorite son of a wealthy father. But he was not the only son of his father, and his father's favoritism worked against him in the minds and hearts of his older brothers. They resented Joseph's most-favored status. They objected to the special treatment he received, and they found intolerable the precociousness with which he spoke and conducted himself. Indeed, Joseph's brother so resented him that they sought to get rid of him. Permanently.
Their original plan was simply to murder him. It was unapologetic, unsophisticated, and cold-blooded. But after the one brother with a conscience intervened, they adopted Plan B: Throw Joseph into a pit in the middle of nowhere, where presumably he would starve to death and there would be no blood on their hands.
But then, over the horizon, along came a still-better option. A caravan appeared, and the traveling merchants provided a non-violent and happily profitable way for the sons of Jacob to rid themselves of Joseph. And so, not long afterward, Joseph was hundreds of miles from home, sold as a slave to Potiphar, an important and wealthy Egyptian.
Back home, the brothers took advantage of Joseph's distinctive coat to create an alibi. Pouring animal blood on it, they took it to their father as apparent evidence of Joseph having been attacked and devoured by some wild animal. So he was given up for dead. No one was out looking for him. There were no "Have you seen this child?" posters being distributed. No one was going to find him or rescue him. His situation was inarguably hopeless.
By any reasonable expectation, young Joseph knew that he would never go home again. He would never see his father again. And he would probably never be a free man again.
Then things got worse!
One day, while Joseph was doing his chores around his master's house, his master's wife approached him. Apparently this had happened before, on several occasions. When Potiphar was not around, his wife would flirt with Joseph and try to seduce him. And on this particular occasion, she was more insistent than usual.
The Bible recommends that we flee from temptation, and that is precisely what Joseph did. He did not hang around to indulge the flirtation, engage in witty repartee, or toy with double entendres. He did not go toe-to-toe with temptation; he ran away from it. As he sought to escape, she caught hold of his cloak and held on tight. Determined to get away, Joseph slipped out of that outer garment, leaving it behind in her hands.
Now, for the second time in his life, Joseph's outer garment was used to suggest an untruth about him. Angry and hurt, Potiphar's wife took Joseph's garment to her husband, claiming that Joseph had attempted to rape her. The article of clothing left behind was interpreted as tacit proof of her claim.
There's not much hope for justice when the master's wife brings an accusation against the foreign slave. Joseph was arrested and put in prison.
This part of the story, of course, is half of the reason why Joseph became one of the favorite characters for the children of Israel. Throughout their history, they identified with his experience of unjust suffering. They understood the righteous being wronged. When Jews through the centuries looked back and saw the honorable young man suffering, the innocent young man being punished, they nodded knowingly.
Meanwhile, the other half of the reason why the story of Joseph became a favorite for the people of God was the way that Joseph's troubles turned into Joseph's testimony. For in the end, the story of his suffering became a story of God's providence.
While Joseph sat in prison, he had occasion to meet two men who had been officials serving in the court of the king of Egypt. Joseph had a significant encounter with both of them during their briefly overlapping prison sentences, and one day, years later, one of those royal officials remembered Joseph, and brought him to the attention of the king.
By the end of Joseph's story, this foreign-born, one-time slave, one-time prisoner is the second-in-command over all of Egypt. He rides in the king's chariot, and he wears the king's ring. He is an internationally known figure, whose wisdom and leadership influences the entire region, saves countless lives, and changes the economy and shape of Egyptian life for generations to come.
That brings us to the beautiful happy-ending scene that is our Old Testament lection today. Joseph is reconciled to his brothers, who repent, and whom he forgives. He is able to invite his whole family to join him in Egypt, where they settle on the best land in the entire country. He is reunited with his father: able to live with and provide for his father during the final years of his life, able to have his father meet and bless his own children, and able to be at his father's side when he dies.
But go back and consider again Joseph sitting there in that Egyptian dungeon. Calculate how far he was from every good thing. How far was he from his home back in Canaan? He had no realistic hope of returning there ever again. How far was he from his family? His brothers hated him, and his father thought he was dead. How far was he from Potiphar's elegant home -- from that pleasant environment, from that level of responsibility, from that degree of freedom, such as it was? All of that was gone for good. A foreign slave convicted of attempted rape on his master's wife: that profile isn't given a second chance.
As he sat there in that dungeon, how unimaginably far was Joseph from the king's throne and chariot? From power and importance? From the best land in all of Egypt? An impossible distance.
Here is a thing we need to understand about ourselves: Distances are very important to us. From the time we are children, we pester our parents from the back seat: How much farther? Are we there yet?
But that standard fare from children is not limited to children. When something we hope for as adults seems a long way off, we get discouraged and wonder if we'll ever get there. When we sense that it's close -- that we're close, that we're almost there -- then we take heart and feel encouraged.
The only reason children are always asking, "How much farther?" is because they can't calculate it for themselves. As adults, however, we are always calculating how much further something is, for distances are very important to us.
Distances are important to us, you see, because we believe that distance makes a difference. And, of course, it does make a difference to us.
But it doesn't make a difference to God. As people of faith, that is a truth that we need to embrace. In God's providence, a thing is not more likely because it is close, and it is not less likely because it is far away.
At first blush, that seems like foolishness. What manner of blind faith is required to ignore reality and to deny improbability? But this is not ignoring the earthly reality; rather, it is affirming God's reality.
In some science class along the way, we learned about the concept of significant numbers. If I am measuring the distance between my house and my children's school, a tenth of a mile is a significant number. If I am measuring the distance from the Earth to some other galaxy, however, a tenth of a mile is no longer significant.
Likewise, against the vastness of God's knowledge and God's power, the seemingly great distances in our lives are just tenths of miles. They are not significant numbers to him.
So, let me ask you: What are the impossible distances in your life today? What good thing seems so far away it is unreachable? It may be in your marriage or some friendship. It may be in your finances or your physical health. It may even be in your relationship with God.
From where you're at this morning, it may be very easy for you to imagine where Joseph was at, for you may also be at a place where you don't want to be and didn't expect to be. You may be in a place that is a long, long way from where you once were or from where you want to be.
Trust that distance to the providence of God. Then hold on for an unbelievable ride. Amen.
