“And Joseph kissed all his brothers and wept upon them; and after that his brothers talked with him.”
If there is a more beautiful verse in all of our scripture, I do not know it.
No toxic masculinity in this moment, no diplomatic reserve, no stiff upper lip. He kissed all his brothers, too: not just Benjamin, the only other brother lucky like Joseph to be born to Rachel, Jacob’s favorite wife. All of them. He kissed and wept with all of his brothers who quietly went along with the dreadful decision all those years before to sell Joseph into slavery; he kissed and wept with Reuben, the eldest brother who had stopped the others from killing the boy Joseph; and he kissed and wept with Judah, noble Judah, who passed all of Joseph’s tests and threw himself at Joseph’s mercy. Joseph kissed all his brothers and wept upon them.
And they wept upon Joseph too, fearsome now and in command of all Egypt, but perhaps still reminding them of that seventeen-year-old brat he had once been, dreaming startling dreams of dominating his brothers, cocky with the knowledge that he was their dad’s favorite. He had even dreamt that his parents would bow to him in obedience. The text tells us that Jacob had heard Joseph’s arrogance in this matter, and “kept it in mind,” whatever that might mean. I think it’s the kind of thing a parent does from time to time: they see their child behave oddly, and they worry about it a little; then they decide to just “keep it in mind.” Mary did the same thing with Jesus. My parents did this at one point with all of their children. If you’re a parent, you might know about this. “Who am I raising?!” you may ask yourself. This had been a good question for Jacob to ponder, because his son Joseph had been easy to hate. As atrocious as his brothers were, I can’t help feeling for them.
But that is all over now. Joseph can hardly contain himself, stepping away here and there in this long story of reconciliation to weep, and then washing his face and steeling himself to look stern again. Now he weeps openly, gushing with relief and forgiveness. In my reading Joseph is an ugly crier, poignant in his sobs, but maybe a little ridiculous too. But he doesn’t care. Wiping snot away, he smiles through his tears as he looks upon his brothers, and prepares them to go back to their father with news that will give the old man a new lease on life.
And that isn’t even the best part! The best part is, “…and after that his brothers talked with him.” What did they talk about? We do not know. And yet maybe we do know. They talked and talked. They caught him up on news from home. He told them his astonishing story of improbable political triumph, how he went from slave to prisoner to royal advisor to Pharaoh’s right-hand man, the prime minister, as it were, of all Egypt. Maybe he laughed about the elaborate test of honor he performed on them, how he tormented them with fear while hiding his passionate desire to reconcile. (And maybe they grimaced and said, “Too soon.”) So they talked of other things. If this were my sibling group, we would invariably catch up on family gossip, but this being a moving reconciliation encounter, we would take care to draw out all the venom and just make gentle fun of our loved ones. Maybe the brothers broke off into pairs and triads. Maybe there were individual moments of confrontation and apology and, once again, forgiveness.
In my reading, they talked into the night. They talked and talked and talked. Everything was going to be alright.
This is everything. This is not just a story about a family (and an odd family at that, with multiple wives and other problematic idiosyncrasies of the Bronze Age.) It is not even just a story about the rise of God’s people Israel, though surely it is that: this reconciliation forms the ethical heart of the Israelite people, who fled slavery in Egypt and established kingdoms that led eventually to the Pharasaic time of Jesus. This reconciliation tells them who they are, even now. But this story is about more than that. This story is about God re-creating the universe.
Reconciliation is at the vital center of God’s re-creation of the universe.
Reconciliation is at the vital center of God’s re-creation of the universe.
Reconciliation is at the vital center of God’s re-creation of the universe.
This is worth saying three times, worth hammering home. The whole bloody and tragic history of humanity is also the history of God’s Spirit moving through all of us, tugging at us, pushing us, driving at us to reconcile with one another. And as bad as things are now, some historians argue that the long arc of history truly is bending toward justice. Our own nation today is in rough shape, but we’ve actually had it worse, and even if the United States does not survive our current crises, God’s Spirit will continue to lead all people, here and around the world, toward reconciliation, and away from the chaos of war, violence, and oppression.
Jesus moves beyond the construct of family in his teachings today about reconciliation. He tells us to love our enemies, to do good to those who hate us, to bless those who curse us, to pray for those who abuse us. Now, this teaching requires careful interpretation, knowing what we do about the evil of abuse that goes unchallenged. But even when Jesus said all of this the first time, I think his listeners understood that he wasn’t telling them to just knuckle under and take a beating, even when he says this: “If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other one also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt.” These may ring false in our ears, as if he’s encouraging a form of Stockholm Syndrome where we just give in to the worldly powers of injustice. But let’s look more closely at this teaching.
In that place and time, if a Roman soldier struck you twice, he brought shame upon himself. One hit was allowed, but two were cruel and unusual. And if a Roman soldier asked for your coat, giving him your shirt as well would have shamed him: he would look greedy and careless. Jesus is being subversive here. He is teaching a tactic that disarms the oppressor. It’s akin to a movie hero dropping his gun and saying, “I’m not going to fight you. Shoot me if you want to, but I’m not going to fight you.” It’s a counterintuitive teaching that offers a path toward justice and peace. We are taught not to play by the unjust rules anymore. Joseph had the right to execute his brothers, and if his father had heard why he did that, he likely would have approved, and been delighted to have his favorite son back. But that is not the path of restorative justice. That is not how God re-creates the universe.
Again, this is everything. If you and I learn one thing in church, let it be this. It is what the resurrection is all about. It is what the life and ministry of Jesus is all about. It is what the story of the Great Family in Genesis is all about. God moves powerfully in this beautiful world, so damaged and marred by human folly and human aggression. God moves powerfully on behalf of those who have been crushed by empire, those who have been kicked to the edge by cliques and rivalries, those who have been sold into slavery – literally and figuratively, both – and those who did the selling. God moves powerfully to turn the hearts and open the minds of brothers who burned with homicidal resentment. God raises up Christian communities like ours to subvert the unjust powers of the world, the powers that strike the faces and steal the coats of countless innocents. God moves powerfully to re-create the universe with reconciliation.
And we are overwhelmed with joy, because even if we do not see God, we see what God has done; we see that God was here. For here we see, and can scarcely believe, that Joseph kissed all his brothers and wept upon them, and after that his brothers talked with him.
Let God’s reconciled people say Amen.
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Preached on the Seventh Sunday after the Epiphany (Year C), February 20, 2022, at Grace Episcopal Church, Bainbridge Island, Washington.
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Genesis 45:3-11, 15
Psalm 37:1-12, 41-42
1 Corinthians 15:35-38, 42-50
Luke 6:27-38