Unforgiveable Sin
Genesis 45:1-28
If anyone could have felt that way, it could have been Martin Luther King Jr. One night, his home was burned down by a group of white men who hated his message about racial equality and the black voter initiative in the south. Under the leadership of Dr. King, African-Americans grew more confident of themselves, less willing to be oppressed and neglected by society. And they were angry -- angry about their treatment by white society. They were particularly angry on the night that their leader’s home was destroyed. A crowd of Dr. King’s friends and supporters gathered. Some talked about getting guns. Others talked about getting gasoline and setting fire to the homes of all the white people in the area so that they could suffer as the black people had suffered. The crowd wanted to hurt those who had hurt them. They wanted to destroy their enemies.
It’s a common human reaction. We instinctively seek revenge. We convince ourselves that evil deeds deserve instant repayment. We’ve all witnessed the well-known threat tactic of upping the ante -- letting an opponent know that if they so much as sneeze on someone you love, it will cost them a limb. If you have tried an eye for an eye and it really didn't do anything except help sell eyepatches, the only way to stay alive is to be drastic. Pay back any offense tenfold, or even a hundredfold if necessary. We teach this to children at an early age. Do any of you remember this nursery rhyme?
Goosey goosey gander,
Whither shall I wander?
Upstairs and downstairs
And in my lady's chamber.
There I met an old man
Who wouldn't say his prayers,
So I took him by his left leg
And threw him down the stairs
Whither shall I wander?
Upstairs and downstairs
And in my lady's chamber.
There I met an old man
Who wouldn't say his prayers,
So I took him by his left leg
And threw him down the stairs
I wonder if Joseph felt caught up in this cycle of revenge. If anyone had the right to hold a grudge and get some hundredfold revenge, it was Joseph. Joseph’s brothers hated him so much that they dumped him in a hole in the ground when he was a young boy. They left him alone there for days as they decided whether to kill him. When they returned, Joseph was gone and given up for dead. It turned out, he was kidnapped and sold as a slave to Egypt. Decades later, Joe is now the second-in-command in Egypt. While the rest of the world suffers from a sever famine, Egypt has plenty of food due to his shrewd agricultural practices. Now people from all nations come to Egypt to buy grain, including 10 of Joseph’s brothers who are now older men. Joseph sees his brothers and he recognizes them immediately, but they don’t know him. The text says, “He spoke harshly to them.” In an explosion of anger, Joseph accuses his brothers of being spies. Finally, Joseph’s sees his chance for revenge. Taking the role of the cruel ruler, he will hear none of his brother’s excuses. He demands that they be locked up, and that only one return home to get Benjamin, the youngest brother who stayed behind as an insurance policy to carry on the family name in case anything bad goes down. Then Joseph changes his mind, imprisoning one brother while the rest go home to fetch Benjamin. His inconsistency reminds me of the psychological warfare we see today – constant mind games designed to create fear and uncertainty in the minds of opponents.
Our faith teaches us not to get caught up in the endless spiral of vengeance. The gospel says, “Love your enemies. Do good to those who hate you. Bless those that curse you and pray for those who mistreat you.” Jesus often makes statements like this – expectations that are impractical and impossible to live out. How do we do it? How can we do good to people who have gossiped about us, or cheated us, or violated us? How do we love the abusive parent, or the teacher who embarrasses students, or the ex-spouse who tries to destroy relationships? How can we love our enemies when our impulse is to hurt them back even more then they hurt us? How can I love someone I distrust? How can I bless those who curse me?
The night Martin Luther King Jr.’s house burned did not end in violence -- the way that feels so natural. Instead, the crowd left their enemies in peace and they went home determined to win the victory with votes instead of with guns, with politics instead of with fire, with love instead of hate. Dr. King calmed down the crowd by channeling Gandhi as he said, “When you live by the rule, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth’, you end up with a nation of blind and toothless people.” Dr. King believed that a new society could not be built by violent means. He believed that one could only defeat the enemy with love, that the way of violence only leads to more violence, that hate only fosters more hate. He would not allow others to seek revenge when his house was burned. Love your enemies. Do good to those who hate you.
We can claim the role of victim to someone else’s sin, and then pay them back with revenge. We can allow hatred to grow and infest our souls with its hellish tendency towards exclusion. Just know when we do this, forgiveness flounders. When we believe our enemy commits unforgivable sin, it somehow justifies a response of violence, exclusion, or elimination. It can lead us to think it’s OK to take on the role of punishers – God’s instruments of vengeance, even when God never asks us to accept that job in the first place.
Forgiveness happens when we stop trying to justify our hatred by pointing out the wrongdoing we’ve suffered. Liberation comes through confession. Real forgiveness is not about revenge, but about repentance. Only those who can forgive will be capable of pursuing justice without falling into the temptation to turn justice into revenge. Love is a choice. Love is the decision to do right even when wronged, to do good even when bad is done, to bless even when you are cursed, to forgive even when you are condemned, to care even when you are not cared for.
In June 1992, Serbian paramilitaries invaded the Franciscan Theological School in Sarajevo, holding everyone inside prisoner. There were sixteen Catholic priests and brothers, and eight nuns. The soldiers were amped up, some buzzing on cocaine. They went through the school destroying everything: shooting up the chapel, ripping paintings off walls, burning the library, and hitting the priests with rifle butts. The captives were certain that they would be killed any minute.
During horrific chaos, Sister Isadora, a nun in her eighties, addressed the young militants with love like they were her grandsons. One man, barely in his twenties, had blood spattered on his shirt. He was trying to ignore it, but it clearly bothered him, and he kept trying to wipe it off. Sister Isadora approached him saying, “My boy, your shirt is stained. Let me get some water and clean it.” She took a damp rag and began to clean the blood from his collar. When she finished, she asked to go to the bathroom to clean the rag. The young man and one of the priests accompanied her. When they returned, the young man had his gun pressed hard into the priest’s side. Sister Isadora touched the man’s arm and waved the gun away. “Move out of the way,” she said. “Come with me and let us go into the kitchen and make some tea.” And he did. When the soldier’s superiors found out, they were angry, but that young soldier never harmed the captives. After several days, a prisoner exchange was negotiated and all the captives were released. That is the power of love.
Let’s get back to the story of Joseph. When his brothers finally return to Egypt with their youngest brother, Joseph throws his arms around Benjamin and reveals his identity to his family. Now the brothers are really afraid. Realizing what they had done, knowing who this powerful man really is, they expect revenge. Their guilt outweighs the possibility of Joseph’s forgiveness. But Joseph breaks the cycle. In untypical human fashion, he doesn’t repay his brothers for their evil deeds. He no longer carries the baggage of bitterness that burdens an unforgiving heart. Joseph’s brothers expected nothing better than retribution. Joseph offers forgiveness – a reminder of the kind of forgiveness that God shows to us.
Jesus sums up this ethic by saying, “Do to others as you would have them do to you.” It is truly a golden rule. The golden rule is balanced by another spiritual idea: “The judgment you give, is the judgment you will receive. What you sow is what you will reap.” I think about this a lot when I’m dealing with people whom I would rather not be around - those whom I feel like harming rather than healing. I try to tell myself, “Count to ten Matt - and at every count remember that what you do right now, for better or worse, will come back to you in abundance. Forgive - because you need lots of forgiveness. Bless, because you need lots of blessing.”
How would you have others treat you? What measure of forgiveness do you want to receive. Imagine if the pain we carry inspired us to take on the difficult work of creating a more compassionate world, and making the necessary emotional investments so violence and needless suffering do not prevail.
Sources:
Miroslav Volf, Exclusion and Embrace.
Heather Zydek, ed., The Revolution
The Storyteller’s Companion to the Bible: Genesis
http://www.pbcc.org/sermons/elders/7115.pdf
http://www.rockies.net/~spirit/sermons/c-or07sesu.ph
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