Readings:
Genesis 50:15-21
Psalm 103:1-13
Romans 14:1-12
Matthew 18:21-35
Devotional:
When is something too broken or worn out to be fixed? Is there a point when the effort to restore outweighs the cost to replace? From my childhood reading, Laura Ingalls seemed to be far more disciplined to repair fallen hems and darn threadbare socks in the Little House in the Big Woods than I have ever been in my Medium Houses in Suburbia. The clothes that finally resisted even mending were repurposed to clean, to become playclothes for dolls, or even to repurpose as insulating fillers to block out drafts. While I have saved every spare tiny button that manufacturers kindly include with my clothes, not once have I ever pulled out a sewing kit to attempt a replacement (though my winter coat wishes I would).
However, at one point, my family had a room filled with spare computer parts: graphics cards, motherboards, RAM, fans, capacitors, inductors, connectors, sockets. Any piece or component to build a computer from scratch lived in scattered boxes and small trays around a room that in my memory was always dark except for the light of the computer screen itself and a small task lamp. Friends’ and coworkers’ computers were often in some state of partial dismantling or repair, and the smell of a soldering gun now brings waves of nostalgia. Even still, years after the repair room was no longer a household feature, I remember asking for troubleshooting on a friend’s computer, but the time wasn’t worth the effort. It had become cheaper to simply buy a replacement or take it to a big box shop for the nerd brigade to consider.
Something changed. Suddenly but not all at once, fast fashion made new socks far easier to buy and deliver by 5pm than the effort and time to learn to darn the small hole. Costly or time-consuming technical repairs became cheaply accessible in video tutorials or avoidable with the next marked down cyber sale on superior technology. It’s remarkably easy to part ways. It’s often more difficult, time-consuming, and expensive to repair than to simply start over or buy new (or new to you).
The danger in a world of accessible and replaceable commodities is that we adopt a low tolerance for things that need mending. And that low tolerance slowly but surely seeps into our relationships.
Without realizing it, the relationship that seems to pull on that one string, or slightly poke at that one sore spot, starts to become less and less tolerable. It’s tedious. It’s taxing on our time. It’s inconvenient and not as enjoyable or exciting as it maybe once was. Perhaps it feels stale or has started to turn bitter, like tea you’ve left steep too long. Or perhaps it’s tense with so many words left unstated for so long that you’re not even sure where to start troubleshooting. Instead, we have learned that it’s not worth the effort to try to fix.
It would be easier to leave. Easier to let the relationship drift apart. It would be simpler to pretend that circumstances caused the separation. Simpler to cut ties and not struggle through the challenge of communication. The wound is just too scarred and old, we imagine. Why would we risk it reopening? The returned value was just so low. Would we even feel a loss?
Which brings us to Joseph. This is the Joseph, in case we need a reminder, who had a God-given dream that he would become a ruler, which he shared with his family. Maybe Joseph’s original delivery of that dream was poor, maybe the family was just jealous, but his brothers weren’t having it and sold him into slavery. This is also the Joseph that endured slavery and imprisonment and wrongful accusation, but became the very ruler who could save or starve his family when famine struck.
In that moment of mercy, Joseph faced the supreme question of restoration. Was the relationship with his brothers, the one estranged for decades due to abandonment, worth the effort? His choice could be fully retributive, holding a grudge even against his brothers’ children. It seems like it would be easier to return the abandonment. You left me for dead as a slave; I’m leaving you for dead in a famine. Tit for tat. It’s not like they’ve been trying to communicate all these years. Undoubtedly Joseph is now surrounded by found family; what value would there be in reopening communication now?
But that’s not what Joseph chose. He opted for the restoration, with the pain of now having to rehash old wounds, to rediscover people who he used to know. He took the effort to move his entire extended family to Egypt for the sake of their livelihood. Joseph opted for the route of repair, comforting his brothers and their families as they reestablished relationship and life.
This seems almost magical when we think about most lived relationship experiences. How did he do it? How did Joseph take such a relational high road after what he endured? Somewhere unwritten in the chapters before, Joseph picked the path of forgiveness. Maybe it was in the exact moments that he wept (so loud the whole of Pharaoh’s court could hear him) upon seeing his brothers in person. And maybe it was long before the option to restore the relationship ever presented itself. Either way, the choice in his heart to forgive and have compassion happened without his brothers asking. That’s right—the brothers don’t ask for Joseph’s forgiveness at this part of the story. They don’t even ask after Joseph gives them food and moves them all to Egypt. Nope. That doesn’t happen until we arrive at our passage this week.
In our passage, now years later, Joseph’s father has died, and the brothers are worried. What if Joseph still bears a grudge for what we did? The brothers still face the fear that has haunted them ever since that first moment of injured relationship when Joseph shared his dream. They couldn’t forgive Joseph then for daring to say he would be a ruler over them, couldn’t engage with him and chose separation. And now they still wonder, “what if Joseph bears a grudge?” Instead, it’s their own grudge that has followed them, clouding the life that Joseph has saved with doubt and insecurity. They are still afraid and tortured by the rift they chose all those years ago.
It doesn’t matter that Joseph has already shown that his character will be compassionate and comforting. They’re still living in the nightmare of death from all those years before. Joseph has already been merciful and saved his family, but they still come to him fearful and manipulative, “Your father said to forgive us. Please forgive us for how we wronged you.”
But forgiveness had already happened. “Don’t be afraid!” Joseph comforts their own wounded grudge. What they meant for harm, God meant for good.
Meant for is an interesting phrase, because you can also find it translated as weaving. The story that was woven with evil intent, God mended. He re-plaited the strands of would-be death, tying together the broken pieces in a way that preserves life. Joseph was moved to choose forgiveness, and it started a repair that was completely worth it.
Perhaps Joseph knew something of God’s forgiving character already that inspired him. As Psalm 103 says, He heals our diseases, or mends them by stitching. The garment is mended by sewing the remnant onto the torn thing, not waiting for the torn thing to ask for a patch.
Healing, mending, stitching back together came into Joseph’s life as he granted forgiveness, even before it was asked. It’s the motion toward forgiveness, granting it, that mends. The goodness of mercy gets sown (or sewn) into the relationship, and healing results. God means it for good, and Joseph recognizes His character.
It’s the same in the parable Jesus shares in Matthew 18. We are living in a kingdom where the forgiveness from the master is already there! It was settled generously as the master freely forgave numerous debts. The servant receives so much, but his choice to seize and choke out life from his debtor, rejecting mercy instead of sharing it, leads to the same haunting torture that Joseph’s brothers experience. Look how we stumble and suffer in captivity from the grudges we bear. We could pick the easy path of separation, settling our scores and cutting people off from life. But the kingdom of heaven is teaching us to go and bring back those who would offend us (even surrounding them with two or three or the whole body), to gather the lost, to keep each other from stumbling, to extend forgiveness seventy times seven.
I think it’s why Paul urges so strongly in Romans that we avoid being a stumbling block to each other, avoiding the weeds of arguing or separation. It’s why we prefer one another, even as someone holds a specific constraint really tightly. When you have a king like our God, who is gracious and compassionate, who would forgive seventy times seven, why not make the choice toward forgiveness and life?! When we know he would remove transgressions as far as the east is from the west, when we know his lovingkindness is as high as the heavens are above the earth, why not pick the path of mending and stitching together?! When we live in a kingdom characterized by the life of forgiveness, may we avoid the torture of grudging unforgiveness.
Maybe it makes the small irritations and frictions in relationships seem more manageable. Maybe the conflict that is natural between any two people starts to feel like something that God enables us to surround with grace and courtesy. The differing details aren’t allowed to become grudges or sources of contempt. Maybe we start to see more of the precious instead of the worthless. Maybe it makes the effort to repair feel easier and lighter and safer and more joyful.
What a gift it is that forgiveness would mend us as we extend it! What a kingly kindness that we would have the option for our old wounds and diseases to be healed as we make the choice to restore. Oh that God would give us the open heart to pick forgiveness in the awkward and tense moments. May He help our hearts extend mercy to our relationships that sit on the fringes, teetering on abandonment or separation, at risk of being lost to difficulty or pain. May His lovingkindness fill us in the moments we want to pull away, so that we are drawn back in, our threads binding toward each other instead of loosening.
A Prayer for Each Moment
God of Weaving,
Who knew that when You think of us, You carefully place each strand and fiber of our being? You pick the strings and fabrics, even the ones that seem out of place, and carefully tie it all together in a tapestry unfolding in the making. May we trust in Your kindness and comfort, letting our fears fall as we kneel in gratitude and extend compassion. For from Him, and through Him, and for Him are all things.
Amen.
A Prayer for Each Other
Our Father,
You give us a model of compassion and grace, patience and love, and then You promise to crown us with the same! May we bless You and Your good grace toward us.
Amen.
Blessing
May we see His kingdom characterized by compassion and being willing participants in it.
Photo by Tobias Doering on Unsplash
Genesis 50:15-21
Psalm 103:1-13
Romans 14:1-12
Matthew 18:21-35
Devotional:
When is something too broken or worn out to be fixed? Is there a point when the effort to restore outweighs the cost to replace? From my childhood reading, Laura Ingalls seemed to be far more disciplined to repair fallen hems and darn threadbare socks in the Little House in the Big Woods than I have ever been in my Medium Houses in Suburbia. The clothes that finally resisted even mending were repurposed to clean, to become playclothes for dolls, or even to repurpose as insulating fillers to block out drafts. While I have saved every spare tiny button that manufacturers kindly include with my clothes, not once have I ever pulled out a sewing kit to attempt a replacement (though my winter coat wishes I would).
However, at one point, my family had a room filled with spare computer parts: graphics cards, motherboards, RAM, fans, capacitors, inductors, connectors, sockets. Any piece or component to build a computer from scratch lived in scattered boxes and small trays around a room that in my memory was always dark except for the light of the computer screen itself and a small task lamp. Friends’ and coworkers’ computers were often in some state of partial dismantling or repair, and the smell of a soldering gun now brings waves of nostalgia. Even still, years after the repair room was no longer a household feature, I remember asking for troubleshooting on a friend’s computer, but the time wasn’t worth the effort. It had become cheaper to simply buy a replacement or take it to a big box shop for the nerd brigade to consider.
Something changed. Suddenly but not all at once, fast fashion made new socks far easier to buy and deliver by 5pm than the effort and time to learn to darn the small hole. Costly or time-consuming technical repairs became cheaply accessible in video tutorials or avoidable with the next marked down cyber sale on superior technology. It’s remarkably easy to part ways. It’s often more difficult, time-consuming, and expensive to repair than to simply start over or buy new (or new to you).
The danger in a world of accessible and replaceable commodities is that we adopt a low tolerance for things that need mending. And that low tolerance slowly but surely seeps into our relationships.
Without realizing it, the relationship that seems to pull on that one string, or slightly poke at that one sore spot, starts to become less and less tolerable. It’s tedious. It’s taxing on our time. It’s inconvenient and not as enjoyable or exciting as it maybe once was. Perhaps it feels stale or has started to turn bitter, like tea you’ve left steep too long. Or perhaps it’s tense with so many words left unstated for so long that you’re not even sure where to start troubleshooting. Instead, we have learned that it’s not worth the effort to try to fix.
It would be easier to leave. Easier to let the relationship drift apart. It would be simpler to pretend that circumstances caused the separation. Simpler to cut ties and not struggle through the challenge of communication. The wound is just too scarred and old, we imagine. Why would we risk it reopening? The returned value was just so low. Would we even feel a loss?
Which brings us to Joseph. This is the Joseph, in case we need a reminder, who had a God-given dream that he would become a ruler, which he shared with his family. Maybe Joseph’s original delivery of that dream was poor, maybe the family was just jealous, but his brothers weren’t having it and sold him into slavery. This is also the Joseph that endured slavery and imprisonment and wrongful accusation, but became the very ruler who could save or starve his family when famine struck.
In that moment of mercy, Joseph faced the supreme question of restoration. Was the relationship with his brothers, the one estranged for decades due to abandonment, worth the effort? His choice could be fully retributive, holding a grudge even against his brothers’ children. It seems like it would be easier to return the abandonment. You left me for dead as a slave; I’m leaving you for dead in a famine. Tit for tat. It’s not like they’ve been trying to communicate all these years. Undoubtedly Joseph is now surrounded by found family; what value would there be in reopening communication now?
But that’s not what Joseph chose. He opted for the restoration, with the pain of now having to rehash old wounds, to rediscover people who he used to know. He took the effort to move his entire extended family to Egypt for the sake of their livelihood. Joseph opted for the route of repair, comforting his brothers and their families as they reestablished relationship and life.
This seems almost magical when we think about most lived relationship experiences. How did he do it? How did Joseph take such a relational high road after what he endured? Somewhere unwritten in the chapters before, Joseph picked the path of forgiveness. Maybe it was in the exact moments that he wept (so loud the whole of Pharaoh’s court could hear him) upon seeing his brothers in person. And maybe it was long before the option to restore the relationship ever presented itself. Either way, the choice in his heart to forgive and have compassion happened without his brothers asking. That’s right—the brothers don’t ask for Joseph’s forgiveness at this part of the story. They don’t even ask after Joseph gives them food and moves them all to Egypt. Nope. That doesn’t happen until we arrive at our passage this week.
In our passage, now years later, Joseph’s father has died, and the brothers are worried. What if Joseph still bears a grudge for what we did? The brothers still face the fear that has haunted them ever since that first moment of injured relationship when Joseph shared his dream. They couldn’t forgive Joseph then for daring to say he would be a ruler over them, couldn’t engage with him and chose separation. And now they still wonder, “what if Joseph bears a grudge?” Instead, it’s their own grudge that has followed them, clouding the life that Joseph has saved with doubt and insecurity. They are still afraid and tortured by the rift they chose all those years ago.
It doesn’t matter that Joseph has already shown that his character will be compassionate and comforting. They’re still living in the nightmare of death from all those years before. Joseph has already been merciful and saved his family, but they still come to him fearful and manipulative, “Your father said to forgive us. Please forgive us for how we wronged you.”
But forgiveness had already happened. “Don’t be afraid!” Joseph comforts their own wounded grudge. What they meant for harm, God meant for good.
Meant for is an interesting phrase, because you can also find it translated as weaving. The story that was woven with evil intent, God mended. He re-plaited the strands of would-be death, tying together the broken pieces in a way that preserves life. Joseph was moved to choose forgiveness, and it started a repair that was completely worth it.
Perhaps Joseph knew something of God’s forgiving character already that inspired him. As Psalm 103 says, He heals our diseases, or mends them by stitching. The garment is mended by sewing the remnant onto the torn thing, not waiting for the torn thing to ask for a patch.
Healing, mending, stitching back together came into Joseph’s life as he granted forgiveness, even before it was asked. It’s the motion toward forgiveness, granting it, that mends. The goodness of mercy gets sown (or sewn) into the relationship, and healing results. God means it for good, and Joseph recognizes His character.
It’s the same in the parable Jesus shares in Matthew 18. We are living in a kingdom where the forgiveness from the master is already there! It was settled generously as the master freely forgave numerous debts. The servant receives so much, but his choice to seize and choke out life from his debtor, rejecting mercy instead of sharing it, leads to the same haunting torture that Joseph’s brothers experience. Look how we stumble and suffer in captivity from the grudges we bear. We could pick the easy path of separation, settling our scores and cutting people off from life. But the kingdom of heaven is teaching us to go and bring back those who would offend us (even surrounding them with two or three or the whole body), to gather the lost, to keep each other from stumbling, to extend forgiveness seventy times seven.
I think it’s why Paul urges so strongly in Romans that we avoid being a stumbling block to each other, avoiding the weeds of arguing or separation. It’s why we prefer one another, even as someone holds a specific constraint really tightly. When you have a king like our God, who is gracious and compassionate, who would forgive seventy times seven, why not make the choice toward forgiveness and life?! When we know he would remove transgressions as far as the east is from the west, when we know his lovingkindness is as high as the heavens are above the earth, why not pick the path of mending and stitching together?! When we live in a kingdom characterized by the life of forgiveness, may we avoid the torture of grudging unforgiveness.
Maybe it makes the small irritations and frictions in relationships seem more manageable. Maybe the conflict that is natural between any two people starts to feel like something that God enables us to surround with grace and courtesy. The differing details aren’t allowed to become grudges or sources of contempt. Maybe we start to see more of the precious instead of the worthless. Maybe it makes the effort to repair feel easier and lighter and safer and more joyful.
What a gift it is that forgiveness would mend us as we extend it! What a kingly kindness that we would have the option for our old wounds and diseases to be healed as we make the choice to restore. Oh that God would give us the open heart to pick forgiveness in the awkward and tense moments. May He help our hearts extend mercy to our relationships that sit on the fringes, teetering on abandonment or separation, at risk of being lost to difficulty or pain. May His lovingkindness fill us in the moments we want to pull away, so that we are drawn back in, our threads binding toward each other instead of loosening.
A Prayer for Each Moment
God of Weaving,
Who knew that when You think of us, You carefully place each strand and fiber of our being? You pick the strings and fabrics, even the ones that seem out of place, and carefully tie it all together in a tapestry unfolding in the making. May we trust in Your kindness and comfort, letting our fears fall as we kneel in gratitude and extend compassion. For from Him, and through Him, and for Him are all things.
Amen.
A Prayer for Each Other
Our Father,
You give us a model of compassion and grace, patience and love, and then You promise to crown us with the same! May we bless You and Your good grace toward us.
Amen.
Blessing
May we see His kingdom characterized by compassion and being willing participants in it.
Photo by Tobias Doering on Unsplash
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