Jack Hardaway
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Have you ever noticed that sometimes those who suffer rejection end up becoming very welcoming and inviting people? They become the kind of people who have the true gift of hospitality of reaching out and inviting.
We hear today part of the story of Joseph.
“I am Joseph”, he says. And boy you could have heard a pen drop. All his brothers never thought they’d see Joseph again after selling him into slavery.
And now here he is in charge of all of Egypt. He did well for himself! There must have been fear as well. Their lives were now in his hands. Their roles were now reversed.
Then Joseph tells the brothers to come closer. I bet they could hardly breathe. They came closer fearing for their lives.
And then Joseph says the words, the words that glow and run over with God’s presence. “Do not be distressed or angry with yourselves, because you sold me here; for God sent me before you to preserve life.”
Because Joseph was in Egypt they were able to prepare for seven years of famine, and life was preserved, including his brothers who betrayed him.
And so Joseph invited the family to settle in Egypt, that they may live and prosper.
The one who was rejected ended up being the one who made the invitation and offered real and true salvation. It is the irony that God’s presence brings to the human story.
God always has a way of catching us short.
Who have we rejected? Perhaps we were the one rejected.
Who are those who make the invitation? Do we offer up invitation?
The Gospel lesson from Matthew shares some of this same irony surrounding rejection and invitation.
We hear about what makes someone acceptable or unacceptable. It isn’t how we do things or where we are from that makes us acceptable or unacceptable it’s how we treat other people, it’s what comes out of our hearts, that makes us acceptable or unacceptable.
What is it that defiles?
The Canaanite woman begged Jesus for mercy to heal her daughter from being tormented by a demon. Jesus said he was too busy. She was not a Jew after all. Then comes the irony.
The one that Jesus rejects then has to remind Jesus to be faithful, if even dogs get crumbs from under the table then how much more should she be heard who wishes the wellbeing of her child.
Jesus is impressed and heals the child.
The one whom Jesus rejected invited Jesus to be faithful and to remember his own words about what makes someone acceptable or unacceptable. About what it is that defiles.
She stands in a long line of people who argue with God, who remind God to be faithful, who tell God to do better.
It is a strange thing.
God seems to like being addressed directly with passion.
There is something important about that. The same thing happened with Job, and Abraham. Jacob wrestled all night with God refusing to give in. God then named Jacob Israel, meaning the one who strives with God.
God loves to wrestle. Our hearts and our attention are all in it, there is nothing “sort of” about it.
The dark irony of God, sometimes we call it the Gospel.
The dark irony of God takes rejection and turns it into invitation.
The ultimate irony of God is that our rejection of Jesus in the cross becomes the invitation of God in the Resurrection.
It takes the breath away.
Think of the shock of Joseph’s brothers when Joseph suddenly reappeared, the shame, the hope and the deathly fear. It is a resurrection appearance. Cascading emotions before the one who is our judge.
Think of the same shock of Jesus’ disciples, when the one they betrayed, denied and abandoned suddenly reappears. Cascading emotions. A train wreck piling up before the impossible.
And then Joseph and Jesus speak the words that glow and drip with God’s presence.
Words of invitation.
Words of dark irony.
Words that break the machines and vocabulary of hatred.
Love that really is love.
Not the hatred that hides behind loving words that false Christianity excels at, that perversion that weaponizes love.
But rather love that really is love.
Invitation that really is invitation, without hesitation or excuse.
The invitation that breaks us and remakes us, the judgement that restores us, cascading failures become the torrent that washes us clean.
How much of our lives do we give over to the dark powers of rejection? To the machines and vocabulary of hate? To that fake piety that weaponizes love, hatred with a smile, blaming the victims.
The flip side.
How much of our lives do we give over to the breathtaking surprise of invitation? Without hesitation or excuse. Being humbled before the mercy that breaks our hearts?
The dark irony of the Gospel.
It’s always there.
Always inviting us to wrestle.