Welcome
Good morning, church. It is good to be with you again!
We are beginning a coffee hour before service to catch up with your church friends, from 10:15-10:45 AM on Zoom on Sundays. As our coffee hour ends, we’ll hop on over to Facebook Live to worship together.
This Tuesday at 7 pm on Zoom is our next Worship Dream Team. If you’ve never been a part of worship planning, but would like to join us,
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We conclude our worship series through Genesis: Back to the Beginning, where we explore what the matriarchs and patriarchs might have to say about the following God during uncertain times. Today, we end our journey with the story of Joseph.
Let us prepare our hearts for worship.
Pastoral Prayer
Good morning, church, I’m Alan Lobaugh. It is a joy to join you in worship. As we prepare to pray, remember that you can share your prayer concerns in the comments, or contact our church office to add names to our prayer list.
The Lord be with you, and also with you, let us pray.
Sovereign of sea and sky; Maker of mountains and valleys; We know you by what you have created. We know you by how we feel in your presence. As we worship you, today, we confess:
We have not been our best selves in relation to each other. Our jealousy, our greed, our envy, pushes us to treat our brothers and sisters with callousness and disdain.
We’ve not been our best selves in relation to our global neighbors: Nations posture against nations. We treat tragedies as political pawns in a quest for dominance.
And we have not been our best selves in relation to the earth, this very land you have formed. We use natural resources with little thought of our impact and little thought of the legacy we leave for the generations to follow.
Today, we ask you to remake us in your image, to redefine us, not by our past, but by what you call us to be and do from this moment forward.
As we read the stories of our ancestors, teach us. Teach us what it means to love our sisters and brothers unconditionally, to care sacrificially for their well-being, to do all that is in our power to nurture them in hope.
As we hear the cries of our neighbors, help us. Help us open our hands to the needs of the poorest, the lost, those who are despondent. Let us offer the generous grace that has fed us. Move us to share generously of our resources.
As we wake to the injustices our complacency allows, open our eyes fully. Open our eyes and move our feet to make a difference for those who are still enslaved to the power of others. Show us the way to bring healing to wounds created by hatred and oppression. Make us passionate in our pursuit of justice for everyone, compassion for all.
As we experience the resurrected Christ, call us. Call us.
Call us in hope for a new creation – You are the God who makes all things new. As we stand at the beginning of a new season of school work, help us remember that you will walk with us every step of the way. As we experience new horizons, new relationships, new thoughts and new insights. Bless us with the ability to see you in every moment, and to follow you more closely every day.
We pray in the name of the one who promised to be with us always, and we pray together the words he taught his disciples.
Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day, our daily bread, and forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil, for thine is the kingdom, and the power and the glory, forever, amen.
Children’s Moment
Read Jacob’s story in Bible.
For our prayer, I invite you to put your hand over your eyes as if you’re looking for something in the distance.
God, help us to love when so many others hate. Help us to speak up on behalf of our brothers and sisters and neighbors. And help us to trust that You are with us in every moment of our story. Amen.
Scripture and Sermon
Genesis 37:1-4, 12-28
Jacob settled in the land where his father had lived as an alien, the land of Canaan.
2 This is the story of the family of Jacob.
Joseph, being seventeen years old, was shepherding the flock with his brothers; he was a helper to the sons of Bilhah and Zilpah, his father’s wives; and Joseph brought a bad report of them to their father. 3 Now Israel loved Joseph more than any other of his children, because he was the son of his old age; and he had made him a long robe with sleeves. 4 But when his brothers saw that their father loved him more than all his brothers, they hated him, and could not speak peaceably to him.
12 Now his brothers went to pasture their father’s flock near Shechem. 13 And Israel said to Joseph, “Are not your brothers pasturing the flock at Shechem? Come, I will send you to them.” He answered, “Here I am.” 14 So he said to him, “Go now, see if it is well with your brothers and with the flock; and bring word back to me.” So he sent him from the valley of Hebron.
He came to Shechem, 15 and a man found him wandering in the fields; the man asked him, “What are you seeking?” 16 “I am seeking my brothers,” he said; “tell me, please, where they are pasturing the flock.” 17 The man said, “They have gone away, for I heard them say, ‘Let us go to Dothan.’” So Joseph went after his brothers, and found them at Dothan. 18 They saw him from a distance, and before he came near to them, they conspired to kill him. 19 They said to one another, “Here comes this dreamer. 20 Come now, let us kill him and throw him into one of the pits; then we shall say that a wild animal has devoured him, and we shall see what will become of his dreams.”
21 But when Reuben heard it, he delivered him out of their hands, saying, “Let us not take his life.” 22 Reuben said to them, “Shed no blood; throw him into this pit here in the wilderness, but lay no hand on him”—that he might rescue him out of their hand and restore him to his father. 23 So when Joseph came to his brothers, they stripped him of his robe, the long robe with sleeves that he wore; 24 and they took him and threw him into a pit. The pit was empty; there was no water in it.
25 Then they sat down to eat; and looking up they saw a caravan of Ishmaelites coming from Gilead, with their camels carrying gum, balm, and resin, on their way to carry it down to Egypt. 26 Then Judah said to his brothers, “What profit is it if we kill our brother and conceal his blood? 27 Come, let us sell him to the Ishmaelites, and not lay our hands on him, for he is our brother, our own flesh.” And his brothers agreed. 28 When some Midianite traders passed by, they drew Joseph up, lifting him out of the pit, and sold him to the Ishmaelites for twenty pieces of silver. And they took Joseph to Egypt.
This is the word of God for the people of God. Thanks be to God.
Early Wednesday morning, I was sitting out on my back porch sipping my coffee, going back and forth between working on this sermon and hopping around online. I read updates on the explosion in Beirut. I checked the rising numbers of COVID in our state. I read posts from parents agonizing over the in-person vs. online school decision. I had not even finished my first cup of coffee, and I could feel my heart rate rising, my chest tightening.
And then as the sun peaked over the horizon, I heard the unmistakable cry of a woman giving birth down the street. In her backyard, with birds chirping and the neighborhood waking up, this woman was bringing a child into the world with the help of her partner and midwife. I rooted her on silently with each contraction, enraptured by this unexpected moment I got to witness as a listener.
The juxtaposition of the encroaching existential dread as I read about death and despair and the woman laboring for new life so close that I could hear her cries of pain was like a lesson on hope—not a shallow positivity that tells people to smile because Jesus loves them, but rather a down-in-the-depths, visceral knowing that one is not alone despite all evidence to the contrary. That while death is a reality of our world, so is new life.
For the past few weeks, we have been immersed in Jacob’s story, and while he’s a very interesting person, he’s not exactly a model citizen. But he gets it honestly, right? His family members have problems, to say the least, and we haven’t even met all of them yet.
Today’s text, though seemingly about Joseph, begins with the proclamation: “This is the story of the family of Jacob.”
If you were here in this room with me today, I would have brought a big map and a genealogical tree to point to, because while the text is full of unfamiliar names, if you know what all these names are, this short narrative get a lot bigger. This text while telling the story of Joseph’s enslavement, is also telling quite a few other family stories at the same time, as a backdrop to why his brothers hate him so much that they would want to get rid of him.
These stories of Jacob’s family are not the point of today’s text, but they are the context for Joseph’s story, so it may feel like we are getting a little too close to a dumpster fire for comfort, but I promise we will not be there for long. Because in order to understand Joseph’s story, we have to know these other stories that are calling out from the text, too.
This is the story of the family of Jacob.
At the very beginning, Joseph is helping out Bilhah and Zilpah—Jacob’s wives, mothers to some of his sons, Joseph’s brothers. But do you know these women? Because the Bible is so casual with their label, so quick to gloss over their story—the wives. They belong to a collection of wives for Jacob.
You might remember Rachel and Leah, the sister wives that Jacob worked 14 years for, curiously not mentioned in this story. Well, Bilhah and Zilpah were their slaves. And when Rachel and Leah and Jacob rode off into the sunset, Bilhah and Zilpah were with them. And not to be outdone by each other, the sister wives gave their slaves to Jacob to sleep with so he could have more kids. Of course, being enslaved, Bilhah and Zilpah did not sign up for this arrangement. And you might remember Reuben from today’s story, Joseph’s brother who was the first to suggest that Joseph’s life should be spared. Before this story, he, too, took Bilhah’s body. These women, so casually and incorrectly referred to as wives of Jacob, carried around trauma in their bodies, in their names, and subsequently in their families
This is the story of the family of Jacob. Moving on.
Joseph is then sent to Shechem to check on his brothers from the valley of Hebron. These places may hold no meaning for us, but they would be signaling stories to the reader. They would have the same weight of story as if I dropped names like Sandy Hook, Flint, Waco, Jonestown, Chernobyl. A whole narrative pops up in your mind when you hear these places, and Shechem and Hebron are like that.
Shechem is where the brothers are shepherding the sheep. We don’t know this place personally, but it would ring a bell to those who know about Jacob’s family. You see, Jacob has a daughter named Dinah, who was raped there by a powerful man, and her many brothers avenged her honor in vigilante fashion, killing the man.
And remember Sarah, Abraham’s wife, Jacob’s grandmother? She died in Hebron. And she had a lot in common with Rachel and Leah. We of course know Sarah and Hagar’s story. From Hebron to Shechem—the wind blows in the desert and stories of violence whistle past your ear. As we move through this passage seemingly about Joseph and his brothers, the names and places leading up to the actual plot are like trip wires, setting off alarms as we go.
After Joseph finally finds his brothers near a place called Dothan—a place that will become the last known sighting of Joseph—the brothers munch on lunch and decide if they’re going to let Joseph die in a pit. But then here comes the Ishmaelites and Midianites on their camels, waving hello. Recall Hagar and her son that were sent out to the desert to die. That son is where the Ishmaelites come from. And the Midianites have a similar history—Midian was the son of Keturah, another of Abraham’s wives, sent to die. So, the Ishmaelites and Midianites were kind of family. Which makes sense in a dumpster fire kind of way, because this is the story of the family of Jacob.
As alarm bells are going off in our story, the brothers essentially set their own alarm in Dothan as they get rid of Joseph, the brother they all despise. Let’s just say that in addition to the fancy coat and favoritism from his dad, he has some dreams that the brothers do not appreciate. What these little alarm bells are signaling is that true to the ways of their family, the brothers intend to deceive their father in order to get what they think they deserve. The names and the places are lighting up and sounding off to show us, the readers, that these paths the brothers take have been walked before.
These brothers, some of whom are sons of enslaved women, sell their brother into slavery, to people who are descendants of enslaved people in their family line. It’s a mess. I do not even know how to mark all of this on a genealogical tree, so perhaps it’s better that I didn’t bring one after all.
This story is littered with trauma and violence and despair, and Joseph, though sure, he doesn’t die at the end, is not free. Things are bleak, to say the least.
Not so different from the times we’re living now, one might argue.
But maybe we need to look into the future of Joseph’s life to find some gospel-esque hope.
And perhaps it seems like a cheap move, like I’m cheating, by reaching into the future to show that the fire is not always raging in the dumpster. Because what about today? Look, you might say, we’re weary, we’re beat down, we’re in the pit with Joseph—don’t tell us it gets worse before it gets better.
I know. I get it.
But if we’re going to take the aerial view of Joseph’s life backwards as the text calls us to, digging through all the skeletons in Jacob’s family closet, then I think it’s important to fly over his life going forward. Because today, the lectionary drops us into this moment in the text that is choking with animosity, and while it’s true, this moment, it is not the only thing that’s true about Joseph and Jacob and this story.
Just trust me for a second. I promise I will not tell you that everything happens for a reason or that God needs more angels.
There is this moment in the end. It’s palpable. It doesn’t erase the pain and wreckage wrought by Jacob’s family but neither does it die in the dumpster fire. In the story of Joseph, there is a moment of clarity and dare I say it, hope.
At the end of the story, in one of the last sentences of Genesis, Joseph, an honored leader in Egypt, his days of slavery over, says to his brothers, “What you intended for harm, God intended for good.”
He looks at his brothers who so many years ago had done him harm, with the full weight of this life peppered with servitude and wrongful accusations and prison and loneliness hanging in the air, and he makes a theological claim: God took what you did, God took this dumpster fire of a life and family, and recycled it.
This is the story of the family of Jacob.
Joseph’s story may not begin with a call to leave his home and follow God into the desert like Abraham. There may not be a miraculous meeting at a well like Isaac. There may be no wrestling for a new name like Jacob. In fact, God is notably absent in the text we read, which is the first we hear of Joseph.
But God is there in the end, and according to Joseph, God was there in the beginning. God was in the pit. God was with him when he was slung over a camel as a slave. God was in Egypt, in Shechem, in Hebron, in Dothan.
And eventually in Joseph’s story, things were righted. The ship steadied. The harm that the brothers caused Joseph, that Jacob’s family history caused every person in that family, that wasn’t erased or forgotten. But it was made right. It was vindicated. God had been working quietly. God had been abiding steadfastly, because God is obsessed with all the stories of Jacob’s family—from the aha moments to the tragic events.
We are in a time in history that is choking on the pollution of hatred and fear and power and actual pollution. And this horror is true. The pit you’re in is real. But it is not the only thing that’s true.
And what if we were able to fly over our unwritten future—the way, way forward when God gets everything that God wants? Will we be able to say, God took that harm and instead, redirected it for good? Will we be able to say, yeah, the world was on fire, we were choking on hate and fear, but God was there with a fire extinguisher and an oxygen mask.
We may not get to see the world that God wants. If Joseph’s life represents our world in my story today, we may not get to see past his time enslaved. We may not even see the bruises heal from when he was thrown into the pit. But we can trust that that moment, at the end of Genesis, the one where he makes this extraordinary claim, we can trust that that moment is coming. It is on the horizon. The arc of the moral universe is long, Martin Luther King, Jr. told us—and these days it seems very, very, very long. But the story of Joseph tells us it is indeed bending toward justice.
There’s a quote that is often attributed to the Talmud, a collection of ancient Jewish teachings, but it’s actually a paraphrase of different parts of the Talmud from poet Rami Shapiro. This the English teacher in me wanting to credit sources accurately, but no matter, here’s what it says:
“Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world’s grief. Do justly, now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly, now. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it.”
This idea from the Talmud is not exactly the the good news of the miraculous upheaval of the powers that be. It does not speak of a revolution of peacemakers and the merciful coming soon, lions tamed, COVID-19 cured, racism fixed, and ice caps refrozen. I don’t bear that news. And our text today doesn’t either.
But our text does point us forward even as it points us backward. And what the future story tells us is that God is here with us now, even if we can’t see God through the smoke. And we are called to simply join the work, knowing that we may not see the end. That is something this church does really well.
You might get thrown into a pit, or find yourself in an unfamiliar world, or be betrayed by your own family, or bear the scars of dysfunction.
But we can trust that we are not alone. That God is working. That God is laboring in the wee hours of the morning in God’s own backyard with the force of love and mercy and justice to get the world that God wants finally born. Even when the past and the present bear down, we are not alone. We are not ones without hope.
This story we’re living today is not the only story. It is not the final story. Our humanity story, our story as the people of God, does not end with us being carried off enslaved or selling our siblings into slavery. It does not end that way. The story is not over yet. This is the story of the family of Jacob.
Amen.
Sharing Our Resources
During these days of social distancing, it’s even more crucial for us to share our resources with our neighbors and our community. When you give to Azle Christian Church, you help take care of the community around us through helping our various outreach ministries—the benevolence fund, the little food pantry we’ve set up, Food Hub, Southwest Good Samaritan Ministry, and others.
There are several ways for you to help sustain the ministries of the church through your financial gifts. See the comments on this video for links to ways to give or visit our giving page on our website.
If you or someone you know is in need of help during this time, please contact our church office or get in touch with us through Facebook or email. We are here for you.
Benediction
For our benediction today, I invite you to put your hand over your eyes as if you’re looking for something in the distance.
May the God of Jacob and Joseph, Bilhah and Zilpah, Reuben and Judah and Dinah, of the Israelites, the Ishmaelites, and the Midianities, give us a faith that connects us all, give us a hope that transcends today, and give us a vision that outlasts our lives. Amen.