“The Rear-View Window”

And Joseph said to his brothers, “Come close to me, pray,” and they came close, and he said, “I am Joseph your brother whom you sold into Egypt. And now, do not be pained and do not be incensed with yourselves that you sold me down here, because for sustenance God has sent me before you [Genesis 45:4-5, The Hebrew Bible, tr. by Robert Alter].

One of the longest stories in the Hebrew Bible is that of Joseph, the favored son of Jacob, the son whose father gave him the “technicolor” coat, the son who told his brothers that he dreamed that they would one day bow down to him, the son who was almost killed by his jealous brothers, but instead was sold to the Ishmaelites for 20 pieces of silver. It’s a story that consumes almost 14 chapters of Genesis (chs. 37-50). As I say, it’s long.

It’s the story of the son whom the Ishmaelites subsequently sold to Potiphar, courtier of Pharaoh, in Egypt. It’s the story of success—for Yahweh was with Joseph (Genesis 39:2). It’s a business story; Potiphar soon put the young man in charge of the entire house, where his skill at management led to enormous profits. It’s the story of deception, of being thrown in jail over that unfortunate misunderstanding with Mrs. Potiphar. It’s the story of dreams—and of Joseph’s skill in interpreting them. And finally, as we see in the Old Testament reading appointed for this upcoming Sunday [Genesis 45:3-11, 15, the Seventh Sunday after the Epiphany (RCL, Year C)], it’s the complicated, intricate story of famine, reunion, intrigue, trickery, evidence-planting, deliverance, and even forgiveness. Wow! It sounds a lot like Durham.

When one reads the story of Adam and Eve, even with their disappointing activities, God is always present. When Cain and Abel offer their gifts to God, when Cain kills Abel, even when Cain is banished to the Land of Nod—East of Eden—God remains present to shield him from harm. God is present with Noah, with Jonah, with Moses and Aaron, and with the Israelites. But in Joseph’s story, God seems strangely absent.

To be sure, as I mentioned above, the text clearly teaches that “God was with Joseph.” And, of course, in this week’s lesson, Joseph tells his brothers that it was God, not them, who had sent him into Egypt to preserve life [Genesis 45:7]. Nevertheless, while God is mentioned within the Joseph text, God seems not to be “a character” within the narrative. God never speaks to any of the actors. Most importantly, God is never seen to act, except in retrospect.

For example, as we read the ending of the Joseph story—beyond the verses appointed for this Sunday—we see that Joseph points to God’s role explicitly. Addressing his brothers, Joseph says, “You intended to harm me, but God intended it all for good. He brought me to this position so I could save the lives of many people” (Genesis 50:20). It is only when Joseph peers backwards, through the rear-view window, so to speak, that he can see the hand of God on his story.

Oh, I know, some of us see God within every mundane transaction. Most of us know someone who offers a prayer of thanksgiving when he or she sees a vacant parking spot near their intended destination. There are others who, in the days before COVID-19, when cafeteria lines existed, would raise their eyes to heaven when they saw that there remained one last piece of lemon meringue pie, saved just for them. Most of us doubt, however, that God is particularly interested in saving someone a few steps at the Streets of Southpoint. Nor does it seem likely that God wastes miracles on a luscious dessert. “There are hungry children in Africa, after all ….”

There have certainly been times in my life in which I thought God was speaking to me in the present tense. God was there to advise me as to the smallest of details, or so I thought. God clearly wanted—no, directed—Jane and me to move to Durham and temporarily become part of the Duke community. Truth be told—looking through the windshield—I thought God was telling us to stay in Durham for three years, then move back to some post in Western North Carolina. As I gaze through the rear-view window, however, I see that instead of staying here three years, it’s now been almost 36.

As I look backward, through the rear-view window, I see how, without an explicit word, without becoming a “named” character in our drama, God was silently active in moving things along. He arranged for me to do some part-time work for Arthur Larson, Professor Emeritus at Duke Law, and later arranged for that work to grow significantly and support my family quite well.

More importantly, God put me into direct contact with two completely different, but equally lovable characters whom I met in my first month at Duke: Jim Sutherland, a marvelously bright, always provocative OB-GYN specialist who was endeavoring to explore what God’s “plan” for him might be, and Luke Bell, a former Airborne paratrooper, who then—and now—exhibits a quiet, firm faith that is equally open to God’s shouts and God’s silence.

As I retrace my path through the rear-view window, I see a wonderful little Methodist congregation in Saxapahaw, who taught me that often the best thing “to do” is nothing—just listen, without trying to find something to fix. I see a dissimilar gathering at Asbury UMC, who tried my patience in a thousand ways and yet, always offered love and acceptance. I see a few years at Duke Chapel, where at times I felt like I was adrift.

I see 17 years at Trinity Avenue Presbyterian, here in Durham, where Jane and I forged close friendships, often within crucibles of enormous challenge. I see a close-knit ecclesia or “gathering” centered at Carolina Arbors, that “meets” (now via Zoom) each Wednesday. I see the presence of Holy Spirit which plants learning and love within the group.

Because of COVID-19, and the fact that it has been only two years since we became part of Blacknall Presbyterian, there’s much less to see—so far—on Perry Street, since most of our activity there is still to be viewed through the windshield and not yet through the rear-view window. In years to come, however, I’m certain that I’ll look back on many moments in which God’s hand was quietly, patiently at work.

Back to our Genesis text, I love the Joseph story, you see, because it teaches that there is much that can be seen when one concentrates not upon the view that is available through the windshield, but rather the wonderful landscape that can be revealed when we look out the rear-view window. The story of Joseph also teaches us the value of time, yet does so in a counter-intuitive fashion.

The fast-paced world around us offers lessons that we’ve been told are true: e.g., “Tempus fugit.” Those of you who remember your Latin know that the phrase doesn’t so much mean “time flies,” as it means “time flees.” Time runs away from us, or so our culture teaches. Accordingly, because time flees, our culture teaches that we need to grab it while we can. “Carpe diem.”

And yet, the story of Joseph teaches us just the opposite. God’s work—God’s plan takes time. You don’t spend three short years getting your M.Div. so that you can then get on with “it.” You find that you continue to move slowly through time, and that when you look backward, back through the rear-view window, you see that often here, sometimes there, God opened up a door that turned out to be a true and proper path, or that God narrowed the path on some other occasions, often when it did not suit you, in order that you might serendipitously encounter His true Grace.

For so much of our lives, we desperately want God to follow our set schedules, to move and shake the world around us, yes, but to shake it within our sense of timing. Sometimes, we even look through that rear-view window at 36 years and think to ourselves—quite incorrectly—that we have walked this pathway for a long time. Yet, in God’s Kingdom, it hasn’t been long at all.

My friend Luke, who does Greek for both of us, says that we have to develop a sense of Kairos—God’s time—not Chronos—our time. Can we see that while it took Joseph years to do so, he developed that sense of Kairos? That’s what Joseph saw, I think, as he looked out upon his brothers, the brothers who almost killed him and who did sell him into slavery. There, on his seat of power, he had every reason to strike out at his brothers, to punish them for what they had done, to make their lives as miserable as his had been when he was imprisoned. Yet he was able to see how God had worked so silently in the background, doing this or that, all the while so that God’s plan—God’s Will—would be done. That will was to preserve life, to make certain that there was always a remnant of faith and hope.

In years to come, as we look back through the rear-view window at this time of masking, “vaxing,” boosting, huddling, moping, crying, and wondering, I bet we’ll see God’s hand in preserving His Kingdom, and that He will have preserved it in His Good Time.