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A Sermon by
Cynthia Bauleke
Get Over It
Genesis 45:1-15 As the culminating event of my year's
leave of absence, after working on my dissertation, in June our family took a
long anticipated tour of Europe. It was an amazing adventure for the four of
us to undertake together, seeing incredible sights - from the scenic Rhine
River, to the majestic Alps, to the warmth of the Mediterranean Sea. Exploring
different cultures, hearing new sounds and languages, savoring a variety of
foods, and seeing with our own eyes so many incredible works of art in
cathedrals and museums. In fact we saw so much, by the end of many days my
mind tilted to overload and my feet ached from walking. Perhaps the most
profound part of our experience was the sense of history which is so different
from our own. Walking on ancient cobblestones in Rome, worshiping in a
medieval church in France, and viewing renaissance art treasures where ever we
went, gave us such a different perspective and appreciation for history. There is no question that our most moving experiences were at holocaust
memorials. In Amsterdam we visited Ann Frank's tiny house where she hid with
her family from the Nazis, writing of her experiences in her now famous diary,
and the nearby pink triangle of the homomonument jutting out into the
canal, dedicated, in part, to the homosexuals who were sent to concentration
camps. In Paris, just beyond Notre Dam, we visited the somber Deportation
Memorial with its 200,000 lit crystals, one for each French citizen who
died in concentration camps. In Germany we visited the concentration camp at
Dachau and walked in reverent silence on that sacred ground, where there are
memorials built to remember the Jews, the Russians, the Italians, the gypsies,
the Protestants and Catholics, clergy and lay, who were sent there to work and
die. At every Nazi memorial the same message is posted: forgive but never
forget. Forgive but never forget. We look at the evil of the holocaust or countless other atrocities from the
oppression of slavery, to the violence of rape, to the horror of murder, to
abandonment, and we become outraged. As Christians we can become even angrier
at the idea that anyone who has suffered such things ought to forgive the
persons who inflicted this pain. We don't want to forget the lessons we have
learned from history, but how can we even begin to forgive in a world like
this one? Then there is the story of Joseph. His father, Jacob, had twelve sons, but
he had favorites, his two youngest sons Joseph and Benjamin, were clearly his
favorites. Jacob doted on these boys, blatantly favoring them with love and
affection. Especially Joseph, keeping them him close to him, treating him
differently from his brothers, giving him special gifts, like the coat of many
colors. It is not surprising the older brothers became envious and learned to
hate Joseph. They considered killing him, but when they had the opportunity,
they sold him into slavery and lied to their father, telling him that Joseph
was attacked and killed by a wild animal. How Jacob grieved the death of his
favorite son, while Joseph endured the oppression of slavery in Egypt. We can
only imagine Joseph's righteous indignation and anger at his brothers. Who
would blame him for wanting revenge? We are told Joseph gradually worked his
way through the system in Egypt, he was recognized for his leadership ability,
knowledge, and talent. He was given responsibility and power until he achieved
the second highest position in all the land. It was as governor that Joseph
next encounters his brothers, who come seeking food for their family in a time
of drought and famine. Joseph is holding all the cards, he has the power, he
could easily act out his anger and revenge on his brothers. But he doesn't.
Joseph has been attentive to God working in his life, in spite of the hardship
he has endured. Through Joseph God has worked good in Egypt. Joseph is able to
see this good and forgive his brothers, with tears and kisses. How does he do
it? How does he get beyond the bitterness, anger, and hurt? We are motivated to learn to forgive in part because we owe it to God, the
one who forgives us, but we also owe it to ourselves. Because resentment
deforms us. Because unforgiveness is a boomerang. We use it to protect
ourselves - to hurt back before we can be hurt again - but it has a sinister
way of circling back at us so that we become the victims of our own ill will.
"To err is human, to forgive divine," wrote Alexander Pope, coining a
cliche - and at the same time suggesting how not to make a cliche out of
forgiveness. If forgiveness, the act of giving up on revenge and praying for
the well being of those who wrong us, if this forgiveness is divine, then
perhaps it is not an act of human will power - but an operation of grace. Our
most tentative attempts at forgiveness are redeemed by the love of God, who is
able to forgive us abundantly. We have the capacity for forgiveness because
God has first forgiven us. Without experiencing God's forgiveness in our
lives, we have very little to offer anyone else. Yet sometimes it is just too
difficult for us to let go of the anger and pain on our own. This is when we
need to turn to God, praying for the gift of grace to forgive. And if this is
too difficult, we can at lest express to God our refusal to ask for the grace
to forgive. Garret Keizer in his new book The Enigma of Anger suggests that
before asking God for the grace to forgive, we might first "give thanks for
the grace to be angry. Anger in the face of injury is mechanism for survival,
no less than the clotting of our blood. Forgiveness is the scar, and it comes
later. Anger comes first, and like all created things, it is good." Keizer
believes anger is an important response to maintain our sense of self when we
are hurt or rejected, when we require adrenaline, hormones, and even rage to
survive. If we are lucky, we might one day turn this anger into a catalyst for
positive change for justice in our world, but that is another sermon. Many of us learned when we were young that anger is bad. We learned to
stifle our anger, rushing too soon to forgiveness. Yet, learning to forgive,
takes time. As deep as the pain and anger of our wounds have grown, this is
how long it will take to unravel those tentacles. It takes even longer to
learn to trust again. When I worked with women coming out of domestic violence we would encourage
them not to forgive too soon. They needed to learn to acknowledge and hold on
to their anger, working through their emotions before coming to forgiveness.
Only by taking time to intentionally examine and acknowledge their anger, by
learning to let go of their pain, breaking the bonds that held them in a cycle
of violence, were they freed to truly forgive their abuser, and in the process
to forgive themselves, opening up to healing and new growth, giving them the
chance to live again, free from the bitterness that draws the sweetness out of
life. It is essential for their own health that these women learn to forgive,
but never forget, lest they once again become enmeshed in a cycle of control
and violence. A primary reason for forgiveness is to release ourselves from the grip of
old hurts and pain which prevent us from finding the peace we long for in our
lives and which can separate us from God. Forgiveness is the healing of our
wounds, the transformation of our anger. Terry Anderson, a hostage in Lebanon for seven years, tells about the
healing powers of forgiveness in his life. He admits that, as a Christian, he
was often told to forgive, but the gospel never became real for him until he
began to forgive his captors. "Forgiveness doesn't have anything to do with
one's enemies," according to Anderson. Forgiveness doesn't mean there isn't
any anger, but is rather, letting go of that anger. If you hold on to the
anger too long, you only hurt yourself, family, and friends. Terry Anderson
tells how his journey toward forgiveness did not start after he was released,
but began while he was still in hostage. United Church of Christ minister, Donna Schaper, compares forgiveness to
restoring furniture. "The first thing people do when restoring old chairs is
strip - strip right down to the bare wood. They do this to see what the
original might have looked like and to determine if the thing is worth doing
over. They strip away all the years of grime, the garish coats of paint piled
one on top of the other. They get rid of all the junk that's been tacked on
through the years and try to find the solid, simple thing that is underneath. "I'm like an old chair needing that stripping process," Donna confesses.
"Every now and then I have to take a really hard look at the illusions I've
built up in myself and my society, see what I've gotten myself into.
Illusions? Yes, illusions; the excess baggage I carry around, the unnecessary,
the socially expected, all that keeps me living off center too long. Stripping
myself of all this is an intentional letting go of these illusions. It is a
spiritual act of personal forgiveness. God lets us let go. "It's hard work to let God forgive me. I have to discover the original
under all these coats I've added, strip away all the cynicism, anger, (and
bitterness) I've built up, get rid of the junk I've taken on, defy my
disappointments, and find what is real again." We are being forgiven every day of our lives. We are being set free by one
who wants us to be real again. It can be scary to risk trading in our pride
and power on the off-chance that we may discover something more valuable than
either of them. There is a loss, but it is the loss of our illusions, and what
is gained is unmistakably real: the chance to live again. . . . Somehow life
offers us lots of practice at this forgiveness business, and every time we do
it we feel a little more alive. Over and over again we have the opportunity -
to hang on - or to get over it - the choice is ours. I do not ever want to romanticize the horrors of life for those interned in
Nazi concentration camps, yet it is important that we never forget that evil
and the amazing way God is sometimes able to work in the midst of evil. I
offer this prayer written by a woman in the Ravensbruck concentration camp and
left by the body of a dead child: "Oh Lord, remember not only the men and
women of good will, but also those of ill will. But do not remember all the
sufferings they have inflicted on us. Remember rather the fruits we have
bought, thanks to this suffering: our comradeship, our loyalty, our humility,
our courage, our generosity; the greatness of heart which has grown out of all
of this. And when they come to judgement, let all the fruits which we have
borne be their forgiveness." Amen. |