Reconciliation

Several things have happened recently converging on the theme of reconciliation. First there was the invitation to discuss the subject with a gathering of church professionals (I did that yesterday). Subsequent to that was the run of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat at the High School. Then there was the parable of the “prodigal son” as the text for last Sunday. All in all it led me into many unreconciled thoughts about reconciliation.

The story of Joseph is not only great literature—a textbook study in foreshadowing, irony, conflict, denouement—but it is a classic tale of reconciliation. Joseph’s favored status with his father, Jacob, leads to jealousy which leads to attempted fratricide (certainly not the first example in Genesis alone). In a perfect symphony of narrative strands, fortunes are gained and lost, intermingled themes occur and recur, until at last Joseph reveals himself to his brothers with forgiveness and generosity. It seems, over time, Jacob’s other sons have mellowed—willing now to sacrifice their lives for the sake of their brother Benjamin. And Joseph allows this change to happen and, with Jacob now in Egypt, the family is reunited with joy and thanksgiving to God.

Jesus’ story about the man with two sons is the step-child of the story of Joseph. It is, in many ways, the anti-narrative of Joseph. Whereas Joseph starts out in jealousy and exile and ends in reconciliation, Jesus’ story starts with self-imposed exile and ends in jealousy and estrangement. Whereas Joseph recognized himself, as God’s servant, as an agent of reconciliation, the elder brother refuses the same opportunity. What makes Egypt a party is Joseph’s willingness to accept change in his brothers and be forgiving. What stops the party in Jesus’ story is the elder brother’s insistence that change is irrelevant, forgiveness is undeserved, and righteousness goes wanting. Jesus tells this story in response to the religious leaders grumbling that Jesus receives and eats with sinners. Among the things the story illuminates is what a poor job the religious leaders are doing acting as agents of reconciliation for the lost and despised of their culture.

So with one story, they live happily ever after. With the other, not so much. Or so it seems. Until we read a little further into the book Exodus where, in one chilling sentence, the happily ever after unravels.

“Now there arose a new king over Egypt, who did not know Joseph.”

And so it goes. The Israelites are taken into slavery and submit to hard bondage. That is until the Lord hears their affliction and sends Moses the liberator. Moses, with God’s help, conquers pharaoh and leads the people into the wilderness. Hooray!

Where they bitch and moan about practically everything. And so it goes.

Jesus came preaching the good news of the Kingdom of God. He was crucified for it. But, on the third day he was raised from the dead. Fifty days later the Spirit came to the Church. And they lived happily ever after.

Except for the divisions in the Corinthian church over a great many things. The divisions in the Galatian churches over circumcision. The Jewish Christians who separated from the Gentile Christians. Paul who separated himself from Peter. And so it goes.

Until the Fourth Century when the Church argued about the nature of Christ. Was he fully divine and fully human? Or almost divine? Athanasius won. Arias was banished. And so it goes.

I see a trend developing. On the same Sunday that the lectionary called for the prodigal son, a portion of Paul’s letter to the Corinthians was also read. In this passage Paul contends that “If anyone is in Christ, (s)he is a new creation…all this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation, that is, God was in Christ reconciling the world to himself.” As to God reconciling the world to himself, we are left with Paul’s word to this effect. It is a tenant of faith. As to the ministry of reconciliation, that seems more elusive. For there is abundant visual evidence that supports the claim that reconciliation is, at best, fleeting—like grasping a wet fish let loose on the deck.

In fact, the entire Biblical witness is one great big oscillating wave from reconciliation to alienation and back again. Adam and Eve live in paradise until they screw it up and get thrown out. Abraham, Isaac and Jacob each have their share of the back and forth of enmity and devotion.

The entirety of Samuel and Kings is the back and forth relationship between Israel and God. The people sin and are delivered unto the hands of their enemies. They repent and God brings them back. Back and forth they go until finally Assyria and Babylon set them down for good.

But not quite. For here comes Persia to release the captives. Let’s skip a bit.

We have mentioned the story of the New Testament---Jesus preaching, his apparent failure, his triumphant resurrection, the Church’s founding, the Church’s dividing, arguing. Accusations of heresy fly here and there. People of faith are burned at the stake for having the wrong faith. The Reformation comes and goes and the Church splits into many tributaries all flowing presumably from the same source but often in dramatically different directions.

I have already belabored the point. What is my point? I am not sure. I think it is this: We cannot speak about reconciliation in a meaningful way unless we are stone cold honest about how little reconciliation has had any lasting impact. It happens, as Paul Tillich said of the New Creation in Christ—here and there and now and then. We have seen reconciliation enough to believe in its possibility. We have despaired of it enough to doubt its lasting impact.

We started with a musical (Joseph), so we shall end with one. (Perhaps all the wisdom of the world is found in musicals). Camelot. King Arthur has a vision for a new order. Not might makes right. Might for right. He creates the round table, so as to prevent egos seeking the head of the table. He gains his first disciple—the immaculate Lancelot.

And yet it all comes crumbling down. The queen and Lancelot are together in a castle while Arthur waits to attack. His wife and his best friend---and he waits at dawn to kill them both.

Then the boy shows up. A small lad who wants to be part of the battle. But Arthur will not let him. Someone has to keep the memory alive. Someone has to be able to say, in spite of all evidence to the contrary, that once there was a spot for happily ever aftering that was Camelot.

Reconciliation. It can happen. It does happen. It must happen more. But so often Reconciliation is like faith—the assurance of something hoped for. The conviction of a thing not seen.