Call you up in the middle of the night / Like a firefly without a light / You were there like a slow torch burning / I was a key that could use a little turning / So tired that I couldn't even sleep / So many secrets I couldn't keep / Promised myself I wouldn't weep / One more promise I couldn't keep
I was driving Maddie to her dance lesson last night, and somewhere along the journey the radio played Soul Asylum’s “Runaway Train.” (By the way, notice how I get in the information about Maddie and her dancing and me being a good dad? I’m getting good at this extraneous information thing, aren’t I?) I don’t know if you know the song, it’s kind of catchy. Gets in your head anyway. Maddie and I were singing along. At least the words we knew. And then I listened carefully. And got depressed.
Like so many songs these days, there is a fatalism at the heart of the song. Runaway train never going back / Wrong way on a one way track / Seems like I should be getting somewhere / Somehow I'm neither here nor there. That’s the chorus. You can’t help but feel uneasy hearing these words. Like there might be a generation out there ready to give up. Like there might be someone crying out for something of significance.
Can you help me remember how to smile / Make it somehow all seem worthwhile / How on earth did I get so jaded / Life's mystery seems so faded. How on earth indeed. But it isn’t just young people. There are a lot of us who have this feeling of being on a runaway train. This past week has been a roller coaster ride for those who pay attention to the markets. And the race to the 2012 elections heated up with a debate full of name-calling and finger-pointing. The country’s credit status was downgraded. And Tiger Woods missed the cut at the PGA Championship. Runaway train never going back / Wrong way on a one way track / Seems like I should be getting somewhere / Somehow I'm neither here nor there.
Joseph was neither here nor there. For a while anyway. Remember him? Last week we left him in a pit. Well, not exactly. He was in a pit and then he was dragged out and sold into slavery and was on a camel train to Egypt. A runaway train. At least it felt so to him. He was not in control, he was pulled along by forces bigger than he was. And where did he end up? In a good job that he lost, in prison for years, then tossed before Pharaoh and asked to produce, like a performing monkey on leash.
But it turned out well. He was given authority and power and he used it wisely. And now he is second in command over all of Egypt. And his brothers show up, hat in hand, needing a hand out. Needing a government subsidy. The very ones who threw him in a pit because they didn’t have the will to kill him, like they wanted to. Now they are on Joseph’s doorstep inches away despair and destruction. And he kicks them to the curb.
Doesn’t he? Wouldn’t you? This is your chance to get back at all those who hurt you. Your chance to strike back against the runaway train that you were thrown on in that weak moment, in that dark time. Now you’ve got the power, how are you going to use it?
Genesis 45:1-15 Then Joseph could no longer control himself before all those who stood by him, and he cried out, "Send everyone away from me." So no one stayed with him when Joseph made himself known to his brothers. 2 And he wept so loudly that the Egyptians heard it, and the household of Pharaoh heard it. 3 Joseph said to his brothers, "I am Joseph. Is my father still alive?" But his brothers could not answer him, so dismayed were they at his presence. 4 Then Joseph said to his brothers, "Come closer to me." And they came closer. He said, "I am your brother, Joseph, whom you sold into Egypt. 5 And now do not be distressed, or angry with yourselves, because you sold me here; for God sent me before you to preserve life. 6 For the famine has been in the land these two years; and there are five more years in which there will be neither plowing nor harvest. 7 God sent me before you to preserve for you a remnant on earth, and to keep alive for you many survivors. 8 So it was not you who sent me here, but God; he has made me a father to Pharaoh, and lord of all his house and ruler over all the land of Egypt. 9 Hurry and go up to my father and say to him, 'Thus says your son Joseph, God has made me lord of all Egypt; come down to me, do not delay. 10 You shall settle in the land of Goshen, and you shall be near me, you and your children and your children's children, as well as your flocks, your herds, and all that you have. 11 I will provide for you there-- since there are five more years of famine to come-- so that you and your household, and all that you have, will not come to poverty.' 12 And now your eyes and the eyes of my brother Benjamin see that it is my own mouth that speaks to you. 13 You must tell my father how greatly I am honored in Egypt, and all that you have seen. Hurry and bring my father down here." 14 Then he fell upon his brother Benjamin's neck and wept, while Benjamin wept upon his neck. 15 And he kissed all his brothers and wept upon them; and after that his brothers talked with him.
A lot of kissing in this scene! And weeping. Not really what you’d expect in a confrontation of long held grudges and chips on shoulders. In fact, if we are going to be honest, it sounds a little crazy. This forgiveness thing sounds wonderful in the abstract, but almost offensive in reality. Don’t you think they deserved a little more punishment than they got? Don’t you think they should pay for their crimes? How can they get off so easily and we all feel ok with that?
That’s the problem with this runaway train we are on, it makes what is sane sound crazy and what is crazy sound sane. Bought a ticket for a runaway train / Like a madman laughin' at the rain / Little out of touch, little insane / Just easier than dealing with the pain. Wouldn’t getting off the train make more sense? Wouldn’t living by different rules, trusting in a different driver make more sense?
See, that’s what happened to Joseph. He switched trains. From the outside, it looked like the same one. Things out of control, stuff happens to him, he pays for mistakes that weren’t his. But from the inside it all looked different. He was trusting in something different, something bigger than himself and his circumstance. He began to ask a different set of questions. Instead of “why me?” or “why is this happening to me?” he began to ask, what does God require of me now? No matter the depth of the now, no matter the hurt in the now, no matter the injustice of the now. He still could ask, “what does God require of me now?” And then based on the answers he discovered, he followed that track, he rode that train.
He trusted that the train wasn’t a runaway after all. That it had a destination that he couldn’t always see, or understand, or even like all that much. But he was along for the ride. He trusted in the driver. Some of our greatest frustrations come not from the circumstances we are in, but the belief that God should have worked them out in a different way. If only, we say and think and pray, if only.
Call you up in the middle of the night / Like a firefly without a light / You were there like a slow torch burning / I was a key that could use a little turning. What if instead of a love song like so many, we heard this as a prayer song? What if the slow torch burning was God, what if what we were asking for was a little turning, a little direction, enough wisdom to take one more step in the right direction. And then another. And another. “How did you get here” someone asks. “God sent me,” we reply, hoping, trusting that it is true. Because it is.
I was driving Maddie to her dance lesson last night, and somewhere along the journey the radio played Soul Asylum’s “Runaway Train.” (By the way, notice how I get in the information about Maddie and her dancing and me being a good dad? I’m getting good at this extraneous information thing, aren’t I?) I don’t know if you know the song, it’s kind of catchy. Gets in your head anyway. Maddie and I were singing along. At least the words we knew. And then I listened carefully. And got depressed.
Like so many songs these days, there is a fatalism at the heart of the song. Runaway train never going back / Wrong way on a one way track / Seems like I should be getting somewhere / Somehow I'm neither here nor there. That’s the chorus. You can’t help but feel uneasy hearing these words. Like there might be a generation out there ready to give up. Like there might be someone crying out for something of significance.
Can you help me remember how to smile / Make it somehow all seem worthwhile / How on earth did I get so jaded / Life's mystery seems so faded. How on earth indeed. But it isn’t just young people. There are a lot of us who have this feeling of being on a runaway train. This past week has been a roller coaster ride for those who pay attention to the markets. And the race to the 2012 elections heated up with a debate full of name-calling and finger-pointing. The country’s credit status was downgraded. And Tiger Woods missed the cut at the PGA Championship. Runaway train never going back / Wrong way on a one way track / Seems like I should be getting somewhere / Somehow I'm neither here nor there.
Joseph was neither here nor there. For a while anyway. Remember him? Last week we left him in a pit. Well, not exactly. He was in a pit and then he was dragged out and sold into slavery and was on a camel train to Egypt. A runaway train. At least it felt so to him. He was not in control, he was pulled along by forces bigger than he was. And where did he end up? In a good job that he lost, in prison for years, then tossed before Pharaoh and asked to produce, like a performing monkey on leash.
But it turned out well. He was given authority and power and he used it wisely. And now he is second in command over all of Egypt. And his brothers show up, hat in hand, needing a hand out. Needing a government subsidy. The very ones who threw him in a pit because they didn’t have the will to kill him, like they wanted to. Now they are on Joseph’s doorstep inches away despair and destruction. And he kicks them to the curb.
Doesn’t he? Wouldn’t you? This is your chance to get back at all those who hurt you. Your chance to strike back against the runaway train that you were thrown on in that weak moment, in that dark time. Now you’ve got the power, how are you going to use it?
Genesis 45:1-15 Then Joseph could no longer control himself before all those who stood by him, and he cried out, "Send everyone away from me." So no one stayed with him when Joseph made himself known to his brothers. 2 And he wept so loudly that the Egyptians heard it, and the household of Pharaoh heard it. 3 Joseph said to his brothers, "I am Joseph. Is my father still alive?" But his brothers could not answer him, so dismayed were they at his presence. 4 Then Joseph said to his brothers, "Come closer to me." And they came closer. He said, "I am your brother, Joseph, whom you sold into Egypt. 5 And now do not be distressed, or angry with yourselves, because you sold me here; for God sent me before you to preserve life. 6 For the famine has been in the land these two years; and there are five more years in which there will be neither plowing nor harvest. 7 God sent me before you to preserve for you a remnant on earth, and to keep alive for you many survivors. 8 So it was not you who sent me here, but God; he has made me a father to Pharaoh, and lord of all his house and ruler over all the land of Egypt. 9 Hurry and go up to my father and say to him, 'Thus says your son Joseph, God has made me lord of all Egypt; come down to me, do not delay. 10 You shall settle in the land of Goshen, and you shall be near me, you and your children and your children's children, as well as your flocks, your herds, and all that you have. 11 I will provide for you there-- since there are five more years of famine to come-- so that you and your household, and all that you have, will not come to poverty.' 12 And now your eyes and the eyes of my brother Benjamin see that it is my own mouth that speaks to you. 13 You must tell my father how greatly I am honored in Egypt, and all that you have seen. Hurry and bring my father down here." 14 Then he fell upon his brother Benjamin's neck and wept, while Benjamin wept upon his neck. 15 And he kissed all his brothers and wept upon them; and after that his brothers talked with him.
A lot of kissing in this scene! And weeping. Not really what you’d expect in a confrontation of long held grudges and chips on shoulders. In fact, if we are going to be honest, it sounds a little crazy. This forgiveness thing sounds wonderful in the abstract, but almost offensive in reality. Don’t you think they deserved a little more punishment than they got? Don’t you think they should pay for their crimes? How can they get off so easily and we all feel ok with that?
That’s the problem with this runaway train we are on, it makes what is sane sound crazy and what is crazy sound sane. Bought a ticket for a runaway train / Like a madman laughin' at the rain / Little out of touch, little insane / Just easier than dealing with the pain. Wouldn’t getting off the train make more sense? Wouldn’t living by different rules, trusting in a different driver make more sense?
See, that’s what happened to Joseph. He switched trains. From the outside, it looked like the same one. Things out of control, stuff happens to him, he pays for mistakes that weren’t his. But from the inside it all looked different. He was trusting in something different, something bigger than himself and his circumstance. He began to ask a different set of questions. Instead of “why me?” or “why is this happening to me?” he began to ask, what does God require of me now? No matter the depth of the now, no matter the hurt in the now, no matter the injustice of the now. He still could ask, “what does God require of me now?” And then based on the answers he discovered, he followed that track, he rode that train.
He trusted that the train wasn’t a runaway after all. That it had a destination that he couldn’t always see, or understand, or even like all that much. But he was along for the ride. He trusted in the driver. Some of our greatest frustrations come not from the circumstances we are in, but the belief that God should have worked them out in a different way. If only, we say and think and pray, if only.
Call you up in the middle of the night / Like a firefly without a light / You were there like a slow torch burning / I was a key that could use a little turning. What if instead of a love song like so many, we heard this as a prayer song? What if the slow torch burning was God, what if what we were asking for was a little turning, a little direction, enough wisdom to take one more step in the right direction. And then another. And another. “How did you get here” someone asks. “God sent me,” we reply, hoping, trusting that it is true. Because it is.
Shalom,
Derek
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