Christopher Thomas
Sermon for Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost, Year A – 8/16/20
Genesis 45:1-15
Psalm 133
Romans 11:1-2a, 29-32
Matthew 15: (10-20), 21-28
“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. And he wept so loudly that the Egyptians heard it, and the household of Pharaoh heard it. 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.”
Joseph wept.
Right there, in front of everyone.
“Get everyone away from me! Now!”
He could not control himself. He didn’t try.
Joseph’s gut-wrenching wailing rings out, all around, to Pharaoh, the Egyptians, practically everyone.
Was he happy? Was he sad? Was he finally just overcome with all he had suffered throughout the course of his life?
Imagine this awkward moment’s strange fragrance lingering in the air.
It’s not like Joseph doesn’t have plenty of reason to melt down. Based on all the events that have led up to this moment, this revelatory moment in his life, this day of reunion and reckoning, I think he’s probably afforded the grace of a melt-down, don’t you?
You know this story, as well or better than me. Joseph is the eleventh of twelve sons of Jacob and Rachel, and he’s pretty full of himself, and he knows how his old father feels about him, that he’s kind of partial to him, and so Joseph takes full advantage of that little bit of favor, that privilege, to get a leg up in life. He’s self-assured and confident, maybe even a bit cocky, some might say arrogant, and his brothers, well, they think he needs to be taken down a peg or two (or 75 or 100), so they throw him in a pit, and sell him into slavery, just your average run-of-the-mill sibling rivalry!
I have to hand it to Joseph, though. At every turn in the road, throughout this story, he responds in ways that, while not perfect, demonstrate his development of character, and integrity, and maybe, most importantly, humility. There are so many different ways that Joseph might have responded to his brothers – anger, retaliation, revenge. And yet his first response is this betrayal, this revelation, of his own deep emotion, in which he sacrifices self-control.
“Joseph could no longer control himself.”
He weeps inconsolably, uncontrollably.
This is not the first time in the Joseph saga that Joseph reveals his ability to be in touch with his emotion, to be and to make himself vulnerable, and I have to admit, as I think about it, it is one of the things that fills me with admiration for, puts me in awe of, and makes me just a little bit fearful of, our friend Joseph.
Emotion vs control.
I think it’s the great conundrum. In our society, these two things get set as binaries, as opposites. You can have one or the other, but you can’t have both. If you’re emotional, you’re out of control; if you’re in control, you have no emotion.
Control equates to masculine.
Emotion equates to feminine.
This socialization starts really, really young, from birth. It’s all tightly wrapped in these gender roles that somehow connect us back to our patriarchal societal methods of survival. Girls trade in emotion, and boys in control. Don’t cross or blur those lines. We humans do all sorts of bizarre things to insure that these boundaries don’t get crossed. Why? Because we are not comfortable when boundaries get crossed. We don’t know how to manage and to control expectations and outcomes.
That was certainly the case in my own upbringing and socialization. Little boys didn’t cry or show emotion. That was feminine, or “gay.” We were, like Joseph, encouraged and rewarded for being aggressive, and controlling, and dominating. Leave the emotions, and the submissiveness, and the dolls for the little girls. Little did we know we weren’t (and aren’t) doing our little boys any favors!
And so, I admit, there is something fascinating, and frightening, at the same time, in Joseph’s willingness to dance this dance between emotion and control. It draws me, ever deeper into Joseph’s story. I have spent a lifetime working to overcome the institutionalized homophobia and misogyny associated with just these two role characteristics alone. Society so desperately wants us to believe and teaches us that one is somehow better than the other, or more importantly, that you can’t have both, simultaneously.
So I have never been much of a “crier.” Crying got taunted and bullied and socialized out of me at a very young age. “Criers” aren’t in control; they are emotional, and weak, and, vulnerable. Boys don’t allow themselves to be vulnerable. Risking vulnerability is where you get hurt.
It wasn’t until I started reading author Brene Brown’s work on relationship-building that I began to realize how crucial vulnerability is to building and being in authentic relationship. Vulnerability, the ability to risk being vulnerable, is the cornerstone of relationship. And it is not a bad or shameful or weak thing. Quite the opposite, it is a tremendously courageous thing!
It never occurred to me that vulnerability is probably the most courageous act that you can perpetrate.
And here is Joseph, on display, wailing for all of Egypt to hear.
How cathartically cleansing it is for Joseph to loosen control, succumb again to emotion, make himself vulnerable, weep before Pharaoh and Egypt that day…
What if, in fact, emotion and control aren’t binaries, opposite ends of some bizarre spectrum, masculine and feminine, male or female, boy or girl?
What if you don’t have to choose one over the other?
Who knows?
I’ll tell you who knows.
The Canaanite woman knows.
“Have mercy on me Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.”
Silence.
“Lord, help me.”
Like Joseph, she cries out for all to hear. Like Joseph, she is overcome by emotion. Like Joseph, she surrenders self-control. Like Joseph, she is willing to make herself vulnerable to this crowd, and to Jesus.
Isn’t that just like a woman?
Persistent.
Some say, “Nasty!”
There is something about her display of emotion, her vulnerability, her willingness to risk real, honest, authentic relationship with Jesus, that might seem to forego any control she might have, and yet, what is her outcome?
“Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.”
And her daughter is healed instantly.
The myth is not true. Emotion and control are not opposite ends of a spectrum. Emotion and control are not masculine or feminine, male or female, boy or girl.
Persistent women have known this all along. The Canaanite woman. The Syrophoenician Woman, Harriet Tubman, Sojourner Truth, Rosa Parks, Shirley Chisholm, Oprah Winfrey, Hillary Clinton, Michelle Obama, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Kamala Harris. They knew and they know. I have known some really persistent women. I know and I imagine some of you are persistent women as well. Emotion and control are inextricably conjoined.
Now is beyond the time to retreat from old tropes and stereotypes around emotion and control. There is so much to weep over in all that we have lost in just the last four years, and the last six months, and all that we have to hope toward in the next six months. Making ourselves vulnerable as we lean into relationship with each other is going to be critical as we live through and beyond COVID-19, and all that has happened to and around us, and all that that implies.
“Crying” by Michala (Jun 2013)
The baby cries as it comes into the world
People cry when others leave the world
They cry at weddings
And at funerals
At love and heartbreak
Crying is life
Crying is death
It’s needed and hated
It’s considered weak
And also strong
Crying is a double standard
Within it’s self
It encompasses our world
Full of such emotion
Yet can be so empty
Crying is everything
Just think about it.
Amen.
