Last night, in the parking lot of Books-A-Million, I sat with my seat belt unbuckled, turned towards my husband as he unpacked some past family pain that pointed back towards some pretty recent church hurt we experienced.
When broken down, the bitterness Matt was sharing with me last night seemed understandable. A rift between family members out of protection from years of repeated mistakes and pain. When I think back on what we've experienced over the past few months, I feel justified in our choice to walk away from the church plant we were a part of. When my close friend explained to me yesterday why she has to fire someone in her ministry, I agreed with her. The Bible calls us to wisdom and sometimes, especially if abuse is involved, it is wise to walk away from something. To leave. It doesn't mean you don't think God can fix something. It doesn't mean you don't trust him or have hope in him. Maybe it just means you need to wait for him outside of the situation. But I hate this because I know that we aren't suppose to divide. We especially aren't suppose to divide from other believers. Even when we are suppose to.
We shouldn't have left our church. But we absolutely had to. Matt shouldn't let family remain estranged, but it makes sense. My friend shouldn't give up on her coworker, but she needs to.
Division isn't part of God's plan; but it is. Jesus tells us that his gospel will divide family members. And it does. I don't think division amongst believers is ever part of the plan, but it happens. As much conflict as the gospel brings, as much tension as it creates in our hearts, it also fills us with peace and equips us for reconcilation. It provides hope in hopeless situations. It redeems.
I see the gospel of reconciliation in Joseph's story. At the end of Genesis, when famine threatens the lives of his brothers, they find themselves at the mercy of Joseph. Joseph has every right to turn away from them. The last time he saw them, they were plotting his death. But he doesn't. He should've. He could have, and we, as readers, as humans, would've understood. He doesn't choose revenge. He doesn't even choose division from them. He, instead, consoles them.
" 'Don't be afraid of me. Am I God, that I can punish you? You intended to harm me, but God intended it all for good...no, don't be afraid. I will continue to take care of you and your children.' So he reassured them by speaking kindly to them."
Yes, revenge belongs to the Lord. Leaving their punishment up to God is heroic to me. My fiery desire for justice burns just reading the story. But even more honorable, even more unlikely and even more Christ-like is that he comforts them when they're afraid of what he might do. They are afraid of him and he reassures them that not only is he choosing not to retaliate, but he's also choosing to take care of them. Grace on top of mercy.
This story empowers me.
I'm not suggesting that this means we need to vow to never walk away from someone or that anything other than how Joseph responded is wrong. I'm just marveling at the work of our God as he redeems their broken relationships. I see his character in Joseph. I see his heart for forgiveness, I see his desire for redemption and I want more of his grace to give out when I read this story. It reminds me that he can heal anything. Sometimes it's okay to walk away from something that's hurting you. Something that's broken or someone that's unsafe. It really is; God is not outside of that. But this morning, I'm encouraged as I remember that I'm under the care of the God in that story. We share a heart, him and I, and it's possible to respond the way that he would. The way that he did, with us.
