August 9, 2026

Pentecost 11a

Genesis 37:1-4,[5-11], 12-28

Epiphany, Winnipeg

A few years ago a commentator on CBC radio said something that has stuck with me ever since. I don’t recall their name, but I do remember that they did a lot of work with people in prison; maybe they were a lawyer. They said something like this: “It’s so important for people in prison to remember that they are not the crime that they committed. I always try to remind people that they are so much more than the worst thing they have done.” That’s not cheery optimism, it’s just honest. Your crime does not define who you are; You are so much more than the worst thing you have done.

It’s something we could all do well to remember, when we think about what someone else has done or when we consider what we ourselves have done. You know that biggest regret you have, or that thing that keeps you awake at night? Something you said to a friend or to someone you love, and you just wish you could have that moment back, to do it over and to do it right? The time you did something so wrong and got caught, or the time you did something so wrong and got away with it?

The worst of what you have done is not who you are. You’re not necessarily off the hook, but the worst of what you have done is not who you are.

We could also say that the best of what we have done is not who we are. I was a great student at seminary; I got good marks, I received awards. That sounds good, and it was a little bit encouraging, but for the longest time I was burdened by that voice that said that that is who I am; “I am that success, so I’d better make sure I keep on succeeding or I won’t be who I am any more…I might just be a disappointment to myself and to who-knows-who-else.

It would have been helpful to me if someone had said, “You know, Paul, you are not the successes you’ve had.” I’m actually pretty sure I had a few professors who said just that. Sometimes it’s so hard to hear, though.

Here in the community of faith we might say, “You are not the worst you’ve done or the best you’ve done. You are a beloved child of God. Before you could succeed or fail, you were a beloved child of God, a piece of God’s creation that God looked at and said, “Yes, that’s good.” After you succeed and after you fail, you are a beloved child of God.”

That’s the word spoken clearly to us in our baptism, and it’s a word spoken over all that God has made. You are not your best or your worst. You are God’s beloved.

So hold on to that. And now let’s take a walk back to this story of Joseph that we started to hear today. We’re missing a few details about that story, so let’s just fill it out a bit:

Jacob has twelve sons. Joseph is the eleventh, and he has a younger brother named Benjamin and ten older half-brothers. Joseph is the favourite son, and his older brothers really don’t like that. He has this coat that his dad made especially for him – we might know it as a coat of many colours, but that whole thing could also be translated in other all kinds of ways: as a decorated tunic, or a coat with sleeves, or one that reaches all the way to the ankles. In any case, Joseph has a really fancy coat.

Our reading today cuts out the next part, and that part goes something like this: Joseph has a couple of dreams, that seem to be saying that one day Joseph will be powerful and will rule over his brothers and even over his parents. Everyone is really annoyed at this story. You can imagine why: What a bratty little brother to be telling us a dream like this. Does he really think he will rule over us? Is that how proper families work? This seventeen-year-old is telling us that he’ll have authority over us?

We picked it up there and heard the rest of that story today. Joseph goes to the fields to work with his brothers, and they say, “Here comes the dreamer; let’s kill him.” The oldest brother, Reuben, is against the idea, but in the end one of the middle brothers, Judah, says, “What’s in it for us if we kill him? Let’s sell him.” And they do just that. Then they go home and tell their dad that his favourite son has been killed by wild animals. Here endeth the reading.

Something struck me that never has before. You could summarize it all like this: “This is the story of the family of Jacob: When Joseph, Jacob’s favourite son, was seventeen, his brothers planned to kill him. Then they sold him.” The story begins with the worst of what could happen, as though the story of Jacob’s descendants is this story of family favourites, jealousy, violence, and lies. As though they are the worst thing they have done.

But the story of Jacob’s descendants is so much more than the way it starts here, with the worst. As the story unfolds, all through the Bible and beyond, there will be a lot of worst they can be, and there will be quite a bit of the best they can be, and an awful lot more of God’s faithfulness, God’s faithfulness always gets the last word.

The story of Jacob’s descendants just keeps going on. It becomes a story of people who are enslaved, and people who are set free from slavery. It’s a story of people with good rulers and with a lot of really bad ones, it’s a story of people who sometimes don’t trust their foreign neighbours, and it’s a story of people like Naomi and Ruth, women from nations that have at different times been enemies, and these women pledge themselves to be loyal companions. The story of Jacob’s descendants is a story of people who take land away from others, and whose land is taken from them. It’s a story of a people who can trust God with their whole lives and love God and one another with their whole heart, and it’s a story of those same people who can love wealth and power above anything else. Yet before they can be their worst or their best, God is faithful and shows mercy and love. After they be their worst or their best, God’s word over them is steadfast love and mercy.

The story of Jacob’s descendants continues, and it’s a story of one of his descendants whose name is Jesus, who calms a storm and rescues someone who’s drowning, and who dies and rises so that we might all have life. There’s a descendant name Paul, who writes letters to churches and keeps on reminding them of God’s love that will never be taken away. It’s a story that looks to the end of all things and says, “There’s never an end. God is just making everything new.” The story of Jacob’s descendants gathers up a handful of people at a church in Winnipeg, whose worst and whose best are caught up in the life and the promise of this God, whose love is stronger than any of our worst or our best.

That’s the story of Jacob’s descendants.

We live in strange times, don’t we? It so often seems as though we are seeing the worst of what we can be. It’s as though we could say, “This is the story of God’s creation: Everyone kept doing things that heated up the whole world and wrecked everything. This is the story of God’s good creation: a dozen or so superrich people controlled most of the world’s wealth and politics. This is the story of

God’s people: there was always a war somewhere.”

We write chapters in the story that seem like the worst we could do. But that’s not all we are. Those stories never get the last word. We are not the worst that we have done. The faithfulness of God always gets the last word, and somehow that is who we are.

When we throw up our hands and shrug our shoulders or sink into despair at what we see around us or take part in ourselves, we too need to hear the word of that voice on the radio a few years ago, and we really need to hear that larger story of God’s people, of all the people, of all creation. The worst we have done is not who we are. The worst that presidents, prime ministers, monarchs or armies can do…the worst that political and economic systems can do…the worst that people can do…is not who we are.

Who we are is this: People in strange and difficult times, who are part of that big story of creation, that one that stretches from “God saw what God had made and God said that it was good,” all the way to “The one on the throne said, “I’m making everything new.” Somewhere in the middle of that story, God came to the world in a descendant of Jacob named Jesus. Death did its worst with him, the way death always does, but God said, “That’s not what you are, world.” And then life had the final word.

We descendants of Jacob, by faith if not by by blood, say that Christ is risen. And then we say, “Christ is risen indeed.” And we remember that all of our life’s stories, all the stories of the whole creation, are wrapped up in that story, the story of God’s life with all that God has made: “God said that it is very good. And God said, “I am making everything new.”