Monday, September 23, 2013

Blast from the Past

Chapter 3 - The Story

My sandwich was nothing to necessarily have a conniption fit over.  Turkey and cheese grilled on fresh baked bread. But when I almost choked on it, it became iconic.  In my little booth stuff with family, napkins, half-empty plates, and noise, my eyes were fixed straight ahead as I began inexplicably coughing in the midst of the chaos.

Two booths ahead was an old friend.  I mean old with all the nuances and baggage that term contains.  We were exceptionally close and things ended exceptionally poorly.  With a continent and ocean between us, we settled into the comfortable silence of occasionally remembering each other with the light sting of regret and stubborn good riddance.  He was supposed to be in China, not in my deli.

And when I read chapter 3 of The Story, and see Joseph's rise to fame, I can't help but think of my time in the deli.  Amid the cheers and the robes and the provision, we see a story that cites multiple characters, MULTIPLE times, weeping.  Weeping with loss.  Weeping with regret.  Weeping when the past comes swooping in, unexpectedly, on wings of painful and wounded memories.  A Joseph who "hurried out and looked for a place to weep".  A guy who wept so loudly, with the doors closed, that his servants heard it and the household gossipped about it.

Joseph never chose for his band of calloused brothers to show up years later.  That was the past.  The WAY past.  He had a new life, a new family, a new name.  To have his past show up like that rocked him to his core.  Standing there, the second in command with all your servants about you, what would you have felt?  When you saw their care-worn faces?  Would you run to them?  Punch them?  Ask about your Dad?  Start screaming?  Kick them out?  All fair responses.  And yet, our hero weeps.  Loss and wonder sweeping over him like a tidal wave.  Tears.

We don't get to choose when our past will rear it's head.  For me, it was in my local sandwich shop.  I didn't want to weep.  I wanted to shove away the rawness of that experience because I did not know what to feel.  Had I the courage, I would have wept right there.  Joseph in the deli - weeping over what had been lost, weeping with anger, weeping with regret.

As we continue in The Story, we have the great privilege of uncovering our own stories.  We stand shoulder to shoulder with each character - their narrative is ours.  In all of it's beauty, pain, faithlessness, joy, heartbreak and revelation, their narrative is simply ours.  The Story is our story.  So I continue to invite you into not only seeing the characters, but to see the gracious God who intervenes.  And to see you.  And to see me.  Joseph in the deli.

Eliza Cortés Bast