Family Stories

(Today’s guest blog is written by Shannon O’Donnell from Tacoma, WA – bio below)

March 5

Reading: Genesis 37; Psalm 105; Matthew 21: 33-46

“Israel loved Joseph best.”

“Uh oh,” says any sibling hearing this, “this isn’t going to end well.”

Have you ever been at a gathering of relatives when someone starts to tell the story of a certain uncle? He might have even told the story on himself for years. He’s dead and gone, but families being what they are, whenever they get together, someone starts. “You ever hear that story about Uncle Frank and the time he shot a fish and fell in the river?”

There are some heavy sighs. Someone says, “Again?” Eyes roll. Only those younger than five don’t know the finer details. “Well, let me tell you…” and the story is launched. It takes a while to tell, with different ones providing commentary or clarification. Every now and then, a small argument flares: Just what kind of gun was it? No, no, it was the kind of fish they can’t agree on. By the time the story concludes, “and that’s why you should never go to the river with a gun” the food has cooled, coffee and dessert are served, and someone has gone outside to smoke.

Joseph and his jealous grumpy brothers sound familiar, don’t you think? All someone has to say is, “Dad always loved Joseph best” and everyone leans in, ready to hear the tale. It’s a long story in Genesis, over a dozen chapters. The twelve sons of Jacob wrangle over sibling rivalry, strange dreams, from pranks to downright treachery and betrayal. A love story! A famine! Road trip! It’s all in there. Every single one of those twelve brothers and their wives and their children, all the way down to Jesus’ time, they could recite the tale, every chapter and all the verses.

It’s not an ancient story; this is the family story, the story of the people of Israel. It is the human tale as well. Family customs, quirky relatives, and reasons to explain why this part of the family doesn’t get along with that part of the family: all of these are part of our community stories. We recognize misunderstandings that resulted in exile. We know our own grievances that stretch into years of silence. Perhaps in other Lents, we have tried to understand our own actions and made what amends we could.

 “Blood is thicker than water.” I read this headline in the spring of 1994. The article told of the events in Rwanda, of genocide. In the course of 100 days, more than 800,000 people died at the hands of their co-workers, colleagues, their friends. They once ate together, took care of one another, went in and out of each other’s homes. They attended the same churches, played on the same teams, sang together, and supported civic causes.

“Blood is thicker than water.” Eight hundred thousand Tutsis were killed by Hutus, people like them in every way, just a different family of origin. Whatever they had in common was not enough. Even the shared waters of baptism were not enough to stop the bloodshed. The headline has stayed with me ever since.

I felt that despair and sorrow once again on January 6^th as people fought their way into the Capitol building in Washington DC. The fracture and division of our civic family is hard to watch and yet I know it is not a unique experience. Around the globe, we lament and pray for this wounded family. What is it that binds us together?

(Shannon is a jail chaplain in Seattle, currently learning how to minister by video calls. The oldest of six and a veteran of sibling drama, she finds family stories come in handy when least expected)