View today's sermon on our YouTube channel: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=875vbDfSD_U.

Genesis 45:1-45 New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition

45 Then 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. ² And he wept so loudly that the Egyptians heard it, and the household of Pharaoh heard it. ³ 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.

⁴ Then Joseph said to his brothers, “Come closer to me.” And they came closer. He said, “I am your brother, Joseph, whom you sold into Egypt. ⁵ And now do not be distressed or angry with yourselves because you sold me here, for God sent me before you to preserve life. ⁶ For the famine has been in the land these two years, and there are five more years in which there will be neither plowing nor harvest. ⁷ God sent me before you to preserve for you a remnant on earth and to keep alive for you many survivors. ⁸ So it was not you who sent me here but God; he has made me a father to Pharaoh and lord of all his house and ruler over all the land of Egypt. ⁹ Hurry and go up to my father and say to him, ‘Thus says your son Joseph, God has made me lord of all Egypt; come down to me; do not delay. ¹⁰ You shall settle in the land of Goshen, and you shall be near me, you and your children and your children’s children, as well as your flocks, your herds, and all that you have. ¹¹ I will provide for you there, since there are five more years of famine to come, so that you and your household and all that you have will not come to poverty.’ ¹² And now your eyes and the eyes of my brother Benjamin see that it is my own mouth that speaks to you. ¹³ You must tell my father how greatly I am honored in Egypt and all that you have seen. Hurry and bring my father down here.” ¹⁴ Then he fell upon his brother Benjamin’s neck and wept, while Benjamin wept upon his neck. ¹⁵ And he kissed all his brothers and wept upon them, and after that his brothers talked with him.

Matthew 15:21-28 New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition

²¹ Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. ²² Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” ²³ But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, “Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us.” ²⁴ He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” ²⁵ But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.” ²⁶ He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” ²⁷ She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’^[f] table.” ²⁸ Then Jesus answered her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” And her daughter was healed from that moment.

Hafiz, version by Daniel Ladinsky

Dropping Keys

The small man

Builds cages for everyone

He

Knows.

While the sage,

Who has to duck his head

When the moon is low,

Keeps dropping keys all night long

For the

Beautiful

Rowdy

Prisoners.

From Hafiz, translation by Daniel Ladinsky, The Gift (New York: Penguin Compass, 1999). Hafiz of Shiraz (or Hafez) was a 14th century Persian poet. He was a Sunni Muslim with an affinity for Sufism. Daniel Ladinksy's recent translation tries to bring out the whimsical and playful elements of this deeply mystical poet.

The scriptures we heard this morning evoke a deceptively simple question:

Who is our neighbor? Which prompts a more difficult question:

What boundaries have we drawn between ourselves and our neighbors?

We all know that boundaries can be healthy—but they become dangerous when we use them to place limits on who God loves.

In our Genesis scripture, Joseph negotiates the boundaries between brother and stranger, between victim and survivor, between the Hebrew slave he once was and the powerful Egyptian official he has become.

Joseph's brothers stand before him in Egypt, and they don't recognize him. They know Joseph as their brother—the annoying younger brother, the one they resented, the one they threw into a pit, the one they sold. But now Joseph is dressed differently. He has power. He is in a foreign place. He is not who they expect him to be. They do not recognize him out of context.

[How often does that happen to us? We think we know someone. We know who they have been. We know the role they play in our lives. And then circumstances change, and suddenly we have to learn how to see them differently.]

Joseph looks at his brothers and asks, "Is my father still alive?" And then he tells them: "I am your brother."

He could have allowed the divide separating them to become permanent. Instead, he moves through it—stretching it—making room in his heart for healing. That doesn't mean what happened to him didn't matter. It means that Joseph refused to let the worst thing that happened between himself and his brothers define the rest of their relationship.

In our Matthew scripture, the Canaanite woman inhabits the space between outsider and insider, between the person who is told she does not belong and the person who insists that God's mercy is bigger than the boundaries others have drawn around her. She is a Canaanite. She is not one of Jesus' people. She is a woman in a culture where women did not generally have the social power to speak as she does. 

She is asking for mercy because her daughter is suffering. The disciples want Jesus to send her away. Jesus initially speaks as though his mission has limits: "I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel." But she persists. And eventually something changes in Jesus’ consciousness and he heals her daughter. 

What I find particularly powerful is that Jesus is willing to stretch the boundaries that he had just named—and, perhaps even more remarkably, to allow that realization to stretch him. He transcends the line between insider and outsider, and he is open to having his own understanding expanded by someone he initially openly regarded with disdain.

That is a profound lesson for us, both individually and as the church. Because sometimes the boundary we need to cross is not a physical one. It is the boundary between what we know and what we might still learn—between the way things are and what God may be calling us to do next.

Those are particularly important realizations for this moment in time.  Because in six weeks, there will be a new boundary among us. There will be a before and an after. There will be the boundary between the time when I have been your pastor and the time when I am no longer your pastor.

And I suspect we may have a lot of different feelings about that boundary. Sadness. Anxiety. Relief. Hopefulness. Anger. Confusion. Some may simply be wondering, "What happens next?" 

There may be questions about identity: Who are we without Pastor TJ? What will become of the things we've begun? What will the next chapter look like? Those are legitimate questions. And I encourage you to explore them.

There are relationships that will change. A pastoral relationship is never meant to be permanent. As pastor, I am a steward of the congregation. Whatever has been good among us—whatever healing, laughter, courage, learning, justice, worship, friendship, or growth has happened—belongs ultimately not to me and not even to you the congregation. It belongs to God. That means that when October comes, I will be gone but God will still be here with you. The Spirit will still be here. The calling of the church will still be here. The neighbors who need love will still be here. The work of becoming a community where everyone has a place at God's table will still be here.

Joseph could not have imagined that the pit would lead to Egypt. The Canaanite woman could not have known that her persistence would lead to healing. And we cannot know what God will make possible in this congregation after this transition.

So, the question is not: "How do we keep things the way they have been?" Consider the question: "What is God inviting us to do and to be?"

That question applies to all of us. As pastor, I have boundaries I need to honor. As members and friends, you have boundaries you need to honor. There are things that will be mine to carry forward and things that will be yours. Separately. There are relationships that will continue between all of you, and relationships that will appropriately change between you and me.

So, in these next six weeks, let us not shy away from the changes that are coming. Let us practice saying what needs to be said. Let us forgive where forgiveness is possible. Let us grieve what needs to be grieved. Let us celebrate what has been good. Let us release what needs to be released. And let us make room for the people and possibilities we cannot yet imagine.

Because sometimes, like Joseph's brothers, we stand before something new and cannot recognize it. Sometimes, like Jesus, we discover that our understanding needs to grow. Sometimes, like the Canaanite woman, we have to insist that God's love is bigger than the limits people have placed around us.

And sometimes the most faithful thing we can say is simply: "I don't know exactly what comes next. But I trust that God will be there."

As our biblical ancestors did, I pray that we all find the strength to love and bless one another as we embrace new directions and new beginnings.

Amen

Rev. TJ Mack – August 16, 2026

Union Congregational Church of Hancock