Homily for Evensong, 3rd August, by The Rev’d Lucy Newman Cleeve

Genesis 50:4–26
1 Corinthians 14:1–19

There are some lessons we only learn slowly.

 Sometimes, the gifts we’re given early in life arrive before we have the wisdom to use them well. That seemed to be the case for Joseph. At seventeen, he was given vivid dreams by God – true ones, prophetic ones – but he didn’t yet understand what they were for. He shared them with his brothers, and not with much tact: dreams in which they all bowed down to him. Unsurprisingly, their response was not admiration. Genesis puts it simply: “They hated him all the more.”

 Joseph had been entrusted with something sacred, but at that age, he used it to elevate himself, not to serve.

 But in those long, difficult years of slavery, false accusation, and prison that followed, something shifted. Joseph came to see his gifts differently: not as signs of his importance, but as instruments in God's work. By the time we meet him in Genesis 50, the self-importance has given way to humility. He no longer sees his dreams as a mark of status, but as part of God’s purpose to preserve life.

When his brothers come to him, afraid he will retaliate now that their father is dead, he speaks not of what they deserve, but of what God has done. “You meant it for harm,” he says to them, “but God meant it for good, to bring it about that many lives should be saved.”

 That phrase – “the saving of many lives” – echoes like a refrain across scripture. It names the heart of God’s work from beginning to end: not the exaltation of the gifted, but the rescue and renewal of the world. Joseph’s gifts remain, but their purpose has shifted. No longer a means of status, they have become an offering of service.

 And it is this same movement – from self to service – that Paul addresses in the church at Corinth. The Spirit has been poured out, gifts have been received – but some are using them to impress rather than to edify. Paul doesn’t question the gifts themselves. He questions the heart behind them. “Those who speak in a tongue build up themselves,” he says, “but those who prophesy build up the church.” Gifts that dazzle may win attention, but they do not necessarily build.

 What Paul calls for is a reordering of desire: not to be noticed, but to be useful. Not to perform, but to serve. It is, in its own way, a kind of death and resurrection. A letting go of “look what I can do,” and a turning towards, “Lord, what would you have me offer?”

 This is the pattern we see most fully in Christ. The one who had all power did not cling to it. He emptied himself, took the form of a servant, gave himself away. His gifts were never turned inward – they were always offered outward, for the healing of the world, for the saving of many lives.

 And here is the invitation: the same Spirit who shaped Joseph through adversity, the same Spirit who gifted and guided the church at Corinth, has been given to us. Not for display, but for participation in God’s work. Whatever our gifts – visible or hidden, dramatic or quiet – they are given for love’s sake. For the building up of the body. For the common good.

 And like Joseph, we are invited to think beyond ourselves. At the end of his life, Joseph is not concerned with his own legacy. He is looking forward – trusting in promises he will not live to see fulfilled. “God will surely come to you,” he says, “and bring you up out of this land.” That is what mature faith sounds like: a vision stretched beyond the present, gifts offered into a future we may not fully understand.

So we ask ourselves, gently and honestly:
Where have we used our gifts to serve our own image rather than others’ good?
Where might God be inviting us to lay down self-concern, and take up deeper service?
What might it look like, in our own lives, to become instruments of grace and participate in God’s ministry for the saving of many?