So Abraham and Sarah sojourned in the land of promise. They lived in tents, looking for a city. And when, as God had promised, a son was born, they named him Isaac. Isaac produced sons...twins in fact, Esau and Jacob, whose name actually means “heel-grabber” because he was born hanging onto his brother’s heel. As a second-born twin, I am not sure it’s a compliment to be compared to Jacob, but I do tend to identify with this story. And if you ever want to read a tale of classic sibling rivalry, take a look at this one!  

From Jacob was born a third generation of sons, literally by the dozen—which become the 12 tribes of Israel, until Abraham’s descendants filled these hills, “As many as the stars of heaven, and as innumerable as the grains of sand on the seashore”...because God always keeps his promises. 

Jacob’s favorite son was Joseph, the son with the technicolor dream coat. Loved by dad, hated by jealous brothers, once again sibling rivalry turns ugly. They sell him into slavery, lie to their broken-hearted father, and young Joseph is carted off to Egypt where he is seduced and entrapped by the “fatal attraction” of Potipher’s wife—a tale right out of the afternoon soap operas. He languishes in prison, and one would think the story of Little Joe is over. But God isn’t finished with him yet!  Through it all, the Genesis writer says, “The Lord was with Joseph, and blessed him.” 

Years pass. Back home, a famine hits and the brothers head to Egypt for foreign aid. And lo and behold, who is in charge but Joseph. The family is reunited, saved from starvation and they live happily ever after. 

There is just one problem. They are still in Egypt, and that is not where they belong. God promised them a homeland and this wasn’t it. So when old man Joseph is on his deathbed, he makes one last request: 

I am about to die; but God will visit you and bring you up out of this land to the land he swore to Abraham, to Isaac and to Jacob. God will visit you and you shall carry my bones from here. 

Joseph’s last words: “Don’t bury me here, because we aren’t home yet.” 

For Joseph, it was literal.  He made them promise that when God led them out of Egypt, they would carry his bones back to the Promised Land. But for us, perhaps it is a parable of faithful living, a reminder that faith is not a destination, but a journey.  

1.  Spiritually, in my walk with Christ, “Don’t bury me here.”  

I don’t know about you, but I do know about me. I know that in my own experience, there are times when I feel the tendency to plateau, to settle in and settle down, to be satisfied with where I am in my walk with Christ. It can happen after a spiritual high, an Emmaus Walk, a summer Choir Camp or a mission work project. It can happen after some personal experience of joy or sorrow which brings me closer to God. It can happen when we have completed a task or accomplished a goal. We want to take a deep breath and say, “Wow! We’ve made it. We’ve arrived.” 

Near the end of Jesus’ ministry, he took his lead disciples to a mountaintop. There, in the intimacy of the moment, they saw Jesus in all his glory, radiant in new light. We call it the “Transfiguration.” In an instant, it was as if Moses and Elijah joined him and the voice of God was saying, “This is my beloved Son.” In the thrill of the moment, old impetuous Peter blurted out, “Wow! This is super!  Let’s pitch a tent and stay! We will homestead here on the mountaintop; build a little condo for each of you: Jesus, Moses, Elijah. We’ll just settle in right here.”

Easy, isn’t it? 

• to want to settle down when we are on a high.

• to put down roots on what was meant to be a spiritual frontier.

So we set up camp on the mountaintop of our own spiritual experience. We give it a foundation of our own fundamentals. We insulate it with the fiberglass of our favorite opinions and add on a nice little front porch of theological propositions. We surround it with liturgical latticework of acceptable songs and appropriate ritual. We plant our perennial petunias of pious platitudes on the trusted trellis of tradition. Maybe we even install a hot and cold running water baptistery and biblical barista with our favorite morning brew. Then we say with Peter, “Wow! This is just how it ought to be...it doesn’t get any better than this!” And an experience with Christ, which was meant to be a refueling station on the journey, becomes our final resting place. And spiritually we die there.  

Joseph said, “Don’t bury me here.” Whatever new insight I have gained, whatever experience of faith or conviction, no matter how far I have come on the journey of faith, keep me on the road, ever seeking more of God’s plan for my life. “Don’t bury me here...because we aren’t home yet.” 

I have a friend in Tennessee named Steve. If you meet Steve, you won’t be around him very long before he pulls a silver medallion out of his pocket with “AA” stamped on it (and it doesn’t stand for Ann Arbor).  He will show it to you and tell you with pride, “Twenty-five years without a drink.” But Steve knows, no matter how far he has come, it’s still only one day at a time. Because he knows he’s not home yet.  

Back in my seminary days at Asbury, we had a student newspaper which tended to be like all student newspapers—a bit sacrilegious and satirical. I remember seeing the work of a creative writer playing with one of John Wesley’s famous quotations. Wesley said: 

Make all you can.
Save all you can.
Give all you can.  

Which, by the way, is an excellent outline for Christian stewardship. We Methodists seem to be pretty good at the first two. It’s the third one that gives us trouble. This student editor’s reworking of Wesley’s dictum read: 

Get all you can.
Can all you get.
Sit on the lid. 

But spiritually, we are called to be sojourners, pioneers, travelers. 

Wesley called it “Christian perfection.” 

It’s the growth in grace which takes place over the lifetime of the believer, being perfected in love, the holiness of heart and life. Call it sanctification or spiritual formation, call it Christian maturity or personal discipleship, but whatever you call it, the goal of the Christian life is to keep growing, keep stretching, keep traveling....until we all get home.  

But this parable of the journey of faith is not just for the individual. It’s communal, as well. 

2.  In our life together, “Don’t bury me here, because we’re not home yet.” 

Take another look at the Joseph narrative in Genesis. I wonder if the status of Methodism in America isn’t a whole lot like the family of Joseph in Goshen:  

Thus Israel dwelt in the land of Egypt, in the land of Goshen, and they gained possessions in it, and were fruitful and multiplied exceedingly. 

You see, they had found their place in Egypt. They came in as refugees, aliens, outsiders, but they had made a home for themselves. They were accepted in society with status and possessions. They had grown in numbers and were successful. It would have been easy for Joseph to say, “Gee, it’s not so bad here. We like things the way they are. I think I’ll retire to a little condo on the banks of the Nile, and when I die, you can bury me in the sand right here by the pyramid.” 

Sound familiar? You could say the same thing about Methodism in America, couldn’t you? We grew with the frontier until we were the most American of all the denominations. In fact, there are still more United Methodist churches than post offices in America. We are a well-established force for good in the world with missions and ministries, hospitals and nursing homes, colleges and seminaries in every state and on every continent.  We have voice and influence in civic life and state. In fact, we even have a brother Methodist in the White House.  

Besides, we like it here! So we settle down and make our peace with our society. We’re happily settled in the land, and if our current rate of membership decline continues, we will peacefully die and be buried right here.  

But Methodism was born to be a movement!!  

Wesley believed we were raised up by God to “proclaim scriptural holiness and reform the continent.” We are called to the tasks of preaching the good news and living out the Gospel, of reforming life across the continent: 

• until God’s kingdom comes on earth, even as it is in heaven.

• until the dawn breaks on a whole new heaven and earth.

• until the kingdoms of this world become the kingdoms of our Lord and of his Christ, and he reigns forever and ever.

• until every knee shall bow and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

It’s so easy to settle in Goshen, to be content with what we have accomplished. There is just one problem...we aren’t home yet.

Joseph knew they were only sojourners in Goshen, and that one day God would lead them into a whole new future: “God’s going to visit you and bring you out of this land to the land of Abraham. When he does, carry my bones with you.” 

And that’s just what they did.  

When Joseph died, they put him a coffin, sat it in the corner and waited. Egyptians would stop by for tea and ask, “So what’s in the box over there?”   

“Oh, that’s Papa Joseph. See, this isn’t really where we belong. God promised us a land, and when we go, we are supposed to take Papa Joseph with us…because we aren’t home yet.” 

Four hundred years pass. Generation after generation is born and dies in Goshen. In the meantime, the people find themselves entrapped in slavery by a new Pharaoh who knew not Joseph…bitter, brutal years of oppression. But all the time, there’s Joseph’s coffin gathering dust—a reminder that, one day, God would visit them and bring them out to the Land of Promise. 

During those dark centuries, I am sure at least once in every generation, some curious child would stub his toe on the old box of bones and say, “What’s this?”  

 “Oh, that’s great-great-grandpa Joseph. See, someday God is going to get us out of here and take us back to the land of our ancestor Abraham. And when we go, we’re supposed to take his bones with us…because we aren’t home yet.” 

Finally the day comes when Moses leads the people out in the great Exodus. And when he does, the book says Moses takes the bones of Joseph with him. Forty more years of wandering in the wilderness, a whole generation dies and another one comes on the scene. And the new generation born in the Exodus asks, “Daddy, why are we dragging around this old box of bones?”  

“Oh, see, that’s great-great-great-great grandpa Joseph. He knew that one day God would lead us back to the Promised Land, and he told us to carry his bones with us…because we aren’t home yet.” 

After Moses, Joshua takes charge, leading them into Canaan. And at the end of the book of Joshua, the last notation in the travel journal says, “The bones of Joseph, which the people of Israel brought up from Egypt, were buried at Shechem.” 

Finally, the end of the journey. Joseph was home at last.