My dear brothers and sisters, today’s readings bring us face to face with something that touches every single one of us at some point in life — betrayal. It might come from a friend, a colleague, or worse still, from someone in our own family. That kind of wound cuts deep. And in moments like those, we have to ask: how does our faith speak into that pain?
We hear in Genesis today about Joseph — a man who knew betrayal all too well. Sold into slavery by his own brothers, torn from his home, abandoned by the people who were supposed to love him most. Fast forward many years, and those same brothers now stand before him, not realizing who he is. And he — now in a position of power — doesn’t strike back. He speaks sternly, yes. He tests them. But the moment that really says it all is when Joseph turns away and weeps.
Why did he cry? Because even after all that time, Joseph having been compassionate and merciful all his life, was able to draw upon this special resource in the moment of trial. He was still able to sympathise with his brothers.
Forgiveness doesn’t mean the pain disappears. It doesn’t mean we forget, because we have a mind and a memory. It means we let love speak louder than the hurt. We allow the supernatural to overrule the carnal within us. It means we give God space to bring healing, even in the most broken places of our lives.
And in the Gospel, we’re reminded that betrayal wasn’t just part of Joseph’s story. It was part of Jesus’ too. Right in the middle of that list of apostles — His closest companions — is Judas Iscariot, the one who betrayed Him. Jesus knew. He knew what was coming. But He still called Judas. He still washed his feet. He still shared a meal with him.
Jesus doesn’t run from betrayal. He faces it with love. And on the cross, even as He’s being crucified by those He came to save, He says, “Father, forgive them.” That is the heart of Christian love — not just loving when it’s easy, but loving when it costs.
Jesus tells His disciples to go to the lost sheep and proclaim that the Kingdom of heaven is at hand. This is a Kingdom in which transformed hearts are like the free citizens of a country. When we forgive. When we let go of revenge. When we choose to love even through the pain, it is then that we learn what true freedom means.
So today, maybe we can ask ourselves: is there someone I need to forgive? Someone who hurt me deeply, who may never even say sorry? Am I willing to start letting go, not because they deserve it, but because the Lord wants me to be free? We sometimes also have to forgive someone for the other people it will also effect. When people see us at war, over the hurts we’ve caused one another, it effects our general sense of unity and common purpose. We are the Lord’s. We have one Father in heaven, and that makes of all of us brothers and sisters whether we like someone or not.
Let’s bring those wounds to the altar. Let’s ask the Lord for the grace to respond like Joseph, like Jesus. Not with revenge, but with mercy. Not with hatred, but with healing.
And may we always remember: it’s love — not pain, not betrayal — that has the final word, so at the end of our earthly pilgrimage, like Jesus, we will be able to close this chapter of our eternity by feeling we have done what God has sent us to accomplish. We have run the race. We have kept the faith. + Amen.
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