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Genesis 45:1-15
Before I read our scripture for today, let me tell you the story leading up to it. Jacob, the favorite son of Isaac, also had a favorite son. This son’s name was Joseph. Jacob made no secret of his favoritism, giving his youngest son special presents like the coat of many colors, which made his half-brothers jealous. Joseph really didn’t help himself very much here, either. He had a dream that all his half-brothers would bow down to him—and he was foolish enough to tell them this. He even had a dream of the stars in the sky bowing to him. Oddly enough, his big brothers were not impressed by his dreams.
One day Jacob sent Joseph to check on his brothers, who were tending the sheep. His brothers saw him coming and they plotted to kill him. But instead they decided to make a little money and they sold their brother into slavery. They took his coat and put animal blood on it and told their father that Joseph has been killed by a wild animal.
Fortunately, the story of Joseph doesn’t end there. Joseph was sold to an Egyptian official named Potiphar, the captain of the guard. As Joseph grew in age, apparently he grew in maturity as well. He worked hard and was faithful. Everything Joseph did, he did well; and everything he touched prospered. So Potiphar named him overseer, and Joseph was in charge of his boss’s business.
Then he ran into trouble with his boss, landed in jail, but again found favor with those in power. Finally, he became known as a wise man who could interpret dreams, and so he came to the attention of the pharaoh himself. He interpreted the pharaoh’s dreams, predicting that seven years of plenty would be followed by seven years of famine. Joseph recommended to Pharaoh that someone be in charge of collecting and storing up food in preparation for the famine. Pharaoh gave the job to Joseph, who became overseer of all the food in Egypt.
The prophecy came to be, and there was a great famine in the land. The famine spread outside of Egypt, back to Joseph’s homeland and family. Joseph’s father sent his other sons to Egypt to see if they might find food. What they found was their brother, the one they sold into slavery—except they didn’t recognize him. Joseph, however, knew exactly who they were.
Our text picks up the story with Joseph revealing his identity to his brothers.
Genesis 45:1-15 reads: 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. And he wept so loudly that the Egyptians heard it, and the household of Pharaoh heard it. 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. 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. And now do not be distressed, or angry with yourselves, because you sold me here; for God sent me before you to preserve life. 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. God sent me before you to preserve for you a remnant on earth, and to keep alive for you many survivors. So it was not you who sent me here, but God; God has made me a father to Pharaoh, and lord of all his house and ruler over all the land of Egypt. 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. 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. 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.’ And now your eyes and the eyes of my brother Benjamin see that it is my own mouth that speaks to you. 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.” Then he fell upon his brother Benjamin’s neck and wept, while Benjamin wept upon his neck. And he kissed all his brothers and wept upon them; and after that his brothers talked with him.
Imagine what the brothers must have felt. They sold their brother into slavery, and now he’s the one with the power. He could have them killed on the spot. He could imprison them. At the very least, he could deny them food. Given how they treated him, they expected harsh treatment in return. But Joseph surprised them. He said, “Do not be distressed, or angry with yourselves, because you sold me here; for God sent me before you to preserve life. . . .God sent me before you to preserve for you a remnant on earth, and to keep alive for you many survivors. So it was not you who sent me here, but God.”
I’m uncomfortable with this passage. I’m uncomfortable with the idea that God “sends us” into trouble. I know that some of you believe that everything happens for a reason, and if it happened then it must be God’s will. Personally, I can see that with things that are relatively short-term or small. I didn’t get this job that I wanted because two months later I got a better job. Yes, perhaps I didn’t get that job for a reason. But when I look at the big, far-reaching tragedies, the great cruelties of life, I can’t say, “Yes, it happened for a reason.” What reason could there possibly be for the Holocaust? If I were standing in front of a gas chamber, could I look at Hitler and say, “It was not you who brought me here, but God?” No! Absolutely not.
This perspective is tempered five chapters later, when Jacob dies, because Joseph’s brothers become fearful again. They say, “What if Joseph still bears a grudge against us and pays us back in full for all the wrong that we did to him?” So they plead with Joseph for forgiveness, and they offer themselves as his slaves. But Joseph weeps as he says, “Do not be afraid! Am I in the place of God? Even though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good.”
See, that’s different than God sent me into this situation. This time Joseph is saying that God used it for good, worked in it for good. I can agree with that.
But I am getting us off track with my questions about God’s intentions, and I am not oblivious to why. I said a minute ago that I’m uncomfortable with this passage. Yes, I am uncomfortable with the theology of whether God was involved in the terrible actions against Joseph. But that’s just my intellectualized, rationalized way of avoiding the truth of its message. It’s an uncomfortable truth . . . as most truths are. The uncomfortable truth is that I must forgive. (So do you, but I’ll stick with me so you don’t think I’m pointing fingers.)
But why do I need to forgive? Just because Joseph allegedly did? No, Jesus is pretty clear on this one, too.
Matthew 18:21 Then Peter came and said to him, ‘Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?’ Jesus said to him, ‘Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.’
And I can see myself pulling out my notepad and marking it. “That’s 39!”
In Luke 6 Jesus says, “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you…. Do not judge, and you will not be judged; do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven.”
Jesus even forgave the people who put him on the cross, saying, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
If Jesus can do that, I guess I need to forgive that “perfect mom” who always makes me feel inadequate—you know the one I’m talking about, whose child is always on time and perfectly dressed, with her lunchbox full of homemade hummus in reusable containers and sandwiches cut in shapes. I have to forgive her for doing this mom thing better than me. I need to forgive that other mom for her tirade against black football players kneeling to protest police brutality when she herself could not even be bothered to get her yoga-pants-covered behind off the bleachers when the national anthem was played at our sons’ game. It’s not her beliefs that make me angry, but her hypocrisy. I need to forgive that colleague who treats women ministers like girls in need of training. I need to forgive that person who used me to meet their own needs. I need to forgive my ex-husband and my grandfather and mostly I have because those injuries are old, and I’ve done my work both psychologically and spiritually. But forgiveness was messy and painful and it took a long time.
Joseph made it look so easy. He is the poster child for forgiveness. His brothers plotted to kill him, then decided just to sell him into slavery instead. And then they show up, and he just, poof, forgives them. He is the perfect example, the paragon of forgiveness.
Except I only told the high parts of the story. I left out some important details. When his brothers first come to town “he pretends not to know them, accuses them of spying, throws them all in jail for three days, and demands that after they take their grain home, they return to Egypt with Benjamin, their youngest brother. He even has Simeon bound and held in Egypt to guarantee their return…. [When they return home, their father] Jacob refuses to allow Benjamin to return with the brothers to Egypt until the family is out of food again and left with no other choice. The emotional roller coaster continues for the brothers . . . when Joseph feasts with his family, including the newly favorite son Benjamin. Rather than reveal his identity now, Joseph has his own silver cup slipped into Benjamin’s sack, setting him up for a charge of stealing. Judah, [the brother who long ago] lobbied for selling Joseph rather than killing him, steps in to plead for Benjamin’s release for the sake of their father Jacob, whose ‘life is bound up in the boy’s life.’”[1] It is only this suggestion that his father might die if dealt another heartbreak, that Joseph finally reveals his identity, and cries on their necks.
So! After using his imperial power to manipulate his brothers, are we to believe that he truly does forgive them? Actually, I think he does—or at least he begins the process—and here’s why I think so. Several times in the previous chapters we were told that Joseph turned aside to cry. But when he tells his brothers who he is, and he sees their fear—their terror, surely, for the person they sold into slavery now controls whether they live or die. When he sees this, he no longer goes away in private to cry. He weeps so loudly that the entire household of Pharaoh hears him. I think that is when his heart broke with forgiveness, or the beginning of it.
Remember how I said that my process of forgiveness was long, slow, and messy? Well, so was Joseph’s. And I don’t think he forgave because God says to. I think he forgave because holding the grudge just cost too much. The pain of unforgiveness was too great a burden to bear, compared to the potential loss of his father. So maybe Joseph is the perfect example of forgiveness—both the how and the why.
Of course, forgiveness does not require an ongoing relationship. If Joseph’s brothers still posed a threat to him, he did not need to be in relationship at his own peril. There are times when forgiveness must be done at a distance. But it is still worth doing.
Last summer while visiting my parents, my mother and I had an argument. Actually, my mother and my wife had an argument, putting me in the middle, and it wasn’t pretty. My mother and I made up—or rather, we made nice—but it was just to get through the rest of the visit. Things were not fine between us. When we went home, my calls to my mom were less frequent; our conversation was stilted. And then Mom was diagnosed with cancer. And suddenly that argument was irrelevant. Nothing that was said that day mattered a single bit, and I’m sure we will never speak of it again, because unforgiveness was too great a burden to bear.
Are you carrying the burden that comes from refusing to forgive? Are you living with a spirit of unforgiveness? Forgiving doesn’t mean the injury doesn’t matter. It means that something else—peace, perhaps—matters more.
[1] Howard, Cameron B.R. http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=2168