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.
In Genesis 45 Joseph reveals himself to his brothers, blending J and E to reach the climax of the story. We have the final narrative sequence in the story of Israel's founders as the story of Joseph concludes. Joseph’s revelation is a fitting climax to the series of family stories that form the bulk of the Bible’s beginning. It brings together many of the themes that link the disparate materials in Genesis. Among the themes are the nature of human society and its relation to the natural world, the complexities of family dynamics, the struggle for group identity and survival, the competing demands of insiders and outsiders, the interplay of loyalty, betrayal, selfishness, and altruism, and most important of all, the nature of divine intention and God’s interaction with the world. Joseph's revelation of himself to his brothers brings to its fullness, with emotional power, psychological insight and theological acumen, a tale of folly, favoritism, jealousy, deceit, cowardice, malevolence, and injustice. What unfolds in the episode is the theological truth of divine providence: neither external circumstances nor twisted human wills can finally thwart the purposes of a loving God who acts in human history. Through a series of tests (Genesis 42-44), Joseph discovers that his brothers, once capable of murdering their own flesh and blood, have become men of honor and compassion. To these strangers, bewildered by events they neither control nor understand, Joseph reveals himself as kin. We see the hand of the narrator strongly here. The hand of God has directed all the confusion of human guilt toward a gracious goal. So much has been said about the action of people. It is surprising that Joseph now says the real actor has been God.
1 Then Joseph could no longer control himself before all those who stood by him, and he cried out, “Send everyone away from me.” Joseph is overwhelmed a third time in the narrative by emotions that reduce him to tears (v. 2; cf. 42:24, 43:30). To weep in public in the biblical world was not a cause for shame or embarrassment, for men or for women (Genesis 27:38, 29:11, 33:4; Numbers 14:1; Judges 2:4; Ruth 1:9; 1 Samuel 20:41, 30:4, etc.); Joseph weeps in private to maintain the test of his brothers' mettle. Therefore, no one stayed with him when Joseph made himself known to his brothers. This continues a prominent motif in the book of Genesis, namely, knowledge. A more natural way to put the subject of the narrative would have been for the writer to say, “When Joseph revealed himself to his brothers,” but knowledge — accurate and flawed — has been an important part both of Genesis as a whole (cf. 2:9, 17; 3:4, 7, 22; 31:32; 38:16) and also of the Joseph cycle itself (e.g., Jacob’s “knowledge” that his son was killed by wild animals, 37:33; Potiphar’s “knowledge” of Joseph’s assault on his wife, 39:19; Joseph’s knowledge of the meaning of the dreams of Pharaoh’s chief cupbearer and baker, 40:1-19 and of Pharaoh himself, 41:25-32; Joseph’s knowledge of his brothers’ conversation in prison, 42:23; Joseph’s test to know whether his brothers are honest, 42:33-34; the brothers’ inability to know that Joseph would demand Benjamin’s presence in Egypt, 43:7; etc.). The Joseph saga continually returns to the theme of what human beings know, what they think they know, and what they could not possibly be expected to know except through divine agency. 2 Further, he wept so loudly that the Egyptians heard it, and the household of Pharaoh heard it. They could not comprehend the reason for his weeping, adding to the tone of general bewilderment of all those in the episode except Joseph, who is firmly in control of events (if not his emotions). 3 Joseph said to his brothers, “I am Joseph. Is my father still alive?” The question is abrupt and the juxtaposition jarring, although Jacob was the subject of Judah's extended speech immediately preceding Joseph's revelation (44:18-34). It is out of consideration for Jacob's feelings that Judah offered himself in pledge for his youngest half-brother. Judah's speech would be meaningless, of course, if Jacob were no longer alive, so Joseph's question has the ring of a secondary insertion. His brothers' stupefaction marks the initial moment of full disclosure and recognition by both parties. It also echoes, poetically, Joseph's silence during his brothers' mistreatment of him years earlier (37:23-28). However, his brothers could not answer him, so dismayed were they at his presence. 4 Then Joseph said to his brothers, “Come closer to me.” This reflects not only the emotional shading of the narrative, but also the court etiquette already evidenced in 43:32, which prescribed distance between foreign commoners and a high official of the Egyptian royal house. Egyptian distrust of foreigners in general (officials used the common Egyptian word for "vile" in texts of all periods to characterize foreigners)[1] and distaste for Asiatic nomads in particular (including Hebrews), who regularly waged raiding incursions into the towns of the Nile delta area, is documented throughout Egyptian sources.[2] The meteoric rise of a Hebrew slave against such a sociopolitical background reinforces the theological point of the narrative: it is divine and not human agency at work. They came closer. He said, “I am your brother, Joseph, whom you sold into Egypt. 5 Further do not be distressed, or angry with yourselves, because you sold me here; for God sent me before you. The theological point of the Joseph story is ready to become explicit. He can make this statement considering the totality of the story. Except for the little eschatological material found in its later strata, the bulk of the Hebrew Bible has a concern, theologically, with the past, particularly the magnalia Dei, the mighty works of God in human (and especially Israelite) history. Of course, the presence of prescriptions for human behavior is obvious for anyone paying attention to the Old Testament. Such an emphasis meets the human need for truth. If we want to know truth, we will need to acknowledge the presence of the mighty works of God. Of course, the presence of prescriptions for human behavior is obvious for anyone paying attention to the Old Testament. With this emphasis, both testaments seek to address the natural human desire to be and do good. Yet, the ethical monotheism of both testaments rests on a foundation of God's self-disclosure in historical events of both a sweeping and, as here, an intimate scale. Thus, God, through the sin of his brothers, has sent Joseph to preserve life. The theme of preserving life runs prominently but not straightforwardly throughout the story of Jacob’s family. Even the account of Judah and Tamar in Genesis 38 — which many scholars regard as an intrusion into an otherwise coherent narrative sequence — turns on Tamar’s determination to preserve life through a male descendant, even if that means sleeping with her negligent father-in-law. In the Joseph story, worldwide famine threatens the theme of preserving life, becoming the occasion for Joseph’s rise to greatness, on the one hand, and his reunion with his family, on the other. The narrative expresses the concern to preserve life several times: 41:36; 42:2, 18, 20; 43:8. 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. This idea is a theme important throughout Genesis, as in the flood, Abraham's calling, Lot, and Joseph. God has taken the brother's hate and turned it into good. The providence of God operates in ways mysterious to us. Yet, some scholars find the "remnant" God has preserved through Joseph for his brothers, while clear in the narrative, is contextually unexpected. The concept of a remnant (righteous or otherwise) is common enough in later, especially prophetic literature (e.g., throughout the book of Isaiah), but this is the only occurrence of the word in the Pentateuch. Even more noteworthy is the fact that the author pairs the word with "survivors," as it is in Isaiah 10:20, 15:9, 37:32. This striking coincidence between this purportedly early material (the bulk of the Joseph story comes from the 10th-9th century B.C.) and late prophetic idiom has led some scholars to conclude that the verse is an insertion in an earlier novella.[3] It first achieves prominence in Israelite thought with the rise of classical prophecy, where the Hebrew word becomes a technical term (e.g., Isaiah 37:4, 32; Micah 2:12; 4:6, 5:7; 7:18; Jeremiah 23:3; 31:7; etc.). This is the first and only occurrence of the term in Genesis, although the idea is found, of course, in the story of Noah (Genesis 6:10). Like the idea of a hidden divine providence, the idea of a remnant requires a degree of historical consciousness not characteristic of earliest Israelite thought. Thus, God sent Joseph to preserve a remnant and to keep alive for you many survivors. Joseph has caught a higher vision: the preservation of life. What is of paramount importance, he now sees, is life, and not mere human life itself — for life is cheap in Pharaoh’s Egypt — but the life of God’s chosen people. Joseph now realizes that his life’s vocation — quite apart from all he has done for Pharaoh and for Egypt — is to preserve God’s covenant, to be the living instrument by which the promise is passed on to the next generation. The way of the world is often the way of revenge. Joseph demonstrates a higher way, the way of forgiveness. Forgiving others — especially when the wound is deep — is one of the most difficult things any of us will ever be called upon to do. Yet few tasks are more important, not only for the person being forgiven, but also for the person doing the forgiving. A wise person has said, “Forgiveness is when you set a prisoner free — and then you realize the prisoner is yourself.” 8 Therefore, it was not you who sent me here, but God. The idea of providence expressed in the story is not prominent in early Israelite religion. This view is an abstract notion of divine activity in human affairs. It suggests that what appears to be the case is, in fact, not the case, but is, rather, a working out of a much grander hidden divine plan. However, such a view is more at home in the later stages of Israelite religion, when Israelite thought had been influenced by the wisdom tradition that flourished throughout the ancient Near East. Many scholars, in fact, consider the final form of the Joseph story to show extensive evidence of wisdom thought, and most scholars reckon the influence of the wisdom tradition to be a later rather than an earlier development in Israelite religion. God has made me a father to Pharaoh and lord of all his house and ruler over all the land of Egypt. See the words of Psalm-writers who pray that God will spoil the plans of those who plot against them. See Proverbs 16:1-9 and 19:21 ("The human mind [or heart or will in Hebrew] may devise many plans, but it is the purpose of the LORD that will be established"). Both 16:9 and 19:21 use the Hebrew root hashab for "plans," as does Genesis 50:20's "intended," where Joseph says to his brothers, who had sold him into slavery: "Even though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good...."
Such a view of divine providence is not prominent in early Israelite thinking. Yet, throughout the J account thus far, the notion of God judging but preserving a remnant has dominated. However, the supreme example of the divine overruling that brings good out of evil is the way in which the cross and passion lead to Jesus being Savior of the world.[4] The supreme art of the world government by God is to cause good to come from evil, and in this way to overcome evil with good, as Jesus said in Matthew 5:39 and as Paul formulated as a rule of the Christian life in Romans 12:21. For this reason, from historical disasters grow opportunities for new beginnings. The history of the church is also a testimony of this truth.[5] The world government provided by God is the form of divine lordship over creation by which, even with the autonomy of creation and the evil caused by it, God directs the course of world events to the goal ordained for creation. The hidden quality of this providence is not complete, for we can look back and see traces of this divine movement toward a goal.[6]
In Genesis 45: 9-15, having an epistolary style, instead of exacting revenge against his brothers, Joseph uses his power and influence to provide his family a secure future during the coming years of famine in the region of Goshen, between modern Port Said and Suez, an area in the northeast part of the Nile delta suitable especially for small animal grazing. 9 Hurry and go up to my father and say to him. We have the style of an official letter in verses 9-11. ‘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, which was between modern Port Said and Sues. There is a note in an Egyptian source that in 1220 BC Pharaoh allowed Edomite Bedouins to settle there. Further, 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 Further, he kissed all his brothers and wept upon them; and after that, his brothers talked with him. It truly is good and pleasant for brothers to dwell in unity (Psalm 133). Instead of exacting revenge against his brothers, Joseph uses his power and influence to provide his family a secure future during the coming years of famine in the region of Goshen, an area in the northeast part of the Nile delta suitable especially for small animal grazing (vv. 9-15). Having been happily reunited with his brothers, Joseph’s is reunited with his aged father (46:28-30) rounding out the denouement of his captivating story. More importantly for the biblical story, the author has set the stage for the next moment of historical significance for Israel, the period of the sojourn in Egypt. Although particular details of the biblical account of Israel's centuries-long existence in Egypt are impossible to confirm historically, the widespread presence of peoples of Semitic origin in Egypt from about 2200-1550 B.C. is documented abundantly in both the literary and archaeological record of Egypt from the period, and cautions against an excessively skeptical stance toward the biblical narrative.[7]
Joseph's revelation of himself to his brothers brings to its fullness, with emotional power, psychological insight and theological acumen, a tale of folly, favoritism, jealousy, deceit, cowardice, malevolence, and injustice.
First, we can read this story as a story of estrangement and reconciliation, as forgiveness overcoming our tendency toward holding grudges and resentment, and as love overcoming anger. Although the story of Joseph and his brothers concludes in chapters 46-50 with less drama and tension than characterized its bulk, distrust and the fear of reprisal for old wrongs overshadow Jacob's family until the closing words of its story (50:15-21). The biblical writer does not avoid the hard truth that for humans, at least, the past is never completely gone. When Narvaez, the Spanish patriot, lay dying, his father-confessor asked him whether he had forgiven all his enemies. Narvaez looked astonished and said, “Father, I have no enemies, I have shot them all.” Why do we forgive? Because we do not want to turn into creatures of bitterness locked up in the past, and we do not want to be given over to a hatred that lets those who have hurt us continue to dominate our lives.[8]
There is a story from the Native American tradition that makes a similar point. A boy comes to his grandfather, filled with anger at another child who has done him an injustice. “Let me tell you a story,” says the grandfather. “I too, at times, have felt great hatred for those who have taken so much, with no sorrow for what they do. But hatred wears you down and does nothing to hurt your enemy. It’s like taking poison and wishing your enemy would die. I have struggled with these feelings many times.” He continues, “It is as if there are two wolves inside me; one is good and does no harm. He lives in harmony with all around him and takes no offense when no offense is intended. He will only fight when it is right to do so, and in the right way. But the other wolf, ah, that is a different matter! That one is full of anger. The smallest irritation will set him into a fit of rage. He fights everyone, all the time, for no good reason. He cannot think clearly because his anger and hatred are so overwhelming. It is hard to live with these two wolves inside me, for both of them wish to dominate my spirit.” The boy’s eyes have by now grown wide. “Which one wins, Grandfather?” The grandfather solemnly replies: “The one I feed.”
Joseph has now learned, through a series of tests, that his brothers, once murderers, have changed to people of honor and compassion. Joseph has used this time in Egypt to become a person of character. When he sees his brothers, he has every right to move against them. Instead, he invites them to come close, thereby extending to them the opportunity to reconcile with him. He forgives them. He even sees the hand of God at work in it all. Yet, the story of Joseph is less a "how to" manage anger and more an example of the life-giving results of mercy. This is not to say that those who have been mistreated must instantly run out to offer undeserved leniency to their tormentors. Instead, the story encourages us to place ourselves in the hands of God, the fountain of forgiveness and the source of new life. The most life-giving response to bullies and abusers may be to give them a wide berth and deny them any further destructive influence over our lives. Joseph refuses to give in to victimhood. He does not view his physical and emotional scars as reasons for despair or revenge. Incredibly, Joseph instead sees his scars as signs of God’s providential grace. What Joseph models is the refusal to allow those evildoers any power over his life. Instead of permitting the resulting anger to destroy him, thus compounding the damage already done to him, he refuses to allow anger to take over his life and define his actions. He will not lose control of his emotions, but more importantly, he retains control over his life. Anger and fear are not directing his actions. He can choose how to respond to his brothers. He puts anger behind him and offers them new life.
Before certain thoughts one stands in bewilderment, especially at the sight of human sin, and one asks oneself, "Should I take it by force or by humble love?"
Always determine: "I shall take it by humble love." If thus you determine once and for all, you will be able to subdue the whole world. Loving humility is a terrible force, the most terrible of all, the like of which there is none.[9]
Slavery is among the oldest of human institutions. Joseph could have harbored deep resentment for the years of hardship his brothers put upon him. Brothers sold him into slavery, people bought him as a slave, and people forced him to live as a slave. We can see here that the path of faith, hope, and love exhibit themselves in the life of Joseph. He could have demanded some form of justice from his brothers, as in “eye or eye, tooth for tooth” type of thinking. He could have made them slaves. He could have demanded some form of restitution or reparation. My point is simple. When a wrong has been committed, the only pathway to peace and reconciliation is stop the demand for justice, acknowledge the steps taken toward repentance and a new life, and extend a hand of forgiveness. I stress that this responsibility lies with the wronged person! It will take replacing hatred and bitterness with grace and love in order to take such a step. It will take qualities in the wronged against that were not shown by the person committing wrong.
Joseph came face-to-face with those who sold him into slavery. In America, demands for reparations crossing generations for wrongs committed by people long dead, many of whose ancestors have undergone change of heart, is not the path toward reconciliation and peace. Those who continue to raise the specter of slavery reveal that they have something to gain from prolonging racial tension. Their political ideology has become their god at which they intentionally sacrifice the possibility of reconciliation and peace through forgiveness and grace.
The most common explanations for the root causes of mass shootings — a mental health crisis and overly lax gun laws — have merit. Another factor is the fading of forgiveness in our society. It is no longer valued or promoted as it was in the past. And a society that has lost the ability to extend and receive forgiveness risks being crushed by the weight of recriminations and score settling. Many people committed to justice value forgiveness, but others worry that it lets oppressors off the hook. Technology also contributes. Social media is a realm in which missteps and wrongful, impulsive posts are never forgiven. Screenshots of every foolish word you have ever said online can be circulated in perpetuity. And our politics is filled with vitriol. In our cultural moment a conciliatory, forgiving voice is nowhere to be heard. Calls for forgiveness and reconciliation sound like both-sidesism, a mealy-mouthed lack of principle and courage. Yet what is the alternative to forgiveness? Without forgiveness, no human relationships or communities can be sustained. Without forgiveness, centuries-long cycles of retaliation, violence and genocide repeat themselves. Without forgiveness, you are more subject to heart disease and heart attacks, strokes and depression. We should forgive because it is profoundly practical. To fail to forgive is to undermine the health and coherence of one’s body, one’s relationships and the entire human community.[10]
A childhood accident caused poet Elizabeth Barrett to lead a life of semi-invalidism before she married Robert Browning in 1846. There is more to the story. In her youth, a tyrannical father watched over Elizabeth. When she and Robert were married, they held their wedding in secret because of her father’s disapproval. After the wedding, the Brownings sailed for Italy, where they lived for the rest of their lives. Nevertheless, even though her parents had disowned her, Elizabeth never gave up on the relationship. Almost weekly, she wrote them letters. Not once did they reply. After 10 years, she received a large box in the mail. Inside, Elizabeth found all of her letters. According to one story, her parents had not opened even one! I have not read these letters yet, but according to some, they are among the most beautiful in classical English literature. Had her parents only read a few of them, they might have restored their relationship with Elizabeth.
In one of Aristophanes’ comedies, The Acharnians, an aged farmer staggers onto the stage. He is weeping. Enemy soldiers have invaded his land, terrorized his family, and killed both of his oxen. His family is pitifully hungry. However, when someone asks him what he wants, instead of asking for something to eat or something to drink, he says, “What I want more than anything else is for a drop of peace to be poured into my eyes.”
The story of Joseph, if we let it, will touch us at profound levels. We long for reconciliation, but we often do not want to travel the path it will take to get us there, such as developing character, extending an invitation to the offender, forgiveness, seeing the fingerprints of God in it all, and seeking the good of others. Too often, we want to hold on to the bitterness and anger, exacting what we think is justice in the relationship. Reflecting on the story of Joseph can help us overcome this desire.
There is a scene in the 1975 movie, Jaws, that takes place in the cabin of the fishing boat. The grizzled old shark hunter, Quint (Robert Shaw), and the shark scientist Hooper (Richard Dreyfuss) are drinking brandy together when they decide to compare scars. Quint asks Hooper to put a hand under his cap and feel a knot there. He explains, “That came from Rocker Nolan in a St. Patty’s Day brawl in Boston.” Hooper reveals a big scar on his own arm and says, “Moray eel! Bit right through my wet suit.” Quint rolls up his sleeve to show a mangled elbow, the result of an arm-wrestling contest in a San Francisco dive bar. Hooper pulls up his pants leg, revealing another scar. He explains: “Bull shark! Scraped me when I was taking samples.” Quint compares Hooper’s leg scar with one of this own, that he attributes to a thresher shark’s tail. Both men burst into laughter. Hooper says, “Okay. I've got one, the crème de la crème! Right here!” He points to his chest. “Mary Ellen Moffatt: she broke my heart!”
Let us reflect a moment upon the scars we receive in life. Physical scars can be minor. We can easily hide some scars. The same is true with psychological, emotional, and spiritual scars. We can see their presence in the story of Joseph. Imagine the depth of scarring in the brothers that would lead them to plot the death of Joseph. Imagine the many days that Joseph suffered as a slave at the hands of his brothers. We can imagine the thought process of Joseph through those years. Yet, at some point, he begins to heal. In the moment when he finally reveals himself to his brothers and has a plan for his family to return, the healing of the scars seems clear. God can create a life in which God transforms our wound into something good, and God propels us toward new and abundant life. Of course, the question is how this can happen. In his classic book The Wounded Healer, Henri Nouwen reflects on what it means to minister in a hurting and alienated society. How do we minister in a world gone so wrong? He recommends prayer, not as a "decoration of life," but as the breath of human existence. A Christian community is a healing community, says Nouwen, not because wounds are cured and pains are alleviated, but because wounds and pains become openings or occasions for a new vision.
I believe the story of Easter would be incomplete without those scars on the hands, the feet, and the side of Jesus. When human beings fantasize, we dream of pearly straight teeth, wrinkle-free skin, and sexy ideal shapes. We dream of an unnatural state: the perfect body. However, for Jesus, confinement in a skeleton and human skin WAS the unnatural state. The scars are, to him, an emblem of life on our planet, a permanent reminder of those days of confinement and suffering. I take hope in Jesus' scars. From the perspective of heaven, they represent the most horrible event that has ever happened in the history of the universe - the crucifixion - Easter turned into a memory. Because of Easter, I can hope that the tears we shed, the blows we receive, the emotional pain, the heartache over lost friends and loved ones, all these will become memories, like Jesus' scars. Scars never completely go away, but neither do they hurt any longer. We will have re-created bodies, a re-created heaven and earth. We will have a new start, an Easter start.[11]
The greatest transformer of scars is, of course, the Divine Physician, Jesus the Christ. It is by his wounds that we receive healing, and by his sacrificial death that we experience everlasting life. He does not remove our wounds, but builds a spiritual scaffold over them - one that shows us that healing is always a possibility, even when it comes in surprising ways. Our scars need not be embarrassing.
Second, beyond the reconciliation and forgiveness in this family, we also find a lesson in the way the providence of God actually works in human life. What unfolds in the episode is the theological truth of divine providence: neither external circumstances nor twisted human wills can finally thwart the purposes of a loving God who acts in human history. The hand of God has directed all the confusion of human guilt toward a gracious goal. The author has written so much about the action of people. It is surprising that Joseph now says the real actor has been God. The meteoric rise of a Hebrew slave against such a sociopolitical background reinforces the theological point of the narrative: it is divine and not human agency at work. This theological point becomes explicit: "for God sent me before you to preserve life." The theological theme that Joseph's observation identifies reflects upon the total story. The idea of providence expressed in the story — “So it was not you who sent me here, but God” (v. 8).
Human life is often so messy. We might like everything in our lives to be far more clear and distinct, the next step in our lives to be obvious, and the way forward that we should travel marked clearly. We might prefer human life lived on level, smooth places. However, it does not take long in life to know that the terrain of human life is rocky, hilly, and difficult. There are many twists and turns in life. Other people act upon us, sometimes graciously and sometimes not. We act upon the lives of others, sometimes with grace and kindness, and sometimes not. Amid the confusion of human life, we may wonder where God has been. Of course, it takes a mature faith, meditation, and openness, to see the ways of God amid it all. We can often look back on paths that, at the time, we thought of as painful and difficult. Yet, God has used those paths to bring us to a gracious, healing end. The end human beings seek is often self-centered, self-destructive, evil, and hateful. Yet, the end God seeks is reconciliation and peace. God seeks the preservation of life. God is so sovereign that even mixed human motives God can work through to bring people reconciliation. Of course, the fact that reconciliation does not always happen on this earth means that some healing of relationships is a promise that will not occur except in eternity.
Joseph’s revelation is a fitting climax to the series of family stories that form the bulk of the beginning of the Bible. It brings together many of the themes that link the disparate materials in Genesis. Among the themes are the nature of human society and its relation to the natural world, the complexities of family dynamics, the struggle for group identity and survival, the competing demands of insiders and outsiders, the interplay of loyalty, betrayal, selfishness and altruism, and perhaps most important of all, the nature of divine intention and God’s interaction with the world.
We might even say, "Man proposes, but God disposes"[12] sums up Genesis 45:1-15 and 50:14-21. We might recall many Psalms that pray that God will spoil the plans of those who plot against them. Proverbs 16:1-9 and 19-21 say that the human mind or heart devises plans, but the purpose of God will find victory. It suggests that what appears to be the human case is, in fact, not the case, but is, rather, a working out of a much grander hidden divine plan. However, such a view is more at home in the later stages of Israelite religion, when Israelite thought had been influenced by the wisdom tradition that flourished throughout the ancient Near East. Many scholars, in fact, consider the final form of the Joseph story to show extensive evidence of wisdom thought, and most scholars reckon the influence of the wisdom tradition to be a later rather than an earlier development in Israelite religion.
All of this might lead us to reflect upon the serendipity of grace. The late M. Scott Peck, author of The Road Less Traveled, touches on this kind of experience in his writings. Though he had not been a church person, he gradually became aware of the activity of God and eventually became a Christian. In his book, he told that some of his patients had survived serious emotional traumas much better than the circumstances warranted, and Peck came to think of a force of goodness in the world. He eventually identified this force using the word “serendipity,” which the dictionary defines as “the gift of finding valuable or agreeable things not sought for.” He also realized that the word “grace” fit that definition, too. So in the book, he wrote about this force, using both words. Several years later, Peck was on a flight to Minneapolis. He wanted to use the flying time to do some writing, so when a man took the seat next to him, Peck stayed buried in his work and the man beside him opened a novel. Thus, they flew side by side to Buffalo without speaking where they had an hour-long layover that they also passed without speaking to each other. After reboarding and flying silently side by side for another 45 minutes or so, the man looked up from his novel and said, “I hate to bother you, but you don’t happen, by any chance, to know the meaning of the word ‘serendipity,’ do you?” Peck answered that as far as he knew, he was the only person who had written a substantial portion of a book on the subject, and that it was perhaps serendipity that at the precise moment the man wanted to know the meaning of the word, he happened to be sitting next to an authority on the subject. This, of course, led to further conversation, and Peck explained that his book was a kind of integration of psychology and religion. The man said, “Well, I don’t know about religion anymore,” and went on to tell Peck that he was thinking of leaving the church. In response, Peck told him that questioning sometimes helps individuals move from the hand-me-down religion of childhood to a mature, personal one. When the two landed in Minneapolis, the man said, “I don’t have the foggiest idea what all of this means, but maybe I don’t have to leave the church after all.” Much of life with God is indeed discovery of the ways in which God is active behind the scenes in ways we could hardly imagine.
Third, we see an emphasis on preserving life in verse 5. We see this notion obviously in the story of the flood. Less obviously, we see this theme in Genesis 38 and the story of the determination of Tamar to preserve life through a male descendant. Joseph preserved the lives of Egyptians and the life of his family. The theme of preserving life runs prominently but not straightforwardly throughout the story of Jacob’s family. In the Joseph story, the threat to preserving life by the worldwide famine is the occasion for Joseph’s rise to greatness, on the one hand, and his reunion with his family, on the other. The narrative expresses concerns several times to preserve life. In 41:36, the food in reserve supply will preserve life. In 42:2, 18, the hope is that the food in Egypt will preserve the family of Jacob. In 42:20, we find the promise that if the brothers bring Benjamin they will live. In 43:8, Judah wants Jacob to send Benjamin with him so that they will not die.
Fourth, another theme in this story is that of the remnant and survivors in verse 7. The theme is an important one in Genesis. We see it in the story of the flood, in the call of Abraham, in the story of Lot, and in the story of Joseph. God has taken the brother's hate and turned it into good. The providence of God operates in ways mysterious to us. Yet, some scholars find the "remnant" God has preserved through Joseph for his brothers, while clear in the narrative, is contextually unexpected. The concept of a remnant (righteous or otherwise) is common enough in later, especially prophetic literature (e.g., throughout the book of Isaiah), but this is the only occurrence of the word in the Pentateuch. Even more noteworthy is the fact that the writer pairs the word with "survivors," as it is in Isaiah 10:20, which come from the period of Josiah (640-609), 15:9 (Isaiah), and 37:32 (from 598-587 BC). This striking coincidence between this purportedly early material (the bulk of the Joseph story comes from the 10th-9th century B.C.) and late prophetic idiom has led some scholars to conclude that the verse is an insertion in an earlier novella.[13] The idea of a remnant first achieves prominence in Israelite thought with the rise of classical prophecy, where the Hebrew word becomes a technical term. Isaiah 37:4 urges prayer for the few who are left. Isaiah 37:32 shows the determination of Yahweh to preserve a remnant from Jerusalem. In Micah 2:12 the Lord will gather the few left in Israel. We find a similar them in Micah 4:6 and 5:7. In Micah 7:18, even the remnant can rebel. In Jeremiah 23:3, the Lord will gather the remnant. In Jeremiah 31:7, we find a prayer for the Lord to save the remnant. Yet, this is the first and only occurrence of the term in Genesis, although the idea is found, of course, in the story of Noah (Genesis 6:10). Like the idea of a hidden divine providence, the idea of a remnant requires a degree of historical consciousness not characteristic of earliest Israelite thought.
The story of Joseph is powerful and dramatic. Instead of exacting revenge, Joseph uses his power and influence to provide his family a secure future in the land of Goshen in the northeast part of the Nile delta, a land especially suited for small animal grazing. Joseph has reunited with his beloved father. In its canonical context, however, it reminds us of the magdalia dei, the mighty of works of God. The sojourn in Egypt will not end well. From literary and archaeological records of Egypt, we know that peoples of Semitic origin were in Egypt from 2200 to 1550 BC. We see the transition of the biblical story from its focus on the patriarchal founders of Israel to the story of a people who will experience oppression and stand in need of deliverance.
[1] See Donald B. Redford, Egypt, Canaan, and Israel in Ancient Times [Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1992], 100)
[2] (See, for example, the "Tale of Sinuhe," in Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament, ed. James B. Pritchard, 3rd ed., [Princeton, N. J.: Princeton University Press, 1974], 18-22).
[3] (See Roland E. Murphy in The New Jerome Biblical Commentary, ed. Raymond E. Brown, Joseph A. Fitzmyer, Roland E. Murphy [Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1990], 40).
[4]
[5]
[6]
[7] (For a detailed review of the evidence and scholarship, concluding in favor of the essential historical reliability of the biblical material, see James K. Hoffmeier, Israel in Egypt [New York: Oxford University Press, 1996], especially pp. 52-76.)
[8] —Samuel Wells, Learning to Dream Again: Rediscovering the Heart of God (Eerdmans, 2013), 114.
[9] --Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov (Penguin, 2003).
[10] Timothy Keller, “What Too Little Forgiveness Does to Us,” The New York Times, December 3, 2022.
[11] -Philip Yancey, The Jesus I Never Knew (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1995).
[12] (Thomas à Kempis, in The Imitation of Christ)
[13] (See Roland E. Murphy in The New Jerome Biblical Commentary, ed. Raymond E. Brown, Joseph A. Fitzmyer, Roland E. Murphy [Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1990], 40).
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