The Pits
Today’s scripture tells the most celebrated moment in the Joseph story. Twenty-two years after Joseph’s brothers had sold him into slavery hundreds of miles away, they reconcile. The sheer time and distance of their separation makes the moment remarkable. But the backstory makes it miraculous.
Let’s rewind twenty-two years. We find ourselves with a teenage Joseph, who is his father’s favorite, and also a bit of a brat. He tattles on his brothers (37:2). He repeatedly dreams that in the future they will bow down to him (37:5-11). One day, his brothers cannot take it any longer. They throw him into a pit in the wilderness. For the next thirteen years, Joseph’s life is the pits. Literally! After his brothers throw him into a pit, they sell him into slavery, where the wife of his new master falsely accuses him of making an advance on her, with the result that he is thrown into prison—or in the Hebrew, another “pit.” When Joseph helps a fellow prisoner who happens to be Pharaoh’s chief cupbearer, he asks to be remembered. But the cupbearer does not remember Joseph when he gets out of prison. So, there Joseph is. Forgotten. In a foreign land. In another pit. Thirteen years after his brothers waylaid him in the wilderness, not much has changed.
But suddenly things do change, and rather significantly. Through a surprising twist of events, Joseph becomes the Pharaoh’s right-hand man. He is given command over all the kingdom. Having foreseen a great famine, he gathers and stores up the extra crop from the harvest. When the famine finally hits, he is prepared. Everyone comes to Egypt seeking help. Including his brothers.
Same Old Story
The stage is set for a miraculous reunion. But at first there’s no miracle. Instead, it’s just the same old story that has afflicted our world for centuries. It’s the story of settling scores, getting even, an eye for an eye. Joseph’s first impulse is not to embrace his brothers and let bygones be bygones. His first impulse is to give them a taste of what he has suffered the last twenty-two years. He speaks spitefully to them as they once had to him (37:4; 42:7). He imprisons them for a few days (and one of them for longer), just as he had been imprisoned for years (39:20; 42:14-17). He plants riches on them and accuses them of stealing, just as he had been falsely accused by Potiphar’s wife (39:16-18; 44:1-5).
What Joseph does to his brothers is nothing new. It’s a story we know all too well from our own lives. It’s a story that plays out every day, whether we’re nursing a grudge against a friend, trying to teach a coworker a lesson, or leaving the dishes in the sink because someone else has left the clothes in the laundry basket. It’s the story of our world, a story as old as Cain and Abel, or Jacob and Esau, stories in which one brother felt he did not get his due and made up for the lack in his life with an attempt on his brother’s. It’s a story of opposition and competition and rivalry, a story of payback and evening the score.
Unsatisfied
But a funny thing happens when Joseph gets his payback. At the very time that his debt is satisfied, he himself is left profoundly unsatisfied. Moments before today’s scripture, Joseph listens as his brother Judah breaks down in front of him (Gen 44:18-34). He hears about his father’s suffering and his brothers’ suffering. And suddenly he breaks down too. Scripture says that he “could no longer control himself,” that he sent everyone else away and then “wept so loudly” that everyone could hear him anyway (Gen 45:1-2).
There is a rich tradition in the history of our faith that identifies tears with divine encounter. When we cry, our eyes are opened to the reality that neither we nor the world around us are as we thought. We see clearly our helplessness and our need for God and for each other. When Joseph weeps, he suddenly sees clearly what he really desires. He thought he desired revenge, but really he desires relationship. He realizes that his family’s suffering is in fact his own suffering, that the more he hurts them, the more he hurts himself.
The Real Miracle
Joseph’s breakdown is how God breaks in to the story. In the clarity of his tears, Joseph sees the bigger picture. He sees the eleven men in front of him not as bullies but as his brothers. He sees not only his own wounds but theirs too. And so he is moved to declare that the sins of the past are nothing in comparison to the opportunity of the present. Twice he acknowledges, “You sold me,” but three times he insists, “But God sent me” (Gen 45:4-5, 7-8). You sold me, but God sent me. That is a big picture. I’ll admit it, that is a much bigger picture than I usually see. Usually, I get as far as an accusation, “You did such-and-such…” and then stop. I don’t see what God sees. I don’t see the possibilities for redemption.
For many readers, the paradoxical claim—“You sold me, but
God sent me”—evokes the image of a divine puppeteer hidden behind the clouds,
imperceptibly directing the drama toward survival. Everything that has happened—the father’s
lopsided love, Joseph’s self-important dreams, the brothers’ hate, and Joseph’s
rags-to-riches glory in Egypt—all of this has been invisibly choreographed by a
divine director. God orchestrated
Joseph’s roller-coaster journey so that he would end up as governor of Egypt,
where he could then provide food for his famine-stricken family. That, according to many readers, is the
miracle in Joseph’s story.
But I’m suspicious of interpretations that absolve the characters of any responsibility. If Joseph had not broken down and opened himself up to God, if he had instead contented himself with getting even and not forgiven his brothers, then God could have pulled every string possible and we would still be left with the same old story of an eye for an eye. Imagine for a moment that Joseph didn’t make himself known, but instead simply sent his brothers on their way after putting them through the wringer. They would have returned home to a father still grieving the mysterious loss of his son. They would have returned home conflicted with themselves, restless with the guilt of their past. And Joseph would have remained in Egypt, confused and unsatisfied. It would have been an unremarkable story. It would have said nothing new, at least not to me. I know all about having the last word only to feel the victory hollow, or shutting someone out only to feel disconnected, or putting someone in their place only to feel small and petty myself. I know all about getting even and feeling unsatisfied.
For me, the real miracle is when Joseph breaks down and lets God break in. The real miracle is not fate, but a forgiveness that alters fate. The bigger picture that Joseph sees is not a God who masterminds everyone and everything, like a programmer coldly typing code into a computer. The bigger picture that Joseph sees is a love that can break any heart and change any story, even the age-old story of getting even.
Prayer
Merciful God,
Who sees redemption everywhere,
Help us out of the pit
Of the same old story.
Help us to be aware of the moments
Where we seek to get even or make our point.
…
Open our eyes to see the bigger picture,
To know the hollowness of control
And the fullness of relationship,
That we might break down
And your love might break in.
Through Christ: Amen.
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