Goodbyes

Goodbyes

Then he sent his brothers off. As they left he told them, “Take it easy on the journey; try to get along with each other.” They left Egypt and went back to their father Jacob in Canaan. When they told him, “Joseph is still alive — and he’s the ruler over the whole land of Egypt!” he went numb; he couldn’t believe his ears. But the more they talked, telling him everything that Joseph had told them and when he saw the wagons that Joseph had sent to carry him back, the blood started to flow again — their father Jacob’s spirit revived. Israel said, “I’ve heard enough — my son Joseph is still alive. I’ve got to go and see him before I die.” (Genesis 45:24-28)

John Glenn knows how to fly a fighter jet – he completed 59 missions in World War II and 90 in the Korean War. He also knows how to fly fast – he was the first pilot to average supersonic speed on a transcontinental flight. He knows how to fly into outer space – in 1962 he became the first American to orbit the earth. He knows how to win elections – he was a U.S. Senator from 1974 to 1999. John Glenn can do a lot – give speeches, lead committees, inspire audiences, even write books. But for all of his accomplishments, there’s one skill he never mastered – he never learned how to tell his wife goodbye.

The two met when they were toddlers and grew up together in Ohio. Though John went on to achieve national fame, he’d tell you that the true hero of the family is the girl he married in 1943. But Annie suffered from such severe stuttering that 85 percent of her efforts to speak fell short. She couldn't talk on the phone, or order food in a restaurant. Just the idea of requesting help in a department store frightened her. So, she’d wander the aisles, reluctant to speak. She feared the possibility of a family crisis because she didn't know if she could make the 911 call. Hence, the difficulty with “goodbye.”

John couldn't bear the thought of separation from his Annie. So the two developed a code. Each time he was deployed on a mission or called to travel, the couple bid each other farewell the same way: "I'm just going down to the corner store to get a pack of gum," he’d say. "Don't be long," she'd reply. And off he would go . . . to Japan, Korea, or outer space. Over the years, Annie's speech improved with therapy which helped her enunciate and bolster her confidence. Even so, “goodbye” was the one word the couple couldn’t say to each other. In fact, in 1998, Senator Glenn became the oldest astronaut in history. He reentered space aboard the shuttle Discovery, and prior to lift-off, he told his wife, "I'm just going down to the corner store to get a pack of gum." This time, however, he gave her a present: a pack of gum. And Annie kept it in a pocket near her heart until he was safely home.

Goodbye. No one wants to say it. Not the spouse of an astronaut. Not the mom of a soon-to-be preschooler. Not the father of the bride. Not the husband in the convalescent home. Not the wife grieving at the funeral home. Especially not her. Death is the most difficult goodbye of all. I was reminded this past Father’s Day of the ache of having said goodbye to my Dad last August. Some say that death is a natural part of living, but it isn’t. Birth is. Breathing is. Belly laughs, big hugs, and bedtime kisses are. But death? We weren’t made to say goodbye. God's original plan had no farewell – no final breath, day or heartbeat. Death is an interloper, an intruder, the stick-figure sketch in the Louvre. It doesn't fit. Why would God give a golfing buddy and then take him? Fill a crib and then empty it? No matter how you frame it, “goodbye” doesn't feel right. And Jacob and Joseph lived beneath the shadow of “goodbye.”

When the brothers lied about Joseph's death, they gave Jacob a blood-soaked coat; a wild beast had dragged the body away, they implied. Jacob collapsed in sorrow. "Then Jacob tore his clothes, put on sackcloth and mourned for his son many days." (Gen. 37:34) Jacob wept until the tears turned to brine; until his soul shriveled within him. The two people he loved the most were now gone. Rachel dead. Joseph dead. Jacob, it seems, died, too. "All his sons and daughters came to comfort him, but he refused to be comforted. 'No,' he said, 'in mourning will I go down to the grave to my son.' So his father wept for him." (v. 35)

Joseph lived with the same sorrow. Two decades had passed. No word from home. Birthdays, holidays, harvest days. Jacob was never far from his thoughts. In fact, the moment Joseph revealed his identity to his brothers, he asked, "I am Joseph; does my father still live?" (45:3) Question number one: "How's Dad?" Priority number one: a family reunion. So, Joseph told his brothers to saddle up, ship out, and come back with the entire family. He even supplied them with provisions for the journey. And he gave each of them new clothes. Well, except for Benjamin to whom he gave five changes of clothes and three hundred pieces of silver. He sent his father ten donkeys loaded with the good things of Egypt, and ten donkeys loaded with grain and all kinds of other food to be eaten on his journey. So he sent his brothers off, and as they left, he called after them, "Take it easy," and “try and get along.” So the brothers left Egypt and returned to their father, Jacob, in the land of Canaan. (vv. 21-25)

Jacob's boys returned to Canaan in grand style. Gone were the shabby robes and skinny donkeys. They drove brand-new pickup trucks loaded with all sorts of stuff. They wore leather jackets and alligator skin boots. And when their wives and kids spotted them on the horizon, they shouted, "You're back! You're back!" Hearing that, Jacob emerged from a tent. A rush of hair, long and silver, reached his shoulders. Stooped back. Face leathery, like rawhide. He squinted at the sun-kissed sight of his sons and all the plunder. He was just about to ask where they stole the stuff when one of them blurted out, “Joseph is still alive — and he’s the ruler over the whole land of Egypt!” he went numb; he couldn’t believe his ears." (v. 26)

The old man grabbed his chest. He had to sit down. Leah brought him some water and glared at the sons as if to say they’d better not be playing a joke on their father. But this was no trick. "… the more they talked, telling him everything that Joseph had told them and when he saw the wagons that Joseph had sent to carry him back, the blood started to flow again — their father Jacob’s spirit revived." (v. 27) Sadness had sapped the last drop of joy out of Jacob. Yet when the sons told him what Joseph had said, how he had asked about Jacob, how he had called them to Egypt, Jacob's spirit revived. He looked at the prima facie evidence of carts and clothes. He looked at the confirming smiles and nods of his sons, and for the first time in more than twenty years, the old patriarch began to believe he would see his son again. His eyes began to sparkle, and his shoulders straightened. "Israel said, ‘I’ve heard enough — my son Joseph is still alive. I’ve got to go and see him before I die.’” (v. 28)

Yes, the narrator calls Jacob by his other name. The promise of a family reunion can do that. It changes us. From sad to seeking. From lonely to longing. From hermit to pilgrim. From Jacob (schemer) to Israel (prince of God). "So Israel took his journey with all that he had, and came to Beersheba, and offered sacrifices to the God of his father Isaac." (46:1)

Jacob was 130 years old by this point. Hardly a spring chicken. He had a hitch in his get-along, and an ache in his joints. But nothing was going to keep him from seeing his son. He took his staff in hand and issued the command: "Load 'em up! We’re headed for Egypt." The text then goes to wide-angle at this point, and we’re given an aerial view of the entire clan in migration. By virtue of a census, the narrator mentions each family member by name. The sons, the wives, the children. No one left out. The whole gang of seventy made the trip. And what a trip. Pyramids. Palaces. Irrigated farms. Silos. They’d never seen anything like it.

Then the moment they'd been waiting for: a wide flank of royalty appeared on the horizon. Chariots, horses, and the Imperial Guard. As the entourage drew near, Jacob leaned forward to get a better glimpse of the man in the center chariot. When he saw his face, Jacob whispered, "Joseph, my son." Across the distance Joseph leaned forward in his chariot. He told his driver to slap the horse. When the two groups met on the flat of the plain, the prince didn't hesitate. He bounded out of his chariot and ran in the direction of his father. "The moment Joseph saw him, he threw himself on his neck and wept." (v. 29) Gone were the formalities. Forgotten were the proprieties. Joseph buried his face in the crook of his father's shoulder and “wept a long time." (v. 29) As tears moistened the robe of his father, both men resolved that they would never say goodbye to each other again.

“Good-bye.” For some this word is the challenge of your life. To get through this is to get through raging loneliness, or strength-draining grief. You sleep alone in a double bed. You walk the hallways of a silent house. You catch yourself calling out his name or reaching for her hand. As with Jacob, the separation has exhausted your spirit. You feel quarantined, isolated. The rest of the world has moved on; you ache to do the same. But you can't; you can't say goodbye.

If you can't, take heart. God has served notice. All farewells are on the clock. They are filtering like grains of sand through an hourglass. If heaven's throne room has a calendar, one day is circled in red and highlighted in yellow. God has decreed a family reunion. “The Master himself will give the command. Archangel thunder! God's trumpet blast! He'll come down from heaven and the dead in Christ will rise – they’ll go first. Then the rest of us who are still alive at the time will be caught up with them into the clouds to meet the Master. Oh, we'll be walking on air! And then there will be one huge family reunion with the Master. So reassure one another with these words.” (1 Thess. 4:16-18) This day will be no small day. It will be the Great Day. The archangel will inaugurate it with a trumpet blast, and thousands and thousands of angels will appear in the sky. (Jude 14-15) Cemeteries and seas will give up their dead. "Christ . . . will appear a second time, not to deal with sin but to save those who are eagerly waiting for him." (Heb. 9:28) His coming will be the only event witnessed by all humanity.

Not everyone will want the moment, however. "Unready people all over the world . . . will raise a huge lament as they watch the Son of Man blazing out of heaven." (Matt. 24:30) Just as the book of Genesis lists the family of Jacob, the Book of Life lists the family of God. He will call the name of every person who accepted his invitation and became his child. And he will honor the requests of those who refused him and dismiss them for eternity. Then he will bless the desire of those who accepted him and gather them for a family reunion. That will be some kind of reunion. "He will wipe every tear from their eyes." (Rev. 21:4)

It’s as if his first action will be to rub a thumb across the cheek of every child to say, "There, there . . . no more tears." This long journey will come to an end. You’ll see him. And you’ll see them. Isn't that our hope? "There will be one huge family reunion with the Master. So reassure one another with these words." (1 Thess. 4:17-18) Remember, your future with your loved ones is infinitely greater than was your past with them. But death seems to take so much. We bury not just a body but the wedding that never happened, the golden years we never knew. We bury dreams. But in heaven these dreams will come true. God has promised a "restoration of all things." (Acts 3:21) "All things" includes all relationships.

Colton Burpo was only four years old when he survived an emergency appendectomy. His parents were overjoyed at his survival. But they were stunned at his stories. Over the next few months Colton talked about his visit to heaven. He described exactly what his parents were doing during the surgery and told stories of people he had met in heaven – people he had never met on earth or even been told about. In the book, Heaven Is for Real, Colton's father relates the moment that the four-year-old boy told his mom, "’You had a baby die in your tummy, didn't you?’" The parents had never mentioned the miscarriage to their son. He was too young to process it. Emotion filled his mother's face. ‘Who told you I had a baby die in my tummy?’ Sonja said, her tone serious. ‘She did, Mommy. She said she died in your tummy.’" . . .

“A bit nervously, Colton . . . faced his mom again, this time more warily. ‘It's okay, Mommy,’ he said. ‘She's okay. God adopted her.’ Sonja slid off the couch and knelt down in front of Colton so that she could look him in the eyes. ‘Don't you mean Jesus adopted her?’ she said. ‘No, Mommy. His Dad did!’ . . . Sonja's eyes lit up, and she asked, ‘What was her name? What was the little girl's name?’ . . . ‘She doesn't have a name. You guys didn't name her.’ The parents were stunned. There is no way Colton would have known this. But he had one more memory. He shared it before he went out to play: ‘Yeah, she said she just can't wait for you and Daddy to get to heaven.’” Whether you believe stories like Colton’s, which he stands by to this day, is not the point. If you’re a Christian, believing is seeing.

Maybe your grandpa, your aunt, your child, your mom, your dad, is saying the same words about you. They’re looking toward the day when God's family is back together. Shouldn't we do the same? "Since we are surrounded by such a huge crowd of witnesses . . . let us run with endurance the race that God has set before us." (Heb. 12:1) High above us there’s a crowd of witnesses. They’re the Abrahams, Jacobs, and Josephs from all generations and nations. They’ve completed their own events and now witness the races of their spiritual, if not physical, descendants. "Run!" they shout. "Run! You'll get through this!" No goodbyes in heaven. We’ll speak of the Good Book, but goodbye? Gone forever.

Let that promise change you. From sagging to seeking, from mournful to hopeful. From dwellers in the land of goodbye to a heaven of hellos. The Prince has decreed a homecoming. Let's take our staffs and travel in his direction.

Grace,

Randy