Your History Doesn't Have to Be Your Future

 

Your History Doesn’t Have to Be

Your Future

Your History Doesn't Have to Be Your Future - Audio/Visual 

Let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. (Romans 12:2)

I hope you had a happy childhood – a time when your parents kept everyone fed, safe and secure. I hope your dad came home every day, your mom tucked you in every night and your siblings were your best friends. But if that doesn’t describe your childhood, you’re not alone. Even the most famous family tree in the Bible had a family fungus. Adam accused Eve. Cain killed his little brother. Abraham lied about Sarah. Rebekah favored Jacob. Jacob cheated Esau and then raised a bunch of hoodlums. The book of Genesis is a family disaster. And then there was the technicolor dreamer.

Joseph didn't deserve to be abandoned by his brothers. Granted, he wasn't the easiest guy to get along with since he boasted about his dreams and tattled on his siblings. He certainly deserved some of the blame for the family friction, but he didn't deserve to be dumped into a pit and sold to gypsies for pocket change. The perpetrators were his ten older brothers. These eleven sons shared the same dad, dinner table and playground. His brothers were supposed to look out for him, but they didn’t. Joseph's next of kin were way out of line. And his father? Well, Jacob was simply way out of touch. The patriarch could have used a course or two on marriage and family to help him avoid some of his mistakes.

Mistake number one: he married a woman he didn't love so he could marry the one that he did. Mistake number two: the two wives were sisters. The first sister bore him sons; the second sister bore him none. So, to expand his clan, Jacob slept with an assortment of handmaidens and concubines until he had a bunch of kids. Rachel, his favorite wife, finally gave birth to Joseph who became his favorite. Rachel later died giving birth to a second son, Benjamin, leaving Jacob with a contentious household and a broken heart. As a result, Jacob’s coping mechanism was to simply check out. When Joseph bragged to his brothers about their bowing down to him, Jacob stayed silent. When Jacob got wind that his sons had taken the sheep to graze near Shechem, the spot of a prior conflict, did he spring into action to correct them? No, he sent Joseph to come back with a report. In other words, Jacob sent a son to do a father's job. Obstinate sons. Oblivious dad. The brothers needed a father. The father needed a wake-up call. And Joseph needed a protector. But he wasn't protected; he was neglected, instead.

He landed in a distant, dark place. Initially, Joseph chose not to face his past. By the time he saw his brothers again, Joseph had been prime minister for nearly a decade. He wore chains of gold around his neck. He bore the king's seal on his hand. The coat of many colors had been replaced with the royal robe of the king. The kid from Canaan had come a long way. Joseph could travel anywhere he wanted, yet he chose not to return to Canaan. Assemble an army and settle the score with his brothers? He certainly had the resources. Send for his father, or at least send him a text? He'd had more than eight years to set the record straight. He knew where to find his family, but he chose not to contact them. He kept family secrets a secret – untouched and untreated. Joseph was content to leave his past in the past. But God was not because restoration matters to God.

The healing of the heart involves the healing of the past. So, God shook things up. “All countries came to Joseph in Egypt to buy grain, because the famine was severe in all lands." (Gen. 41:57) And in the long line of folks appealing for an Egyptian handout, look what the cat drug in: "So Joseph's ten brothers went down to buy grain in Egypt." (42:3) And Joseph heard them before he saw them. He was fielding a question from a servant when he detected the Hebrew chatter. Not just the language of his heart, but the dialect of his home. The prince motioned for the servant to stop speaking. He turned and looked, and there they stood. Those Hebrew dudes stuck out in sophisticated Egypt like The Beverly Hillbillies in Times Square.

When their time came to ask Joseph for grain, they didn't recognize him. It never occurred to them that they were standing in front of their baby brother. Thinking the prince couldn't understand Hebrew, the brothers spoke to him with their eyes and gestures. They pointed at the stalks of grain and then at their mouths. They motioned to the brother who carried the money, and he stumbled forward and spilled the coins on the table. When Joseph saw the silver, his lips curled and his stomach turned. He had named his first-born Manasseh, or “God Made Me Forget,” but the money made him remember.

The last time he saw coins in the hands of his brothers they were laughing and he was whimpering. That day in the pit he searched those same faces for a friend but found none. And now they dared to bring silver to him? Joseph called for a Hebrew-speaking servant to translate. Then Joseph scowled at his brothers. "He acted as a stranger to them and spoke roughly to them." (42:7) The brothers fell face-first in the dirt, which brought to Joseph's mind a childhood dream. Joseph glared at them. " I don't believe you. Arrest these spies.” At that, the ten brothers spoke at once: "You've got it all wrong. We belong to the same family. There are twelve of us in all; well, at least there used to be. 'The youngest is now with our father, and one is no longer living.'" (v. 13) Joseph gulped at the words. This was the first report on his family he’d heard in twenty years. Jacob was alive. Benjamin was alive. And they thought he was dead. "Tell you what," he snapped. "I'll let one of you go back and get your brother and bring him here. The rest of you are going to prison." And with a nod of his head, they were marched off to jail – perhaps the same jail where Joseph had spent at least two years of his life.

The gruff voice and harsh treatment. The jail sentence. We've seen this sequence before with Joseph and his brothers, only the roles are now reversed. On the first occasion they conspired against him; this time he conspired against them. They threw him in a hole and ignored his cries for help. Now it was his turn to give them the cold shoulder. What’s going on? Well, I think Joseph was trying to get his bearings. This was the toughest challenge of his life; the famine, by comparison, was easy. Mrs. Potiphar he could resist. Pharaoh's assignments he could manage. But this mixture of hurt and hate that surged when he saw his own flesh and blood? Joseph didn't know what to do. And maybe you don't either.

Your family failed you. Your early years were hard ones. The people who should have cared for you didn't. But, like Joseph, you made the best of it. You've made a life for yourself. Even started your own family. You’re happy to leave Canaan in the rearview mirror. But God isn't. He gives us more than we request by going deeper than we ask. He wants not only our whole heart; he wants our heart whole. Why? Because hurt people hurt people.

Why do you fly off the handle? Why do you avoid conflict? Why do you seek to please everyone? Do your tendencies have something to do with an unhealed hurt in your heart? God wants to help you for your sake, and for the sake of your posterity. Suppose Joseph had refused his brothers? Washed his hands of the entire mess. God's plan for the nation of Israel depended upon the compassion of Joseph. A lot was at stake here. And there’s a lot at stake with you, too. Yes, your family history has some sad chapters, but your history doesn't have to be your future. You don't have to give your kids what your ancestors gave you. Talk to God about the scandals and scoundrels. Invite him to relive the betrayal with you. Bring it out in the open because revealing leads to healing.

Don't just pray, “Lord, help me to forgive my father.” Unearth the details: “God, Daddy never wanted to be a part of my life. He didn't even come to my birthday parties. I hated him for that.” Or, “Every day I came home from school to find Mom drunk, lying on the couch. I had to make dinner, take care of baby brother and do homework on my own. It's not right, God!” Difficult for certain. But let God do his work. The process may take a long time. It may take a lifetime. Family pain is the deepest pain because it was inflicted so early and involves people who should have been trustworthy.

You were too young to process the mistreatment. You didn't know how to defend yourself. Besides, the perpetrators of your pain were so big. Your dad, mom, uncle, big brother? They towered over you – usually in size, but always in rank. When they judged you falsely, you believed them. All this time you've been operating on faulty data: "You're stupid . . . slow . . . dumb like your daddy . . . fat like your mama . . . ." Decades later these voices of defeat still echo in your subconscious. But they don't have to. "Let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think." (Rom. 12:2) You are not who they said you were. You are God's child. His creation. Destined for heaven. You are a part of his family. Let him set you on the path to reconciliation. Joseph did.

The process would prove to be long and difficult. It occupies four chapters of the Bible and at least a year on the calendar. But Joseph took the first step, and after three days he released his brothers from jail. He played the tough guy again. "Go on; get back to Kansas or wherever you came from. But I want to see this kid brother of yours. I'll keep one of you as a guarantee." They agreed and then, right in front of Joseph, the brothers rehashed the day they’d ditched him: "Then they said to one another, 'We are truly guilty concerning our brother, for we saw the anguish of his soul when he pleaded with us, and we would not hear; therefore, this distress has come upon us.'" (Gen. 42:21)

They didn’t know that the prince understood Hebrew. But he did. And when he heard those words, Joseph turned away so they couldn't see his eyes. He didn't speak for a few moments, lest the lump in his throat turn into sobs unbecoming Egypt’s second in command. He stepped into the shadows and wept when he learned that his brothers hadn't forgotten about him. And when he sent them back to Canaan, he loaded their saddlebags with grain and returned their money. And with that small act, the healing began. And if God healed that family, he can heal yours, too.

Grace,

Randy