Healing

Healing

Since Joseph was governor of all Egypt and in charge of selling grain to all the people, it was to him that his brothers came. When they arrived, they bowed before him with their faces to the ground. Joseph recognized his brothers instantly, but he pretended to be a stranger and spoke harshly to them. “Where are you from?” he demanded. “From the land of Canaan,” they replied. “We have come to buy food.” Although Joseph recognized his brothers, they didn’t recognize him. And he remembered the dreams he’d had about them many years before. He said to them, “You are spies! You have come to see how vulnerable our land has become.” “No, my lord!” they exclaimed. “Your servants have simply come to buy food. We are all brothers — members of the same family. We are honest men, sir! We are not spies!” “Yes, you are!” Joseph insisted. “You have come to see how vulnerable our land has become.” “Sir,” they said, “there are actually twelve of us. We, your servants, are all brothers, sons of a man living in the land of Canaan. Our youngest brother is back there with our father right now, and one of our brothers is no longer with us.” (Genesis 42:6-13)

I hope your childhood was a happy one – a time when your parents kept everyone fed, safe and happy. 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 relatives disaster.

Joseph didn't deserve to be abandoned by his brothers. He wasn't the easiest guy to live with, mind you – 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. So, Joseph's next of kin were way out of line. And his father? Truth is, Jacob was simply out of touch. With all due respect, the patriarch could have used a course on marriage and family life 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 son. 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 check out. When Joseph bragged to his brothers about their bowing 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 get 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 a message? He'd had eight years, or so 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 at 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. The brothers were balder, grayer, and rougher-skinned. They were pale and gaunt with hunger. Sweaty robes clung to their shins, and road dust chalked their cheeks. These Hebrews 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. His beard was shaved, his robe was royal, and the language he spoke was Egyptian. Black makeup extended from the sides of his eyes. He wore a black wig that sat on his head like a helmet. 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 Jacob's older boys, they were laughing, and he was whimpering. That day in the pit he searched these 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." (v. 7) The brothers fell face-first in the dirt, which brought to Joseph's mind a childhood dream. "Uh, well, we're from up the road in Canaan. Maybe you've heard of it?" Joseph glared at them. "No, I don't believe you. Guards, put these spies under arrest. They’re here to infiltrate our country." The ten brothers spoke at once. "You've got it all wrong, Your High, Holy, and Esteemed Honor. We're salt of the earth. We belong to the same family. That's Simeon over there. That's Judah . . . . 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 I'll throw in jail."

With that, Joseph had their hands bound. And with a nod of his head, and they were marched off to jail. Perhaps the same jail where Joseph had spent at least two years of his life. What a curious series of events. The gruff voice, and harsh treatment. The jail sentence. The abrupt dismissal. We've seen this sequence before with Joseph and his brothers, only the roles were reversed. On the first occasion they conspired against him. This time he conspired against them. They spoke angrily. He turned the tables. They threw him in the hole and ignored his cries for help. Now it was his turn to give them the cold shoulder. What was 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 your whole heart; he wants your heart whole. Why? Because hurt people hurt people.

Think about it. 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. For instance, suppose Joseph had refused his brothers? Summarily dismissed them. Washed his hands of the whole 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. The generational garbage can stop here and now. 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. Joseph restaged the hurt for a reason. Revealing leads to healing.

Don't just pray, “Lord, help me 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 depressed, 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 because it 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 large. Your dad, mom, uncle, big brother – they towered over you, usually in size, 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) Let him replace childish thinking with mature truth. (1 Cor. 13:11) 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. A cautious, hesitant one, but a step nonetheless. After three days Joseph released his brothers from jail. He played the tough guy again. "Go on; get back to – what was it, Kansas? Colorado? No, Canaan. Go on back. But I want to see this kid brother you’ve talked about. 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 dry-gulched 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 the words, Joseph turned away so they couldn't see his eyes fill with tears. He didn't speak for a few moments, lest the lump in his throat turn into sobs unbecoming a tough official. He stepped into the shadows and wept. He didn't cry when he was promoted by Potiphar or crowned by Pharaoh, but he blubbered like a baby when he learned that his brothers hadn't forgotten him after all. And when he sent them back to Canaan, he loaded their saddlebags with grain and returned their money. A moment of grace. And with that small act, the healing began.

If God healed that family, who's to say he can’t heal yours, too?

Grace,

Randy