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

Mummy

Mummy

About this time, a man and woman from the tribe of Levi got married. The woman became pregnant and gave birth to a son. She saw that he was a special baby and kept him hidden for three months. But when she could no longer hide him, she got a basket made of papyrus reeds and waterproofed it with tar and pitch. She put the baby in the basket and laid it among the reeds along the bank of the Nile River. The baby’s sister then stood at a distance, watching to see what would happen to him.

Soon Pharaoh’s daughter came down to bathe in the river, and her attendants walked along the riverbank. When the princess saw the basket among the reeds, she sent her maid to get it for her. When the princess opened it, she saw the baby. The little boy was crying, and she felt sorry for him. “This must be one of the Hebrew children,” she said. (Exodus 2:1-6)

Mother’s Day can be bittersweet. For some, there’s no one in the world like their mom. For others, motherhood was an accident, a biological impossibility, or their moms just weren’t that nice. Regardless, becoming a mother is a lot easier than being one. Because there’s days when a mom would actually like to eat the entire candy bar, and drink a Coke without the floaties in it; or days when they’d like their kitchen utensils to stay in the kitchen and not end up in the sandbox. But then there’s days when asking, “Why me?” that moms get their answer from a little voice that says, “Because I love you best.” Some of the greatest people in history will tell you how important their mothers were. George Washington, for example, declared: “All I am I owe to my mother.” Moses could very well have said the same.

Moses became the kind of man he was because of the type of mother he had. In fact, who he was was very much determined by the type of mothers he had, because God gave Moses two of them. Both of the women who fulfilled the maternal role in the life of Moses made certain choices that impacted the course of Moses’ life, and those choices made Moses the man he became. The old saying, “The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world,” was absolutely true in the life of Moses. And the choices made by Moses’ mothers teach us a lot about love, about life and about the legacy we leave our children.

Moses was born into a culture of death. According to Pharaoh’s decree, Moses should have been drowned as soon as he was born. So, imagine Jochebed’s pregnancy. Imagine the waiting, the expectancy, the wondering whether the baby would be a girl or a boy. There were no ultrasounds then, so she and her husband, Amram, simply had to wait until Jochebed gave birth. And when she did, she delivered a baby boy. In his mother’s eyes, he was special, and she refused to kill him. She chose to disobey the command of Pharaoh and allow her son to live. (Heb. 11:23) But how do you hide a baby and spare the family’s life?

Neighbors knew that Jochebed was expecting. So, how would she explain the fact that she wasn’t pregnant any longer? How could she keep the existence of a growing, rambunctious baby boy from getting out? And although her faith in God would not allow her to murder her son, her faith in God was also so great that she was willing to trust God with his life. But even though she couldn’t kill her child, she knew she couldn’t secure his life, either. So, she purchased a little basket of reeds, applied some pitch for waterproofing, and put her baby boy into the basket, setting him adrift on the providence of God.

Meanwhile, the daughter of Pharaoh had come down to the river to bathe. Spotting the little ark, she sent her maid to investigate. When the maid brought the basket to her, she looked inside and found a crying baby boy. His circumcision branded him a Hebrew, and immediately the princess understood that his mother had chosen life over death for this child. And in that instant, the princess had a choice to make as well. She could obey her father’s decree and have the child killed. After all, it would’ve been easy. All she would have had to do was instruct one of her servants to tip the ark over and the child would have drowned. But she didn’t. This pagan princess, born into a culture of death, chose life for a child who should have been dead.

Tragically, our culture’s not very different. We live in a world where the most dangerous place for an unborn child is the very place where it should be the safest: a mother’s womb. We live in a world where not every pregnant woman wants to be a mother. We live in a culture that allows a woman to take away the life of their unborn child. Death may have been easier for Moses, but both of his moms chose to give him life.

As the story unfolds, we begin to understand that these moms loved Moses more than they loved themselves. His birth mother risked her life to save his life, and his adoptive, Egyptian mother risked the wrath of her father, the Pharaoh, to save his life again. Why? Because they loved Moses. Their love for this child motivated them to action. Jochebed loved Moses because he was her baby boy. Her body had given him life, and had nourished him as he grew. And it was her love for Moses that allowed him to fulfill the greatest earthly destiny ever designed for any Hebrew since. She risked everything to save him, and 80 years later, by God’s grace, Moses saved his people from Egyptian slavery by destroying the most powerful nation on the planet without lifting a sword, or shooting an arrow. Jochebed’s love allowed Moses to fulfill his God-given destiny to be the savior of his people.

The princess loved Moses, too. Because God had put it in her heart. Otherwise, what possible motivation could the pagan daughter of the Pharaoh have had to adopt the son of a Hebrew slave? Her heart was moved by the plight of a helpless child, and she claimed him as her own. She even named him Moses – a reference to being “drawn out” of the Nile River. And the name proved providential. Because one day Moses would draw his people out of the slavery of his adoptive nation. Ironic, too, that the Pharaoh would be paying for the raising of a child whom he had earlier ordered to be murdered, and who would – one day – be the ruination of the Pharaoh’s empire.

God put love for this child into the hearts of two very different women. God spared Moses from certain death because he had a plan for his life. And God loved Moses, too. He was “… a beautiful child in God’s eyes.” (Acts 7:20) And so God worked in the hearts and lives of others to cause them to love Moses.

Many years ago, a young mother was making her way across the hills of South Wales, carrying her tiny baby in her arms. On the journey, she and her baby were overtaken by a blinding blizzard. Tragically, the young mother never reached her destination. Days later, when the blizzard had subsided, a search and rescue team eventually found her slumped beneath a mound of snow. The rescuers also discovered that, before her death, the young mother had taken off all of her outer clothing and wrapped them around her baby. And when they unwrapped the child, much to their surprise, they discovered that the baby was alive and well. Years later that child, David Lloyd George, would become prime minister of Great Britain, and one of England’s greatest statesmen. All because of a mother’s sacrificial love.

As we read on, it’s easy to see that both of these mothers also invested themselves in Moses’ life. His Egyptian mother gave him the best that Egypt had to offer. (Acts 7:22) The ancient Jewish historian, Josephus, wrote that by virtue of being adopted into the Pharaoh’s family, Moses was in line to succeed to the throne. As a result, he was trained as a prince in Egypt, and he was trained for leadership. That training, of course, would serve him well in the future that God had in store for him.

But his birth mother gave him something his adoptive mother could not: an introduction to the God of Israel while she weaned Moses for the Pharaoh’s daughter – a period generally ranging from 18 months to 5 years. So it was during this time that Jochebed told her son about the true and living God. She warned him about the false gods and religions of Egypt. She told him the stories of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. She told him why God’s people were in bondage in Egypt. And she told him about the promises of God that, one day, His people would be delivered from their bondage. With time, these lessons took root.

“It was by faith that Moses, when he grew up, refused to be called the son of Pharaoh’s daughter. He chose to share the oppression of God’s people instead of enjoying the fleeting pleasures of sin. He thought it was better to suffer for the sake of Christ than to own the treasures of Egypt, for he was looking ahead to his great reward. It was by faith that Moses left the land of Egypt, not fearing the king’s anger. He kept right on going because he kept his eyes on the one who is invisible.” (Heb. 11:24-27) And by the time Moses was 40, he understood that God would use him to deliver the people of Israel from slavery. “One day when Moses was forty years old, he decided to visit his relatives, the people of Israel. He saw an Egyptian mistreating an Israelite. So Moses came to the man’s defense and avenged him, killing the Egyptian. Moses assumed his fellow Israelites would realize that God had sent him to rescue them, but they didn’t.” (Acts 7:23-25)

In other words, the lessons Moses learned from his mother set the very course for his life. And the lessons your children learn from you will do the same. For instance, if your daughter leaves home without being able to balance her checkbook, but has a clear understanding of God and his Son, she’s way ahead of her smartest peers. Or, if your son leaves home and doesn’t know how to play baseball, conjugate a verb, solve long division problems, or multiply fractions, but knows that the Bible is God’s Word, that Jesus is the friend of sinners and that God loves him, he’s way better off than his peers who learned nothing about God from their parents.

As parents, we want our children, and their children, to have more than we did. We want them to have a better education, a better home, a better life. And that’s good. Solomon said as much: “Good people leave an inheritance for their children’s children.” (Prov. 13:22) But their inheritance should include the wealth that only a deep, personal and abiding relationship with God can bring. That begins with prayer, for and with them, and reading the Word and explaining it to them as they study for themselves. We should give them Jesus, and him crucified and resurrected – the hope of their, and the world’s salvation.

So moms, thinking back on it, why did you love your newborn? Because for months the baby was a pain, made you break out in pimples and waddle like a duck. You craved sardines and crackers, and you threw up in the morning. He punched you in the stomach. She occupied space that wasn’t hers, and ate food she didn’t fix. And then, no sooner out of the womb, he started crying – the room was too cold; the blanket too rough; the nurse too mean. And who did she want? Mom.

And in this process you had become a virtual barbarian – you screamed, you swore, you bit bullets and tore the sheets. Your back ached, your head pounded and you were drenched in sweat. You should have been angry, but you weren’t. Because on your face was that for-longer-than-forever love. She’d done nothing for you, yet all you could talk about were her good looks and bright future. He woke you up every night for the next six weeks, but that didn’t matter because you were about him. And you still are. But why?

Because the baby is you – your blood; your flesh; your sinew and spine; your hope; your legacy. So, it didn’t bother you that the baby gave you nothing in return because you knew that a newborn is helpless and weak. And you also knew that babies don’t ask to come into this world.

And God knows we didn’t either. We are his idea. We are his – his face; his eyes; his hands; his touch. Look deeply into the face of a child and you’ll see his likeness. Granted, some may appear to be distant relatives, but they’re not. God has no cousins, only children. We are, incredibly, the body of Christ. And though we may not always act like our Father, there’s no greater truth than this: we are his – unalterably. He loves us - undyingly. There’s nothing that can separate us from the love of Christ. (Rom. 8:38-39) Nothing.

A teacher asked a student in her class one day, “Suppose your mother baked a pie and there were five of you – your parents and three children. What part of the pie would you get?” “A fourth,” replied the boy. “I'm afraid you don't know your fractions,” said the teacher. “Remember, there are five of you.” “Yes, teacher,” said the boy, “but you don't know my mother. Mother would say she didn't want any pie.”

That’s a mother’s love. And that’s God’s love, too. And to demonstrate his love, he gave his one and only Son so that everyone who believes in him will not perish but have eternal life. (John 3:16) Maybe that’s why Jesus, in lamenting over Jerusalem’s abandonment of the faith, would use a mother’s imagery just days before his crucifixion when he cried, “Oh Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones God’s messengers! How often I have wanted to gather your children together as a hen protects her chicks beneath her wings, but you wouldn’t let me.” (Matt. 23:27)

Mummy, mommy, mum or mom; there’s nothing quite like a mother’s love.

Happy Mother’s Day,

Randy