Exodus 16

This chapter features more repetition than usual, even for an account that was probably oral in origin. We have God giving instructions to Moses, Moses repeating those directives to Aaron, Moses and Aaron relaying that information to the Israelites, and God reiterating His instructions again for good measure. However, there's a good reason for this seemingly superfluous amount of repetition: the Israelites, despite having been rescued from bondage by God's beneficent hand, grouse like entitled children and ignore God's succinct directives no less than three times.

1. They complain about having no food and wish they were slaves again (really?) (verse 3).
2. They don't listen to Moses when he says to not hoard the manna, and as a result, it becomes infested with lovely maggots (verses 19-20).
3. They gather manna on the Sabbath even though God told them that there wouldn't be any (verse 27).

Like I've mentioned before, the Israelites have just witnessed phenomenally preternatural plagues and walked through parted waters that closed behind them, so why are they so obstreperous? Heck, as a reminder, God even graces His people with a physical manifestation of His glory in verse 10.

This story always made me feel hungry, as many descriptions of food do. I've only had quail once a year or two ago at a "fancy" restaurant. If you've ever seen quail, they're rather small, so even though the dish had two quail, there still wasn't a whole lot of meat. And the taste? From what I remember, it tasted like chicken (of course).

As for the manna, I admit that I'm curious about its appearance and taste. (Just watch; I'll get my wish someday and end up having an allergic reaction.) Verse 31 says that it's white and "tasted like wafers made with honey." So, in effect, God created the first graham crackers, meaning that s'mores probably weren't far behind.

I find it funny that the chapter ends with the parenthetical statement, "(An omer is one-tenth of an ephah)" (verse 36). Thanks, Moses, that clears everything up. Even if one knows what omers and ephahs are, I still think it's droll that Moses waited until the end of the chapter to give this clarification as if he almost forgot.

The Sunday school point of this chapter is that God provides, even when we complain. He may not give us what we want--I doubt that many Israelites fancied eating only manna and quail for 40 years--and He may not always answer our prayers to cure loved ones, for example. But I know I need to learn to trust on Him more. I know I've been saying that since I started writing these posts, so I'm still very much a work in progress.

Exodus 15

I was an English major (receiving my BA in BS, as we liked to call it) because it was the path of least resistance. I'd always loved reading, wrote elaborately disjointed stories of a dazzlingly derivative nature, and dreamt of working in a library or bookstore (remember those?) while writing on the side. I initially started working on a minor in biology because I had also enjoyed that (particularly because of a terrific hands-on biotechnology class I had taken in high school), but I soon jettisoned that pursuit once I realized how many icky chemistry classes I had to take. (In fact, you pretty much had to earn a chemistry minor in order to fulfill the biology minor). So yes, I had a touchy-feely major that all you well-to-do STEM majors shrewdly spurned, and I couldn't even handle minoring in the science that, as many chemists and physicists will tell you, isn't a real science.

So it may seem surprising that I was never much into poetry. Yes, it can be gorgeous, but you often have to put work into extracting the essence of what the poet is trying to say. As we've all learned, poetry is compression, using the least amount of words to express its point or tell its story, which means that the reader must work to unravel its symbolism and ponder why the poet decided to use dactyls instead of trochees. My own attempts at writing poetry, as I believed I mentioned in one of my first posts, are atrocious. That may also be why I've never been into pop music; I've always preferred the instrumental and occasionally electronic palette of film scores. I do love the sound of large choirs, Stephen Sondheim's works, and most of the songs from Disney animated films. (Never fear, as I also like many worship songs.)

But I won't deny that Biblical poetry features remarkable imagery in its evocation of God or the emotions and struggles that following God engenders. In verse 5, for example, Moses says that "deep waters have covered" the Egyptians, making them sink "to the depths like a stone." Humans do naturally have some buoyancy, while most rocks (besides pumice) most decidedly do not. So I do find a wee bit of morbid humor in the image of an Egyptian warrior plummeting to the depths like a boulder. Moses also uses vivid imagery of God's right hand (verses 6 and 12) as well as a perhaps less distinguished body part in verse 8: "By the blast of your nostrils / the water piled up." This metaphorical image reminds me of my dog: with the blast of her nostrils, she expels scintillating droplets of mucus.

Verse 7 says, "You unleashed your burning anger; it consumed them like stubble." I know "stubble" probably refers to plants here, but I can't help thinking about the stubble on a man's face. On the other hand (or arm, as it were), verse 16 says that God will make his enemies "as still as a stone"--which perhaps makes them sink to the bottom of the sea as in verse 5? (Now you know why I'm no good at analyzing poetry.)

After Moses's eloquent performance, Miriam takes a timbrel (basically a tambourine) and lifts the first stanza from her brother's song--only she takes out the first two words. Intriguingly, she's referred to in verse 20 as "Aaron's sister," with no mention of her relation to Moses himself. As the author of Exodus, was he a bit put out that she not only swiped his song, but got a plethora of women to follow her along as well? "Hey, that's my song! Why didn't I get a bunch of lovely Israelite women to sing along and follow me?" In any case, this is probably one of the earliest records of a musical remix. And who knows--perhaps Moses was more skilled at lyrics ("slow of speech and tongue" my foot, unless he wrote this down beforehand) while Miriam was more of a melodist. Before Rodgers & Hammerstein and Ashman & Menken, there could have been Moses & Miriam.

Exodus 14

Before the mighty parting of the Red Sea (which was actually the "Sea of Reeds"), God hardens Pharaoh's heart (verses 4 and 8), spurring him to get off his royal rear and pursue the fleeing Israelites. As I've written in innumerable posts before this, Egypt did quite dandy for a long time after the Israelites left, so Pharaoh's possible fears that Egypt would collapse without slave labor proved unfounded.

As for the Israelites themselves, they see the Egyptians bearing down on them, and what do they do? Well, they did what any self-respecting human being would do after witnessing God saving their firstborn sons: they started to evince an incorrigible querulousness that would soon lead to 40 years of meandering in the desert. In verse 12, they even say, "Didn't we say to you in Egypt, 'Leave us alone; let us serve the Egyptians?' It would have been better for us to serve the Egyptians than to die in the desert!" Two major problems here. First, I don't know about you, but I don't remember the Israelites saying anything about staying around in Egypt. If serving the Egyptians sent them into such raptures, they were perfectly free to stay. Second, while I don't know whether I would rather die or be a slave (I lack experience in both departments), the Israelites' argument features a false dilemma (i.e., they only have two options: serving the Egyptians or dying in the desert). Such fallacious reasoning stems from their lack of faith in God. But as I just wrote, God just saved all their firstborn sons while killing all the Egyptians' firstborn sons. Then again, I see some of their behavior reflected in me; God has given me so much, and yet I still question if He really has a purpose for me.

I find verse 14 fascinating; Moses, replying to the carping, says, "The LORD will fight for you; you need only to be still." While I don't think this means that we should sit around on our butts waiting for God to bless us, it does remind me that, while I do have responsibilities, I need not worry about whether God knows what He's doing. I need to be patient in following His will and still so I can discern Him speaking to me when I pray.

In The Ten Commandments and most other films based on the Exodus, Moses splits the Red Sea in about five seconds. But verse 21 states that "all that night the LORD drove the sea back with a strong east wind and turned it into dry land." The parting of the Sea of Reeds did happen overnight. The return of the water back over the Egyptians took longer than traditionally depicted, as it was "daybreak" by the time the sea was back to normal (verse 27). God screwed up the wheels of the Egyptians' chariots so they couldn't move well, but the Egyptians still must have taken their sweet time trying to waltz out of the way of the returning waters. I mean, a mass of more than 600,000 people made it through, so how could 600 Egyptians dawdle at an even more leisurely pace? OK, while the Sea of Reeds was no Red Sea, I will concede that it was probably wide enough that, by the time the Egyptians saw that the waters were coming back, they probably couldn't run back to the shore in time.

All this thinking about rushing water has activated my bladder, so I'll end this post on that ignominiously juvenile note as I run off to the loo.

Exodus 13

God summarizes many of the points He made in the last chapter for the benefit of people like me afflicted with poor auditory memory. I retain information longer if I read it--after all, I apparently did start reading before I entered preschool. On the other hand, I was able to hear as soon as I was born, so I don't know why it's harder for me to remember spoken statements unless I hear them repeatedly. (I'm better with remembering music.) So it may appear like I'm listening intently, but I know I have to--otherwise, I'll probably miss something. (I also suck at multitasking, but I think that's enough tangents for now.)

God does add some shiny new information about redeeming all the firstborn sons and firstborn males of all animals. The animals all have to be sacrificed--not such a thrill to be a firstborn male in this case, is it? However, the donkeys are spared, much to the relief of Eddie Murphy and his firstborn dragon-mule offspring. Instead, poor Lamb Chop has to give its life for a noble cause. Well, I guess someone has to take the fall for "The Song That Doesn't End," and it might as well be the very sheep who disseminated this malignant earworm.

Twice, God uses the vivid figure of speech "sign on your hand and a reminder on your forehead" (verse 9, repeated in verse 16) to bolster the idea that the Israelites should remember what God has done for them. Our bodies live in the physical realm, so we often view corporeal sensations and concerns as paramount. The idea of a physical reminder of a spiritual truth does have appeal, as it uses an aspect of the temporary, fallen realm to point toward eternal, truly salient principles. We don't have to use phylacteries as some Jews do today, but we should remember that, in this relentlessly physical world, God still comes first.

Verse 17 notes that God takes the Israelites on a path away from the Philistines and other tribes, knowing that His people will skittishly run right back into the arms of Pharaoh if confronted. And sure enough, this presages the complaints the Israelites will make later. And how does God lead them? One if by land, two if by sea. A cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. The Bible doesn't say how big the pillar was. Although cinematic adaptations show a colossal, magnificent column, who's to say it wasn't the size of a pillar that would be more fit for a center for ants?

Of course, I'm being facetious, as God can create wonders more phenomenal than we can imagine. (Plus, a small pillar wouldn't do a very good job of leading 600,000+ people. But as 1 Kings 19 shows, God can also reveal Himself in the subtlest of ways.

Exodus 12

We finally get the (Not So) Super-Secret Origin Story of Passover. While it's not as flashy as, say, Batman's or Baymax's, it does involve a traumatic event from which the heroes emerge, bruised but not broken. In addition, we get a rip-roaring preview of how the back half of Exodus and all of Leviticus will be like.

I was a Cub Scout who somehow made it all the way to Webelos. All the Pack-wide events took place in the fellowship hall of a Presbyterian church, while the more dignified, formal events took place in the church's sanctuary, an impressive, imposing chamber complete with pews and a pipe organ. Instead of paying attention like I was supposed to, I always snuck a peek at the Bibles stored in the back of the pews. Yes, I did have my own Bible back at home, but for some reason, I found myself engrossed in the minutiae of Leviticus and the last half of Exodus whenever I found myself in that august sanctuary. Just one of my little quirks.

Anyway, God commands His people to paint blood over the door so He knows not to kill the firstborn sons residing there. Clearly, God knows who's an Israelite and who isn't, but as with most Old Testament directives, He's just seeing who's actually paying attention to what He's saying. I know that I ignore God's promptings--sure, I haven't actually heard Him speak to me, but it doesn't take a perceptible voice for me to know that He disapproves of some of the more ignoble actions I take.

God tells His people to make bread without yeast (verse 15), but when the actual exodus begins, verse 39 explains their bread was unleavened because "they did not have time to prepare food for themselves." I wouldn't quite call this a retcon, but God did say that they weren't to eat bread with yeast for seven days. Does this mean that the exodus began more than seven days after the death of the firstborn and the first Passover? If so, that's an awfully long time for Pharaoh to be sitting around on his royal rear after his firstborn son and the firstborn sons of all his subjects have been killed. The Egyptians are only too eager to see the Israelites go (verse 33), allowing the former slaves to abscond with some of their jewelry to boot.

Intriguingly, verse 38 says, "Many other people went up with [the Israelites]," implying that some Egyptians also decided to up sticks and take their chances with the Israelites. Seeing what their Pharaoh had allowed, from boils to unsavory infestations to death, I wouldn't blame them. Although the Israelites were God's chosen people, there were those who still acknowledged and even put themselves under God's sovereign power centuries before Christ graced the planet with His presence.

Exodus 11

God has had it with Pharaoh and his duplicity, so He has Moses introduce the plague of the firstborn. Apparently, Moses is pissed off at Pharaoh too, for he leaves in a huff, "hot with anger" (verse 8). If I were in Moses's position, I would be absolutely apoplectic that Pharaoh, through his intractability, has led so many of his subjects to death.

God specifies that only the firstborn sons will die (verse 5), not the daughters. I don't want to turn this into a gender politics post, but in many societies, the firstborn son did receive all the inheritance. Their parents lavished all their adulation on him, leaving their daughters and all subsequent sons rather forsaken. Of course, it's wrong to think this way, but we still find traces of this "Boys are most important" attitude in modern Western society. When a young boy acts rambunctious and obnoxious, some people say, "Oh, how cute! He's going to be a real athlete and charismatic leader when he grows up! That's right; go on trying to trip that blind man, you adorable little rapscallion!" When a girl acts this way, these same people turn around and say, "Shut your pie hole, you little brat, and stop being so annoying! Be a lady, why don't you!" I don't mean to give all guys grief--I'm one myself, after all, and a firstborn at that--but while I think we've made some progress in how we treat the sexes, we still have some ways to go.

I admit that the plague on the firstborn makes me uncomfortable. Sure, the other plagues hurt or inconvenienced some innocent Egyptians, but this plague involves outright death. Natural disasters such as earthquakes, tsunamis, and hurricanes cause their fair share of death and devastation, but we can't say that God sent any of these calamities for a particular purpose. Then we have human-created disasters--oil spills, gas pipe explosions, Miley Cyrus--but at least for those, we can blame fallible humans.

But here, we have God directly causing death, and I'm willing to bet that most of those killed were not God-fearing--after all, they were Egyptians. Therefore, they probably didn't go to heaven when they died. What troubles me most is that some of those killed must have been kids. I wonder--why would God kill them and offer forgiveness to a screw-up like me? "God works in mysterious ways" is the non-answer that comes to mind, but I don't find it satisfying. I can only find small consolation in realizing that no one really knows exactly what happens when we die, especially in regards to those born before the advent of Christ. I don't want to gloss over events in the Bible that cause me unease or for which I don't have answers, and this is certainly one of those events.

Exodus 10

Before an armada of grasshoppers swarm down on Egypt like they did on the poor ants of A Bug's Life, God says to Moses, "Go to Pharaoh, for I have hardened his heart and the hearts of his officials so that I may perform these signs among them" (verse 1). This builds upon the idea in the last chapter that God is using Pharaoh and the Egyptians for His own sake. They suffer these plagues for the benefit of young Israelites who, thousands of years later, will hear this history from Mommy and Daddy with the added bonus of a moral. (And what kid doesn't like a story with a moral?) For that matter, it's also to the benefit of weirdo bloggers trying to write about the Bible in a half-decent manner. Some people want to be remembered, but I don't think anyone wants their purpose in life reduced to being a cautionary tale for their progeny.

However, here God says that He is the one who is hardening Pharaoh's heart. That's a more discomfiting notion than Pharaoh deciding to be a nincompoop all by his lonesome, because that way he's the only one responsible for bringing all these delightful plagues upon his sorry, bald head. Then again, I suppose he's already done that himself, thus possibly passing some point of no return. God's grace is immeasurable, but Pharaoh has had multiple chances to accept it and refused each time.

Locusts aren't as directly harmful to humans as biting flies, boils, or hailstones the size of Pharaoh's pate, but they pretty much destroy whatever's left of the Egyptian economy. (Though Egypt didn't just fall apart; it did recover and continue for a while longer.) The Pharaoh's subjects can go hang for all he cares, but when a plague affects his precious country's economic strength? "Myself forbid!" the self-appointed "deity" probably exclaimed.

During the plague of darkness, "[n]o one could see anyone else or move about for three days" (verse 23). Apparently, though, Pharaoh can somehow tell that he's talking to Moses and Aaron when he summons them, trying to haggle and allowing the men go worship while keeping the women and children as hostages. He dismisses Moses and Aaron for the final time, telling them to "Get out of my sight!" (verse 28). To which the Joker might say this:

After all, it is dark, so Moses and Aaron could just remain standing there and still technically be following the letter of Pharaoh's command. His subsequent command to "[m]ake sure you do not appear before me again" (verse 28) is also a poor choice of words, as it will lead him and many of his unsuspecting subjects to suffer the most grievous, traumatic plague of all.

Exodus 9

The plague on livestock will crush the hearts of those with an affinity for ungulates such as horses, sheep camels, and, um, goats. God sends a plague on all said animals that happen to be "in the field" (verse 3). These animals weren't just cuddly pets--they formed the livelihood for many Egyptians. Thus, seeing Black Beauty keel over with a final whinny and Shaun expire with one last bleat (which probably translated to, "You fool! Why didn't you listen to God and take me out of the field?") was a double-whammy. As for Joe the camel, he was probably too irascible to say anything when he died, instead electing for one final expectoration. And I am aware that camels usually don't spit unless angered, but you'd be pretty grumpy if you were dying all because of your owner's stupidity. At any rate, Joe's repellant, off-putting demeanor made him the perfect candidate for a cigarette company mascot.

Speaking of repellant, the next plague involves boils popping up on the Egyptians and the animals not killed by the previous plague. A truly nasty bit of business, and not one that I particularly want to dwell on.

Before God unleashes the plague of hail, He has Moses say to Pharaoh, "I have raised you up for this very purpose, that I might show you my power and that my name might be proclaimed in all the earth" (verse 16). I find this disturbing in some ways. We all wonder about the meaning of life, but the truth is, Monty Python addressed that age-old philosophical nugget. OK, maybe a better term to use is "one's purpose in life." Does verse 16 imply that some people's purpose is merely to serve as cannon fodder for God's mighty miracles? I would kind of understand that in Pharaoh's case; he's being a jerk by breaking his promises and disregarding the well-being of his subjects. But what about the subjects themselves? I do think this is a sub-issue of the larger conundrum of why God allows suffering that seems disproportionate. However, if we follow God, He does have plans for us to perform good deeds that will show His love (to reference Ephesians 2:10).

God sends hail down onto Egypt. (For some reason, The Prince of Egypt and that masterpiece of Biblical storytelling The Mummy turn the hail into fireballs, because it apparently just isn't cinematic enough to show people getting conked on the head with gigantic spheroids of ice.) Pharaoh asks Moses to stop the hail, claiming, "This time I have sinned" (verse 27). However, "When Pharaoh saw that the rain and hail and thunder had stopped, he sinned again" (verse 34). Isn't that just so emblematic of human nature? I've taken up jogging the past year, and while I can now run for about a dozen miles without feeling like I'm dying, it was quite torturous when I first started. (Because as we all know, people like me who run for fun have a screw or two loose.) "God, please help me get through this," I'd say, and though I wouldn't add, "and I'll never sin again," I would indeed make screw-ups, sometimes not long after my run. Back when I had to give oral presentations, take tests, and, in college, pull all-nighters to finish papers, I'd also have similar thoughts. I know God forgives, but as I've written before, I shouldn't take His grace for granted.

Exodus 8

This chapter describes three plagues in quick succession, all having to do with some of the most beloved animals on our planet: frogs, gnats, and flies. OK, frogs aren't bad as long as you don't have hundreds crawling over you--and I daresay that most folks wouldn't be happy if they had hundreds of chinchillas wriggling over them 24/7. Or Tribbles. (Please pardon the distracting, grammatically incorrect text overlay.)

If the plague of frogs had happened right after the Nile turning to blood, it would make scientific sense. After all, what amphibious creature is going to loiter around in blood, unless it's a vampire? The fish, to their dismay, are stuck, but the frogs are free to hop out and find new digs. However, as the end of the last chapter states, the frogs come seven days after the Nile turns to blood. So maybe God told the frogs to hang out on the banks of the river for a few days before directing them to pester those bald men and wax-cone-wearing women. But if the frogs were swarming over the land, I don't get how Pharaoh was convinced that his "magicians" could replicate the trick. There are already all these frogs, so how does he know that any frogs his magicians "create" aren't the ones sent by God?

The magicians can't reproduce the next plague, when God turns dust into gnats. If indeed every speck of dust in Egypt did turn into a gnat, how horrible would that have been? (Also, that may have been why the magicians failed, because there was no more dust left to turn into gnats.)  Think of him much dust is in, say, your average city or suburb. Well, Egypt is in the middle of a desert, so imagine every grain of sand suddenly turning into a speck of misery. At this point, even the magicians acknowledge God's sovereign power, but Pharaoh proves as stubborn as ever.

Next come the flies, probably thrilled to be able to buzz around all the frog carcasses. I don't know what would be worse, innumerable gnats or innumerable flies, but the flies were probably a whole lot louder and more difficult to squash because of their annoying tendency to fly away just before you hit them. Though with so many, I suppose you're bound to kill some of you swing indiscriminately. The Egyptians really could have used the inimitable talents of Ralph Macchio here.

What's different about Pharaoh's response to this plague is that he tells Moses and Aaron that they can make sacrifices to God--but only while they're in Egypt. Even now, Pharaoh tries to weasel his way into getting the Israelites to stay while not having to suffer the indignities of the plagues. And what's more, he makes a promise that he promptly breaks. I don't mean to cast aspersions on the Pharaoh too much (though he's still definitely a rather distasteful fellow), because I ask God to improve my character without wanting to go through the arduous and even unpleasant trials that true growth in Him requires. And I definitely don't want God to surround me with flies and gnats in order to force me to pay attention to Him.

Exodus 7

When Moses brings up his same old objections, God responds by repeating what He said before: Aaron will serve as Moses' mouthpiece, just as Moses relays God's messages to Pharaoh and the Israelites. Part of me wonders just why God chooses to depend on fallible humans to get His message across. Why doesn't God just cut out the middleman and broadcast His proclamations in a stentorian voice for all to hear? It reminds me a bit of this brilliant moment in Lilo and Stitch. Nani is humoring Lilo in this scene, but I don't think God is patronizing us just so we can feel like we've accomplished something. God loves us and undeniably wants us to love Him back. However, it's not true love if you force or tell someone to like you, so perhaps God guides us so that we may learn to love Him as well as our neighbors.

Moses and Aaron obtain an audience before Pharaoh, but it is Aaron, not Moses, who turns his staff into a snake. Maybe Moses had bad memories from what happened back in chapter 4 and has developed ophidiophobia. Even though Pharaoh's "magicians" do the same thing "by their secret arts" (verse 11), Aaron's staff cannibalizes the magician's staffs. I find Moses's choice to use the word "staff" rather than "snake" rather intriguing--and a little humorous as well. Sure, we can imagine snakes eating each other. But a staff eating another staff? It recalls Joseph's dream in Genesis 41--did the staff grow a mouth somewhere and lick its chops after cramming the other staffs down its wooden maw? I know I'm being disingenuous here; the staffs were probably still snakes when the guzzling happened, but ravenous staffs do make for quite an image.

After Pharaoh hardens his heart (not for the last time), we get the first of the infamous plagues. The Nile, the lifeblood of Egyptian livelihood and society, turns into literal blood. The fish in the Nile die, proving that they are indeed not vampire fish. Verse 21 says, "the river smelled so bad that the Egyptians could not drink its water." I would think that the very nature of blood would make the Nile not potable; its noisome nature would seem secondary. But that also meant that no one could bathe either, making for a repugnantly malodorous few days (or however long the plague lasted). But again, the Pharaoh's magicians somehow repeat this trick, though since the entire Nile had been turned to blood already, they probably only did it on a much smaller, less impressive scale. Still, Pharaoh decides to ride it out, perhaps thinking, "Well, 'The One Plague of Egypt' lacks that ineffable je ne said quoi. 'Ten Plagues of Egypt'? Much better!" As we'll see, Pharaoh will make his subjects wish that he had just let those pesky Israelites go.

Exodus 6

God, forbearing fellow that He is, doesn't react to Moses's whining by hurling a lightning bolt at him. In fact, He doesn't even get irked. Doesn't make for a dramatically satisfying resolution to last chapter's serial cliffhanger--after all, who wants to watch a movie or read a book devoid of conflict?--but this further bespeaks God's endlessly merciful nature.

God decides to repeat His promise to Moses (perhaps thinking, "Surely, he will get it through his thick skull this time"), but he doesn't use cantankerous language. You know how teachers and parents often say, "I don't want to have to say this again?" As a kid, I was never on the receiving end of this barb from anyone except for my parents (of course). Now, it's my turn to serve as the source from which this timeless phrase emits, and it only decides to show itself when I'm truly exasperated. I'm the last person you'd see running around trying to antagonize people, but I do know that I definitely perform actions that disgruntle God. Even though I don't need to "gruntle" God in order to win His favor, I'm only showing that I don't truly value God's grace when I sin.

Moses relays God's promise to his fellow Israelites, but they ignore him because they're so despondent. I do find some encouragement from words of affirmation in most situations. But in times of extreme anguish, such encouragement may seem like empty words. Like I've said before, I've been blessed enough not to have undergone anything too excruciating, but I can understand why the Israelites aren't listening to Moses. After all, God hasn't done anything for them in hundreds of years, they reason, so why should He start now? I admit that I can come close to this kind of thinking, but about more superficial issues like my career path and extra-family relationships because, in case you're wondering, I happen to not be a slave. But then God reminds me of all that I am blessed with. Many people would be utterly euphoric to have any job or a loving family, so to ask for anything more than that seems greedy.

We then proceed to genealogies of Jacob's first three sons, Reuben, Simeon, and Levi. We learn that Moses and Aaron are of Levi's line, which foreshadows Aaron's eventual occupation. I guess the genealogy stops after Levi because Moses, as the author, didn't want to bother with all those random folks born after his ancestor. "Who cares?" he might have said to himself. "I don't even remember all their names anyway."

Because this slightly oddly placed genealogy interrupted the narrative, the final three verses, 28-30, basically repeat the three verses (10-12) right before the genealogy. They're not restated verbatim; after all, Moses knew that plagiarism, even self-plagiarism, is the domain of the dastardly.

Exodus 5

Moses and Aaron ask Pharaoh if the Israelites may go the wilderness to offer sacrifices to God so that He won't "strike [them] with plagues or with the sword" (verse 3). I don't know if this was pretense, or if Moses and Aaron really did fear that God would start smiting them instead of the Egyptians. It's probably a bit of both--after all, as you remember from the last chapter, God was about to kill Moses until his wife prudently circumcised their son on the spot. God does seem more wrathful in the Old Testament than He does in the New. Were people really that much worse back then? Or maybe we are worse today--after all, back then, many people fell amenably in line after God swung death's proverbial scythe back and forth a few times. With the increased value on independent, even maverick thinking nowadays--which is an undeniably beneficial quality in most cases--I wonder if God knows that performing such spectacular acts in such skeptical times will turn more people away. Of course, this all just me typing out of my posterior, which is par for the course for me. (And yes, I'm mixing metaphors, but I'm too indolent to change them.)

Pharaoh not only refuses the request, but he also makes the Israelites' work even more onerous by making them fetch their own straw to put into the bricks they're making--while not reducing the quota by one iota. Straw, as the handy NIV Study Bible notes, serves as a binder in the bricks, helping to hold the clay together. Presumably, someone (who?) gathered the straw beforehand, but now the Israelites have to traipse all over creation to look for the straw.

Pharaoh keeps throwing the word "lazy" around. To which our good friend Inigo Montoya would say this:

As mentioned in Exodus 1, Pharaoh is treating the Israelites like bath tissue because he fears them--either because they'll revolt, or because they'll leave. However, once the Israelites do leave, Egypt apparently does quite well economically for a while longer. Sometimes, we fear situations that we think will make our lives more difficult, but we still survive.

The Israelite overseers, looking for anyone to blame but themselves, incriminate Moses and Aaron for making them "obnoxious to Pharaoh and his officials," even going so far as say that God will judge the two brothers (verse 21). Such are the perils of leadership; although I've never held a position of too much power, I have been in situations in which I just wish I could tell some miffed people why I was acting like I was, but because of discretion, I couldn't. Of course, I've also acted lamentably in situations in which it was completely my fault.

And in the cliffhanger that closes this chapter, Moses definitely seems to be heading in that direction, rebuking God for not rescuing His people on Moses's timetable. And how does God respond? Tune in next week next time for the thrilling conclusion to this rip-roaring conversation!

Exodus 4

God gives the reluctant Moses three signs proving His divine power; for the first, he turns Moses's walking stick into a snake. How does Moses react? As the Bible oh-so vividly states, "he ran from it" (verse 3). Remember, Moses wrote this, so he's not going to write, "Moses flung his hands in the air, squawking in terror and showing the snake a clean dirty pair of heels." (Plus, he was probably using some ancient word processing software, like Microsoft Works on MS-DOS, so the strikethrough effect hadn't been implemented yet.) Or maybe he looked like the lizard in this GIF:

Moses keeps on making excuses, one of which I find particularly pertinent to my own character. In verse 10, Moses claims, "I have never been eloquent, neither in the past nor since you have spoken to your servant. I am slow of speech and tongue." Anyone who knows me in real life knows that I'm one of the most awkward, tongue-tied communicators who don't actually have a legitimate speech impediment. I don't claim to be the pithiest, most erudite writer I know, but any half-decent writing is positively Shakespearean when compared with my speaking skills. (And if you're reading this, I did somehow succeed in snookering you into doing so via the written word, as I sure as heck didn't have the gumption to tell you in person.)

I don't want to turn this into a Dear Diary, but I have always had some degree of social anxiety. So whenever I had to give a presentation in school, or worse, work on a dreaded GROUP PROJECT, I'm sure my complaints to God were similar to Moses's--and they probably sounded just as querulous. I thought that, if I ever got past the interview stage, I'd have a behind-the-scenes type of job, ideally using my writing skills somehow (because I sure wasn't skilled at much else). So imagine my surprise when I pretty much fell into a job that requires me to talk for hours on end. As God says in verse 11, "Who gives human beings their mouths?" I'm still not some razor-sharp interlocutor, but without God's help, I probably wouldn't have lasted more than a week. (As I'm writing this, I'm getting the nagging sense that I've included this story in a previous post, and probably using very similar language as well, so I apologize if I'm repeating myself.)

Anyway, God, justifiably exasperated by Moses's litany of excuses, eventually promises to provide Moses's brother Aaron as his mouthpiece before booting him back to Egypt. On the way back, we're treated to a bizarre and indeed rather disturbing encounter that most extra-Biblical accounts of Moses omit. God meets Moses, intending to kill him, causing Moses's wife Zipporah to "cut off her son's foreskin and touch […] Moses' feet with it" (verse 25). We all know what a foreskin is (and if you don't, I'm not going to tell you here), and "feet" is a euphemism for, well, the same general area as the foreskin. What's going on here? Why would God want to kill Moses right after telling him that he will be the instrument by which God will liberate His people? The NIV Study Bible says something about Moses's son being uncircumcised, which causes Zipporah to perform the deed (much to her son's consternation). Once again in Exodus, we have another woman saving the day (a nice change from the mostly ignored women in Genesis); who knows what Moses was doing. (Probably figuring out what to say, being "slow of speech" and all that.) I admit that I still don't get this little passage, but I'm sure God had it included here for a reason. I know that's a rather unsatisfactory note to end on, but never fear. Moses's return to Egypt portends some cinematically dazzling events to come in the next few chapters.

Exodus 3

Moses has a nice little chat with a blazing bush that somehow convinces him to pluck every single Israelite out from under the noses of the Egyptians. Of course, it's a little more complicated than that, but I wonder how Moses waited before telling others the specifics of just how he had received God's directive. Once the plagues commenced, though, I'm sure people's skepticism vanished.

God tells Moses to take off his sandals, because he is standing on ground made holy by God's very presence (verse 5). Nowadays, we take our shoes off when we go into some people's houses, or if you're in Japan, you take off your regular shoes and put on uwabaki. But I'm guessing that few of us take off our footwear when we go to church. I'm not saying that's what we should start doing (imagine the smell, for one thing). But just as taking one's sandals off was a sign of reverence, we should also respect God when entering His house of worship. And, for that matter, God isn't only present in churches--He is right alongside us during every second of our lives. It can be all too easy for me to forget that God doesn't magically disappear when I don't think about Him--he's with me during my triumphs, screw-ups, and all the mundane events in between.

God promises that He will lead the Israelites to "a land flowing with milk and honey" (verse 8). Whenever I read the phrase, "land of milk and honey," I always think of this moment from the classic Winnie the Pooh episode "The Piglet Who Would Be King." I guess it's not so good news if you're lactose intolerant. It would be more like a land flowing with flatulence and broken wind.

Moses equivocates a bit with God, basically saying, "I am unworthy" and "What if?" I don't have the benefit of having heard God speak to me from a conflagrant bush, but if I did hear him tell me to do something as difficult as Moses's task, I'm sure I would dither as well--and I'd probably use Moses's same excuses to boot. I do feel like I'm selfish, petty, and unworthy of being God's instrument, and I do worry too much about hypothetical situations that turn out relatively painless. So yes, as I've written before, I fear God will tell me to do something that will disturb my cozy little world--and there's little doubt that He will ask me to do such a thing.

Intriguingly, this spectacular chapter ends not with some grandiloquent proclamation, but with an assertion that the Israelites will "plunder the Egyptians" (verse 22). Apparently, the Egyptians will suddenly take a shine to the decamping Israelites, allowing them to purloin gold, silver, and (most importantly) apparel. Because when you're going to be wandering for 40 years in the desert, you should do so dressed like an Egyptian.

Exodus 2

Most of us know the story of Moses, and we all know that he looked exactly like Charlton Heston. But for those who haven't read the actual Biblical story, it may come as a surprise how quickly the author glosses over Moses's early life. Tradition has it that Moses himself wrote Exodus, so perhaps he couldn't remember that much. Or maybe he got into juvenile antics that he wanted to suppress, such as making the laborers paint a happy face on the sphinx or looking up his adopted brother's kilt. (Leave it to DreamWorks Animation to introduce puerile tomfoolery into an epic Biblical adaptation.)

What also may be a surprise is that Moses is a "fine child" (verse 2). I think all babies look the same, especially when they're younger than three months as Moses was at this point; you can never tell if they're going to come out looking like Cary Grant or like me. Anyway, we get the famous basket story, with Moses's older sister Miriam (unnamed at this point) watching until Pharaoh's daughter discovers the buoyant baby.

In verse 7, Miriam asks Pharaoh's daughter if she can "get one of the Hebrew women to nurse the baby," to which Pharaoh's daughter readily agrees. I find it odd that Pharaoh's daughter so casually accepts a proposition from this random Hebrew child who just happens to be hanging out in the vicinity of the royal party. Sure, they're just bathing in the Nile (and not in some palace garden like in The Prince of Egypt), but I'd think that she'd at least ask, "And who might you be?"

Moses's mother had probably thought she had lost her son forever, so I can only imagine how ineffably overjoyed she felt when she learned that she could raise him without fear--and get paid for it to boot. The NIV Study Bible also notes that, ironically, Pharaoh's plans to subjugate the Israelites were foiled by women--the midwives of chapter 1, Moses' mother and sister, and the Pharaoh's own daughter.

We don't get any mention of Moses's relationship with his adopted brother (Ramses, if the post-Biblical tradition is correct), but instead skip straight through to Moses's killing of an Egyptian slave driver. I like how the Bible describes Moses "[l]ooking this way and that" (verse 12) to make sure no one's watching him, but sure enough, someone finds out, and word spreads just like an overused cliche. Harboring an utter abhorrence to cliches, Moses runs away to Midian, serves as a knight in shining armor to a bunch of fetching Midianite women (remember, Moses is a "fine" looking fellow himself), and nabs himself a wife.

I do think Moses should have punished the Egyptian for beating up the Hebrew, but I don't know if he should have killed him. Moses was probably in a high enough position of power to make the Egyptian's life miserable, but instead, he outright kills him. He did look around him to make sure no one witnessed his dirty deed, so it wasn't like it was an accident either. Moses does have a sense of justice, albeit a harsh one; it will take God to hone this proclivity into a movement that will save the entire Israelite nation.

After Moses rescues Reuel/Jethro's daughters, the daughters go back to their father, prompting to utter the rather humorous question, "And where is he? […] Why did you leave him?" (verse 20). I can just imagine Moses, feeling like a mensch, standing there all proud of himself for saving these women, only to find them leaving him behind with nary a second glance.

Finally, we receive a foreshadowing of the supernaturally spectacular events to come with a reminder that God has not forgotten the covenant He made with His people. He sees their suffering under the Egyptians, and he is not happy, Bob. Not happy.

   

Exodus 1

An oft-repeated aphorism goes something like, "The sequel is never as good as the original." While this is true in many cases, exceptions do exist. The Godfather Part 2, Toy Story 2, Aliens, Dawn of the Planet of the Apes, Terminator 2, Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, and The Road Warrior all live up to or surpass the originals. Of course, it's silly to judge the books of the Bible in a similar manner--well, OK, maybe Leviticus isn't as relevant anymore--but Exodus is definitely no Cinderella II.

The Israelites prove themselves remarkably fecund during their stay in Egypt, such that Pharaoh gets it in his bald little head to "deal shrewdly with them," fretting that they will cause a revolt or decide to leave (verse 10). The use of the word "shrewd" here is intriguing; nowadays, it means "astute," but it can also mean "malicious," creating a nifty little bit of wordplay. It's almost as if the translators actually knew what they were doing.

The Israelites become slaves under the Egyptians; obviously, slavery sucks, but the Israelites find enough chutzpah to bite their thumbs at their oppressors (to borrow a Shakespearean phrase), becoming even more prolific. This causes Pharaoh to tell the Hebrew midwives to kill off the boys born to all Hebrew women--a chilling reversal of the effects of China's one child policy. To their credit, the midwives disobey, perhaps sensing that, even though they're defying the will of their superior, they are beholden to an even higher power. The midwives claim, rather comically, that Hebrew women "are vigorous and give birth before the midwives arrive" (verse 19). I'm reminded of this scene from the Tim Burton film Big Fish.

Pharaoh swallows this fishy tale (to the relief of the midwives), but matters take a turn for the worse: Pharaoh orders his subjects to slaughter every male Israelite baby--all because he fears these non-Egyptians.

At this point in human history, we should be past xenophobia, an outright abhorrent trait. Sadly, a smattering of truly racist dim-bulbs exist, but I'd be lying if I say that I never make internal judgments about different races from time to time. Actually, for most of my childhood, I didn't really think of myself as Asian, probably because I only knew English and I'm 4th or 5th generation on both sides. But I really didn't think of myself as white either--in fact, I never really thought about my race at all. Of course, I categorized other people outside my family as being such-and-such a race, though I was never prejudiced against any particular race. All races had cool people and obnoxious people, good looking folks and not so good looking folks (e.g., yours truly). But I admit that when someone makes an unwise decision on the freeway, I think to myself, "Please don't be a stereotype"--and sure enough, if I peek at them and see that they're a fellow Asian, the monster that is my confirmation bias growls in acrid satisfaction.

Ineffectual metaphors aside, prejudice can go beyond race as well. Like I wrote about in my Genesis 7 post, it's easy for me to treat well those whom I get along with. But I pray that I can treat those who act or think differently from me in a loving and Christlike manner.

Thanksgiving Prayer

Before I jump into Exodus for my next post, I thought it would be felicitous to post a copy of a Thanksgiving prayer I wrote. When writing or speaking a prayer, I'm always reminded of the following passage from Mark Twain's superb The Adventures of Tom Sawyer (a classic novel that's genuinely a hoot to read):

And now the minister prayed. A good, generous prayer it was, and went into details: it pleaded for the church, and the little children of the church; for the other churches of the village; for the village itself; for the county; for the State; for the State officers; for the United States; for the churches of the United States; for Congress; for the President; for the officers of the Government; for poor sailors, tossed by stormy seas; for the oppressed millions groaning under the heel of European monarchies and Oriental despotisms; for such as have the light and the good tidings, and yet have not eyes to see nor ears to hear withal; for the heathen in the far islands of the sea; and closed with a supplication that the words he was about to speak might find grace and favor, and be as seed sown in fertile ground, yielding in time a grateful harvest of good. Amen.

 I hope my prayer isn't as interminable as this voluble minster's was, but I suppose you can judge for yourself:

We live in troubled times. Events both current and recurrent can cause consternation and anguish. So as we gather here today, I want to thank you for all that we have. Family, food, a roof over our heads, the necessities of life, safety for those whom we love—we thank you for all these things. We’re thankful for living in a part of the world where we can worship you unfettered and for giving us this fantastic community of brothers and sisters with whom we can worship.

You are responsible for the awesome wonders of creation, from the mysteries of black hole singularities and dark matter to the staggering magnificence of our planet’s natural wonders. And yet even more awesome is that you, the creator of these spectacular marvels, yearn to have a personal relationship with us. We thank you for this intimacy that we do not deserve, and we thank you for the grace that we do not merit. Thank you for loving us so much that you let your son die on the cross for our sins, an act of compassion so heart-rending that we can barely begin to fathom it. Each one of us has a different story of how we came to accept you as our Savior, and I thank you for your providence that has led us to you. May we continue to foster a thankful attitude in our hearts, for you have given us all that is good in our lives. Amen.

Genesis 50 and Book Conclusion

After Jacob dies, his body receives the benefit of a deluxe, 40-day embalming process. On top of that, the Egyptians mourn him for 70 days. Not just his children, grandchildren, and other relatives, but Egyptians. I would understand the sentiment if it had been Joseph who had died (though he himself only has only a few more verses to go at this point), but Jacob was a transplant from another nation. At any rate, I can't imagine mourning for 70 days someone whom I barely knew, even if he or she had been a leader or illustrious national figure. If a President dies in office, even if he or she had been the best political leader the world had ever known, I doubt I'd shed a single tear. On the other hand, I can only imagine how I'll react when someone close to me dies.

Pharaoh lets Joseph bury his father in Canaan, sending a large Egyptian contingent to chaperone him. As the author colorfully and eloquently states, "It was a very large company" (verse 9). Then, there's seven more days' worth of mourning, which takes place on an ever-so-photogenic threshing floor. Which, of course, meant that the floor couldn't be used for threshing for those seven days, to the possible dismay of the threshers who were unable to do their jobs.

Without the protection of their father, Joseph's brothers fear that Joseph, unfettered by filial piety, will kick their butts. They claim that Jacob told Joseph to forgive his brothers. Now, I understand that the author can't write down every little conversation, but I don't recall Jacob uttering this crucial little tidbit. If this is indeed a lie, it's one driven by fear--and fear often drives both deception and irritability, as I know all too well. The brothers are even willing to enslave themselves--I mean, hey, the rest of Egypt is already in bondage to Pharaoh, so why not join the party?

Joseph's brother did treat him pretty crummily, but Joseph reiterates that he forgives them. Actually, his brothers do have a good point in thinking that Joseph's love toward his father (he was the favored son, after all) was keeping him in check. But Joseph's forgiveness proves itself sincere--he is beholden to no one, yet he still bears no ill will toward his brothers. Well, he is beholden to God--and perhaps it is He who allows us to forgive in the most abominable circumstances.

Final Thoughts on Genesis
It's been a wild and, at least on my part, woolly journey through Genesis. I've probably repeated myself with some of the points I've made, but to be fair, the characters in Genesis have also repeated actions--either their own or those of their forebears. Through the myriad peccadillos, blunders, and yes, even the triumphs, God kept his covenant promise to the line of Abraham. After God created humans, they proceeded to screw up without further ado, which I guess is to be expected if you're running around in the buff. But seriously, God remained faithful, extending His grace to His beloved creation. Yes, there was a lot of smiting going on as well, but we can still take solace in knowing that if God can form a relationship with someone like, say, Jacob, we can have a relationship with Him too despite our foibles.

Now it's time to move on to the book made famous by Charlton Heston and Yul Brynner. Or is it the other way around?

Genesis 49

Now on his deathbed, Jacob takes the time to bless each of his sons in turn. He may be old, but he's still lucid enough to recite his blessings in the form of meticulously structured poetry. Or maybe he wrote all the blessings down beforehand and memorized them.

It's no surprise that Jacob spends little time on the sons that we've barely read about. Zebulun, Issachar, Dan, Gad, Asher, Naphtali, and Benjamin are all given relatively short shrift, though most of them get either fairly positive or ambiguous blessings. Issachar and Dan's blessings, with their slightly longer length (two verses each) provide some intrigue. Jacob compares Issachar with a donkey, which probably didn't have the pejorative connotation it has today, or even in Shakespeare's time. (See A Midsummer Night's Dream.) He and his descendants will be given a nice little domicile, which will apparently spur them to "submit to forced labor" (verse 15). I would've thought that living in a swell place would tend to make you either lazy or ambitious. Dan will serve as an arbiter of sorts, compared to a snake biting a "horse's heels so that its rider stumbles backward" (verse 17). Such action would surely cause discomfort to said rider, but because I'm immature, I still find mild humor in the image of someone slipping as if they'd tripped on a banana peel, subsequently falling on their rump.

Because Reuben made an oops in chapter 35 (fooling around with one of Jacob's concubines), he earns more of a curse than a blessing. Here again, we get the cliche of the firstborn being robust and commanding, but Jacob reduces his fortunes to a state of turmoil and uncertainty. If nothing else, we now know that Jacob did his rumpy pumpy on the couch. Simeon and Levi receive a conflated curse because of what they did in chapter 34, killing a whole city of men who had just suffered the unkindest cut. Jacob says their descendants will be scattered, though at least Levi's descendants were later granted the task of performing priestly duties.

Judah and Jacob merit the lengthiest, richest blessings. Judah's tribe becomes foremost among the southern kingdom of Israel after the kingdom splits following Solomon's reign. Well, I should actually use the preposition "between," because only the tribe of Benjamin joins Judah in the southern kingdom.  The combined tribes of Judah and Benjamin will enjoy some terrific kings, while all the kings of the northern kingdom will basically suck. What's more, no less a personage that Jesus will come from Judah's line--perhaps referred to via the lion imagery in verse 9, as one of Jesus' multitudinous monikers is Lion of the Tribe of Judah. I don't what's going on with the eyes "darker than wine" and "teeth whiter than milk" in verse 12, though.

Finally, Jacob endows Joseph with an encomium rife with profuse blessings. Through all the grandiloquent language, Jacob reminds his favorite son that all that he has comes from God. I would do well to remember this as well. With Thanksgiving just around the corner, I must remember to thank God for his providence, all the blessings he has given me, and the unfathomably priceless opportunity to enjoy a personal relationship with Him--an opportunity available to all.

Genesis 48

The author once again makes use of the passive voice in verse 1--someone (who?) tells Joseph that his "father is ill." In all likelihood, some now-forgotten messenger brought Joseph the news; if said messenger is in heaven, I wonder if he or she feels miffed about being overlooked in the Bible. But to be honest, that's how most of us will end up--absent from any historical record and wiped from the collective memory. Even a composer like Antonio Salieri, lionized in his time, faded into obscurity after his death; it was only because of the fictionalized play Amadeus by Peter Shaffer that many people today know who he is. Even if you accomplish mighty feats, there will always be some Mozart who's better than you. Although I don't strive for fame myself, I sometimes have fleeting desires to "leave a legacy" of some substance. However, it is only by following God's plan for us that we can leave a legacy of true value, a legacy that we may never be aware of ourselves.

I suppose I should get back to the chapter after that didactic little aside. Jacob tells Joseph that he will bless Joseph's two sons, Manesseh and Ephraim. After he says this, he sees the sons in question and asks Joseph "Who are these?" (verse 8). This is one of those "senior moments" that can make some of us young folks snigger immaturely, but remember, we'll all reach a point sooner or later when we start looking all over the house for our glasses only to realize hours later that they're perched comfortably on our foreheads. (And yes, I realize that Jacob had probably never seen Joseph's sons before, but still, I think a more apposite question to ask would be, "And are these your sons?")

In verse 11, Jacob says, "I never expected to see your face again, and now God has allowed me to see your children too." If that doesn't warm your heart, it's probably because you're standing or sitting somewhere cold.

Against Joseph's wishes, Jacob favors the younger son, Ephraim, over the eldest, Manesseh, by placing his right hand on the former and his left hand on the latter. Although I'm right-handed myself, I've never understood the logic behind the disparagement of the left hand. (After all, the word "sinister" used to also mean "on the left-hand side.") Jacob continues his proclivity for younger siblings; not only was he a younger brother himself, but he also preferred the younger Rachel to the older Leah. I'm the oldest out of all my siblings, but I think that, while birth order may have a subtle influence on how you're treated (oodles of baby pictures for the eldest and, in some cases, more leniency toward the youngest), there's nothing inherently inferior or superior about the eldest sibling. We no longer bestow all our inheritance on the firstborn (which, in some cases, led the younger siblings to become more shrewd, motivated, and entrepreneurial to survive), one societal change that I think has been for the better. And as Biblical stories and experience show, the order in which one was born does not determine whether one will be a scoundrel, a saint, or, like most of us, something in between.

Genesis 47

Once Jacob and his family reach Egypt, Joseph chooses five of his brothers to present to Pharaoh (verse 2). Why only five? And how did he choose these particular five? Did he choose five of his more strapping, ravishing brothers? Maybe he chose five that he knew wouldn't run their mouths off or commit an Egyptian faux pas? Or maybe he just put their names on a dodecahedron-shaped die, rolled it several times, and picked the first five unique names that came up.

After Pharaoh learns that Jacob and his family tend livestock, he banishes them to the land of Goshen. OK, so he does give them "the best part of the land" (verse 6), but this does substantiate Joseph's assertion that Egyptians didn't like to hang out with shepherds. Shepherds probably smelled a bit--a consequence of chilling with animals all day--but at least they didn't put cones of wax on their heads.

As the famine continues, people run out of money to buy food. Joseph, shrewd fellow that he is, tells the denizens of the Egyptian kingdom to give Pharaoh their livestock. And when that runs out, he snatches up their land and then, just like Imhotep, he seizes their very souls. Not only that, but the poor sheeple are grateful for the opportunity to become in thrall to Pharaoh--in verse 25, they say, "You have saved our lives"--for which they are eternally grateful.

I admit that, if you're starving, you'd probably be willing to do almost anything you could to survive. And to Joseph's credit, he tells the people to give Pharaoh only one-fifth of their crop yields. Joseph is probably intending to use this to save up for future famines, but will Pharaoh or his successors be as magnanimous? After all, Joseph pretty much works for Egypt now, still beholden to Pharaoh, who could decide to hoard that food for use to for lavish banquets in his honor. And even though this Pharaoh seems fairly equitable, there's no guarantee that his heirs will be munificent with the use of the subjects' crops.

More troubling is how Joseph "reduce[s] the people to servitude" (verse 21). Now, maybe being a slave under this administration wasn't so bad, and I am reading this from a modern perspective thousands of years later. And of course, I shouldn't judge Joseph--that's God's turf. I doubt I'll ever hold a position of puissance, but I still pray that I don't take advantage of people beneath me. That will require me bringing my every decision before God, living prayerfully in his presence. The struggle, as ever, goes on….

Genesis 46

Jacob (or Israel, as he's called in this chapter--the author flip-flops between his two names) isn't about to leave all his precious belongings, so he sets "out with all that was his" (verse 1). God then reaffirms his the covenant He made with Abraham, promising to make his descendants burgeon even more than they already have (he has more than 66 members in his current party alone). God also promises that "Joseph's own hand will close your eyes" (verse 4)--which seems like a rather morbid statement at first, but it does confirm that Jacob will be reunited with his son. And perhaps more comforting, it implies that Jacob won't have to watch his son die. To paraphrase King Theoden, no parent should ever have to bury their child.

The author sees it fit at this point to list Jacob's children and grandchildren--well, the men at least. There's some fuzzy accounting going on here (the names of Jacob's descendants add up to more than 66), but the NIV notes that one of the names was probably added in error somewhere along the line.

Jacob is finally reunited with Joseph, the son he had long thought dead. Whenever there's a dramatic reunion in the Bible, I always think of this music (0:17-0:45).

 

See, not all the music from The Matrix films was techno-dance music (or whatever you call it). Anyway, when father and son reunite, Joseph in particular is just about as stoic as you'd imagine.

I realize that I've made sport of Joseph's periodic weeping, but in all honesty, why should we decry men who happen to be a little more sensitive than society allows? I haven't really cried since elementary school--mostly because I've got a pretty darn good life, despite how much I complain to myself--and, as I mentioned before, only one piece of entertainment has actually made me shed tears. And yet I still find myself getting emotional when watching particular films. The Iron Giant, The Tale of the Princess Kaguya, Forbidden Games (Jeux Interdits in the original French), ET, and Edward Scissorhands all exhibit poignancy that stirs me. Music can do that to me as well; if you liked the "reunion" music I linked above, listen below for an even more dramatic rendition of that theme (2:44-end).


And while I'm linking music cues, I might as well link the track that I find the most emotionally sublime--and the melody is actually written to be sung along to the Lord's Prayer (though the choir actually is just "aaah"-ing). Written for the movie King of Kings, it is gloriously transcendent.


Going to back to Japanese dramas (because I know you're all so eager to read more about them), it's intriguing how the Japanese are expected to act all emotionally taciturn and reserved. And yet in their dramas, you have women and men alike blubbering all over creation. Intellectuals much more learned than I have ruminated on the relationship between logic and emotion and which one, if any, is more beneficial. Many societies expect men to be rational and women to be emotional, but--to make a statement worthy of Captain Obvious--I think it behooves us to have a healthy balance of both.

Genesis 45

What Joseph hoped to achieve with his silver cup subterfuge, I have no idea. But once he hears Judah's plea of supplication, he can no longer keep up the pretense. He kicks his officials out of the room, and "he wept so loudly that the Egyptians heard him" (verse 2). Keep in mind that the Egyptians weren't even in the room, so Joseph must have been blubbering something fierce. After "Joseph Makes Himself Known" (as the NIV chapter heading so aptly puts it), his brothers are dumbstruck. After all, this high and mighty Egyptian official had just bawled his eyes out for no apparent reason before dropping this wee little bombshell.

In verse 8, Joseph explains, "So then, it was not you who sent me here, but God." God, as He so often does, takes a malevolent act and uses it for His purposes. Of course, this doesn't mean that we should treat others with abhorrence and think, "Well, God will make it all good in the end." In The Lord of the Rings, Gollum's outwardly baleful action at the climax actually ends of solving a whole bevy of problems. But, and I won't give away just what happens, Gollum probably regrets the effect that said action had on himself. Likewise, we often reap the bitter fruits of our dastardly actions ourselves.

After a manly tear-fest, Joseph's "brothers talked with him" (verse 15). At first glance, this rather vague sentence seems like one the author should have excised. Yet, in the best Raymond Carver tradition, this understated, unadorned phrase adroitly encapsulates how much Joseph's relationship with his brothers has flourished. They are talking freely as family members should, unshackled from the chains of jealousy, spite, or consternation. Maybe they're merely talking about frivolous matters, topics not "important" enough to be chronicled, but, by their very nature, manifesting the warmth and tenderness of the moment. And if you're comfortable with someone, you should feel free to talk about goofy topics, like the biological purpose of the philtrum, or why people say "the" 101 (the California freeway).

Joseph tells his brothers that they and their father can hang their hats with him in Egypt. Pharaoh is only too happy to concur, inviting Joseph's family to "enjoy the fat of the land" (verse 18). Rather poor choice of words (though not quite Dan Quayle-esque), since the whole region is, well, undergoing a famine--one that's been going on for two years, at this point. Pharaoh also says, "Never mind about your belongings, because the best of Egypt will be yours" (verse 20). I find a subtly insidious undercurrent to this phrase. Pharaoh probably isn't doing this purely out of the goodness of his heart; he may see Joseph's family as just more subjects to kowtow before him. At any rate, it does presage the Israelites' subjugation under the Egyptians in The Bible: Book II.

Verse 23 features some oddly specific and oddly vague language. Ten donkeys (gender unspecified) are carrying "the best things of Egypt." ("Like what?" the English tutor in me wants to ask. "Use concrete language!") Ten female donkeys are carrying "grain and bread and other provisions for the journey." Why do the female donkeys carry the food and supplies? Why be specific about that while not listing what the "best things of Egypt" are? Why do we still have the electoral college?

Finally, Joseph admonishes his brothers not to get into a spat with each other. Family dynamics never change, I guess.

Genesis 44

After Joseph and his brothers finish their delectable repast (with Benjamin possibly feeling more corpulent than usual), Joseph plants a silver cup in Benjamin's sack. Not only is the cup probably worth a lot, but Joseph also claims to use it for divination (Really, Joseph?) and, even more important, he uses it to drink from. Never separate an Egyptian official from his private cup, especially if he sleeps with it at night.

After the brothers leave, Joseph sends his steward running off to accuse them of purloining the precious goblet. The brothers deny the accusation, rather impetuously offering up their lives if the steward finds the cup in one of their sacks. Funnily enough, the story doesn't specify just which brother was so precipitate; instead, verse 7 just uses the word "they." Even though this story ends happily, this is still probably not something one would want to be known for, so perhaps the author was being tactful. Then again, he wasn't shy about chronicling the indiscretions of Abraham, Judah, and Jacob, so who knows?

For dramatic effect, the steward starts searching the sack of the oldest brother and makes his way down to the youngest--Benjamin. Even the steward probably felt a little bad for the hole the brothers had dug themselves into with their rash statement, so he diminishes the penalty of death to slavery. Back in the city, Joseph rather disingenuously claims that the cup let him know that it had been stolen. Judah then comes into his own, offering himself in the place of Benjamin and relating their story (in case you forgot).

Of course, I would like to say that I would do as Judah did if (God forbid) any of my family members were threatened with slavery. Indeed, sitting in my comfortable little nest, it's easy for me to say that. But if I am so willing to give up my own freedom in exchange for the freedom of one whom I love, then why is it so difficult for me to give up my inconsequential little "freedoms" and take actions that manifest my love for others and for God? I guess there's some truth to the idea that you can only find out your true character in dire circumstances, but I definitely don't want to actively pray for a calamity to barge into my life. But trying times will come sooner or later, and I can only pray that God will give me the strength to live for Him and for others in the mundane seasons of my life. My own life may be mostly a humdrum slog, but I have to remember that others may be dealing with adversity--and I should thus let God shine His light through to everyone whom I come across.

Genesis 43

Jacob and his sons eventually run out of grain, necessitating a return trip to Egypt. They clearly put this off as long as they could, giving little thought to how poor Simeon might be faring. Judah eventually takes charge, chiding his family for dilly-dallying. He also goes Reuben one better, promising to his father, "[Y]ou can hold me personally responsible for [Benjamin]" (verse 9). If you remember, Rueben rather presumptuously swore for Benjamin's safety on the lives of his two sons. (If you don't remember, you're in luck, because I just reminded you.) Gee, Reuben, don't you think you think that other should have had some say in the matter? Like, say, your sons? (I feel like I've written something very similar to this before. I definitely know I've written that, like many writers, I welcome chances to steal from myself.)

Jacob finally capitulates, allowing Benjamin to travel to Egypt. In the previous chapter, Jacob made a big stink about how devastated he would be if he lost Benjamin, saying, "Everything is against me!" (42:36) and "[Y]ou will bring my gray head down to the grave in sorrow" (42:38). But now, he utters a line poignant in its resigned forbearance: "As for me, if I am bereaved, I am bereaved" (verse 14). Perhaps Jacob was over-egging the pudding a bit with his initial reaction in an attempt to preclude sending Benjamin away. But once he sees that he needs to do so in order to keep his family from becoming a progenitor to the Donner party, he reacts maturely instead of letting his despair bring the rest of the world down around him.

I'm not one to caterwaul and broadcast to the four points of the compass if I'm feeling thoroughly wretched. But if I want to avoid something undesirable, I sometimes say something like, "Well, it'll be hard for me to do that because…." Often, it will legitimately be difficult for me, but from time to time, I do exaggerate, primarily when I want wriggle out of something for selfish reasons. In these situations, I have to learn to be honest and just "deal with it." (In the ancient days before this expression was a meme, my middle school band classroom had a placard featuring this eloquent phrase.)

Of course, the prospect of having your son die goes well beyond the merely undesirable (one would hope). To resign yourself to that degree of grief while still trying to hold back the outward manifestation of that grief is a quality I find truly affecting. I personally find the saddest scenes with crying characters in films or TV shows not to be those in which the characters are wailing away. Instead, I get emotional when characters are trying their best to keep their anguish back, but it's just too much for them, and their sorrow leaks out in halting spurts. (It's also a sign of who's a truly talented actor or actress.) Kick-Ass and Who Framed Roger Rabbit (of all films) had scenes like this, as did Inside Out. Indeed, the only piece of entertainment to actually make a tear or two leak out of my eyes had several such scenes (a Japanese drama called Mother, and what's an action movie junkie like me doing watching such a show? Read this for an "explanation").

Anyway, when Joseph's brothers arrive in Egypt, all is well--for now. Joseph's steward even tells them not to worry about the silver that Joseph had planted in their sacks. (A trial run for what Joseph will do in the next chapter?) When Joseph spots Benjamin, whom he has never seen, he has to leave the room, so intense is his bawling. In all fairness, if I had a sibling whom I'd never seen before in my life, and then saw them for the first time, I might shed tears too. And of course, Benjamin gets five times as much food as anyone else (verse 34). I imagine that Joseph, being second only to the Pharaoh, wasn't miserly with his portions in the first place, so Benjamin either attained a rather rotund stomach, or he ended up wasting a lot of his food. I'm sure he and his brothers were glad for the change in menu, though; even pastrami Reubens can get monotonous if that's all you've been eating while you've been traipsing from Canaan to Egypt.

Genesis 42

The seven-year famine has stretched to Canaan, abode of Jacob and Sons, prompting Jacob to utter to his sons one of the wryest lines in the Bible: "Why do you just keep looking at each other?" (verse 1). I can just imagine 11 grown men standing around, contemplating each other while getting rumbly in the tumbly. Jacob tells them to get their thumbs out of their butts and buy some grain in Egypt so that they "may live and not die" (verse 2). Who knows; maybe Jacob's sons really did need to be reminded that the body needs sustenance to live.

And whom should they meet in Egypt but their brother Joseph. As Joseph probably looks more like Yul Brynner now than Charlton Heston, his brothers don't recognize him. Joseph proceeds to put on an act, acting contemptuous and accusing them of being spies. You can't really blame him--after all, these were the same brothers who chucked him down a well before selling him into slavery. But is Jacob really being snarky just to give his brothers their just desserts? Is all this petty vengeance?

As you remember in the last chapter, Joseph had all but cast aside his family, to the point that he named one of his sons "forget." So now they show up out of the blue, and Jacob is in a position in which he could really screw them over. He does have a strong relationship with God, though, which may be one aspect keeping him from executing his brothers outright. (Another aspect is that he's not a psychopath.) But he does toy with them a bit; I wonder whether God would approve how he handled this situation. (Of course, I'm well aware that God wouldn't approve of some of the more ignominious actions I take. Glass houses and all that.)

Time does seem to assuage Joseph's turmoil a bit; at first, he says he's going to imprison nine of the brothers and send one back to fetch Benjamin. But after three days, he decides to let nine of them return and keep one (Simeon, the second-eldest) as a hostage. Joseph does overhear Reuben, the eldest, say, "Didn't I tell you not to sin against the boy? But you wouldn't listen! Now we must give an accounting for his blood" (verse 22). Learning that at least one of his brothers--and the one who always made such scrumptious sandwiches at that--actually cared about him, Joseph breaks down weeping, presaging some even more vehement blubbering later on.

We know that this story ends happily, but Joseph has to work though his volatile melange of emotions, putting his family through a bit of a wringer. For all the power Joseph has now, he still struggles with how he really feels about his own flesh and blood--those who had betrayed him and nearly killed him. At this point, he's letting his own emotions drive his actions. Emotions can be so powerful that they keep one from acknowledging or listening to God. When someone has betrayed you, devastated your soul, how can you possibly forgive that person? If drugs can make one feel as high as a kite, why would you ever want to come back down to the mundane drudgery of real life? (Disclaimer: I have no firsthand experience in this area; alcohol is the wildest drug I've taken.) Dopamine is a powerful chemical indeed, and yet our quest for it can cause us to neglect both logic and truly meaningful relationships. Similarly, anguish can also consume us, keeping us from turning to God.

Genesis 41

The Pharaoh has a dream in which seven healthy cows, following their daily ablutions in the Nile, get gobbled up by seven emaciated cows. In his next dream, seven burnt stalks of grain swallow up seven healthy stalks. I can visualize the first dream easily enough, but just how does a skinny little stalk of grain swallow something else? Does it grow a mouth? How many teeth does it have? Does it have a tongue? Just where on the stalk does this maw appear?

Pharaoh sends for his magicians to interpret his dream, but I can imagine they said something like, "Sorry, we only know how to turn silk handkerchiefs into dollar bills, pass metal rings through ropes, and make coins disappear. Now, pick a card, any card." The cupbearer remembers Joseph, though if he's forgotten him for two whole years, how does he even remember at this point? The cupbearer offers a précis of the previous chapter in case you weren't paying attention; I guess he's lucky that Pharaoh doesn't, on a whim, decide to impale him too for forgetting about Joseph for two years.

God, though Joseph, interprets Pharaoh's dream: Seven years of abundance will precede seven years of famine. In verse 33, Joseph tells Pharaoh to find a "discerning and wise man" to put in charge of Egypt's grain storage operation. You can almost see him winking and nudging, and of course, Pharaoh does appoint Joseph to the position. Pharaoh, apparently not one to take half measures, gives Joseph jewelry and some new duds. Joseph even gets to have a chariot, with people shouting, "Make way!" Just like Prince Ali.

At this point, Joseph's meteoric rise has reached its zenith. (Spoiler: He doesn't become the Pharaoh in the next chapter). He had to endure rejection from his brothers, slavery, false accusations from his master's lascivious wife, imprisonment, and being on the receiving end of a broken promise. Was this all worth it? We get a glimpse of Joseph's mindset in verse 51; he names his son Manasseh, saying, "It is because God has made me forget all my trouble and all my father's household." He links "trouble" with his family here, implying that maybe he wants to forget his family--which makes sense, as his brothers did, after all, originally plan to bump him off. But, as we'll soon see, the famine throughout the region will instigate an unexpected family reunion, which will cause Joseph to evince a tumultuous swirl of emotions.

Genesis 40

The beginning of this chapter features some rather tautological repetition, as if the author thought that the readers were a little dense. Verses 1 and 2 say, "Some time later, the cupbearer and the baker of the king of Egypt offended their master, the king of Egypt. Pharaoh was angry with his two officials, the chief cupbearer and the chief baker…." Later, in verse 5, the author reminds us (just in case you forgot) about "each of the two men--the cupbearer and the baker of the king of Egypt…." I can only surmise that this story in particular was oral in origin. Either that, or the author rather presciently anticipated the short attention spans of the Internet generation.

Joseph the dreamer interprets the dreams of the chief cupbearer and chief baker (of the king of Egypt), noting in verse 8 that dream interpretation comes from God. I don't recall my dreams much anymore, but when I was younger, I remember a vivid one in which a street sweeper (one of the small ones that makes a high-pitched noise) was charging headlong through our backyard. Slightly freaked out, I ran out the front door, and of course, there was the street sweeper, which proceeded to chase me down the street. I suppose I could go to a psychic (i.e., a professional charlatan) to have the dream interpreted, but as it wouldn't be coming from God, the interpretation would be erroneous.

The cupbearer receives good news; he'll be released in three days and restored to his position (as verse 13 says, "Pharaoh will lift up [his] head." The baker, however, gets told that Pharaoh will "impale [his] body on a pole. And the birds will eat away [his] flesh" (verse 19). Bummer. Joseph also makes a clever little pun that I'm sure he couldn't resist; while the cupbearer's head will be lifted up, the baker's head will be lifted off. Did the baker deserve this? We don't know what he did to anger Pharaoh, and even if we did, I certainly wouldn't put it past such a ruler to arbitrarily decide his subjects' fates.

Joseph tells the cupbearer to remember him and get him out of this wretched "dungeon" (verse 15), which, as the NIV notes, was probably an exaggeration as Joseph's prison was fairly swanky as prisons go. However, the cupbearer promptly forgets about Joseph--for two years, as we'll later learn. I'd understand if he forgot for a few days, but two whole years? It boggles the mind.

I hope I don't forget promises I make with others. I don't think I've forgotten anyway--which anyone can say, really, because of course you don't remember what you've forgotten. (Duh.) Worse are the promises described by Cogsworth: those you make but don't intend on keeping. If I know I can't (or won't) keep a promise, I'll waffle around without actually making the promise, using those magical words that Yoda hates: "I'll try." But that's duplicitous as well, since I'm probably not going to actually try. I should try strive to follow James 5:12, saying what I mean instead of attempting to gain favor or make myself look good. Because the person with whom I prevaricate just might be a street sweeper driver who, in his pursuit of vengeance, will do his best to make my dream come true.

Genesis 39

The marvelously monikered Potiphar, an Egyptian official, buys Joseph and quickly promotes him to chief house- and groundskeeper. Joseph achieves this lofty station not through his own efforts, but because God is with him. Joseph's sale into slavery didn't end up so badly after all.

I'm not going to pretend that those who find themselves in a dreadful situation will quickly rise through the ranks. Innumerable people more devout than I would be utterly rapturous if they had any of the blessings I've been given: a fantastic family, a roof over my head, a job, access to clean water and a smorgasbord of victuals, friends who tolerate my idiosyncrasies (or who at least are kind enough not to say anything), and the list goes on. I can harp about my failings and foibles, but overall I've got it pretty good. It's false to say that following God will automatically result in an end to suffering or privation, but those who trust God through thick and thin seem to have inner peace and joy. That's not to say that they waltz through life as blithe and as out of touch with reality as Barney the Purple Dinosaur, or that they have struggles with their faith. However, God is an inexhaustible source of strength and comfort who just happens to want a personal relationship with everyone on the planet.

I've wandered a bit, so let me get back to Joseph and Potiphar. Joseph, who is "well-built and handsome," ends up stirring the loins of Potiphar's curiously unnamed wife. Utterly gaga for this pre-Adonis Adonis, she keeps trying to hit on him to no avail. Many people in Joseph's sandals would probably refuse as well, but how many would do so out of fear of being caught rather than because of their rectitude? In this situation, I would definitely refuse because of the latter, but I admit there are a few situations in which I do the right thing (as Spike Lee would put it) because I fear remonstration if I don't. Queue jumping at Disneyland? Morally reprehensible; I would never entertain the thought. Coming to a complete stop at a stop sign on my bicycle? That's something I do because I fear getting caught, as I learned the hard way.

Potiphar's wife grasps Joseph's cloak as he's trying to skedaddle, so he Joseph wriggles out of it (which creates an image in my mind of Joseph running out in the altogether). She takes the cloak and accuses Joseph of trying to take advantage of her. While Potiphar believes his wife's whopper, he at least throws Joseph into one of the higher class prisons "where the king's prisoners were confined" (verse 20). False accusations are absolutely deplorable, and I count myself lucky not to have been subject to any so far. I can only imagine how indignant Joseph was. Although matters don't always "shake out" in life, we can know that God will appropriately judge those who make false accusations. However, I also have to be careful not to make such accusations myself just to save my skin or, even worse, just to make my life easier. After all, the person I'm accusing is a human being, and just like me, that person has his or her own worries, struggles, and feelings. 

Genesis 38

Chapter 38 features another story fit to teach in a children's Sunday school class, complete with smiting, deceit, and one of the earliest records of the withdrawal method. I feel like there should be a moral to this story, but I admit that I don't quite see it.

Let's start off with the smiting. Judah's first son, Er, gets a holy lightning bolt called down upon him because he was "wicked in the LORD's sight" (verse 7). Why was he wicked? Er…I don't know. I do think it's rather ominous that we don't get any details about Er's actions. Then, Judah tells Er's brother Onan (the Arbarian) to sleep with Er's widow Tamar to "fulfill [his] duty to her" (verse 8). He dutifully obeys…but then proceeds to use the world's most unreliable method of contraception. Fortunately, it happens to work. Unfortunately, God kills him for it.

Why? Did God want Onan to follow through? Was this more about him trying to get the pleasure out of the interaction without fulfilling what his father asked of him? If I had to guess, I'd say Onan's intent brought the lightning bolt upon his sorry head by thinking selfishly. If Tamar's child couldn't be his, he thought, then he wasn't going to help her.

Tamar takes matters into her own hands; in a bit of dramatic irony, she brazenly decides to take up the word's oldest profession and have a son through her father-in-law, Judah. The veil she wore really must have worked wonders, for Judah doesn't have an inkling who she is. Could he really not recognize her voice? Maybe she was a really good actor. Most of the time, I can tell who an actor is even if they use extensive makeup, but a there have been one or two times I've been amazed at how different an actor appeared just by changing his or her voice and facial mien.

Tamar proves herself as admirably shrewd, making fools out of the men around her. Judah rather dopily gives up his seal, cord, and staff in order to sleep with Tamar--he might as well have given her his driver's license. So of course, she uses those to keep herself from being barbecued when Judah accuses her of prostitution. To his credit, Judah realizes his buffoonery, saying, "She is more righteous than I" (verse 26). Well, Tamar shouldn't have used deceit in the first place, but at least she doesn't bring down one of those lightning bolts that have been raining down liberally throughout this chapter. In fact, both Judah and Tamar survive to see their twin boys born.

No one in this chapter is blameless, but God smote some people and not others. I won't venture to say what kinds of sins engender a God-ordained death; Christ's death and resurrection have since changed this whole equation anyway. I know I've been selfish and sometimes mendacious, but I still shouldn't think that, just because I haven't been hit by a cement mixer yet, these qualities are still acceptable. Sure, God forgives me when I ask Him to, but if I'm really living for Him, His power within me should render sinning unattractive. As you'd expect, I still have a ways to go.