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.

Genesis 37

Now it's time for Jacob's son Joseph to get his 14 chapters of fame. (Not quite 15). However, Jacob's arguably pernicious influence still snakes its way into Joseph's account right from the start: Jacob's favoritism of Joseph, manifested through the famed Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat (though the Bible just uses the word "ornate," and even that's an uncertain translation), leads to his other sons to sell Joseph into slavery.

Again, I'm not a parent yet, but I do know that showing favoritism to one of your kids never ends well. The favored kid may adopt an uppity or entitled attitude, while the unfavored kid(s) will feel demoralized and rejected. Although I'm not the most gregarious person, I do enjoy the company of some people more than the company of others--that's just a human trait. And although I don't trumpet to the four corners of the Earth that I like this person more than that person, my actions do reveal whom I prefer to be around. Well, as a parent, you can't really "prefer to be around" one of your kids more than another lest you evince favoritism. Yes, I'm not a parent myself, but (and this is a fact I've revealed only to a select, lucky few) I happen to have extensive experience being raised by parents. My parents did not show favoritism toward me or my siblings, but if they had, I definitely would not have dealt with it well.

Joseph and his brothers did not deal well with their father's favoritism either. Joseph acts like an obnoxious little prig, tactlessly crowing to his brothers about his visions of supremacy over them, causing them to resent him even more. Joseph's brothers soon see an opportunity to get back at the "dreamer," but their revenge goes far beyond giving him a wedgie or noogie. They actually want to kill him. Yes, Joseph was being a bit of an insufferable brat, but that's certainly no grounds for killing someone. (Very few people would be alive today if that were the case.) Reuben (of pastrami fame) tells his younger brothers to stash Joseph in a well; Reuben plans to sneak Joseph back out and return him home. But while Reuben wanders off to perfect his Thousand Island dressing recipe, Judah and the other brothers sell Joseph into slavery. Not good, but still better than outright murdering him.

Because Joseph's brothers thought about their plan before carrying it out, they kept themselves from committing a heinous crime. Sometimes, I'm tempted to do something unwise, but if I prayerfully think about it beforehand, I stave off embarrassment. Occasionally, I get sucked into reading YouTube comments (which serve as the nexus of ignoramuses, so I don't know why I keep reading them); at times, I'm sorely attempted to create an account just so I can bicker with imbeciles who write patently pea-brained comments, such as all Democrats/Republicans suck, women/men aren't talented enough to do such and such, or Hans Zimmer is better than John Williams. So far, I've avoided being drawn into that vortex of vituperative vitriol. But if I go further and bring all my decisions prayerfully before God, I can avoid making foolhardy choices.

Genesis 35-36

Following the rather horrid Dinah Debacle, God (referring to Himself in the third person, for some reason) tells Jacob to leave this nasty place and head for Bethel (the place where, if you remember, Jacob had his little Led Zeppelin vision). Jacob and his clan do have to change their clothes and part with their foreign gods--sorry, Rachel--but that must have been easy enough. However, it must have taken supreme willpower for them to get rid of their precious earrings.

As a result, however, God protects Jacob and his family, conferring on him the covenant promise He had given to Abraham and Isaac. I don't want to get into a "conditional" mindset with God (and right on cue, here come those dreaded memories of geometry proofs again). If I get rid of the distractions of my life, I shouldn't expect God to subsequently shower me with a free house, 29 flunkies, and unlimited In-N-Out burgers. At the same time, I also know that I do need to get rid of the diversions in life that keep me from God. Again, not that He calls us to be ascetics, but I have to be careful so I can keep a healthy balance, putting God first.

Rachel dies giving birth to Benjamin (be careful what you wish for). In her precious, final breath, she actually names him Ben-Oni. But Jacob renames him, following Mahalalel's example (chapter 5) and presciently giving his son a name that the other kids won't make fun of on the playground. It's nice that Jacob cares about his son's well-being, but I can't help thinking that contradicting your dying wife's final declaration is a bit of a d*** move.

In verse 22, the author glosses an event that will prove portentous: Reuben, Jacob's oldest son, sleeps with his father's concubine. And dear old Dad finds out. The Bible rather ominously doesn't elaborate any further, but an elephant never forgets; this little event will come back to bite Reuben in the butt in chapter 49. Oh well; at least he gets a delicious sandwich named after him.

Chapter 36 features yet another scintillating genealogy. This chapter does mention that Esau and Jacob have to part ways because they have too much livestock; I suppose all their goats and sheep are decimating the greenery and leaving aromatic deposits behind. That's as deep as I'll get in this conclusion; if you want something of more substance, you can read the second paragraph again.

Genesis 34

Jacob's decision to loiter around instead of returning to the home God promised him leads to a rather unsavory incident. A malefactor named Shechem rapes Jacob's daughter Dinah, and then has the temerity to ask Jacob and his sons to take her as his wife. What exactly did he think they were going to say? Sadly, it probably was the norm to treat women like objects, so I suspect Shechem expected Jacob and Co. to hand her over. As a prince (his father, Hamor, ruled that area), he was also probably used to getting his own way.

In a rather cruel yet morbidly humorous trick, Jacob's sons say that all of the males in Hamor's tribe must circumcise themselves if they want to intermarry with Jacob's clan. Utterly smitten with Dinah, Shechem agrees without a second thought. We all know the saying "adding insult to injury," but Dinah's brothers, Simeon and Levi, add death to injury by slaughtering all the men in Hamor's city--while "all of them were still in pain" (verse 25). Shechem, at least, probably deserved it.

Dinah is a non-entity in this story; all the guys do the work for her. I'm glad that society has progressed enough that we (for the most part) allow women to speak for themselves and stand on their own, though we still have some ways to go. But you know who else was also a non-entity in this story? You guessed it--Frank Stallone, I mean Jacob. In verse 5, when he hears what's been done to his daughter, he dallies around, waiting until his sons come home. If Dinah were my daughter, I'd be so apoplectic and appalled that I don't know how exactly I'd react, but I certainly wouldn't bide my time waiting for my sons to get home. His sons devise this whole plan while Jacob observes mutely; only after the fact in verse 30 does he scold his sons for making them "obnoxious" to the surrounding tribes. Well, Jacob, why didn't you speak up before your sons decided to butcher a whole city whose men were still clutching their nether regions?

I get that we're not getting every single detail of this story; Jacob indeed might have actually been concerned about his daughter (you know, the person who was actually raped). Perhaps his seeming detachment was a coping mechanism? I hope that I will never have to deal with anything like this, but if I do, I pray that I will react better than Jacob did. At the same time, while I respect that Dinah's brothers didn't sell her out, I also don't think they should have punished the whole city for one man's crime. Maybe they the whole city was wicked (like Sodom), but I certainly can't use that to justify any of my actions. And while the brothers had their vengeance, it seems that Dinah was left neglected when she really could have used some succor. It might be a little conceited for me to think that I'll be in a situation in which I am someone's ONLY source of comfort, support, and encouragement, but who knows? At any rate, that shouldn't stop me from offering those qualities anyway.