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.
Thursday, November 12, 2015
Wednesday, November 11, 2015
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 10, 2015
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.
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.
Monday, November 9, 2015
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.
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.
Friday, November 6, 2015
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 shouldtry 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.
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
Thursday, November 5, 2015
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.
Wednesday, November 4, 2015
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)