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.
Friday, November 20, 2015
Thursday, November 19, 2015
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….
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….
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 17, 2015
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.
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.
Thursday, November 12, 2015
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.
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.
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.
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