by C. A. Gray
“Are you all still well since last we met?”
They all assented that they were, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other.
“How is your father, the old man of whom you spoke? Is he still alive?”
Reuben spoke for them. “Yes—your servant our father is quite well, very much alive.” He initiated a second bow, and the rest of them followed suit.
When they straightened again, at last I looked at the youngest of them. “And is this your youngest brother that you told me about?” Benjamin lifted his chin to me, and my voice came out thick. “God be gracious to you, my son.” All I wanted to do was to embrace my only full-blooded brother, but of course I could not do this without revealing myself. So instead, I turned abruptly and left the room. I was sure this confused my brothers, but I barely made it into my sleeping chamber as it was before I broke down and cried. I remained there until I managed to compose myself, probably ten minutes or so. Then I splashed my face with water to hide the evidence of my tears, made my expression as impassive as I could, and returned to the dining room. I felt my brothers’ curious stares, but I could offer no explanation. I glanced at Asenath, whose smile was fixed in place, and announced to the servants, “Serve the meal, please.”
The servants began to do so, setting places for each of our guests as well as for myself and for the Egyptians in my service. I pulled one of them aside and whispered that the last place should receive a serving five times larger than that of anyone else. If he wondered at this, he did not show it, but nodded once. As the servants set the places, I directed each of my brothers to their places, beginning with Reuben at the head of the table, and then I seated my brothers in descending order of age, setting Benjamin in the last place with the largest serving. I watched them glancing at one another in astonishment at what they took to be a remarkable coincidence, and smiled inwardly. I intended to give them a hint, hoping they might start to piece together the truth on their own.
The wine flowed, acting as the social lubricant we all needed. Even Simeon, after his long imprisonment, luxurious though I knew it was by prison standards, loosened up and began to tell stories from back home of the years I had missed. I caught Benjamin sneaking curious glances at me more than once. Did he recognize me at all, I wondered? Did he notice that we both had our mother’s eyes, and her cheekbones?
When the meal ended, my brothers were in no condition to begin their journey home. I urged them to remain the rest of the day and set out in the morning. That night, I sought my steward.
“Fill the men’s bags with food—all they can carry—and replace each one’s money at the top of the bag,” I told him. “Then put my chalice, my silver chalice, in the top of the bag of the youngest, along with the money for his food.”
I caught the steward’s confused look, but he did not question me. He did as I requested.
When morning dawned, I purposely lingered in bed, though I’d hardly slept that night. I heard the shuffling in the house of my brothers rising to begin their journeys. I waited until the house was silent, and then waited a little longer still.
Asenath was awake beside me, too—she propped her head up on her hand, narrowed her pretty dark eyes at me, and demanded, “How long are you going to let this go on before you tell them?”
I met her gaze, and shook my head. “As long as it takes, I suppose.”
“To achieve what, precisely?” she challenged. “They can’t apologize to you without knowing who you are. You already overheard them lamenting what they did to you. You saw your brother Benjamin. What else are you waiting for?”
I bit my lip. “I just want to know that they’ve changed.”
“How do you plan to determine that?”
The corners of my mouth curled. “Watch.” I rose, and called my steward in to our chamber as Asenath wrapped herself in silks. My steward appeared at the doorway and bowed.
“Run after the men who just left,” I told him. “When you catch up with them, say, ‘Why did you pay me back evil for good? You stole the chalice my master drinks from; he also uses it for divination. This is outrageous!’”
I again caught the fleeting look of confusion on the steward’s face, but he bowed again, and turned to carry out my orders. I turned back to Asenath with a grin on my face.
“So you’re just torturing them a little more, is that it?”
My grin faded. “No,” I protested, a little hurt that she would so misconstrue my motives. “Don’t you see? If my father is still alive, the only reason he would have kept Benjamin at home the first time my brothers made their journey must be because he favors him the way he once favored me. That was why my brothers hated me: they were jealous. Twenty years ago, if I were framed and endangered, my brothers would have abandoned me to the mercy of the Egyptian overlord and saved their own skins in a heartbeat—obviously. They did even worse than that. Now I’ve recreated a similar situation: Benjamin is suddenly the one in peril. Will they abandon him to his fate, too?”
Asenath searched my face. “What if they do?” she asked quietly. “What will you do then?”
I sighed. “Never trust them again, certainly. But I haven’t thought that far. I’m still hopeful they will prove to me that they are not the men they were.”
I splashed my face, dressed, and waited until I heard the commotion outside indicating that my steward had returned with my brothers. I affixed my face with my most stern, imperious look, and went out to meet them. They all came back, that was something. Also, I noted the torn clothing, the haggard expressions, as they fell prostrate before me.
“How can you have done this?” I demanded of them. “You have to know that a man in my position would have discovered this.”
My brother Judah spoke first. “What can we say, master? What is there to say? How can we prove our innocence? God is behind this, exposing how bad we are. We stand guilty before you and ready to be your slaves—we’re all in this together, the rest of us as guilty as the one with the chalice.”
I kept my expression impassive, but inwardly my heart leapt. They were all willing to take the fall together—was that not evidence of changed hearts? But I decided to push it further, just to be sure.
“No, only the one involved with the chalice will be my slave,” I declared. “The rest of you are free to go back to your father.”
My brothers all exchanged another anguished look, and Judah ventured for all of them, “Please, master; can I say just one thing to you? Don’t get angry. Don’t think I’m presumptuous—you’re the same as Pharaoh as far as I’m concerned. You, master, asked us, ‘Do you have a father and a brother?’ And we answered honestly, ‘We have a father who is old and a younger brother who was born to him in his old age. His brother is dead and he is the only son left from that mother. And his father loves him more than anything.’ Then you told us, ‘Bring him down here so I can see him.’ We told you, master, that it was impossible: ‘The boy can’t leave his father; if he leaves, his father will die.’ And then you said, ‘If your youngest brother doesn’t come with you, you won’t be allowed to see me.’ When we returned to our father, we told him everything you said to us. So when our father said, ‘Go back and buy some more food,’ we told him flatly, ‘We can’t. The only way we can go back is if our youngest brother is with us. We aren’t allowed to even see the man if our youngest brother doesn’t come with us.’ Your servant, my father, told us, ‘You know very well that my wife gave me two sons. One turned up missing. I concluded that he’d been ripped to pieces. I’ve never seen him since. If you now go and take this one and something bad happens to him, you’ll put my old gray, grieving head in the grave.’”
My heart dropped to my stomach. This was the first time I had heard what my father believed had happened to me. Of course—I knew they believed that I had died by now, but they’d told him I had been devoured by wild animals all those years ago! My poor father…
Judah went
on, “And now, if I show up before your servant, my father, without the boy, this son with whom his life is so bound up, the moment he realizes the boy is gone, he’ll die on the spot. He’ll die of grief and we, your servants who are standing here before you, will have killed him. And that’s not all. I got my father to release the boy to show him to you by promising, ‘If I don’t bring him back, I’ll stand condemned before you, Father, all my life.’ So let me stay here as your slave, not this boy. Let the boy go back with his brothers. How can I go back to my father if the boy is not with me? Oh, don’t make me go back and watch my father die in grief!”
As Judah spoke, my heart swelled as if it might burst out of my chest, until at last I could stand it no more. I turned to my steward and all the curious attending servants, and shouted, “Leave! Clear out—everyone leave!”
They scurried to do as I asked, and even Asenath gave me a significant look before she too left the room. My brothers looked stunned and terrified; Judah still groveled at my feet.
“I am Joseph!” I burst out at last, dropping to my knees where Judah lay. “Your brother, Joseph! Is my father really still alive?”
I didn’t know what I expected at this pronouncement, but my words were met with utter silence. No one so much as moved. I remained on my knees, and said, “Come closer to me, please.” It took a moment for them to obey, but at last they shuffled forward. I presented my face for their inspection, insisting, “I am Joseph, your brother, whom you sold into Egypt. But God was behind it. God sent me here ahead of you to save lives. There has been a famine in the land now for two years; the famine will continue for five more years. God sent me on ahead to pave the way and make sure there was a remnant in the land, to save your lives. So you see, it wasn’t you who sent me here, but God. He set me in place as a father to Pharaoh, put me in charge of his personal affairs, and made me ruler of all Egypt. Hurry back to my father! Tell him, ‘Your son Joseph says: I’m master of all of Egypt. Come as fast as you can and join me here. I’ll give you a place to live in Goshen where you’ll be close to me—you, your children, your grandchildren, your flocks, your herds, and anything else you can think of. I’ll take care of you there completely. There are still five more years of famine ahead; I’ll make sure all your needs are taken care of, you and everyone connected with you—you won’t want for a thing.’”
I could tell they were beginning to believe, and pressed them, “Look at me. You can see for yourselves, and my brother Benjamin can see for himself, that it’s me, my own mouth, telling you all this. Tell my father all about the high position I hold in Egypt, tell him everything you’ve seen here.”
Benjamin’s eyes lit up at last with a look of recognition.
“Joseph?” he whispered, and for a flash, I saw the little boy of nine I remembered from all those years ago. He reached out a tentative hand toward my face, and that was all the incentive I needed. I reached out and embraced him, and he me, our tears intermingling as they flowed down both our cheeks. I held Benjamin this way a long time, but then I embraced all of my other brothers as well.
For the rest of that day, I delegated grain distribution to other servants so that I could spend time with my brothers, at last with no secrets between us.
Word reached Pharaoh that my brothers had come to Egypt. I had never told Pharaoh the story of how I had come to be in Egypt, so he held no animosity on my behalf, but was pleased for me. He summoned me to the throne room, and when I appeared and bowed before him, he told me, “Tell your brothers, ‘Load up your pack animals; go to Canaan, get your father and your families and bring them back here. I’ll settle you on the best land in Egypt—you’ll live off the fat of the land.’ Also tell them this: ‘Here’s what I want you to do: Take wagons from Egypt to carry your little ones and your wives and load up your father and come back. Don’t worry about having to leave things behind; the best in all of Egypt will be yours.’”
I grinned at Pharaoh and thanked him profusely for his kindness to my kin, and hurried back to my brothers. I helped them gather provisions for their journey, including a new tunic for each of them, but five for Benjamin, as well as three hundred pieces of silver. Then I loaded up ten additional donkeys with spices and silks, and ten more with grain, bread, and food for their return trip to Egypt.
The complete fulfillment of my second dream did not occur until a little over a month later. My brothers went to Canaan and returned in a large caravan with their families, their belongings—and my father.
I had imagined that moment so many times. In my mind, each year I aged my father a little more, so although he looked so much older that I hardly recognized him from my memories, his appearance did not surprise me. I was just so grateful that he was still alive, and that I got to embrace him once more. I held him and he held me, and we wept together for some time. At last he pulled back to gaze upon me, taking my face in both of his hands.
“I am ready to die a happy man,” he whispered, “since I have seen your face. You are still alive!”
“I am,” I agreed, wiping the tears from my cheeks. “As are you.” I touched my forehead to his, and breathed a contented sigh.
At long, long last, I understood. What my brothers meant for evil, God used for not only my ultimate blessing, but also to bring about the fulfillment of His covenant to our father Abraham—despite the circumstances which otherwise might have destroyed us.
It would have been nice if You’d told me all that while I was still a slave and a prisoner, I reproached the Lord.
But then, hadn’t He? Why else would He have given me those dreams so many years ago? He had shown me the end from the beginning. He had shown me this moment all those years ago, and that revelation had served as both as the incident that occasioned my long and circuitous journey, and also as the encouragement I needed to cling to hope along the way.
Afterword
Joseph is one of my favorite biblical characters; he’s such a great example of faith. It took thirteen years for his reversal of fortune to finally occur, and another nine years after that for the complete fulfillment of God’s promise to him. Yet if he ever wavered in his faith that God would fulfill what He showed him in his two dreams, we have no record of it. This is even more incredible when you consider that Joseph had no written scriptures to cling to like we do. He wouldn’t have even had an oral tradition of previous faith heroes similar to himself. While Abraham his grandfather had to wait 25 years for the promised child, the circumstances had little in common with Joseph’s own circumstances. He couldn’t read about the 13-17 years between King David’s anointing and when he finally became king. Moses had not yet written Deuteronomy, telling him all the blessings he could expect if he remained faithful to the Lord. All Joseph had to go on were two cryptic dreams… but it was enough. It’s fitting that the first dream showed his brothers’ sheaves of grain bowing down to his, considering it was the famine and grain distribution that propelled him to second in command of Egypt in the end.
The one charge leveled against Joseph by some is that he started out arrogant: after all, what was he thinking, telling his brothers (who already envied him, he knew, due to his father’s blatant favoritism) that God had told him he would rule over them? Maybe this was arrogance, or at best, a decided lack of wisdom. He was only seventeen at the time, after all. Also, with the exception of the death of his mother when Benjamin was born, Joseph had presumably lived a charmed life: the coat of many colors that Jacob had given him was the attire of a great landowner, even though Joseph was the second youngest of twelve brothers. (Pretty foolish of Jacob, too.) It’s no wonder this galled them. Even so, their response to him shows how evil his brothers were at that point. Had they not sold Joseph into slavery, they very well might have killed him—that was what they meant to do at first, after all.
Despite this, despite slavery and then imprisonment, God said Joseph was prosperous and successful (Genesis 39:2-3, 23). Even though Joseph himself was not pai
d for any of his work, the blessing of the Lord was upon him, and therefore his master got blessed because of him. This is an interesting concept, that the overflow of God’s blessing upon us (Deuteronomy 28:2) can affect those around us who just happen to be in the way—including our bosses in this case, or our families as well (1 Corinthians 7:14).
Joseph also happened to be very handsome (Genesis 39:6)—ordinarily a blessing, but under the circumstances it was a curse, as he drew the eye of Potiphar’s wife. If she was this aggressive, probably this wasn't the first time she had cheated on Potiphar. I suspect that the other servants, and maybe even Potiphar himself could compare what they knew of her and what they knew of Joseph and deduce the truth. But if Potiphar did not choose to believe Joseph, what could the other servants do? And wouldn’t it have disrupted Potiphar’s life more to have believed Joseph? He surely couldn’t have kept Joseph in his house with his wife; he had to get rid of one of them. So in my retelling, I assumed that Potiphar’s pride forced him to believe his wife, even though deep down he knew the truth. I would imagine that if he had truly believed his wife’s accusation, he would have had Joseph killed, rather than merely thrown into prison.
So Joseph started out with two dreams of greatness, which led directly to his being sold into slavery for a decade (deduced from his age at the time he was sold, the number of years he was in prison, and his age when he was finally promoted). At the end of the decade, Joseph refused to commit adultery and sin against God (very interesting that he phrased it that way, Genesis 39:9)—yet for his integrity, he got thrown into prison. Most people would be bitter at this point, but “until the time that His word came to pass, the word of the Lord tested [Joseph]” (Psalm 105:19). Joseph was holding fast to the word that the Lord had given him through those dreams, even when it looked like every circumstance in his life was heading in the wrong direction. He did not know Galatians 6:9, but he seemed to understand the principle: “let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart.”
