Genesis 45:1-15
1 Then Joseph could no longer control himself before all those who stood by him, and he cried out, "Send everyone away from me." So no one stayed with him when Joseph made himself known to his brothers. 2 And he wept so loudly that the Egyptians heard it, and the household of Pharaoh heard it. 3 Joseph said to his brothers, "I am Joseph. Is my father still alive?" But his brothers could not answer him, so dismayed were they at his presence. 4 Then Joseph said to his brothers, "Come closer to me." And they came closer. He said, "I am your brother, Joseph, whom you sold into Egypt. 5 And now do not be distressed, or angry with yourselves, because you sold me here; for God sent me before you to preserve life. 6 For the famine has been in the land these two years; and there are five more years in which there will be neither plowing nor harvest. 7 God sent me before you to preserve for you a remnant on earth, and to keep alive for you many survivors. 8 So it was not you who sent me here, but God; he has made me a father to Pharaoh, and lord of all his house and ruler over all the land of Egypt. 9 Hurry and go up to my father and say to him, "Thus says your son Joseph, God has made me lord of all Egypt; come down to me, do not delay. 10 You shall settle in the land of Goshen, and you shall be near me, you and your children and your children's children, as well as your flocks, your herds, and all that you have. 11 I will provide for you there—since there are five more years of famine to come—so that you and your household, and all that you have, will not come to poverty.' 12 And now your eyes and the eyes of my brother Benjamin see that it is my own mouth that speaks to you. 13 You must tell my father how greatly I am honored in Egypt, and all that you have seen. Hurry and bring my father down here." 14 Then he fell upon his brother Benjamin's neck and wept, while Benjamin wept upon his neck. 15 And he kissed all his brothers and wept upon them; and after that his brothers talked with him.
Is there a more captivating motive for a good story other than revenge? It really is nearly the perfect narrative driving force, whether it is the story of a hero seeking retaliation against an enemy for a past injustice, a lover seeking retribution for the death of her beloved, or a child seeking to right the wrongs committed against his family, revenge has been a chief motif of western literature for centuries. You can trace it all the way back to the eighth century B.C.E. and that great epic poem by Homer, The Iliad. There is revenge all over that story: Menelaus seeks revenge against Paris for stealing his wife, Helen; Achilles hunts down Hector after Hector killed Achilles’ friend, Patroclus; even the gods in Homer’s epic are constantly seeking revenge against one another, always trying to get back at one another after being fooled, duped, or manipulated by the other.
Of course it’s not just in ancient Greek epics where we find stories motivated by revenge: Shakespeare too knew its plot-driving power. His play Hamlet is completely focused on the subject. Prince Hamlet is visited by the ghost of his father, who tells him to kill the prince’s uncle, Claudius, who killed his father and married his mother. The entire story is driven by Hamlet’s lust for revenge against his uncle.
But I know most of you probably haven’t read The Iliad or Hamlet since high school (I know I haven’t), so there’s Charles Portis’ novel from 1968, a novel millions have read, but even millions more have seen in either 1969’s movie adaption starring John Wayne or 2010’s version starring Jeff Bridges (which I happen to think is the slightly superior version…). True Grit is the tale of a fourteen-year-old girl named Mattie Ross who enlists the help of federal marshal Rooster Cogburn to hunt down a thief named Tom Chaney who killed Mattie’s daddy in cold blood. She wants to see Chaney brought to trial and then hanged for killing her father—she wants revenge.
But I doubt you will find any more compelling example of literary revenge than that of the Spanish swordsmith whose father made a sword of exquisite beauty and balance, only to have his patron refuse to pay his promised price and strike the man down with the very sword he had made. The son dedicated his life to revenge, always training, always studying, always practicing, determined to be the best swordsman in the world, so that if the day ever came when he would meet his father’s murderer, he would look him straight in the eyes, sword in hand, and say, “Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.” If you didn’t know already, this is one of the strongest sub-plots to the novel (and eventual film adaptation) The Princess Bride, written by William Goldman in 1973. Inigo is driven by revenge.
Revenge, retaliation, retribution, reprisal, call it what you will, but it can be a powerful force, and it can make for a captivating story, and the story before us this morning, the story of Joseph, has all the right pieces to be one fascinating story about revenge. It’s a story that really starts back in chapter 37, when seventeen-year-old Joseph (daddy Jacob’s favorite) starts dreaming dreams about his brothers all bowing down to him (which, by the way, Joseph is the next-to-youngest, so his favoritism from Jacob and his dreams of lording over his brothers are a bit out of place for the historical-cultural context…). Now, Joseph’s brothers were already jealous of Joseph because their father favored him over the eleven of them and he had given him a long coat with sleeves (or a coat of many colors), so when he starts all this dreaming business, they’re ready to get rid of him.
Of course it’s not just in ancient Greek epics where we find stories motivated by revenge: Shakespeare too knew its plot-driving power. His play Hamlet is completely focused on the subject. Prince Hamlet is visited by the ghost of his father, who tells him to kill the prince’s uncle, Claudius, who killed his father and married his mother. The entire story is driven by Hamlet’s lust for revenge against his uncle.
But I know most of you probably haven’t read The Iliad or Hamlet since high school (I know I haven’t), so there’s Charles Portis’ novel from 1968, a novel millions have read, but even millions more have seen in either 1969’s movie adaption starring John Wayne or 2010’s version starring Jeff Bridges (which I happen to think is the slightly superior version…). True Grit is the tale of a fourteen-year-old girl named Mattie Ross who enlists the help of federal marshal Rooster Cogburn to hunt down a thief named Tom Chaney who killed Mattie’s daddy in cold blood. She wants to see Chaney brought to trial and then hanged for killing her father—she wants revenge.
But I doubt you will find any more compelling example of literary revenge than that of the Spanish swordsmith whose father made a sword of exquisite beauty and balance, only to have his patron refuse to pay his promised price and strike the man down with the very sword he had made. The son dedicated his life to revenge, always training, always studying, always practicing, determined to be the best swordsman in the world, so that if the day ever came when he would meet his father’s murderer, he would look him straight in the eyes, sword in hand, and say, “Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.” If you didn’t know already, this is one of the strongest sub-plots to the novel (and eventual film adaptation) The Princess Bride, written by William Goldman in 1973. Inigo is driven by revenge.
Revenge, retaliation, retribution, reprisal, call it what you will, but it can be a powerful force, and it can make for a captivating story, and the story before us this morning, the story of Joseph, has all the right pieces to be one fascinating story about revenge. It’s a story that really starts back in chapter 37, when seventeen-year-old Joseph (daddy Jacob’s favorite) starts dreaming dreams about his brothers all bowing down to him (which, by the way, Joseph is the next-to-youngest, so his favoritism from Jacob and his dreams of lording over his brothers are a bit out of place for the historical-cultural context…). Now, Joseph’s brothers were already jealous of Joseph because their father favored him over the eleven of them and he had given him a long coat with sleeves (or a coat of many colors), so when he starts all this dreaming business, they’re ready to get rid of him.
Joseph follows them down to Dothan (not the one in South Alabama, of course, but it is the place from which that city gets its name), and in Dothan the brothers hatch this plan (Genesis 37: 19-28):
They said to one another, "Here comes this dreamer. Come now, let us kill him and throw him into one of the pits; then we shall say that a wild animal has devoured him, and we shall see what will become of his dreams." But when Reuben heard it, he delivered him out of their hands, saying, "Let us not take his life." Reuben said to them, "Shed no blood; throw him into this pit here in the wilderness, but lay no hand on him"—that he might rescue him out of their hand and restore him to his father. So when Joseph came to his brothers, they stripped him of his robe, the long robe with sleeves that he wore; and they took him and threw him into a pit. The pit was empty; there was no water in it. Then they sat down to eat; and looking up they saw a caravan of Ishmaelites coming from Gilead, with their camels carrying gum, balm, and resin, on their way to carry it down to Egypt. Then Judah said to his brothers, "What profit is it if we kill our brother and conceal his blood? Come, let us sell him to the Ishmaelites, and not lay our hands on him, for he is our brother, our own flesh." And his brothers agreed. When some Midianite traders passed by, they drew Joseph up, lifting him out of the pit, and sold him to the Ishmaelites for twenty pieces of silver. And they took Joseph to Egypt.
The brothers initially wanted to kill Joseph, but instead, they wind up selling him to some traders for twenty pieces of silver (regardless of how much money that equates too, it is not worth the life of one’s brother!). The traders took Joseph to Egypt, the super-power of its day (here’s where the story takes off a bit…).
In the years ahead, Joseph becomes the slave of Potiphar, the chief of Pharaoh’s guards, and he eventually become the chief of Potiphar’s house. It is while in this position that Potiphar’s wife attempts to seduce Joseph, but when he refuses her advances, she falsely accuses him of rape, landing Joseph in prison. While in prison, Joseph is put in charge of the prisoners and meets the chief cup-bearer and baker of Pharaoh; Joseph (dreamer that he is) interprets dreams for these two close acquaintances of Pharaoh, and when the cup-bearer is released, Joseph asks him to put in a good word for him with the Pharaoh—he doesn’t. He forgets Joseph—until about two years later when Pharaoh has a dream and Joseph is summoned to interpret it for him: seven years of abundance, followed by seven years of famine, so Joseph advises Pharaoh to store grain for the coming famine. When Joseph’s interpretations come to fruition, he is given a great deal of power and oversight by the Pharaoh, eventually becoming the Vizier of Egypt, Pharaoh’s sort of right-hand-man, answering to no one else but Pharaoh himself. (Still with me?)
During all that time, well over two decades, Joseph had the opportunity to plot his revenge, to map out just what he would do to his brothers should he ever see them again, and lo and behold, as the famine was starving so many to death all around that region of the world, Joseph’s brothers are sent by their father, Jacob, to Egypt to buy some of the grain which Joseph had advised Pharaoh to store up. When these brothers arrive, Joseph recognizes them, has them imprisoned as spies, then demands that they bring their youngest brother (who had stayed back home with their aging father and who was Joseph’s full brother, the other son of Rachel) back with them to prove that they are honest men.
Now, here is where the story has all the potential to be really gripping, where the opportunity for revenge is highest. You see, the brothers don’t recognize Joseph, and he could have refused the brothers’ petition for help altogether. He had the power to do it, for he was placed in charge of the grain; even the Pharaoh himself sent people directly to Joseph when they came in need of food. Joseph could have stayed incognito and simply refused their petition, sent them away empty, and felt as if he had finally settled the score with the brothers who sought to kill him so long ago—but that isn’t what he does.
During all that time, well over two decades, Joseph had the opportunity to plot his revenge, to map out just what he would do to his brothers should he ever see them again, and lo and behold, as the famine was starving so many to death all around that region of the world, Joseph’s brothers are sent by their father, Jacob, to Egypt to buy some of the grain which Joseph had advised Pharaoh to store up. When these brothers arrive, Joseph recognizes them, has them imprisoned as spies, then demands that they bring their youngest brother (who had stayed back home with their aging father and who was Joseph’s full brother, the other son of Rachel) back with them to prove that they are honest men.
Now, here is where the story has all the potential to be really gripping, where the opportunity for revenge is highest. You see, the brothers don’t recognize Joseph, and he could have refused the brothers’ petition for help altogether. He had the power to do it, for he was placed in charge of the grain; even the Pharaoh himself sent people directly to Joseph when they came in need of food. Joseph could have stayed incognito and simply refused their petition, sent them away empty, and felt as if he had finally settled the score with the brothers who sought to kill him so long ago—but that isn’t what he does.
What happens is that Joseph hears his brothers discussing amongst themselves how sorry they are for what they had done to Joseph, so he devises a plan, one that at first seems to lay a trap for his brothers (are you still with me? I know it’s kind of a long story, but it’s the Bible…). Joseph sends his brothers back with provisions (and the money they used to buy them), keeping one of the brothers, Simeon, as a hostage. When it’s discovered that they have the money still, Jacob is worried that they’ll be seen as dishonest folks, so when he sends them on a return trip, Benjamin goes with them (just as Joseph had requested). When they arrived this time, Joseph returned Simeon to them and had a banquet prepared for them. Joseph had his servants load their animals with the grain they had bought, along with their money, and his personal silver cup was placed in Benjamin’s things. After the brothers had eaten and were on their way back home, Joseph ordered his servants to go after them and question them about his missing silver cup. Of course they found the cup on them, in Benjamin’s things, so the brothers were brought back before Joseph.
Now, here is where the tension is thick in the story, right? Joseph seems to be almost playing with his brothers, sort of torturing them with all of these head games, sending them back and forth, hiding things in their belongings. It’s as if it’s all a part of Joseph’s plan for vengeance—after all, remember, these are the same brothers who sought to kill him, who threw him in a pit, who sold him into slavery for twenty pieces of silver, the same brothers who were jealous of him because of his father’s favoritism and his gift for interpreting dreams, things he had no real control over. He’s had over twenty years to plan this all out, twenty years to stew, to run the whole narrative over and over in his mind, twenty years in which he was dead to his father, twenty years without those who spoke his language, who knew his story, who loved him for who he was and not what he could do for them. Joseph has had a long time to plot his revenge and justify its outcome, and it seems as if it’s likely going to come together when the brothers are brought back before him after the discovery of the silver cup in their belongings. Joseph condemns Benjamin to be his slave since it was in his belongings that the cup was found, but Judah pleads to take Benjamin’s place…and that’s where our text this morning begins.
Joseph has all the power in this story: he has the power to refuse his brothers the food they need to survive—much like they did to him when they through him into an empty pit and sat down to their own lunch; he has to power to imprison them with little more than a false charge with fabricated evidence—in the same way he himself was imprisoned after Potiphar’s wife had accused him; he has the power to enslave them—just as he himself had been enslaved by the Ishmaelites and sold to the Egyptians. He has the power of Egypt at his disposal, the most powerful empire in the world. Joseph could have had his revenge in whatever way he wanted…but he doesn’t get it. Instead, Joseph could no longer control himself before all those who stood by him, and he cried out, "Send everyone away from me." So no one stayed with him when Joseph made himself known to his brothers. And he wept so loudly that the Egyptians heard it, and the household of Pharaoh heard it. Joseph said to his brothers, "I am Joseph. Is my father still alive?" But his brothers could not answer him, so dismayed were they at his presence. Then Joseph said to his brothers, "Come closer to me." And they came closer. He said, "I am your brother, Joseph, whom you sold into Egypt. And now do not be distressed, or angry with yourselves, because you sold me here; for God sent me before you to preserve life.”
Joseph doesn’t get his revenge. He doesn’t throw his brothers in prison, enslave them, send them away to starve, or have them executed. No, what Joseph does is entirely different: he forgives them; he is reconciled to them. But why?! Why? Why after what they had done, after all he had been through, after living twenty long years without his family, without the voice of his father to speak to him, without the love of his family—why wouldn’t Joseph get his revenge which he so clearly deserved? Why?! Because, maybe—just maybe—Joseph realized the one thing we human beings still struggle to understand: the power of revenge, the power of retaliation is nothing at all compared to the power of forgiveness and reconciliation.
After all, what good does revenge do? What good is holding a grudge, seeking retribution, or wanting reprisal? Does it ever erase the pain? Does it have the power to wind back the clock and set things back to the way they once were? Does retaliation ever lead to anything more than escalation and deeper divisions?
But forgiveness…reconciliation…that’s where the power is! While revenge only leaves us with a momentary feeling of false justice, forgiveness and reconciliation lead to healing, to making things whole and right once more. Holding on to anger can only corrode the soul and lead us to viewing a brother, sister, friend, or neighbor as less than what God has created them to be, yet forgiveness…forgiveness restores a lost brother, finds an old friend, redeems a neighbor, and creates more space for the kingdom of God to be fully realized. Is it easy? No. Is it worth it? Always!
So let go of whatever it is that is corroding your soul this morning. If there is someone in your life, not matter how long it’s been, to whom you need to be reconciled, don’t let the sun go down on this day until you’ve begun the worthwhile work of being reconciled to them. For there is no power in holding on to hate, no power in holding a grudge, no power in holding on to the hope for a chance to “get even,” but my Lord what power there is in forgiveness! What power there is when you set aside the desire to get even in order to simply get right! What power there is in being reconciled to each other—it’s the very power of God! Amen.
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