جارٍ تحميل الأرشيف الحي.
واصِل الاستكشاف
مرتبطة بالمقطع الكتابي أو بموضوعات مشتركة.
لم تُترجم هذه الصفحة بالكامل بعد. يظهر بعض النص أدناه أو كله بلغة English، وهي لغته الأصلية.
My wife has a lot of talents and skills, she knows me really well, and over time she has learned how to use that to her advantage.
Let me illustrate. A couple of months ago I was on a missions trip, and about a day and a half before I got back, I called my wife and said, "Beth, I hope I have some time from when I land to get you a gift for Mother's Day" — which was a day and a half away.
She said, "Oh, you don't need to worry about me. You don't need to buy me a Mother's Day gift." I said, "Yes, I do. You deserve anything that you want." She said, "I know how busy you've been lately, baby doll. So perhaps I can just go and pick something out, and you can just say that's what you gave me for Mother's Day."
I said, "Oh, wow. You would be willing to do that for me? You're so kind." And unknowingly, in that instant, I had walked right into her trap.
She went on: "In fact, I bought it yesterday." I said, "Well, what did you get me?" She said, "You spent a little more than you normally do, because you knew I would love it." When I started to object, she started pointing out how much gasoline money she had saved me. And she said, "Dave, your time is so valuable."
Did I just get played? I'll let you decide. Evidently, this is what I got her: a rug, some flowers and plants for the yard, three pairs of athletic shorts, a doormat, and two lamps for the house. She's good. She's very good.
Here's the point. When we wrong someone else, we tend to downplay it. We're very lenient on our own mistakes — "Well, nobody's perfect." But when somebody does something to us, all of a sudden that's different.
That's the story Joseph endured for some 22 years.
Joseph was Jacob's favorite son, the child of Rachel, Jacob's favorite wife. His brothers resented the special treatment and gifts Joseph received. Over 20 years earlier, they had thrown him into a dry cistern, intending to leave him there to die. But when a caravan of slave traders came by, they decided — rather than kill him — to make a profit off of him, and sold him into slavery.
Thirteen years later, Joseph had risen to serve an Egyptian official. But when the official's wife repeatedly tried to seduce him, Joseph refused, saying:
"How could I do such a wicked thing and sin against God?"
What was the reward for his integrity? The spurned woman falsely accused him, and Joseph was thrown into prison. But all along, God was quietly unfolding his plan.
Joseph is brought out of prison to interpret Pharaoh's dream. Joseph said, "I can't interpret it, but God can." With God's help, he explained: there will be seven years of abundance followed by seven years of famine. Pharaoh embraced Joseph's interpretation and put him in charge of storing grain during the good years so the nation could survive the hard ones.
Suddenly this former prisoner had authority over all of Egypt to decide who received food. What had looked like Joseph's greatest setback became God's greatest setup.
Two years into a massive famine, Egypt had become the bread basket of the world. People came from everywhere hoping Joseph would give them grain for their families.
Then in Canaan, Jacob said to his sons, "Go to this man who's giving out grain and see if he'll have mercy on our family." So ten of Joseph's brothers went to Egypt, bringing silver their father sent to butter him up. And guess who they appeared before? Joseph. They bowed down low before their brother whom they had sold into slavery.
You'll recall that when Joseph was a teenager, he told them, "I saw a vision of all of you bowing down to me." That's part of why they wanted to kill him. But they have no idea this is who they're now bowing to, 22 years later.
Can you imagine what's racing through Joseph's mind? Hurt, anger, memories, questions. His heart is about to pound out of his chest, because he recognizes them. Now he has the power to get even.
The brothers would never suspect this is Joseph. He was 17 then; he's 39 now. He wears Egyptian clothing fitting a high-ranking official, has a new name, a new look, speaks a different language, and uses an interpreter — even though he understands every word.
He had two decades to plot revenge. But instead, Joseph goes on a covert fact-finding mission, putting them through a series of tests to see if they are the same jealous, selfish brothers from 20 years before.
He learns their father is still alive, and that a younger brother stayed home — Benjamin, Joseph's full brother from his mother Rachel, whom he has never met. Joseph wants to know if they are as jealous of Benjamin as they had been of him.
So he does something unusual. He accuses them of being spies. He keeps them on the defensive, and says he'll take one of them into custody: "If you bring this younger brother back, I'll know you aren't spies, and I'll give you even more grain."
Then, not realizing Joseph understands them, they say to one another:
"Surely we are being punished because of our brother. We saw how distressed he was when he pleaded with us for his life, but we would not listen. That's why this distress has come on us." (Genesis 42:21)
These aren't references to Benjamin. These are references to 20 years earlier with Joseph — when they threw him in the well, and in spite of his begging for mercy, they did nothing. They are connecting their present suffering to how they treated their long-lost brother, and they are haunted by the memory.
Have you ever had a moment where the gravity of your sin overwhelms you, and you realize your selfishness is breaking the heart of God? In that instant, the Holy Spirit convicts you of sin.
Maybe it's that prom night you still think about. Perhaps it was when an officer said, "You're under arrest for driving under the influence." Or when your boss said, "That's two strikes." Or perhaps it was a moment like this — sitting in this room when a scripture is read, and God's word pierced through to your heart.
We can sum up chapter 42 with one word: conviction. The brothers are convicted in their hearts. Their guilty consciences are awakened.
This is the exact same group of ten brothers who cold-heartedly ate their lunch beside a cistern while their brother begged for his life from the bottom. It's been two decades — and notice, time has not erased their guilt. You know why? Because they never owned it. They never confessed it. They concealed it.
"Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret, but worldly sorrow brings death." (2 Corinthians 7:10)
Unbeknownst to them, Joseph had their silver put back in their bags. He's playing some mind games — but trust me, his intentions are good.
The brothers return home and tell Jacob everything. He says, "You're not taking Benjamin. I've already lost Joseph, I've lost Simeon, and now you want me to send Benjamin? No way."
But starvation has a way of getting your attention. Then Judah stepped forward:
"Send the boy along with me and we will go at once, so that we and you and our children may live and not die. I myself will guarantee his safety. You can hold me personally responsible for him. If I do not bring him back to you and set him before you, I will bear the blame before you all of my life." (Genesis 43:8-9)
Jacob acquiesces: "Okay, but take some of the best products we have in Canaan, and may God grant you mercy before this man." He wants them to get on the good side of this powerful man holding Simeon.
That got me thinking this week. What if we, as Southeast campuses, had to send something to butter somebody up? Maybe our Kentucky campuses would send honey-roasted almonds from Bee's. Southern Indiana might send cinnamon red hots from Schimpff's Confectionery. Franklin, Tennessee might send chicken and waffles. And Elizabethtown — maybe Etown would send an F-150.
They make the long journey back, and Joseph invites them to his house for a feast — the opposite of the first visit. Simeon is brought out to join them.
Joseph makes small talk and asks about the family. Then:
Joseph looked about and he saw his brother Benjamin, his own mother's son. He asked, "Is this your youngest brother, the one you told me about?" He said, "God be gracious to you, my son." And deeply moved at the sight of his brother, Joseph hurried out, looked for a place to weep. He went into his private room, and he wept there. (Genesis 43:29-30)
It is difficult for us to imagine the emotions Joseph is feeling — overwhelming and, at times, deeply conflicted.
The meal has assigned seating, arranged oldest to youngest — another mind game. And Joseph had the servers give Benjamin five times the food everyone else received. He's observing whether favoritism still makes the brothers' blood boil, or whether they truly love Benjamin.
The word for chapter 43 is repentance. That's the actual meaning of the word: you change directions. In the past they moved toward jealousy and envy; now they're moving toward mercy and love. Notice: the first test was adversity; now the test is prosperity — a lavish meal — to see how they treat Benjamin.
When it's time to leave, Joseph loads them with grain, but quietly tells his steward, "Put each man's silver back in their sack — and hide my special silver cup in Benjamin's bag."
The next morning, as the brothers head home, the steward rides up: "Why have you repaid good with evil? My master's silver cup is missing." The brothers are stunned. So certain of their innocence, they say, "If any one of us has the cup, you can put them to death."
The steward replies, "Only the man who has the cup will become my master's slave." They say, "Go ahead, search our stuff." But the search reaches the last bag — Benjamin's — and out comes Joseph's silver cup. The brothers are so overcome that they tear their clothes in utter anguish, and they journey back.
Now — do they throw Benjamin under the bus? "Here's your thief; make a slave out of him"? No. Just the opposite. They fall down and bow before Joseph. Then Judah steps forward — the one who promised his father he'd bear the blame:
"What can we say? God has uncovered our guilt. We are now your slaves." (Genesis 44:16)
Notice he keeps using we language throughout. He doesn't say "him" or "Benjamin." He lumps himself in. Judah isn't abandoning Benjamin; he's standing with him.
Then comes one of the greatest speeches in all of Genesis. Judah says, "I guaranteed the boy's safety to my father. Please let your servant remain here as my lord's slave in place of the boy. Let the boy return home." Don't make my father endure this heartbreak. Take me instead.
Twenty years earlier, Judah had sold one brother into slavery to save himself. Now he's willing to become a slave to save his brother.
It's interesting that it's Judah who speaks up. Because 1,700 years later, one of Judah's descendants would step forward for us. Jesus, the spotless Lamb of God, would say in effect, "I know the wages of sin is death" — and look at his Father and say, "Don't punish them. Take me instead."
He went to the cross and stayed on the cross because he loves you. And that's the gospel: the innocent became the substitute for the guilty, so the guilty could go free. That's our story.
The word for chapter 44 is sacrifice. If a price needs to be paid, Judah will pay it. Sacrifice is giving up something you love for something you love more — and Judah loved Benjamin more than himself.
Husbands, when you chose to get married, you were saying the same thing:
"Husbands, love your wives just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her." (Ephesians 5:25)
Christians, when you accepted Jesus as Lord and Savior, you made the same commitment — that Jesus sits on the throne and calls the shots. That means you may have to sacrifice things: a promotion that requires cutting ethical corners, popularity with friends, a relationship heading toward marriage that takes you away from the Lord, your reputation as the party animal. Sacrifice is at the heart of being a believer.
Joseph is about to reveal his identity.
Have you ever tried to conceal your identity — because the timing wasn't right to reveal who you were?
About a month ago I was flying back to Louisville after a speaking trip. Down at baggage claim, I ran into several Southeast families traveling together — a couple I had married about 25 years ago, a young gal I had baptized — about a dozen of them.
My suitcase came out quickly, so I said goodbye and headed up the long escalator to departures, where Beth picks me up. Near the top, just as I hit "send" on a text, my hard-shell suitcase slipped off the step beside me and started heading south — bouncing down 24 steps in three seconds flat. It sounded like a series of gunshots. At the bottom, it was catapulted out of the chute like it had been fired from a cannon and slid about 15 feet across the tile floor.
I ran up the final two steps, turned around, and started running back down. Halfway down, I stopped — because there was a wall shielding me from everyone in baggage claim. If I took any more steps, that dozen Southeast members would discover the identity of the imbecile who had launched the suitcase heard around the world.
Two airport personnel had encircled my bag. I hollered down, "Hey, that's mine — just put it on the first step of the escalator and send it back up." In their minds, everything's going off: If you see any unattended luggage, inform a law enforcement officer. They looked at me and said, "We're not touching that."
So I left the safety of the landing, and my reputation descended with me. Everyone was watching and wondering, "Terrorist or doofus? Terrorist or doofus?" When the Southeast group saw it was me, they gasped and then erupted into full-blown cackling. I picked up my suitcase and said, "That's what I get for texting on an escalator." They laughed at me, not with me.
There are crazy moments of truth when our identity is revealed. And when the truth comes out — will we receive mercy, or ridicule?
Joseph has watched them pass every test. Having just heard Judah say, "Take me instead," he can't keep his secret any longer. He dismisses everyone from the room, and all of Pharaoh's household hears him wailing.
The brothers have to be thinking: This does not look good for us. But Joseph has seen the change in them, and he wants to remove the burden of guilt they've been carrying. He's choosing mercy over malice.
"I am Joseph," he says. In the same breath: "Is my father still alive?"
But his brothers were not able to answer him, because they were terrified at his presence. (Genesis 45:3)
That's the understatement of the century. Then:
Joseph said to his brothers, "Come close to me." When they had done so, he said, "I am your brother Joseph, the one you sold into Egypt. And now do not be distressed and do not be angry with yourselves for selling me here, because it was to save lives that God sent me ahead of you... But God sent me ahead of you to preserve for you a remnant on earth and to save your lives by a great deliverance." (Genesis 45:4-7)
But God — my two favorite words in the Bible.
He's not going to kill them, imprison them, or enslave them. Joseph interprets the entire story through God's sovereignty rather than his brothers' cruelty. God's providence is greater than human evil. As Joseph will later say, "What you intended for evil, God meant for good."
Forgiveness is releasing my right to retaliate. Joseph sends them home with grain, carts, and donkeys, telling them to bring their father, their families, and their children — and to live with him on the best of the land. Don't even bring your belongings; you'll have the best of everything. And even with five more years of famine: "I've got you covered, bro."
Mercy means the most when it is deserved the least.
Look at the progression: Conviction, repentance, sacrifice — equals grace. Grace is the word for chapter 45.
Is there anyone you need to extend some grace to?
Our sinful nature wants revenge. We plot to retaliate so they get what's coming to them — retaliation over reconciliation. But Joseph responds so differently. Instead of revenge, he chose restoration.
Someone said, "We're most like beasts when we kill. We're most like humans when we judge. But we're most like God when we forgive." In a plot twist only God could write, family wounds are healed. What is impossible with man is possible with God.
Some of you have been deeply wounded — physically, emotionally. I don't minimize that. I know I'm speaking to people who have endured horrific things. I don't discount that. But Jesus calls us to forgive.
You might ask, "Why should I forgive?"
Dr. Henry Cloud said something helpful: "Control what you can control, and what you can't, surrender to God." Life's too short to let someone else's behavior mess up your present and future. Let go of that injustice.
One more reason:
"For if you forgive other people when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins." (Matthew 6:14-15)
Those are difficult words — but they're Jesus' words, not mine. And Jesus has kept every promise.
I'm not saying you have to like that person, but you need to try to love them. It doesn't mean you remove the legal punishments or consequences of their actions, but it begins with asking God to help you start the process of letting go. It was surely a long process for Joseph — years of prison and slavery.
Satan loves to use unforgiveness and bitterness to his advantage, because the longer you hold onto resentment, the harder it is to let go. You think you're holding the other person hostage, but the opposite occurs — you live behind the bars of bitterness.
Look one more time at Joseph's words:
"But God sent me ahead of you to preserve for you a remnant on earth and to save your lives by a great deliverance." (Genesis 45:7)
Joseph said that. But Jesus could have said the very same thing:
We have hope beyond the grave, an eternal home in heaven with a forgiving God.
So the forgiveness that God has extended to you — will you extend it to someone else?
