Instead of a death sentence, those brothers hear the words of deliverance.
One of the most heart-wrenching scenes in the entire Bible occurs in Genesis 45 when Joseph finally reveals his true identity to his brothers. As Moses records for us, “Then Joseph could not control himself before all those who stood by him. He cried, ‘Make everyone go out from me.’ So no one stayed with him when Joseph made himself known to his brothers” (Gen. 45:1). This was a moment twenty years in the making, as those brothers hadn’t laid eyes on their kid brother since they sold him to a bunch of Midianite merchants as a boy. Young Joseph was forced to look on as his own flesh and blood perpetrated the worst act of betrayal against him, pawning him off like a piece of merchandise. Now, the tables had categorically flipped, as the brothers found themselves in the court of an Egyptian governor who just happened to be their long-lost brother Joseph.
As you might imagine, Joseph’s revelation stuns those brothers into paralyzed silence. “His brothers,” we are told, “could not answer him, for they were dismayed at his presence” (Gen. 45:3). I mean, what would you say? There are no words suitable for that scene. After all, they were the ones who completely upended their brother’s life, with the only sliver of mercy being that they didn’t leave him for dead in the pit. Instead, they “mercifully” traded him for a handful of silver (Gen. 37:28). Now, they find themselves staring into the eyes of the one they betrayed, only this time it’s Joseph who has their lives in the palm of his hand. What heightens the tension and emotion of this moment is the fact that Joseph’s brothers are fighting for their lives. Jacob had sent them down to Egypt due to the severe famine that had swept through the region.
Since food is scarce and survival seems increasingly unfeasible, Jacob’s boys are dispatched on a diplomatic mission to plead for their lives and buy rations from the Egyptian storehouses. “It just so happens” that the magistrate in charge of transactions like this is Joseph (Gen. 42:6). Upon entering Joseph’s court, the brothers fall prostrate on the ground, completely unaware of who was actually sitting in front of them. Joseph, however, recognized them immediately, but he chose not to let that be known. Instead, he “treated them like strangers and spoke roughly to them” (Gen. 42:7–8). It would not have been difficult to keep his identity a secret since it had been twenty-odd years since he was last seen in Canaan. That’s twenty years of Egyptian language, culture, and education during the most formative years of Joseph’s life. This was a “different Joseph” in that courtroom — he looked, talked, and acted differently. Nothing about him would have given those brothers a clue about who they were actually talking to; they were oblivious. This is especially true as the rest of the events unfold.
Little did they know that the one showing them all this kindness was the very one they had betrayed.
Joseph proceeds to accuse his brothers of being spies, which they deny in earnest. Eventually, they reveal that they are from the land of Canaan, where their father resides. They also divulge that their youngest brother is back home and that they had a brother who is now “no more” (Gen. 42:13). This, of course, piques Joseph’s interest, prompting him to develop a scheme whereby he can test the honesty and integrity of his brothers. Consequently, he dismisses their testimony that they are not spies and puts them in jail for three days, after which he makes a deal with them: if they bring their youngest brother to him, he will trust their word, and no further harm will come to them. The only catch is that they have to leave one of the brothers in Egypt as collateral (Gen. 42:19–20). With no other option, they agree to the terms, and Joseph orders their caravan to be loaded with food and supplies. But, unbeknownst to the brothers, he also lets them keep their cash.
As the brothers depart, much to their surprise, they discover that their suitcases aren’t just loaded with rations but with the money they were supposed to use to buy those rations (Gen. 42:26–28). This was a horrific discovery for the brothers since, on top of being suspected spies; now it appears as though they have tried to pull a fast one on an Egyptian governor by buying supplies for nothing. “If the Egyptian magistrate didn’t trust us before,” they might’ve thought, “he definitely won’t now!” The brothers are distraught — “their hearts failed them” — as they return home with nothing but bad news to give Jacob, who doesn’t take the news well (Gen. 42:35–38). Eventually, the grain runs out again, and they are forced to entertain the notion of going back to Egypt. Jacob is reminded that this plan is a nonstarter unless the youngest, Benjamin, is among the group, which distresses Jacob to no end since Benjamin is the only child left alive from his favorite wife, Rachel. Even at this moment, he doesn’t hide the fact that his other sons, the ones he fathered with Leah, are all expendable.
After a heated discussion that culminated with Judah’s solemn vow to bear the blame if any harm came upon Benjamin, Jacob, at long last, concedes to sending his sons to Egypt once more. They don’t travel empty-handed, though. Not only do they load up their convoy with all kinds of delicacies, but they also pack up all the money they discovered in their bags the first time. In fact, they double it! (Gen. 43:15). At this point, it had been a few months since the first visit, which had ended with Simeon sitting in a jail cell. Upon arriving in Egypt for the second time, the brothers are immediately summoned to the magistrate’s house, sending the brothers spiraling (Gen. 43:16–18). “That’s it. The jig is up, and we’re done for it,” they defeated cry. “This guy knows about the money! We’re goners!” Much to the brothers’ surprise, the invitation to dine at the governor’s house came with no ulterior motives. Little did they know that the one showing them all this kindness was the very one they had betrayed.
During lunch, Joseph finally locks eyes on his younger brother Benjamin, which proves too much for Joseph to handle, so much so that he runs out of the room to compose himself (Gen. 43:27–30). Other than this brief emotional outburst, it is a relatively cheerful table. But as the brothers prepare to leave, Joseph has one final test up his sleeve. He plants a chalice in their belongings and sends them on their way. Eventually, Joseph’s stewards intercept the brothers on the road, accusing them of pilfering the royal household. The brothers are understandably distraught as they vehemently insist that this accusation is unfounded. They go even further than that, though, and maintain that if this allegation proves true, the culprit will be surrendered to the Egyptians to decide his fate. And what do you know? The cup turns up in Benjamin’s suitcase! “Then each man quickly lowered his sack to the ground, and each man opened his sack. And he searched, beginning with the eldest and ending with the youngest. And the cup was found in Benjamin’s sack. Then they tore their clothes, and every man loaded his donkey, and they returned to the city” (Gen. 44:11–13).
Much to the surprise of everyone in that room, Joseph extends only forgiveness and absolution.
As the worst-case scenario materialized in front of them, the brothers’ thoughts likely turned to their father, Jacob, whose emotional well-being was already threadbare. This would surely push him over the edge. In fact, this is precisely what the brother Judah says to the Egyptian magistrate as he fights for Benjamin’s life (Gen. 44:18–34). Judah’s unforeseen display of sincere affection for his dad, coupled with his demonstrable self-sacrifice for his favored brother, Benjamin, precipitate Joseph’s uncontrollable response. There was no more hiding his emotions. He quickly cleared the room so it was just him and his brothers, a move that undoubtedly filled those brothers with a sense of impending doom. But instead of hearing their death sentence, they hear a name they have not heard for two decades. “Joseph said to his brothers, ‘I am Joseph! Is my father still alive?’ But his brothers could not answer him, for they were dismayed at his presence” (Gen. 45:2–3).
If those brothers were scared before at the notion of angering an Egyptian governor, multiply that terror by a factor of ten at the reality that the brother they thought to be dead was now standing in front of them, with all the power and authority of Egypt at his disposal. No wonder they were so petrified. It was as if they were in the presence of a specter sent back from the dead to haunt them. Only that wasn’t true. He was there to deliver them. Joseph was so overcome with emotion that he wept loud enough that the whole palace echoed with cries. With his interpreter dismissed (Gen. 42:23), Joseph reverted to Hebrew, dropped his Egyptian name (Gen. 41:25), and referred to himself as Joseph, their brother and fellow son of Jacob. As he peels back the layers of his Egyptian identity, he likewise reveals his heart to them. He wasn’t out for revenge, nor was he looking to “settle the score” with them. His words aren’t even tinged with the slightest hint of vengeance. Rather, much to the surprise of everyone in that room, Joseph extends only forgiveness and absolution (Gen. 45:4–15), resulting in one of the most touching scenes in the entire Bible.
Instead of a death sentence, those brothers hear the words of deliverance. Instead of keeping them at a distance, the backstabbers are invited to “come near.” Instead of punishment, they are offered provision and preservation. The brother whom they had betrayed and pretended was dead was now their savior. Although he could have exacted the fiercest display of justice for what they did to him, he does just the opposite by identifying himself with them and stooping to relieve them of their guilt and shame. “Here he absolves them from their sin,” Martin Luther comments, “and not only absolves them but also announces to them the richest measure of grace and favor” (8.24). He assuages his brothers’ grief and guilt by testifying to the deeper divine purposes that were at work the whole time. “Do not be distressed or angry with yourselves because you sold me here,” Joseph declares, “for God sent me before you to preserve life . . . to preserve for you a remnant on earth, and to keep alive for you many survivors” (Gen. 45:5, 7).
As Joseph would later proclaim on his deathbed (Gen. 50:20), the trajectory of his life is an undeniable testament to God’s ability to “work all things together for good,” which is a truth that is grasped only in the crucible of untold trial and trouble. Joseph was brought through the valley of the shadow of death and back again. Therefore, he can testify firsthand to the fact that the grace of God is often hidden in the shadows of suffering, which, to be sure, is the language of the cross. It is the honest recognition of ruin while still clinging to the better purposes that are unfolding behind the scenes. The sight of the cross and the testimony of Joseph’s life give us a glimpse of the mystery of divine wisdom that is at work despite evidence to the contrary. Golgotha’s tree was a ghastly sight to behold, just as Joseph’s betrayal was the most appalling display of fraternal disloyalty imaginable. And yet, in the camouflaged grace of God, all of that brokenness was being used to reveal his perfect plan of redemption and reconciliation.
Joseph’s forgiveness of those who betrayed him is strikingly coherent with God’s forgiveness for us.
This is just how God works. He shows up in all our fractured places and splintered moments. God sets up shop in our rubble and ruin and descends to our place of deep need, not to take life but “to preserve life.” Not to exact divine revenge but to bring about divine redemption. Joseph’s forgiveness of those who betrayed him is strikingly coherent with God’s forgiveness for us. Despite his rank, Joseph stooped to those beneath him to show forth his love for them. Rather than utilizing his power and position to unleash judgment, he dispensed grace on his double-crossing brothers. Similarly, despite his divine rank, this is what God in Christ has done for you. Although “he was in the form of God, [he] did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself . . . [and] humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross” (Phil. 2:6–8).
Even with all of heaven’s might and majesty at his disposal, instead of inflicting judgment, Christ extends a hand of grace to a world full of sinners, betrayers, and miscreants. The one we offended, ignored, and crucified gives himself up to death to purchase our everlasting pardon. “In marvelous grace,” writes Arthur W. Pink, “the Saviour bids the poor trembling sinners ‘Come near’ unto Himself” (406). In many ways, therefore, the invitation of the gospel parallels the one Joseph gives to his brothers, as the good news of Jesus’s death and resurrection invites the worst of sinners to “come near” and be made whole (Matt. 11:28–29). Just like Joseph “could not control himself” since his heart was overflowing with compassion for those he deeply loved, so, too, is the heart of God brimming with forgiving, pardoning, and absolving love for the likes of you and me.
