Well, a lot has happened since we left Joseph in the

hands of the Ishmaelite traders bound for Egypt

last Sunday. Here’s the short version. Joseph is an

uncommonly gifted man with a special talent for dream

interpretation that serves him well in tight spots. So

well, in fact, that he makes his way over the course of

time from prison to the palace, where he rises to second

in command under the all-powerful Pharaoh. By the

time we meet him this week, he is not only an influential

leader, but he is also an entirely acculturated Egyptian.

His dreams of abundance and famine shape decisions

that expand his power and Egypt’s reach. Eventually,

that famine forces the family of Jacob to seek support

from Egypt. During that time, Joseph hides his identity

while testing his brothers’ character. Ultimately, Joseph

can hold the secret no longer, and in a moment of high

drama after twenty-two years of estrangement, the

brothers hear words that would have shocked them.

“I am Joseph, your brother.” First, he asks about his

father. Then, he reassures his brother. That moment

with Benjamin gets me every single time. Joseph saves

his family from starvation. Jacob blesses Joseph’s sons,

and then Jacob dies and is buried back in Canaan. The

family returns, and just when you think the drama of

Genesis is over, one more chapter unfolds.

You must remember this. Joseph is by now a man of

immense power, and he has always been a man of

unpredictable behavior. His brothers have yet to pay

for their mistreatment of him as a teenager, and Jacob,

whose love and devotion held the family together,

is gone. The brothers are rightly filled with fear and

anxiety. They send Joseph a message claiming that

Jacob had left on his deathbed instructions that they

be pardoned. Clever. And yet, anyone who has read the

story up to this point would not be surprised if Joseph

had his brothers thrown in prison or sent packing back

to their homeland. He has reason to doubt their motives.

And he certainly has the authority to punish them.

But something significant has shifted in Joseph,

something that his brothers could not have known. You

hear it in the exchange between them. The brothers

rush to Joseph. They beg him to forgive them, to

remember their father, to act with compassion. They

offer themselves as his servants. And when he hears

them, Joseph—this abandoned brother and governor

of Egypt—begins to weep. For me, it is one of the most

poignant moments in all of scripture. In the place of

punishment, Joseph offers an extraordinary promise.

I will care for you, my brothers, and your children. Your

home will be in the land of Egypt. And then, in one of my

favorite examples of Biblical understatement, the author

of Genesis writes, “In this way he reassured them,

speaking kindly to them.”

I think Marilynne Robinson gets it just right. “This is not

a pardon. It is grace.” In a recent conversation, Robinson

marveled at the moment. She said, “It’s a very beautiful

image of grace that I think of having no parallel in

ancient literature. To be able to look beyond the offense

rather than to forgive the offense is the difference

between grace and forgiveness.”

So, we find at the end of Genesis this human being,

this human creature capable of both crafty cunning and

commendable compassion, this complex man exercising

the restraint that has marked God’s action from the

very beginning. As he does this, Joseph asks a riveting,

rhetorical question.

Am I in the place of God?

Here’s my confession. I had always assumed the obvious

answer to this question is “no!” Joseph is distancing

himself from the providence and power that belong only

to the divine. But two voices have shifted my perspective

on this question. The first was a friend of mine who

pointed out that, in the land of Egypt, especially relative

to his brothers, this is precisely the place Joseph

occupies. He holds absolute power. He could do

anything he desires to his brothers. They are refugees.

He is the proxy of Pharaoh. Is Joseph in the place of

God? For all practical purposes, the answer is yes.

The second voice belongs, no surprise, to Marilynne

Robinson. She answers the question in this way:

“Yes, Joseph is, in the sense that his mercy toward his

brothers seconds what he sees as God’s will. In the

sense that he sees beyond a human conception of

justice…” I want to say that again. “He sees beyond a

human conception of justice.” And so, given this Godlike

power, Joseph chooses to act with Godlike restraint.

Now, for a preacher, this unanswered question—Am I in

the place of God?—offers an intriguing opportunity for

reflection. For while it is self-evident that we are not in

the place of God in any far-reaching effect, the query

might be reasonably rephrased this way:

What are the realms of your influence? In what areas

do you have power and agency for good or ill?

Now, the answer to that question will be different for

each of us, but all of us should have one. And so, the

follow-up question: will you use that influence in ways

that reflect the God you meet in scripture? I think

this is complicated in our moment. There is a, to me,

regrettable assumption among many that compassion

among the powerful is another word for weakness. A

friend I hold in high regard recently wrote in response to

a call for mercy, “Sometimes one has to be ruthless.” I’ve

honestly wrestled with that. Ultimately, I conclude there

are two fatal flaws in my friend’s reasoning.

First, there seems to be no end to the cycle of retribution

unleashed by ruthlessness. In other words, sometimes

quickly becomes most of the time and then anytime

I choose. Rarely do we see ruthless behavior have a

peace-giving effect on those on whom the ruthlessness

is released. Or in the words of a favorite axiom, never in

the history of calming down has anyone calmed down

by being told to calm down.

Second, I have a high degree of skepticism about my

ability to determine who is deserving of ruthlessness.

And I think you should too. We humans are prone to

excess, especially when it comes to anger. Can you trust

yourself with the means of power to unleash violence?

Here Joseph offers an extraordinary counterexample.

He sees his brothers, the very ones who abused and

abandoned him, but he sees something else. He sees

people in profound need. When he looks at his brothers,

he sees their hunger. He sees their absolute vulnerability.

And, in his own power, he sees the plan of God. His

specific words matter here. Joseph says,

Even though you intended to harm me, God intended it

for good… in order to preserve a numerous people.

Joseph sees the providence of God not in the power he

has amassed but in the lives he can save. He promises

to care personally for his brothers and for their “little

ones,” that is, the most vulnerable among them.

I submit that Joseph has learned what it means to be

Godlike in the use of power.

And so, this moment of reconciliation between brothers

begins the final chapter of Joseph’s story. It will be

focused entirely on the future. Joseph lives to see his

great-grandchildren, and when it is time for his journey

to end, Joseph is surrounded by his brothers. He

speaks aloud the promise that God will lead them out

of Egypt, and he makes this request: carry my bones

to the promised land…the home of my ancestors, the

resting place of my father. And with that, Joseph’s wild

and winding journey leads him back to what has always

mattered most. He dies surrounded by his family.

Of course, the story continues. Marilynne Robinson

writes, “Genesis can hardly be said to end…The whole

great literature of scripture, unfolding over centuries,

will proceed on the terms established by this book.”

Joseph’s family remains in Egypt. When a new Pharaoh

rises to power, they spend four hundred years as

captives in that land. They are centuries of silence only

broken when God hears their cries and responds with

liberation. Let my people go. When God’s people are

freed, their leader Moses carries with him the bones of

Joseph. In other words, they do not forget this sacred

act of grace, this Godlike restraint. But more than that,

they inscribe it in the law.

When Moses delivers God’s commandments to his

people, expectations of compassion are rooted in this

collective experience. Look it up. Exodus 23:9: “You shall

not oppress a stranger among you, for you know the

heart of a stranger. You were a stranger in the land of

Egypt.” People of God, listen to this. We are commanded

to identify with the most vulnerable to abuse. We are not

permitted to turn away from those in deepest need and

call ourselves faithful while doing it. On every page of

our sacred text, Godlike compassion begins with those

who need it the most. In the scripture it’s the orphan,

the widow, the alien. And in our time, very little has

changed. We are meant to identify with the strangers

whose lives are at great risk. With no place to call home.

With not enough food to fill their empty bellies. With

voices silenced by hatred and hearts filled with fear.

Without protection or provision.

You must know that retribution, rage, and ruthlessness

are the ways of Pharaoh. And yes, from the vantage

point of human power, they are efficient. They get

the job done, if the job is consolidation of power and

subjugation of enemies.

But to be Godlike is to follow a different path. To see in

the stranger a sibling, in the foreigner a member of your

family, in the impoverished an imprint of God’s image.

Joseph looked on his brothers with the eyes of the

divine, and he used his power to serve. He ended this

life with a deep sense of fulfillment. He did his part. His

memory endures as a blessing.

Scripture is not subtle here. There will be a reckoning.

Somewhere, sometime, the question will be asked:

When members of your human family stood before you

in need, what did you see? What did you say? What did

you do? When the opportunity was before you, how

did you respond? May the record show that we served

the God whose sovereign will is rooted in mercy. Let us

leave no doubt in the minds of those who come after

us that we chose compassion, even when it was hard.

Because while the story of God goes on, our days will

come to an end. O God, give us the courage and the

wisdom to extend the grace you have so freely given.