The Story - The Brothers Forgiven

God has a way of taking the broken pieces of a hopeless scene and fitting them together in a new way that's far more beautiful than ever it was before it was broken. And, for our young man Joseph, that's what He eventually did. 

For two years, Joseph remained in the Egyptian prison, forgotten by the man he'd prophesied would be freed from there. Instead of receiving a release and an apology for his unjust treatment, he had been let alone, continuing to help the prison keeper in the lonely halls of the jail. But he wasn't forgotten by God, and finally, this became apparent. 

Pharaoh dreamed a dream. The dream was troubling to him, and it was of the kind that he suspected was more meaningful than just a product of a late night and an overactive mind—and he wanted to know what it meant. As Pharaoh also had kept several magicians around for this express purpose, he called them and ordered them to interpret it, since it was their specialty. But they couldn't. 

Now, it was time for Pharaoh's cupbearer to remember. Not before, but now, when the dramatic tension is at its height. The cupbearer, likely reminded of his own dream-vision all those years ago, thinks of Joseph—and remembers his promise. The promise to help Joseph, and the promise that he never kept.
So he kept it. "I know a man," he told Pharaoh one day, "who can interpret dreams. He helped me two years ago, when I was fallen from your favor. He predicted that you would bring me back up, and as he foretold it, it came to pass." 

Pharaoh, intrigued, commanded the man to be brought to him, and Joseph was. He told him the dream. Seven plump cows, he said, were grazing on the bank of the Nile. But seven ugly cows, with no meat at all on their bones, came up and ate them all whole. And then another dream, similarly: seven healthy ears of grain were growing, but seven blighted ears came and swallowed them up. 

Joseph didn't hesitate. "The dreams of Pharaoh are one," he said; "God has revealed to Pharaoh what he is about to do." Seven years of famine will come to Egypt after seven years of plenty, and woe will betide Egypt if they don't prepare for it now. 

Pharaoh heard Joseph, and recognized that the interpretation was true. And finally, Joseph's diligence was seen, and he was beyond punishment for it. Pharaoh raised him up to a position of power, putting him in charge of all the food preparation for the famine; and Joseph prospered in this as he'd prospered in every other area of responsibility so far. 

So the curtain closes on Joseph, him being raised from a prisoner to a prosperous ruler. We're seeing a little of God's plan; but not all, just yet. The rest is yet to come. 

 

The famine came, like Joseph predicted it. And those outside of Egypt were caught unawares. 

That's right—we're back to Joseph's traitorous brothers. As they grew up, several of them matured enough that they felt guilty about what they had done to him, but it was too late now; he'd been sold off to slave traders, and who knew what had been done with him. The brothers had more important problems now, anyway. Specifically: how are we going to get food?

Meanwhile, Joseph's efforts had paid off. Egypt was well-fed, and the Pharaoh's house was prospering with the profits. People from all around were hearing that there was grain in Egypt, and coming to buy it—including the sons of Jacob. Their father sent them down to Egypt to buy grain from the Pharaoh, just so that they could live for another year.

Oh, the irony. Oh, the dramatic tension. Imagine Joseph's thoughts as he sees them walk through those palace doors. His brothers, who betrayed him and sold him into slavery, have come back to beg him for food. 

The eleven stars in the sky are bowing to him, now. The prophecy has come true. 

So Joseph came up with a plan. He knew who his brothers were, but they didn't recognize him. So he singled them out. After interrogating them about their family, he sold them the grain—but returned the money to their bags secretly before they left. When they found out, they were shocked, thinking that it was a mistake, but since it was miles away, they couldn't do anything about it. So they would just have to keep out of the man's way and hope he didn't accuse him of theft. 

Until the famine continued, and the grain ran out. And the sons of Jacob needed to return to Egypt to get more food. 

However, there was one snag. Joseph hadn't been pleased to learn that not all the brothers had come; they'd left Benjamin behind with their father. He made them promise to return later, with Benjamin, and as collateral for the promise they were forced to leave Simeon in Egypt. Now, when they needed to get more grain, they had no choice but to take Benjamin with them, or face the Pharaoh's wrath. 

So they did. Making the journey once more, they went to Joseph to beg for more food, and for Simeon's return. Joseph returned Simeon and made a show of "meeting" Benjamin once again, but after some more back-and-forth of this kind, he couldn't keep up the charade. Genesis reads that he "could no longer control himself" and "wept so loudly that the Egyptians heard him." Must've been a pretty big rush of emotion, hm? 

He explained the whole situation to his brothers. He told them of his mistreatment by Potiphar, after they had sold him into slavery; he told them of the prison, and his eventual appointment to be Pharaoh's right-hand man. And he told them that he forgave them, and that he now knew why God had planned all these troubles to happen to him. 

"You meant evil against me, but God meant it for good, to bring it about that many people should be kept alive, as they are today," he said to them. He understands, now. 

And so do we, don't we? We see why Joseph had to be betrayed by his brothers, and why he had to be cast out of Potiphar's house. Otherwise, he wouldn't have met the cupbearer in prison, and his talent as a dreamer would never have been known. 

God had planned this all from the beginning. And it's only at the end of the story, when all is said and done, that we finally see it ourselves.