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Then Joseph could no longer control himself before all his attendants, and he cried out, “Have everyone leave my presence!” So there was no one with Joseph when he made himself known to his brothers. 2 And he wept so loudly that the Egyptians heard him, and Pharaoh’s household heard about it.

3 Joseph said to his brothers, “I am Joseph! Is my father still living?” But his brothers were not able to answer him, because they were terrified at his presence.

4 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! 5 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. 6 For two years now there has been famine in the land, and for the next five years there will be no plowing and reaping. 7 But God sent me ahead of you to preserve for you a remnant on earth and to save your lives by a great deliverance.

Our story begins with a criminal conspiracy.

No, we’re not talking about Russian interference or coercing Ukraine to help find dirt.  That’s another sermon.  In this sermon, Joseph’s brothers conspire to murder the lad, then change their minds, then conspire to deceive their father, and break an old man’s heart.  But is it still criminal?

Conspiracy is one of those things you hear on television all the time.  If you have an appetite for procedural dramas of a criminal sort, you will know that when two or more people conspire to commit an offence, yet only one person does the deed, everyone gets charged.  In fact, doing the deed isn’t even necessary for the conspiracy charge to stick, since planning a crime is a crime itself.

And just because I’ve waited 30 years to quote a legal decision in a sermon, here is Regina v. O’Brien [1954]: “The law punishes conspiracy so that the unlawful object is not attained. It considers that several persons who agree together to commit an unlawful act, are a menace to society.”  So the next time you and a friend are eyeing the donut on my plate, and agree to split my tasty donut, think again—no one wants to be labelled a menace to society.

(Just as an aside, keep R. v. Déry, [2006] in your back pocket.  In my donut example, the Supreme Court does not include “fruitless discussions” as conspiracy.  You need to make a proper plan.)

Back to poor Joseph.  It’s not his fault that he’s his father’s favourite.  Of that he has vivid dreams that others find annoying.  Or that he can interpret the dreams of others.  Or that his father gave him a fabulous coat, the kind of coat that just screams “Broadway musical.”  Maybe Joseph was a little overbearing, or enjoyed his special status a little too much.  But a criminal conspiracy?  That’s going too far.

On the day in question, Joseph’s father has sent the lad to check up on the others, and make sure they’re doing their work.  He’s still a speck on the horizon when the brother’s decide they’ve had enough of this upstart.  They agree to kill him.  Their plan—if you could call it a plan—is to kill Joseph, throw his body in an empty cistern, and claim a wild animal did it.  

Luckily for Joseph, one brother couldn’t abide the plan.  Reuben suggested they forget the killing part and just throw him in the cistern—just teach him a lesson, I suppose.  But just then some traders appear, and the brothers hit on a new plan: sell Joseph to the Egyptbound traders, make some shekels, and then present a bloodied dreamcoat to their father.  And the plan works.  Joseph is sold on to Potiphar, the captain of the Pharaoh’s guard, and Jacob believes that his son is gone.  

But that, of course, isn’t the end of the story.  To summarize our way to today’s reading, we learn:

Some sort of Mrs. Robinson thing happens with Joseph and Potiphar's wife.

Joseph lands in jail, but uses his dream gift to impress others.

One of the impressed inmates takes word back to Pharaoh, and Joseph is released.

Joseph interprets Pharaoh's dream of fat and skinny cows, and becomes vizier.

As vizier—sort of like Prime Minister—Joseph saves the land from famine (and skinny cows).

People from the surrounding nations come to buy from Egypt’s ample supply of grain, including Joseph's own brothers.

There is some back and forth with a silver cup (see chapter 44)

And the moment finally comes for Joseph to reveal to his brothers that he is, in fact, the vizier of Egypt.

But first Joseph has a good cry.  People were a bit more emotional back then.  He has a good cry and then the reveal:

“I am Joseph! Is my father still living?” But his brothers were not able to answer him, because they were terrified at his presence.

4 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! 5 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.”

And just because they’re in shock, he says it again, and then again: “God sent me ahead of you to save your lives!  Go and get my father, and bring him along.  There will be five more years of famine, some I’m going to settle you in the nearby Land of Goshen, and I will provide for you there—for you, your children and grandchildren, your flocks and herds, and all you have.”  At this moment, he embraced his brother Benjamin, and started crying. And Benjamin hugged him back, and started crying.  Then I assume everyone was crying—because afterall—it was a more emotional time.

This is the moment to ponder hugging in the Bible.  Where else do we see tearful reunions, families reunited in an emotional time?  I think you see where I’m headed.  This is really just an early telling of the prodigal son—which Jesus has recast to teach us about the Kingdom.  How does it work?

Joseph, like the prodigal, is in a faraway land, and only late in the story chooses to return home (or rather, lets home come to him).  There is lots of brotherly resentment, for Joseph on the front-end of the story, and for the prodigal at the end-end of the story.  Both stories have an element of “while he was still far off,” but with a twist.  For Joseph being far off gives his brothers occasion to plot against him, for the prodigal being far off gives the father time to plot forgiveness.  

And forgiveness is where the stories truly meet.  Yes, Joseph was forgiving from a position of good fortune, but this does not erase the pain of being sold, imprisoned, and separated from the father he loved.  He could have just as easily turned his brothers away, or imprisoned them for all they did and for all they conspired to do.  But he did not.  He chose to forgive.

Likewise, the father of the prodigal had every reason to align with the older brother.  Half his fortune wasted on profligate living.  A faithful son still by this side.  He could easily have turned the prodigal son away, and let the dead remain dead in his eyes, but he did not. He chose to forgive.  

The glue that binds these two passages is a forgiving God.  God could have acted to thwart the co-conspirators, but gave occasion to save them instead.  Joseph gives God the glory, he doesn’t claim it for himself.  It is God’s desire to preserve Joseph and by extension to save the rest of the tribe, since God has plans for all of them.  And God can forgive these brothers, even when they don’t deserve it.

And again, the parable of the prodigal son is a glimpse of God’s kingdom, where wastrels and those given to profligate living also receive forgiveness: once dead, he is alive once more—was lost, but now is found.  It is God’s desire to reach beyond resentment and “the way the world works” and forgive instead.  It is God’s desire that everyone separated from kin and clan find their way home, resting in the everlasting arms of a forgiving God.  Amen.