Can you think of the last time you felt homesick? I imagine most people in this room have known that experience at some time or another—whether it was your first time spending a night away from your home, or if you had to spend an extended period of time away for some reason.
There's also an opposite experience to being homesick, which is to feel completely at home in a place that is not your home. You may get this when you're fortunate enough to take a holiday and you go somewhere lovely for long enough that you start to forget that this is not home—and that at the end of your holiday, you will need to return. A season, perhaps, in a warm country where you forget what it is like to feel the drizzle.
Or maybe you have a job that takes you away from home overnight on a regular basis. This is a precarious thing, because sometimes people find, as they're doing that, that they start to forget their identity, their commitments, and their relationships back home, and live as if their life away from home for work is home.
This passage connects with all of that. Joseph and his family are in Egypt, but Egypt is not their home. But we see the pressure here as they temporarily return home for Jacob's funeral. So just listen to chapter 50 verse 11:
“When the Canaanites who lived there saw the mourning at the threshing floor of Atad, they said, ‘The Egyptians are holding a solemn ceremony of mourning.’”
Now sure, there were a great many Egyptians present who had accompanied the family, but it's interesting that the Canaanites, looking at that group, saw them—and what they saw was a bunch of Egyptians. They dressed like Egyptians, they spoke like Egyptians, and they possibly even walked like Egyptians.
I love meeting people from church in various contexts, and one thing I really enjoy doing is going to see people from church in their place of work. So just in passing, I'd love to do a bit of that after Easter. So if you work—school, office, factory, retail, I don't know—and it's the kind of place where it's not super secure and locked down, but somewhere else where you could take me in, give me a little tour of where it is, I could just say hello to a few of your colleagues, learn a bit about what you do, see you in context—I’d love to do that. It just helps me picture people and pray for them much better. So get in touch if, after Easter, you'd love to have me to your workplace for half an hour and just show me around.
One of the more memorable ones of those I've done was someone in a previous church who worked for the Foreign Office. And what he did—he and his family—they’d be stationed overseas in an embassy for maybe three years, and then they'd be placed in London, in Whitehall, for three years. And then they would go somewhere else for another overseas placing.
So I got to have a tour of the Foreign and Commonwealth Office on Whitehall, which was really fun. There's a little back entrance where you can look through some railings, and that’s the door to Number 10 just through there—that was quite fun. They've got a lovely courtyard area in the Foreign Office, with a walkway all the way around where they occasionally lay tables and have banquets in this wonderful courtyard. I've since seen it in various movies and things. The floor of this entire courtyard is the most beautiful white marble—very striking.
But here's the thing: whenever they have a banquet there, they only ever serve white wine. I wonder why…!
Anyway, back to my friend. Why does he do three years in London, three years overseas? And here was the thing they used to do—they've since changed their approach—but what they always used to do was this: you go overseas to one country, you come back to the UK, but your next foreign posting would always be somewhere you hadn't been before. They used to never send you back to the same country twice.
Now I say—they've since learned that a bit of local knowledge takes time to accumulate and is worth nurturing. But here was their fear: if you went back to the same country twice, you might “go native”. You might start to forget that your identity is British. You've come from Great Britain, you represent Great Britain, and you will return to Great Britain. You might start to see your identity as more rooted in the country you're visiting than in the Britain that you are there to represent in an official capacity—and that is a dangerous thing. So they used to never send people to the same foreign placing twice.
Why is this passage here? That's always a good question to ask. It's really easy to read a story in the Old Testament and notice some lovely things that are relevant and that speak to us. But it's always really instructive to just pause and say: why has this been recorded? Why is it here? Why did the person who wrote this book of the Bible include it? What did they want to teach me?
And that's especially important with narratives—stories in the Bible. It's not telling us a story so that we can then use our imaginations and work out what lessons we want to draw. The person telling the story is doing it very deliberately because they want to teach us. And in so far as you're able to inhabit the shoes of the people who first heard this, that's a really helpful way to try and work out what's going on.
Now, we don't know who originally wrote the Book of Genesis, but there is a very long-standing tradition with very strong support that would say that Moses wrote the Book of Genesis, and that he did so as Israel was perched on the edge of the Promised Land about to go in and take possession of the land that God was giving them. So that Genesis was written about the time that Moses gave his speeches in the Book of Deuteronomy.
So you think to yourself: why would Israel, perched on the edge of the plains of Moab, about to go into the Promised Land, need to know the story of Joseph before they go in? And the clue to answer that comes from the speeches.
So in this story we've just heard—Genesis 49 and 50—there are four great speeches given by characters in the story. In chapter 49, Jacob makes two speeches, and in chapter 50, Joseph makes two speeches. Each of them gives a speech first in which they bless Jacob's twelve sons, and each of them then gives a speech with instructions for their own funeral.
So Jacob blesses the twelve boys. Jacob says, “Don't bury me here in Egypt. Bury me back in Canaan.” Joseph forgives and promises to look after his brothers. And then Joseph says, “When you go back to the Promised Land, take my bones with you and bury them there.”
And these speeches are recorded to shape and colour how we hear the story as we hear it. And as we look at those speeches, I think there are two main lessons that the writer of Genesis—let's call him Moses—has for us, had for the first readers, and that we need to take on board.
1. The story did not start here
The story did not start here.
We look at both Jacob and Joseph looking back—back at the promises of God, and back at the providence of God.
The promises of God
So first, the promises of God. Jacob, chapter 49 verse 29:
“I am about to be gathered to my people. Bury me with my fathers in the cave in the field of Ephron the Hittite, the cave in the field of Machpelah, near Mamre in Canaan, which Abraham bought along with the field as a burial place from Ephron the Hittite. There Abraham and his wife Sarah were buried; there Isaac and his wife Rebecca were buried; and there I buried Leah. The field and the cave in it were bought from the Hittites.”
For Jacob, that little plot of land—the only thing they owned in the whole of Canaan—was a bit like a deposit. You know how it is if you're buying a house, or even other expensive things, maybe a car—what you often have to do is, at the time you say “I want to buy it”, you pay some of the money that you will pay towards it to put your name against it and promise that you'll buy the whole thing. And then sometime later, when you finish all your checks and paperwork and everything’s ready, you pay the rest and it becomes yours.
And for Jacob in Egypt, that little plot of land was like his deposit. God had given him that field from Ephron the Hittite. His family owned that bit. But there he was in Egypt, and he knew that one day the rest of the land would be his. And the guarantee that would happen came from the fact that they had that one field. He was not there, but that was his home.
Now, as Christians, the Bible—the New Testament—tells us that we are seated with Christ in the heavenly places. We're not actually there. We're actually in Scarborough. And no matter how fond you are of Scarborough, let me tell you—burst your bubble—this is not the heavenly realm. It's good, but it's not that good.
Most of the blessings of the Christian life are in the future, not in the present. And yet, that is home.
So maybe you go away to university, but you still have a room and some of your stuff in your parents' house. Maybe you're in your 30s, living away, working a job—you still have a room you can go back to and visit one or both parents when the time comes. Some of you are here from another country—maybe when it's time to go back somewhere (usually warmer than Britain!) and spend some time with friends and family back home, maybe you still have a room in a parent's house and some of your stuff is there, so that it feels like home.
Jacob was not there, but some of his stuff was there. And it was home.
Joseph goes further than Jacob. He doesn't just look back and say, "We own it" — he can see an even bigger picture.
Chapter 50:24 — Joseph said to his brothers, "I'm about to die, but God will surely come to your aid and take you up out of this land to the land he promised on oath to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob."
God promised on oath, so that land will not just be theirs because Joseph swore an oath to Jacob to bury him there, nor because Joseph's brothers swore an oath to Joseph to bury his bones there, but because God swore an oath.
Here's from the New Testament, the letter of Titus, chapter 1 and verse 2: "In hope of eternal life, which God, who does not lie, promised before the beginning of time."
If you are a Christian, your story starts before time even began. Before time began, God — who does not lie, cannot lie, never lies — made you a promise.
The providence of God
They look back to the promises of God, but they also look back to the providence of God. Just listen to this bit again and just enjoy this for a minute, okay?
This is Jacob describing Joseph in his blessing. This is your God. This is the God who looks after you, no matter what is happening — whether things appear to fall apart or not. This is your heavenly Father, okay? Chapter 49, verse 22:
“Joseph is a fruitful vine, a fruitful vine near a spring, whose branches climb over a wall. With bitterness archers attacked him; they shot at him with hostility. But his bow remained steady, his strong arms stayed supple, because of the hand of the Mighty One of Jacob, because of the Shepherd, the Rock of Israel, because of your father's God, who helps you, because of the Almighty, who blesses you with blessings of the skies above, blessings of the deep springs below, blessings of the breast and womb. Your father's blessings are greater than the blessings of the ancient mountains, than the bounty of the age-old hills. Let all these rest on the head of Joseph, on the brow of the prince among his brothers.”
That is your God.
Now, as Jacob dies and is buried, this creates a tension and a problem in the story. Joseph's brothers start to worry. What if the only thing stopping Joseph getting even with them — throwing them in prison, killing them — was the fact that Jacob was still alive and would be heartbroken if he sorted things out? What if that's the only reason?
And therefore, with Jacob off the scene, does that mean that now Joseph is going to come and mop up?
That's their fear. Chapter 50, verse 15:
“When Joseph's brothers saw their father was dead, they said, ‘What if Joseph holds a grudge against us and pays us back for all the wrongs we did to him?’
“So they sent word to Joseph, saying, ‘Your father left these instructions before he died: “This is what you are to say to Joseph: I ask you to forgive your brothers the sins and wrongs they committed in treating you so badly.” Now please forgive the sins of the servants of the God of your father.’
“And when their message came to him, Joseph wept.”
There's little ambiguity here whether Joseph is still prime minister of Egypt. So in Britain, our Prime Minister — I mean, you can't just turn up unannounced; you'd have to make an appointment — but he can go and see the King anytime he wants. He just has to arrange it and he is welcome to go. He is the head of His Majesty's Government.
Well, in 50:4, Joseph has to get the civil servants to pass on a message to Pharaoh, so it seems perhaps he hasn't got quite the access he used to have. He can't just go to the palace. But on the other hand, 50:16, his brothers are having to get a message to Joseph, so it seems also that Joseph doesn't quite just live next door to his brothers and they can just pop in for a cup of tea. It's a bit ambiguous. He seems to be a bit distant from them, but also not quite as close to Pharaoh as he was.
But they get a message to him, and it's a highly manipulative message.
So in this story, as we've watched it, we've seen Jacob mature greatly, and Joseph and Judah. But the other brothers — less so.
We don't actually know at this point, as readers of the story, had they ever told Jacob what they did? There was that awkward moment when they say to Jacob, "Joseph is still alive." Now what do they say next? We don't actually know. Did they tell him how they planned to kill him, threw him in a pit, sold him into slavery, thought he was gone for good — it was all down to them? "We tricked you with the..." Did they tell him that, or did they just try and brush over it somehow?
I'm guessing they probably hadn't actually owned up. So they make up this tale. They imply that Jacob has forgiven them for what they did and therefore Joseph should too.
Now, in these chapters of Genesis, frequently Joseph is the one who is in the know, while others are in the dark. So remember: he knew what would happen to the cupbearer and the baker in three days; he knew how to understand Pharaoh's dreams — but nobody else could understand them; he recognised his brothers when they came to buy food, but they didn't know who he was.
Suddenly the tables are turned. They know they're making this up. We know they're making this up. But Joseph does not know. The whole thing is a big fabrication.
And the manipulation worked. We are told that when their message came to him, Joseph wept. Four times, up to this point in the story, Joseph has wept, and each time it's been a key stage as the process moves towards reconciliation between Joseph and his brothers.
And as he reads their WhatsApp message — "Dad asked you to forgive us" — he weeps for the fifth time, and the reconciliation is complete. Joseph forgives his brothers.
But here's the thing — not because he was tricked. He forgives them because he trusted.
So here's 50:19–21:
“Joseph said to them, ‘Don't be afraid. Am I in the place of God? You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good — to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives. So don't be afraid. I will provide for you and your children.’ And he reassured them and spoke kindly to them.”
See, their aim was to harm him. God's aim was to do good and to save many lives. And he can look back and he can see that. And so, out of trusting God, he can forgive his brothers.
Joseph doesn't just look back and see God's promises right at the very beginning — he looks back at everything that's happened since those promises, and he can trace God's finger, God's handiwork. He can see God's providence — God in control, working everything that he wants.
The story did not start here.
Digression: Why does God allow bad things?
Just before we get to the second main thing I want to say, let me just take a couple of minutes to digress on something that is quite important from this passage that helps us.
I think people often ask the question, "Why does God allow people to do bad things?" So when you see murder, or people abusing other people or hurting — you say, "Why did God not step in and stop that from happening? I don't understand. Why does God let this stuff happen? Is it because they've got free will and God either couldn't or wouldn't stop it — he's somehow not in control, couldn't put the brakes on?"
This passage is a really important passage to answer that question. Because in this passage, we see that when you ask the question, "Who is responsible for that atrocity?" — there is more than one right answer.
Joseph's brothers did what they freely wanted to do, and it was terrible. God achieved what he wanted, and it was wonderful. Both are true. The brothers were responsible, and God was responsible.
And if you want the technical term for this — to impress your friends down the pub — this is called double causality. They wanted it. God wanted it. The question is, who is ultimately in control? The answer is: God. But who is morally responsible? The answer is: they are.
God never does evil, but he can use evil to achieve his purposes. But those who do evil things are free agents. No one makes them do what they want against their will, and so they are held fully responsible.
So there's your second little jargon label for today — the idea of responsible secondary causes.
The greatest example of all of this is the death of the Lord Jesus. Here is Acts chapter 4:27–28, where the apostles pray:
"Herod and Pontius Pilate met together with the Gentiles and the people of Israel in this city to conspire against your holy servant Jesus, whom you anointed. They did what your power and will had decided beforehand should happen."
In Jerusalem that day were great crowds of Jews and Romans. And what they did was terrible. But God achieved his purposes — saving many lives through Jesus dying on the cross — and it was wonderful.
The story for Jacob, for Joseph, and for us does not start here. The Israelites, on the edge of the promised land, about to go in, need to remember: this is not the beginning of the story. They don't get to invent themselves from this point onwards.
And if you're a Christian here today, you are part of a story in which God made you some promises before you were born, and in which his providence — his hand — has been with you, protecting you all the way through.
Romans chapter 8 — these are familiar and precious words to many people:
"We know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. For those God foreknew, he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers and sisters. Those he predestined, he also called; those he called, he also justified; and those he justified, he also glorified."
God chose you in eternity past. He will bring you to glory. And in the meantime, God uses everything that happens — including the mess and the chaos — to achieve that.
The story didn't start here.
2. The story does not end here
Secondly, the story does not end here. So, we get this lovely long section in chapter 49, as Jacob blesses the twelve sons. This is a type-scene. It's a set piece. You often get things like this in the Bible stories, where, as a hero is about to die, they pronounce blessing on their family before they go. Much of this here resembles what Isaac said to Jacob and Esau before he died.
Interestingly, with Esau, Isaac's words were a bit of a kind of non-blessing, and what Jacob has to say to some of his boys here is a bit of a kind of non-blessing. But whenever you get one of these things—it's a bit of a set piece, you know—the old man's dying and blessing his kids, it's always worth just noticing the things that stand out.
So, look at verse 1, for example: “Gather around so I can tell you what will happen to you in days to come.” So, this isn't just a blessing, it's almost a—it's a kind of—it's a prophecy as well. We're being told what will happen in the future. Many of the details in this story are set in the language of the Promised Land that they would later go and inherit.
So, we learn that Zebulun will live by the seashore—and so they did. In verse 20, we learn that Asher will be a breadbasket for the whole nation, and they were, to settle on the western slopes of the Galilean uplands, which are the most fertile part of the country of Israel. We're told in verse 27 that Benjamin: “a ravenous wolf; in the morning he devours the prey, in the evening he divides the plunder.” And so, as the history plays out, he is the tribe that is always clawing at power.
Verse 28 is interesting: “All these are the twelve tribes of Israel.” Of course, then—twelve tribes—that's not happened yet. Seventy of them left Egypt. The reason that seventy people left Egypt, by the way, is that in Genesis chapter 10, there were seventy nations. So, this little people of seventy is the beginnings of a brand new humanity. This is just 17 years later, so they're not going to be that big yet—tribes. So, you could speak, couldn't you, about the Oakley tribe. Now, that's just a turn of phrase. There are five of us—we're not a tribe, it's just a phrase. We know what it means.
“Tribes”—most of these sons of Jacob probably had a family no bigger than five or six of them. The story is not finished.
Two tribes in this passage get longer treatment than the others: Joseph—we've looked at his bit already—that's because he's the prince now. But just listen to this bit about Judah in verse 8:
“Judah, your brothers will praise you;
your hand will be on the neck of your enemies;
your father's sons will bow down to you.
You are a lion's cub, Judah;
you return from the prey, my son.
Like a lion he crouches and lies down,
like a lioness—who dares to rouse him?
The sceptre will not depart from Judah,
nor the ruler's staff from between his feet,
until he to whom it belongs shall come
and the obedience of the nations shall be his.
He will tether his donkey to a vine,
his colt to the choicest branch;
he will wash his garments in wine,
his robes in the blood of grapes.
His eyes will be darker than wine,
his teeth whiter than milk.”
It's a bit like Joseph's dreams, actually—only it's Judah's turn. He will be the ruler over his brothers, until one individual will come, the one who will rightly hold the staff of kingly rule. And that individual will be marked by strength and prosperity.
“He will tether his donkey to a vine”—that means he'll be very wealthy. Grapes were precious, so what you don't do is use, as a tethering post for your donkey, your grapevine. When you come back, all the grapes will have been eaten. His eyes sparkle, his teeth gleam—from the tribe of Judah, the tribe from which the Lord Jesus would come, the one of whom this speaks:
“Jesus shall reign where'er the sun
Does his successive journeys run;
His kingdom stretch from shore to shore,
Till moons shall wax and wane no more.”
“The obedience of the nations shall be his.”
See, this thing with Jacob is not just a blessing. The story isn't over yet. This is telling of a future—when the number of people will grow exponentially. There were millions by the time they left Egypt. It tells of the lands they will live in, the prosperity that will be theirs, and the glorious ruler who will come.
The story is not over.
And then we turn to the very end of the book. Just look at these closing verses again, and once again, we see this is not the end of the story. Joseph said to his brothers, verse 24: “I'm about to die. But God will surely come to your aid.” That's a bit ominous, isn't it? They lack nothing in Egypt—why would they need help? It's a bit like—what's this thing with Joseph asking Pharaoh's permission: “Do you mind if we take our flocks away from here and go to Canaan for a bit?” Does that ring any bells?
“God will come to your aid and take you up out of this land to the land he promised on oath to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.” And Joseph made the Israelites swear an oath and said: “God will surely come to your aid. Then you must carry my bones up from this place.” This was not Joseph's resting place. He had everything he needed in Egypt. But Egypt was not home—and they did not forget. Exodus 13:19—when they left Egypt, they did indeed take his bones with them.
But I want us to look at the very last verse of Genesis: “So Joseph died at the age of 110. And after they embalmed him, he was placed in a coffin in Egypt.” It's a bit of an anticlimax, isn't it? For the Book of Genesis—you get all the way to the end. The hero since chapter 37 has been this colourful character Joseph, and the book ends a bit like earlier in Genesis, actually: “And then he died.” The end. The hero dies. So, cliffhanger—you want to know, “Come on, there's more of the story still to come, surely?”
Think of the Bible as a Netflix programme—with not three or four seasons, but sixty-six seasons. And you know how they do it—you get to the end of season one and they deliberately throw some googly in at that point to make you go—“Oh no, I've got to watch the next season!” And that's what Genesis does. You're going, “I need to know what happens in season two now!”
What's really annoying is when Netflix look at the viewing numbers and go, “We're going to cancel season two.” Oh, come on—at least tell us how you would have resolved it! Well, the Bible didn't get cancelled. Exodus followed. Leviticus. Numbers. Deuteronomy.
Here's the exercise to do in your own time if you're interested. It's a really fun thing—it’ll take you half an hour. Turn to each book of the Bible in turn. Read the last two or three verses. And you will discover that, in almost every book of the Bible, the book ends completely incomplete—to make you look forward to the next thing.
All right—Exodus ends. How does Exodus end? They built the Tabernacle—but they couldn't go into it because God was too holy. Oh—we're going to need to read Leviticus. Deuteronomy ends—Moses: “Right, you're about to go into the land. Good luck, guys.” What? Judges: “There was no king in Israel.” Might be different if there was—but you have to read on.
Matthew's Gospel ends: “Go into all the world and make disciples of all nations.” But here's the thing. Revelation—season 66, the last one—ends, and apart from a prayer for God's grace, the last words of the Bible: “Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.” Even season 66 is designed to make you long for the chapter that is yet to be written.
The story is not over.
And God's people need this story. Because no matter how good God has been—and if you're a Christian, the answer is very, very good—so, so good—it's not the end of the story. We are looking forward to what will happen in days to come: Jesus ruling Heaven and Earth and being taken to the place that truly is home.
Conclusion
So, are you feeling spiritually homesick? If you are a Christian, God has made you a promise. He made it before he even made the world, and he's been ordering every little bit of your life—even the horrible stuff—to bring that promise about. And let me say to you: if you're feeling spiritually homesick, God will surely come to your aid and bring you up from this place.
But what if you're feeling too much at home? Maybe you're not yet a Christian. Maybe you are a Christian—living in Egypt, indistinguishable from an Egyptian. Well, God wanted his people to have the story of Joseph so that we can see the eternal perspective for our lives, so we can see the hand of God tracing back into eternity past and forward into eternity future.
Realise that you are not a spiritual Egyptian. This is not your home. If you're a Christian, you are a child of God, chosen in eternity past, sustained by the hand of God, and on the way to Heaven.