THE MEETING OF JOSEPH AND BENJAMIN.
“Joseph fell upon his brother Benjamin’s neck and wept; and Benjamin
wept upon his neck” (Gen. xlv. 14). Such is the word-picture of which
one of our Engravings is a copy. There is much that is lovely and of
good report as between man and man in our natures, notwithstanding of
the fall, and one of the fountains of the heart is here broken open. We
see how brother loves brother, and, by contrast with that scene, are
enabled to understand how far the minds of Joseph’s brethren must have
been warped and deadened by hatred or envy, when they could trample as
they did upon the affection which should knit brother to brother. Such
beautiful displays of brotherly love were perhaps made in this case
just to show more clearly by contrast the hateful nature of envy in
every case, but most of all among brothers.
Prior to this stage of these proceedings, indeed, Joseph had given some
manifestations of his affection to Benjamin. He showed that his
elevation to the right hand of a throne had neither alienated nor
chilled his love; and the fivefold mess which he sent to Benjamin (Gen.
xliii. 34), according to the Eastern mode of showing affection, made it
plain that the external change in Joseph’s position had not altered his
heart. When he first set eyes on Benjamin, he could not refrain his
tears, but “sought where to weep; and he entered into his chamber, and
wept there” (verses 29–31). According to the calmer temperament of
Western nations, where self-command in such cases is more studied, such
affection may appear excessive in a high and mighty ruler; it may seem
weak or womanish thus to dissolve into tears, even in the retirement of
one’s chamber. But in less phlegmatic temperaments, and especially
among Orientals, nature takes its own mode of expression—at once the
most pathetic and the most powerful; and the gushings of natural
affection, its tenderness, its beauty, and its force, rank among the
finest portions of the Word of God. Jesus wept because Jerusalem would
none of him: it would rather rush upon ruin. The deep yearnings of his
loving heart were outraged, and he wept in anguish there, as in
Gethsemane his sweat was as it were great drops of blood. Again, Paul
could tell, even weeping, of some who were the enemies of the cross of
Christ, who gloried in their shame, and drew forth pity for men who had
no pity on themselves. In short, wherever man is not hardened into
callousness by the power of the world, or chilled by conventional
usage, he will be as prompt to weep with them that weep as to rejoice
with them that rejoice. It is true, whether poetry record it or not,
that—
“Not the bright stars which night’s blue arch adorn,
Nor rising sun which gilds the vernal morn,
Shines with such lustre as the tears that break,
For other’s woes, down Virtue’s manly cheek.”
But the scene at which Joseph made himself known to his brethren
deserves our closer attention. He wept sore, and so loudly that the
Egyptians heard him. A strange thing that day had happened in their
land; and it is not easy to conceive of the feelings of those brethren
when the ruler, so royal-like, beside them, exclaimed, “I am Joseph!”
Surely no lightning flash ever startled more. The words of Nathan to
David, “Thou art the man!” could produce no profounder emotion. In that
one clause the memory of years long past was awakened; and surely the
consciences of those men were busier now than they had ever been
before: surely the blush of confusion might well crimson their cheeks,
and the recollection of all their baseness—their cruelty to their
father, their brother, and their own souls—would rush upon their minds
with the vividness of a yesterday’s event. “They were troubled at his
presence”—the margin says “terrified.” And well they might; it was as
if one had risen from the dead, or as if a miracle had been wrought to
confront them with their sin. When he said, “I am Joseph your brother,
whom ye sold into Egypt!” would not the words sound like the first
portion of a sentence of death and execution? But he hastened to
relieve their fears. “Be not grieved,” he said, “nor angry with
yourselves, that ye sold me hither; for God did send me before you to
preserve life.” And when he “kissed all his brethren, and wept over
them,” they no doubt felt a mountain-load lifted from their minds.
Joseph had forgiven them; nay, more, he had found an excuse or
palliation for their sin. But could they forgive themselves? If they
were not utterly abandoned to guilt—and we know that they were
not—could they find rest anywhere but in the dust at that solemn,
searching moment? Oh, how would many, now undone and beyond hope for
ever, rejoice could such an hour of contrition be granted to them here!
Here, then, we may contemplate the state of these detected men, when
their sin was pressed upon their notice by their brother, all kind and
forgiving as were his words. The chief sin of all—the sale into
slavery—had been committed many years before: it seemed over and
forgotten, like a thing buried and out of sight. But no; sin has a
vitality in it which defies alike oblivion and death; it is enduring,
as the nature of God is unchanging; and the guilty brothers are thus
confronted with their sin, fresh and vigorous, as if yesterday had seen
it perpetrated. And is not this but a rehearsal or a foreshadowing of
the great and final day, when the Judge of the quick and the dead is to
set our sins in array against us, or when it will seem a relief if the
mountains would fall on us and cover us from the wrath of the Lamb?
Happy the man who has his soul washed in the Lamb’s blood preparatory
to that day! We should never forget that there is to be a resurrection
of our deeds as well as of our bodies, and should live so as to be
ready to render our account with joy.