Original Meaning

Blessing of Ephraim and Manasseh (48:1–22)

IN THIS SECOND transition segment Jacob adopts Ephraim and Manasseh as replacements for Reuben and Simeon. The translation by the NIV blurs this by rendering 48:5 “just as Reuben and Simeon are mine.” A literal translation of the Hebrew reads: “Like Reuben and Simeon they will be to me.” That is, they become the firstborn sons of Jacob.2 This, in effect, provides the double portion of the firstborn’s inheritance to Joseph, though in a roundabout way. Theoretically, Joseph receives his portion, while Ephraim and Manasseh receive the portions of Reuben and Simeon, giving Joseph three shares. At the same time, it is still possible that Judah receives the double portion, though 48:22 suggests that Joseph has that role (cf. 1 Chron. 5:1–2).

Jacob begins his speech by recapitulating the covenant promises (48:3–4). The connection of this to the adoption proceedings is unclear until the discussion turns to the inheritance of property at the end of verse 6. The land was given to him, and this adoption dictates how he will allocate it. Likewise, verse 7 may seem like pointless rambling until we make the connection that Jacob legitimates the adoption of Ephraim and Manasseh on the basis of the premature demise of Rachel. Just as a man who dies without children can have his line perpetuated by his surviving widow’s production of descendants that become legally his (the levirate marriage carried out by his brother), so Jacob sees Rachel’s line, prematurely cut short, as perpetuated by her survivor, Joseph. Jacob thus considers Joseph’s two sons as legally his. He lost Rachel during his wandering years (v. 7), and Ephraim and Manasseh were born before his wandering came to a conclusion in Egypt (v. 5).

The ceremony begins in verse 8 with the question, “Who are these?” This question is not indication of Jacob’s blindness but the initiation of the ceremony, just as in modern-day weddings when, near the beginning, the minister may ask, “Who gives this woman to be married to this man?” The ceremonial response, “Her mother and I do” is also paralleled in Joseph’s ceremonial response. The sons were given by God, and they are the very ones born in Egypt (v. 9), thus meeting Jacob’s criteria for the adoption. The ceremony continues without delay or surprise until, despite Joseph’s careful arrangement, and then his verbal protest, Jacob insists on favoring the younger Ephraim over his older brother. As surprising as this appears to be to Joseph, to the readers of Genesis it occasions only a wry grin (here we go again!). This recurring motif could well stand as a testimony to grace as blessing comes to those who have least reason to expect it.3

The actual blessing occurs in 48:15–16, 20. Since Ephraim and Manasseh have no natural brothers, there is no reference to domination over brothers. Likewise, the common element of fertility of the land is absent. Only the blessing for large families is here. In this way it can be seen as differing from the normal patriarchal pronouncements. Of course, being primarily an adoption pronouncement (v. 16b), this is to be expected. The only real oddity4 in the blessing is the reference to the angel (v. 16a). The grammatical parallel indicates that the angel need not be a title for deity (as implied by the capitalization used in the NIV) but may simply be positioned parallel to God:

the God [definite noun] who was shepherding [participle as attributive adjective modifying God] me [suffixed direct object marker],

the angel [definite noun] who was delivering [participle as attributive adjective modifying angel] me [suffixed direct object marker]

In other words, Jacob is blessing Ephraim and Manasseh by putting them under the care of God, who shepherds, under his angel, who delivers.

That a blessing on Joseph is also specifically included can be seen in verse 22, which has, like 47:31, been consistently elusive to translators. Many different options have been considered and suggested, with no clear consensus. The technical commentaries or monograph treatments (such as that of R. De Hoop) provide a comprehensive history of the various interpretive attempts along with their strengths and weaknesses. There are two main issues here: (1) How should we translate the Hebrew word škm (NIV, “ridge of land”; NIV margin, “portion”; LXX, “Shechem”; cf. NRSV margin: “Or mountain slope [Heb shekem, a play on the name of the town and district of Shechem]”) and the word “one” that follows it? (2) How should we explain this claimed conquest historically?

In terms of translation, I am inclined to follow De Hoop and E. A. Speiser: “And I, I give Shechem to you—O one above your brothers—which I took from the hand of the Amorites with my sword and my bow.”5 Historically, this must refer to the conquest of Shechem (or should we call it the slaughter of the Shechemites?) by Simeon and Levi. Jacob did not approve of this act and was not proud of it, but it was irreversible and undeniable. The land is therefore his to give, since it was taken in his name and by his clan. This justifies his use of the first person (“I took”). In this blessing, Joseph is given immediate clan leadership (as one over his brothers), though, as the next chapter’s blessing will indicate, Judah is destined for eventual tribal rule.

Bridging Contexts

MANASSEH-EPHRAIM AND TRIBAL STATUS. Imagine the impact that the blessing of Genesis 48 has on the tribes of Israel that sit as the audience to this text. (1) The two tribes originally privileged by birth order, Reuben and Simeon, have been displaced and relegated to lowly entitlements.

(2) Ephraim and Manasseh have become two of the more prominent and powerful tribes. Together they represent a power block that rivals Judah in prestige and territory. This stands for Israel as a historical lesson in the rewards of faithfulness (Joseph) and the penalties assessed for violence and lack of self-control. If the audience for this book is the Israelites in the desert (as we have been suggesting), these lessons are pertinent as they prepare to enter the land—refraining from senseless violence against the people of the land and exerting self-control in the process.

(3) The elevation of the younger son, Ephraim, over the elder, Manasseh, not only continues a pattern that has characterized the patriarchal period but signals the eventual emergence of Ephraim as the dominant tribe. This is one of the ways that the book is making a transition from the ancestor stories to the author’s present Israelite audience.

Function of the blessing in the narrative. By the time we come to this last patriarchal pronouncement, the issues of land and family have been settled for the time being. The seed of Abraham will be out of the land for some centuries. They have settled in Egypt. The family is well established, a distinct clan, separated from the Canaanites and isolated from the Egyptians. But what is the status of the blessing? In the preceding narrative, it was through Joseph that all the nations of the earth were blessed. One of the major accomplishments of Genesis 49 is its indication of the future track of blessing. Though Joseph receives the double share and therefore is himself blessed, we are introduced to a new and distinct way that, in the future, all the nations of the earth will be blessed through the line of Judah. Leadership will pass to his tribe.

This last portion of Genesis features a number of important transitions. Genesis 47:29 begins the first of three transition sections from Jacob to the next generation. As proposed in the treatment of Original Meaning, 47:29–31 represents the transition that passes clan leadership to Joseph. Genesis 48 is the transition that adopts Ephraim and Manasseh as replacements for the disgraced Reuben and Simeon. Genesis 49 is a third transition targeting the more distant future, when the tribe of Judah will move into a place of leadership among the tribes. Joseph is to be leader among the sons; Judah is to be leader among the tribes. The unfolding of the canon will eventually find in this the specific targets of David and Jesus.

“Am I in the place of God?” (50:19). It is one thing to recognize the sovereignty of God. It is another thing to keep oneself and one’s role in proper perspective. The Israelites in the desert, to whom Moses is addressing the book, have a clear illustration of this before them in Moses himself. By nature Moses was a humble man. But on one occasion he was driven to the end of his patience with the doubting and complaining Israelites. Rather than serve as the humble instrument of God’s provision, he wielded the staff of God’s power as if it were his own: “Listen, you rebels, must we bring you water out of this rock?” (Num. 20:10). The minute he took on himself the role of power, he forfeited his position of privilege, for God will brook no rival.

Joseph not only has a firm picture of who God is, but he has the equally important understanding of what he himself is not. When Jacob used the same rhetorical question of 50:19 in response to Rachel’s frustration about her barren condition (30:2), he was confessing his inability to assume the role of deity (cf. the comments of King Joram of Israel in 2 Kings 5:7). In contrast, Joseph’s use of this rhetorical question reflects his commitment to restraint. He refuses to take on the role. Being in a position of power over others is not in and of itself a license to use that power. To use that power more often than not leads to the abuse of power.

If Joseph’s leadership in the clan can be seen as a precursor and model for Judah’s eventual leadership of the tribes and the nation, perhaps we can say that this should stand as a lesson to the Davidic kings in the restraint that should characterize those in positions of power. The kings of Judah were to see themselves as God’s representatives and instruments. As such they were supposed to reveal what his kingship was like. This role would be compromised if they abused the power with which they had been entrusted.

God intended it for good. I would submit that 50:20 is not just the lesson of the Joseph story, but the conclusion of the book of Genesis as well. In the first chapter we saw God’s introduction of blessing. Once the decision of rebellion was made, sin and blessing continued apace. Why did God create a world that he knew would go awry? Why did God allow the serpent into the garden? Why did God not eliminate sin as soon as it started? Why do we live in a fallen world? Why is there evil and suffering? Whatever we intend for evil, God intends for good.

As God reveals this simple truth about himself, many other attributes fall into place. His sovereignty, his love, his mercy, his justice, his faithfulness, his goodness—all of these are revealed about God as we stand on the sidelines of Genesis and watch him work in the world. Moses’ audience not only gains a perspective on their history; they gain a perspective on their years of slavery, on their rebellion in the desert, and on the intimidating Canaanites. Evil cannot triumph. Blessing will prevail. Obstacles will melt away. God’s revelation of his mastery and control of his creation is the message of Genesis.

Contemporary Significance

REASONS IN HISTORY. As the Israelites sit around their campfires and listen to their family histories, they learn that some of the intertribal status quo has identifiable causes, such as the offenses of Reuben and Simeon. They learn that other elements have no identifiable cause, such as the elevation of Ephraim over Manasseh. God has worked in both ways.

Perhaps this can help us understand something about how we should think about God in connection with the situations we find ourselves in. Sometimes these situations have identifiable causes. We know that dysfunctionality has certain inevitable results that reverberate from one generation to another. In that sense we are all products of the choices of the generations that have preceded us. Nevertheless, for some situations no one can be considered at fault—there is nowhere to place the blame. We should never confuse God’s punishment with God’s providence.

Self-righteousness. It is interesting that Genesis never takes the time to try to explain how the brothers were punished for their treatment of Joseph. It would have been easy for Joseph to feel self-righteous. He was the victim who had been given the opportunity for payback. Revenge could easily have been masked by adopting the role of the “rod of God” and portraying himself as God’s instrument of justice and retribution.

Joseph does not take the easy way, for which we can admire him. But if you have read this commentary from the start, you know exactly what my next comment will be. The message of Genesis 50:19 is not that no one should try to take the place of God by taking revenge into his or her own hands. As true as that may be, Joseph’s comment in this verse is only the introduction to verse 20, which in reality offers the key teaching of the chapter, and in a way, to the book as a whole. In conclusion, then, we turn to the issue of God’s mastery of circumstances.

God’s mastery. From the introduction and throughout the commentary I have presented the book of Genesis as tracing the idea of the covenant. In the process, I contend, the book has sought to establish a case for the mastery of God. From the initial chapters that showed his mastery in bringing order out of chaos, to the development of the covenant that brought order to his relationship with the world through revelation and the overcoming of obstacles, and finally to bringing order to the world through his people (battling the chaos of famine and providing food), God has shown his mastery in creation, covenant, and history.

Each of these elements begins to provide answers to the question, “What must be subdued for God’s mastery of his kingdom to be secured?” And, of course, all of this is just the beginning. The biblical narratives continue to pursue this quest through the history of Israel as well as theologically through the redemptive history that culminates in the work of Christ. Salvation shows God’s mastery over the chaos that came about because of sin. Eventually all chaos will be subdued as God establishes his kingdom forever and the forces of chaos are finally destroyed, not just balanced, limited, or contained. This is the story of eschatology.25

How should we respond to God’s proclaimed mastery over the cosmos, over history, over nations, over generations, over families, and over the circumstances of each and every life? This is ultimately our job. Biblical narrative is often content to show us what God is like without detailing what we are to do about it. Perhaps to some extent it is considered self-evident, though there are other genres that take up the task of elaborating on human response. Some of these we call laws, while others we call psalms. Some we identify as prophetic oracles. Some are the parables and sermons of Jesus or the exhortations of the letters. But we, with the help of the Holy Spirit, must search out the connections between the narratives and the instructive genres.

As we do so, we find that all of these tell us that our life is our response—not a raised hand in the prayer-hushed auditorium, not an emotional walk down the revival aisle, not mystical meditation or a cultivation of the haunting sense of the other. The only appropriate response to God’s mastery is total submission. The only appropriate response to revelation is commitment. The essential abandonment of self-will is not defined by asceticism, sacrament, or liturgy, though for some these may light the path. The daily discipline of godliness cannot be defined by duty or devotion, though it is natural that these will result from it. Transformation must go beyond a superficial façade, and maturity must be measured not in the years but in the mileage.

How does this happen? First we must want it to happen—not just want to want it to happen. Sad to say, the true desire for a life response is often only possible when God breaks us, as he did Jacob or Judah. Self-will, self-sufficiency, self-indulgence, self-reliance, self-satisfaction, self-centeredness, self-conceit, and self-preservation do not simply go away because we tell them to. Should we ever get to the point where we bid them leave, our initial and automatic reaction will be self-congratulation that we have been so selfless! The parade of self cannot be defeated by focusing more intently on it (self-denial, self-abasement, self-deprecation)—such will only lead to a deeper self-absorption. Instead, self must be overshadowed—consumed by neediness, overwhelmed by unworthiness, filled with awe. We cannot break ourselves. God must break us when we need to be broken.

But does everyone need to be broken? As I write this, I am tormented by the awareness of the self-element because the easiest response I sense in myself is that I should be pleased to have arrived at such insight. Won’t the readers be impressed and helped by this spiritual exhortation? At the same moment I recognize a fear and unwillingness to let go, to ask God to break my own self-will. The fact is that none of us wants the hard lessons that become the instruments of God to break us. There is “a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance” (Eccl. 3:4), but we would invariably choose laughing and dancing over the alternatives.

So, frankly, we all want to know: Isn’t there another way? A less painful way? Can we only get to a life response by experiencing brokenness? Must we pray for God to break us if we hope to achieve godliness? There are a couple of reasons that suggest that the answer to that question is negative. (1) We should notice that neither Genesis nor the Bible as a whole is filled with broken people. There are occasional cases where God breaks someone, but that is not the norm.

(2) Since God is often portrayed in the metaphor of a parent, it may be fruitful for us to consider its significance to the question we have posed. Children are all different from one another. Some need their wills broken; others are fairly compliant and move along with the program of maturity without requiring a strong hold on the tether; still others can be so sensitive as to become docile at a mere glance. Consequently, we must admit that children learn discipline and reach maturity in different ways, depending on their personality. Perhaps we should expect to find no less in the area of spiritual growth.

So what about the option of education? I am not talking about the humanistic ideal of education as social redemption. I am referring to education that involves availing oneself of the knowledge of God that comes through revelation (i.e., the Bible). It is true that some learn to swim by nearly drowning. That may be the only way they could have learned. But surely others learn by taking swimming lessons and being taught stroke after stroke, by going short distances and then longer distances, by putting their heads under water, and finally by learning to dive. This latter avenue is open only to those who can overcome their fear of the water enough to take lessons. Is this how it is with godliness as well? Can we take “godliness lessons” that will help us to arrive at the same point of life commitment and victory over self-will as would be accomplished by brokenness? Peter suggests that we can in 2 Peter 1:3–4.

I had one teacher in my educational experience who believed in education through humiliation. As we gave a report in class, he would press us with questions until our research failed. When he finally caught hold of some lapse in our preparation, he would drive at it and explore it salt-like in a wound. We were intimidated; we were humiliated; we were made to feel worthless and incapable. We were broken. But there was no question about it that we learned much. We became impressed with the genius of this man because he continually demonstrated how inadequate our learning was next to his own. We resented him.

But I had another teacher, whose requirements were no less demanding. He too would ask questions that we could not answer. But the reason why we could not answer his questions was not because he found holes in our preparation but because he stimulated us to think thoughts we had never thought before. He guided us to new ways of thinking. Instead of belittling what we were, he challenged us to become more than we ever knew was possible. Again, we learned much. We became impressed with the genius of this man because he gave us a clear vision of what we could be and learn. We loved him, and we strove to be like him because we knew it would make us better students.

Not everyone who nearly drowns learns to swim, and any pagan can be broken by the circumstances of life and attribute it to deity. What kind of teacher is God? God’s solution to the plight of humankind is not to provide for systematic breaking, though the results of the Fall make us vulnerable to brokenness and in need of something to distract us from our self-will. Instead, God’s solution is self-revelation. By showing us what he is like, he gives us something to aspire to. The second teacher I talked about was sometimes confronted by a student who was unwilling to allow his mind to be expanded in the learning process. This teacher was capable of turning up the heat in such a way that in the end the simple-mindedness or stubbornness or blindness of the unwilling student was shown for what it was. Certainly this teacher could be intimidating. In the end, however, the key question was: What kind of student will I be?

Life can break us because we live in a fallen world. God can use such circumstances, for he intends them for good. Moreover, God can break us if that is the kind of student we turn out to be. But he has given us the revelation of himself in the Bible so that we may not drown in self but learn to swim toward him stroke by stroke and finally, diving in, be totally submerged in him as we submit to his will and yield our lives to his mastery.

But as committed as we may be to attain this end result, we must acknowledge that whatever path we take, the separation from self and sin cannot be painless—the surgeon must cut to heal and the builder must demolish to rebuild. Thus, we end with the prayer of John Donne (Holy Sonnet No. 14):

Batter my heart, three person’d God; for you

As yet but knock, breath, shine, and seek to mend;

That I may rise, and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend

Your force, to break, blow, burn and make me new.

I, like an usurpt town, to another due,

Labor to admit you, but Oh to no end,

Reason your viceroy in me, me should defend,

But is captiv’d and proves weak or untrue,

Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,

But am betrothed unto your enemy,

Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,

Take me to you, imprison me, for I

Except you enthrall me, shall never be free,

Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

Original Meaning

Blessing of Ephraim and Manasseh (48:1–22)

IN THIS SECOND transition segment Jacob adopts Ephraim and Manasseh as replacements for Reuben and Simeon. The translation by the NIV blurs this by rendering 48:5 “just as Reuben and Simeon are mine.” A literal translation of the Hebrew reads: “Like Reuben and Simeon they will be to me.” That is, they become the firstborn sons of Jacob.2 This, in effect, provides the double portion of the firstborn’s inheritance to Joseph, though in a roundabout way. Theoretically, Joseph receives his portion, while Ephraim and Manasseh receive the portions of Reuben and Simeon, giving Joseph three shares. At the same time, it is still possible that Judah receives the double portion, though 48:22 suggests that Joseph has that role (cf. 1 Chron. 5:1–2).

Jacob begins his speech by recapitulating the covenant promises (48:3–4). The connection of this to the adoption proceedings is unclear until the discussion turns to the inheritance of property at the end of verse 6. The land was given to him, and this adoption dictates how he will allocate it. Likewise, verse 7 may seem like pointless rambling until we make the connection that Jacob legitimates the adoption of Ephraim and Manasseh on the basis of the premature demise of Rachel. Just as a man who dies without children can have his line perpetuated by his surviving widow’s production of descendants that become legally his (the levirate marriage carried out by his brother), so Jacob sees Rachel’s line, prematurely cut short, as perpetuated by her survivor, Joseph. Jacob thus considers Joseph’s two sons as legally his. He lost Rachel during his wandering years (v. 7), and Ephraim and Manasseh were born before his wandering came to a conclusion in Egypt (v. 5).

The ceremony begins in verse 8 with the question, “Who are these?” This question is not indication of Jacob’s blindness but the initiation of the ceremony, just as in modern-day weddings when, near the beginning, the minister may ask, “Who gives this woman to be married to this man?” The ceremonial response, “Her mother and I do” is also paralleled in Joseph’s ceremonial response. The sons were given by God, and they are the very ones born in Egypt (v. 9), thus meeting Jacob’s criteria for the adoption. The ceremony continues without delay or surprise until, despite Joseph’s careful arrangement, and then his verbal protest, Jacob insists on favoring the younger Ephraim over his older brother. As surprising as this appears to be to Joseph, to the readers of Genesis it occasions only a wry grin (here we go again!). This recurring motif could well stand as a testimony to grace as blessing comes to those who have least reason to expect it.3

The actual blessing occurs in 48:15–16, 20. Since Ephraim and Manasseh have no natural brothers, there is no reference to domination over brothers. Likewise, the common element of fertility of the land is absent. Only the blessing for large families is here. In this way it can be seen as differing from the normal patriarchal pronouncements. Of course, being primarily an adoption pronouncement (v. 16b), this is to be expected. The only real oddity4 in the blessing is the reference to the angel (v. 16a). The grammatical parallel indicates that the angel need not be a title for deity (as implied by the capitalization used in the NIV) but may simply be positioned parallel to God:

the God [definite noun] who was shepherding [participle as attributive adjective modifying God] me [suffixed direct object marker],

the angel [definite noun] who was delivering [participle as attributive adjective modifying angel] me [suffixed direct object marker]

In other words, Jacob is blessing Ephraim and Manasseh by putting them under the care of God, who shepherds, under his angel, who delivers.

That a blessing on Joseph is also specifically included can be seen in verse 22, which has, like 47:31, been consistently elusive to translators. Many different options have been considered and suggested, with no clear consensus. The technical commentaries or monograph treatments (such as that of R. De Hoop) provide a comprehensive history of the various interpretive attempts along with their strengths and weaknesses. There are two main issues here: (1) How should we translate the Hebrew word škm (NIV, “ridge of land”; NIV margin, “portion”; LXX, “Shechem”; cf. NRSV margin: “Or mountain slope [Heb shekem, a play on the name of the town and district of Shechem]”) and the word “one” that follows it? (2) How should we explain this claimed conquest historically?

In terms of translation, I am inclined to follow De Hoop and E. A. Speiser: “And I, I give Shechem to you—O one above your brothers—which I took from the hand of the Amorites with my sword and my bow.”5 Historically, this must refer to the conquest of Shechem (or should we call it the slaughter of the Shechemites?) by Simeon and Levi. Jacob did not approve of this act and was not proud of it, but it was irreversible and undeniable. The land is therefore his to give, since it was taken in his name and by his clan. This justifies his use of the first person (“I took”). In this blessing, Joseph is given immediate clan leadership (as one over his brothers), though, as the next chapter’s blessing will indicate, Judah is destined for eventual tribal rule.

Bridging Contexts

MANASSEH-EPHRAIM AND TRIBAL STATUS. Imagine the impact that the blessing of Genesis 48 has on the tribes of Israel that sit as the audience to this text. (1) The two tribes originally privileged by birth order, Reuben and Simeon, have been displaced and relegated to lowly entitlements.

(2) Ephraim and Manasseh have become two of the more prominent and powerful tribes. Together they represent a power block that rivals Judah in prestige and territory. This stands for Israel as a historical lesson in the rewards of faithfulness (Joseph) and the penalties assessed for violence and lack of self-control. If the audience for this book is the Israelites in the desert (as we have been suggesting), these lessons are pertinent as they prepare to enter the land—refraining from senseless violence against the people of the land and exerting self-control in the process.

(3) The elevation of the younger son, Ephraim, over the elder, Manasseh, not only continues a pattern that has characterized the patriarchal period but signals the eventual emergence of Ephraim as the dominant tribe. This is one of the ways that the book is making a transition from the ancestor stories to the author’s present Israelite audience.

Function of the blessing in the narrative. By the time we come to this last patriarchal pronouncement, the issues of land and family have been settled for the time being. The seed of Abraham will be out of the land for some centuries. They have settled in Egypt. The family is well established, a distinct clan, separated from the Canaanites and isolated from the Egyptians. But what is the status of the blessing? In the preceding narrative, it was through Joseph that all the nations of the earth were blessed. One of the major accomplishments of Genesis 49 is its indication of the future track of blessing. Though Joseph receives the double share and therefore is himself blessed, we are introduced to a new and distinct way that, in the future, all the nations of the earth will be blessed through the line of Judah. Leadership will pass to his tribe.

This last portion of Genesis features a number of important transitions. Genesis 47:29 begins the first of three transition sections from Jacob to the next generation. As proposed in the treatment of Original Meaning, 47:29–31 represents the transition that passes clan leadership to Joseph. Genesis 48 is the transition that adopts Ephraim and Manasseh as replacements for the disgraced Reuben and Simeon. Genesis 49 is a third transition targeting the more distant future, when the tribe of Judah will move into a place of leadership among the tribes. Joseph is to be leader among the sons; Judah is to be leader among the tribes. The unfolding of the canon will eventually find in this the specific targets of David and Jesus.

“Am I in the place of God?” (50:19). It is one thing to recognize the sovereignty of God. It is another thing to keep oneself and one’s role in proper perspective. The Israelites in the desert, to whom Moses is addressing the book, have a clear illustration of this before them in Moses himself. By nature Moses was a humble man. But on one occasion he was driven to the end of his patience with the doubting and complaining Israelites. Rather than serve as the humble instrument of God’s provision, he wielded the staff of God’s power as if it were his own: “Listen, you rebels, must we bring you water out of this rock?” (Num. 20:10). The minute he took on himself the role of power, he forfeited his position of privilege, for God will brook no rival.

Joseph not only has a firm picture of who God is, but he has the equally important understanding of what he himself is not. When Jacob used the same rhetorical question of 50:19 in response to Rachel’s frustration about her barren condition (30:2), he was confessing his inability to assume the role of deity (cf. the comments of King Joram of Israel in 2 Kings 5:7). In contrast, Joseph’s use of this rhetorical question reflects his commitment to restraint. He refuses to take on the role. Being in a position of power over others is not in and of itself a license to use that power. To use that power more often than not leads to the abuse of power.

If Joseph’s leadership in the clan can be seen as a precursor and model for Judah’s eventual leadership of the tribes and the nation, perhaps we can say that this should stand as a lesson to the Davidic kings in the restraint that should characterize those in positions of power. The kings of Judah were to see themselves as God’s representatives and instruments. As such they were supposed to reveal what his kingship was like. This role would be compromised if they abused the power with which they had been entrusted.

God intended it for good. I would submit that 50:20 is not just the lesson of the Joseph story, but the conclusion of the book of Genesis as well. In the first chapter we saw God’s introduction of blessing. Once the decision of rebellion was made, sin and blessing continued apace. Why did God create a world that he knew would go awry? Why did God allow the serpent into the garden? Why did God not eliminate sin as soon as it started? Why do we live in a fallen world? Why is there evil and suffering? Whatever we intend for evil, God intends for good.

As God reveals this simple truth about himself, many other attributes fall into place. His sovereignty, his love, his mercy, his justice, his faithfulness, his goodness—all of these are revealed about God as we stand on the sidelines of Genesis and watch him work in the world. Moses’ audience not only gains a perspective on their history; they gain a perspective on their years of slavery, on their rebellion in the desert, and on the intimidating Canaanites. Evil cannot triumph. Blessing will prevail. Obstacles will melt away. God’s revelation of his mastery and control of his creation is the message of Genesis.

Contemporary Significance

REASONS IN HISTORY. As the Israelites sit around their campfires and listen to their family histories, they learn that some of the intertribal status quo has identifiable causes, such as the offenses of Reuben and Simeon. They learn that other elements have no identifiable cause, such as the elevation of Ephraim over Manasseh. God has worked in both ways.

Perhaps this can help us understand something about how we should think about God in connection with the situations we find ourselves in. Sometimes these situations have identifiable causes. We know that dysfunctionality has certain inevitable results that reverberate from one generation to another. In that sense we are all products of the choices of the generations that have preceded us. Nevertheless, for some situations no one can be considered at fault—there is nowhere to place the blame. We should never confuse God’s punishment with God’s providence.

Self-righteousness. It is interesting that Genesis never takes the time to try to explain how the brothers were punished for their treatment of Joseph. It would have been easy for Joseph to feel self-righteous. He was the victim who had been given the opportunity for payback. Revenge could easily have been masked by adopting the role of the “rod of God” and portraying himself as God’s instrument of justice and retribution.

Joseph does not take the easy way, for which we can admire him. But if you have read this commentary from the start, you know exactly what my next comment will be. The message of Genesis 50:19 is not that no one should try to take the place of God by taking revenge into his or her own hands. As true as that may be, Joseph’s comment in this verse is only the introduction to verse 20, which in reality offers the key teaching of the chapter, and in a way, to the book as a whole. In conclusion, then, we turn to the issue of God’s mastery of circumstances.

God’s mastery. From the introduction and throughout the commentary I have presented the book of Genesis as tracing the idea of the covenant. In the process, I contend, the book has sought to establish a case for the mastery of God. From the initial chapters that showed his mastery in bringing order out of chaos, to the development of the covenant that brought order to his relationship with the world through revelation and the overcoming of obstacles, and finally to bringing order to the world through his people (battling the chaos of famine and providing food), God has shown his mastery in creation, covenant, and history.

Each of these elements begins to provide answers to the question, “What must be subdued for God’s mastery of his kingdom to be secured?” And, of course, all of this is just the beginning. The biblical narratives continue to pursue this quest through the history of Israel as well as theologically through the redemptive history that culminates in the work of Christ. Salvation shows God’s mastery over the chaos that came about because of sin. Eventually all chaos will be subdued as God establishes his kingdom forever and the forces of chaos are finally destroyed, not just balanced, limited, or contained. This is the story of eschatology.25

How should we respond to God’s proclaimed mastery over the cosmos, over history, over nations, over generations, over families, and over the circumstances of each and every life? This is ultimately our job. Biblical narrative is often content to show us what God is like without detailing what we are to do about it. Perhaps to some extent it is considered self-evident, though there are other genres that take up the task of elaborating on human response. Some of these we call laws, while others we call psalms. Some we identify as prophetic oracles. Some are the parables and sermons of Jesus or the exhortations of the letters. But we, with the help of the Holy Spirit, must search out the connections between the narratives and the instructive genres.

As we do so, we find that all of these tell us that our life is our response—not a raised hand in the prayer-hushed auditorium, not an emotional walk down the revival aisle, not mystical meditation or a cultivation of the haunting sense of the other. The only appropriate response to God’s mastery is total submission. The only appropriate response to revelation is commitment. The essential abandonment of self-will is not defined by asceticism, sacrament, or liturgy, though for some these may light the path. The daily discipline of godliness cannot be defined by duty or devotion, though it is natural that these will result from it. Transformation must go beyond a superficial façade, and maturity must be measured not in the years but in the mileage.

How does this happen? First we must want it to happen—not just want to want it to happen. Sad to say, the true desire for a life response is often only possible when God breaks us, as he did Jacob or Judah. Self-will, self-sufficiency, self-indulgence, self-reliance, self-satisfaction, self-centeredness, self-conceit, and self-preservation do not simply go away because we tell them to. Should we ever get to the point where we bid them leave, our initial and automatic reaction will be self-congratulation that we have been so selfless! The parade of self cannot be defeated by focusing more intently on it (self-denial, self-abasement, self-deprecation)—such will only lead to a deeper self-absorption. Instead, self must be overshadowed—consumed by neediness, overwhelmed by unworthiness, filled with awe. We cannot break ourselves. God must break us when we need to be broken.

But does everyone need to be broken? As I write this, I am tormented by the awareness of the self-element because the easiest response I sense in myself is that I should be pleased to have arrived at such insight. Won’t the readers be impressed and helped by this spiritual exhortation? At the same moment I recognize a fear and unwillingness to let go, to ask God to break my own self-will. The fact is that none of us wants the hard lessons that become the instruments of God to break us. There is “a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance” (Eccl. 3:4), but we would invariably choose laughing and dancing over the alternatives.

So, frankly, we all want to know: Isn’t there another way? A less painful way? Can we only get to a life response by experiencing brokenness? Must we pray for God to break us if we hope to achieve godliness? There are a couple of reasons that suggest that the answer to that question is negative. (1) We should notice that neither Genesis nor the Bible as a whole is filled with broken people. There are occasional cases where God breaks someone, but that is not the norm.

(2) Since God is often portrayed in the metaphor of a parent, it may be fruitful for us to consider its significance to the question we have posed. Children are all different from one another. Some need their wills broken; others are fairly compliant and move along with the program of maturity without requiring a strong hold on the tether; still others can be so sensitive as to become docile at a mere glance. Consequently, we must admit that children learn discipline and reach maturity in different ways, depending on their personality. Perhaps we should expect to find no less in the area of spiritual growth.

So what about the option of education? I am not talking about the humanistic ideal of education as social redemption. I am referring to education that involves availing oneself of the knowledge of God that comes through revelation (i.e., the Bible). It is true that some learn to swim by nearly drowning. That may be the only way they could have learned. But surely others learn by taking swimming lessons and being taught stroke after stroke, by going short distances and then longer distances, by putting their heads under water, and finally by learning to dive. This latter avenue is open only to those who can overcome their fear of the water enough to take lessons. Is this how it is with godliness as well? Can we take “godliness lessons” that will help us to arrive at the same point of life commitment and victory over self-will as would be accomplished by brokenness? Peter suggests that we can in 2 Peter 1:3–4.

I had one teacher in my educational experience who believed in education through humiliation. As we gave a report in class, he would press us with questions until our research failed. When he finally caught hold of some lapse in our preparation, he would drive at it and explore it salt-like in a wound. We were intimidated; we were humiliated; we were made to feel worthless and incapable. We were broken. But there was no question about it that we learned much. We became impressed with the genius of this man because he continually demonstrated how inadequate our learning was next to his own. We resented him.

But I had another teacher, whose requirements were no less demanding. He too would ask questions that we could not answer. But the reason why we could not answer his questions was not because he found holes in our preparation but because he stimulated us to think thoughts we had never thought before. He guided us to new ways of thinking. Instead of belittling what we were, he challenged us to become more than we ever knew was possible. Again, we learned much. We became impressed with the genius of this man because he gave us a clear vision of what we could be and learn. We loved him, and we strove to be like him because we knew it would make us better students.

Not everyone who nearly drowns learns to swim, and any pagan can be broken by the circumstances of life and attribute it to deity. What kind of teacher is God? God’s solution to the plight of humankind is not to provide for systematic breaking, though the results of the Fall make us vulnerable to brokenness and in need of something to distract us from our self-will. Instead, God’s solution is self-revelation. By showing us what he is like, he gives us something to aspire to. The second teacher I talked about was sometimes confronted by a student who was unwilling to allow his mind to be expanded in the learning process. This teacher was capable of turning up the heat in such a way that in the end the simple-mindedness or stubbornness or blindness of the unwilling student was shown for what it was. Certainly this teacher could be intimidating. In the end, however, the key question was: What kind of student will I be?

Life can break us because we live in a fallen world. God can use such circumstances, for he intends them for good. Moreover, God can break us if that is the kind of student we turn out to be. But he has given us the revelation of himself in the Bible so that we may not drown in self but learn to swim toward him stroke by stroke and finally, diving in, be totally submerged in him as we submit to his will and yield our lives to his mastery.

But as committed as we may be to attain this end result, we must acknowledge that whatever path we take, the separation from self and sin cannot be painless—the surgeon must cut to heal and the builder must demolish to rebuild. Thus, we end with the prayer of John Donne (Holy Sonnet No. 14):

Batter my heart, three person’d God; for you

As yet but knock, breath, shine, and seek to mend;

That I may rise, and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend

Your force, to break, blow, burn and make me new.

I, like an usurpt town, to another due,

Labor to admit you, but Oh to no end,

Reason your viceroy in me, me should defend,

But is captiv’d and proves weak or untrue,

Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,

But am betrothed unto your enemy,

Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,

Take me to you, imprison me, for I

Except you enthrall me, shall never be free,

Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

Original Meaning

Jacob’s Request (47:27–31)

WE MUST NOT miss the strong covenant language in the opening verses of this section. (1) The Israelites have acquired property, albeit in Egypt (47:27). The promise for the land of Canaan (17:8) had become a reality but only on a small scale (23:4), though it had also been part of a tantalizing temptation (34:10). (2) Moreover, 47:27 indicates that the Israelites have become fruitful and multiplied. This again draws together the blessing to all humankind from 1:28 and the covenant blessing that Abraham’s family would become a great nation with many descendants. In other words, God has granted them covenant-type blessings in Egypt in a mini-fulfillment of the promises that will eventually come to full fruition only in the return to Canaan. The time in Egypt is not an interruption of the covenant but an incubation of the covenant people.

Jacob’s use of deferential language when addressing Joseph (47:29) may simply be a reflection of Joseph’s office, but as the narrative develops it seems rather to indicate a new status for Joseph as the head of the clan—a fulfillment of the dreams in Genesis 37. Typically the head of a clan was responsible for the funeral and for the continued care of the deceased. In some cultures this included funerary offerings and veneration of the ancestor, though no such practices have been observable in Abraham’s family. Minimally, it required attentive care to the gravesite and the bones of the ancestor. Popular belief in the ancient Near East attached comfort in the netherworld to a proper veneration of and care for the ancestor. Whatever the nature of Jacob’s beliefs, after death he would be entirely dependent on the head of the clan for whatever care he considered essential. The extent of Jacob’s concern is evident in his requesting Joseph to swear an oath (for the “hand under the thigh,” see comments on Gen. 24).

The idea that there is a transfer of status here also helps explain what has historically been a difficult phrase in the second half of 47:31, which the NIV translates, “Israel worshiped as he leaned on the top of his staff.” A glimpse at the NIV footnote translation (“Israel bowed down at the head of his bed”) is clear indication that something is very uncertain here.

The verb “worshiped”/“bowed” (ḥwh) refers most basically to the physical position, which in turn can be an expression of honor (to superiors) or worship (to God). The difficulty here is that no object is identified. There is no second verb in the clause; NIV adds “leaned” for clarification of the translation it has chosen. The preposition (“on”/“at”) can be translated many different ways, but on the few other occasions when it is used with this verb (Lev. 26:1; 1 Kings 1:47; Isa. 60:14; Ezek. 46:2; Zeph. 1:5) it indicates where the person bows. Though the final noun, “bed” (maṭṭa), can easily be repointed to mean “staff” (and by extension, “tribe,” maṭṭeh), the context of a deathbed scene makes the former more likely.

This word for “bed” also occurs two other times in the near context (48:2; 49:33). What does it mean to bow at one’s bed? Most helpful is 1 Kings 1:47, where David bows on his bed (different word for “bed” from Gen. 47:31) when news is brought that his kingdom has been securely passed to Solomon. In Akkadian rituals, figurines were set up at the head of a bed.1 If this indicates that one’s divine protector is positioned at the head of the bed, bowing down at the bed acknowledges divine care and protection. We can conclude, then, that Jacob’s bowing at the head of his bed is an acknowledgement of divine care that has allowed him to pass clan leadership successfully to his son Joseph.

Bridging Contexts

MANASSEH-EPHRAIM AND TRIBAL STATUS. Imagine the impact that the blessing of Genesis 48 has on the tribes of Israel that sit as the audience to this text. (1) The two tribes originally privileged by birth order, Reuben and Simeon, have been displaced and relegated to lowly entitlements.

(2) Ephraim and Manasseh have become two of the more prominent and powerful tribes. Together they represent a power block that rivals Judah in prestige and territory. This stands for Israel as a historical lesson in the rewards of faithfulness (Joseph) and the penalties assessed for violence and lack of self-control. If the audience for this book is the Israelites in the desert (as we have been suggesting), these lessons are pertinent as they prepare to enter the land—refraining from senseless violence against the people of the land and exerting self-control in the process.

(3) The elevation of the younger son, Ephraim, over the elder, Manasseh, not only continues a pattern that has characterized the patriarchal period but signals the eventual emergence of Ephraim as the dominant tribe. This is one of the ways that the book is making a transition from the ancestor stories to the author’s present Israelite audience.

Function of the blessing in the narrative. By the time we come to this last patriarchal pronouncement, the issues of land and family have been settled for the time being. The seed of Abraham will be out of the land for some centuries. They have settled in Egypt. The family is well established, a distinct clan, separated from the Canaanites and isolated from the Egyptians. But what is the status of the blessing? In the preceding narrative, it was through Joseph that all the nations of the earth were blessed. One of the major accomplishments of Genesis 49 is its indication of the future track of blessing. Though Joseph receives the double share and therefore is himself blessed, we are introduced to a new and distinct way that, in the future, all the nations of the earth will be blessed through the line of Judah. Leadership will pass to his tribe.

This last portion of Genesis features a number of important transitions. Genesis 47:29 begins the first of three transition sections from Jacob to the next generation. As proposed in the treatment of Original Meaning, 47:29–31 represents the transition that passes clan leadership to Joseph. Genesis 48 is the transition that adopts Ephraim and Manasseh as replacements for the disgraced Reuben and Simeon. Genesis 49 is a third transition targeting the more distant future, when the tribe of Judah will move into a place of leadership among the tribes. Joseph is to be leader among the sons; Judah is to be leader among the tribes. The unfolding of the canon will eventually find in this the specific targets of David and Jesus.

“Am I in the place of God?” (50:19). It is one thing to recognize the sovereignty of God. It is another thing to keep oneself and one’s role in proper perspective. The Israelites in the desert, to whom Moses is addressing the book, have a clear illustration of this before them in Moses himself. By nature Moses was a humble man. But on one occasion he was driven to the end of his patience with the doubting and complaining Israelites. Rather than serve as the humble instrument of God’s provision, he wielded the staff of God’s power as if it were his own: “Listen, you rebels, must we bring you water out of this rock?” (Num. 20:10). The minute he took on himself the role of power, he forfeited his position of privilege, for God will brook no rival.

Joseph not only has a firm picture of who God is, but he has the equally important understanding of what he himself is not. When Jacob used the same rhetorical question of 50:19 in response to Rachel’s frustration about her barren condition (30:2), he was confessing his inability to assume the role of deity (cf. the comments of King Joram of Israel in 2 Kings 5:7). In contrast, Joseph’s use of this rhetorical question reflects his commitment to restraint. He refuses to take on the role. Being in a position of power over others is not in and of itself a license to use that power. To use that power more often than not leads to the abuse of power.

If Joseph’s leadership in the clan can be seen as a precursor and model for Judah’s eventual leadership of the tribes and the nation, perhaps we can say that this should stand as a lesson to the Davidic kings in the restraint that should characterize those in positions of power. The kings of Judah were to see themselves as God’s representatives and instruments. As such they were supposed to reveal what his kingship was like. This role would be compromised if they abused the power with which they had been entrusted.

God intended it for good. I would submit that 50:20 is not just the lesson of the Joseph story, but the conclusion of the book of Genesis as well. In the first chapter we saw God’s introduction of blessing. Once the decision of rebellion was made, sin and blessing continued apace. Why did God create a world that he knew would go awry? Why did God allow the serpent into the garden? Why did God not eliminate sin as soon as it started? Why do we live in a fallen world? Why is there evil and suffering? Whatever we intend for evil, God intends for good.

As God reveals this simple truth about himself, many other attributes fall into place. His sovereignty, his love, his mercy, his justice, his faithfulness, his goodness—all of these are revealed about God as we stand on the sidelines of Genesis and watch him work in the world. Moses’ audience not only gains a perspective on their history; they gain a perspective on their years of slavery, on their rebellion in the desert, and on the intimidating Canaanites. Evil cannot triumph. Blessing will prevail. Obstacles will melt away. God’s revelation of his mastery and control of his creation is the message of Genesis.

Contemporary Significance

REASONS IN HISTORY. As the Israelites sit around their campfires and listen to their family histories, they learn that some of the intertribal status quo has identifiable causes, such as the offenses of Reuben and Simeon. They learn that other elements have no identifiable cause, such as the elevation of Ephraim over Manasseh. God has worked in both ways.

Perhaps this can help us understand something about how we should think about God in connection with the situations we find ourselves in. Sometimes these situations have identifiable causes. We know that dysfunctionality has certain inevitable results that reverberate from one generation to another. In that sense we are all products of the choices of the generations that have preceded us. Nevertheless, for some situations no one can be considered at fault—there is nowhere to place the blame. We should never confuse God’s punishment with God’s providence.

Self-righteousness. It is interesting that Genesis never takes the time to try to explain how the brothers were punished for their treatment of Joseph. It would have been easy for Joseph to feel self-righteous. He was the victim who had been given the opportunity for payback. Revenge could easily have been masked by adopting the role of the “rod of God” and portraying himself as God’s instrument of justice and retribution.

Joseph does not take the easy way, for which we can admire him. But if you have read this commentary from the start, you know exactly what my next comment will be. The message of Genesis 50:19 is not that no one should try to take the place of God by taking revenge into his or her own hands. As true as that may be, Joseph’s comment in this verse is only the introduction to verse 20, which in reality offers the key teaching of the chapter, and in a way, to the book as a whole. In conclusion, then, we turn to the issue of God’s mastery of circumstances.

God’s mastery. From the introduction and throughout the commentary I have presented the book of Genesis as tracing the idea of the covenant. In the process, I contend, the book has sought to establish a case for the mastery of God. From the initial chapters that showed his mastery in bringing order out of chaos, to the development of the covenant that brought order to his relationship with the world through revelation and the overcoming of obstacles, and finally to bringing order to the world through his people (battling the chaos of famine and providing food), God has shown his mastery in creation, covenant, and history.

Each of these elements begins to provide answers to the question, “What must be subdued for God’s mastery of his kingdom to be secured?” And, of course, all of this is just the beginning. The biblical narratives continue to pursue this quest through the history of Israel as well as theologically through the redemptive history that culminates in the work of Christ. Salvation shows God’s mastery over the chaos that came about because of sin. Eventually all chaos will be subdued as God establishes his kingdom forever and the forces of chaos are finally destroyed, not just balanced, limited, or contained. This is the story of eschatology.25

How should we respond to God’s proclaimed mastery over the cosmos, over history, over nations, over generations, over families, and over the circumstances of each and every life? This is ultimately our job. Biblical narrative is often content to show us what God is like without detailing what we are to do about it. Perhaps to some extent it is considered self-evident, though there are other genres that take up the task of elaborating on human response. Some of these we call laws, while others we call psalms. Some we identify as prophetic oracles. Some are the parables and sermons of Jesus or the exhortations of the letters. But we, with the help of the Holy Spirit, must search out the connections between the narratives and the instructive genres.

As we do so, we find that all of these tell us that our life is our response—not a raised hand in the prayer-hushed auditorium, not an emotional walk down the revival aisle, not mystical meditation or a cultivation of the haunting sense of the other. The only appropriate response to God’s mastery is total submission. The only appropriate response to revelation is commitment. The essential abandonment of self-will is not defined by asceticism, sacrament, or liturgy, though for some these may light the path. The daily discipline of godliness cannot be defined by duty or devotion, though it is natural that these will result from it. Transformation must go beyond a superficial façade, and maturity must be measured not in the years but in the mileage.

How does this happen? First we must want it to happen—not just want to want it to happen. Sad to say, the true desire for a life response is often only possible when God breaks us, as he did Jacob or Judah. Self-will, self-sufficiency, self-indulgence, self-reliance, self-satisfaction, self-centeredness, self-conceit, and self-preservation do not simply go away because we tell them to. Should we ever get to the point where we bid them leave, our initial and automatic reaction will be self-congratulation that we have been so selfless! The parade of self cannot be defeated by focusing more intently on it (self-denial, self-abasement, self-deprecation)—such will only lead to a deeper self-absorption. Instead, self must be overshadowed—consumed by neediness, overwhelmed by unworthiness, filled with awe. We cannot break ourselves. God must break us when we need to be broken.

But does everyone need to be broken? As I write this, I am tormented by the awareness of the self-element because the easiest response I sense in myself is that I should be pleased to have arrived at such insight. Won’t the readers be impressed and helped by this spiritual exhortation? At the same moment I recognize a fear and unwillingness to let go, to ask God to break my own self-will. The fact is that none of us wants the hard lessons that become the instruments of God to break us. There is “a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance” (Eccl. 3:4), but we would invariably choose laughing and dancing over the alternatives.

So, frankly, we all want to know: Isn’t there another way? A less painful way? Can we only get to a life response by experiencing brokenness? Must we pray for God to break us if we hope to achieve godliness? There are a couple of reasons that suggest that the answer to that question is negative. (1) We should notice that neither Genesis nor the Bible as a whole is filled with broken people. There are occasional cases where God breaks someone, but that is not the norm.

(2) Since God is often portrayed in the metaphor of a parent, it may be fruitful for us to consider its significance to the question we have posed. Children are all different from one another. Some need their wills broken; others are fairly compliant and move along with the program of maturity without requiring a strong hold on the tether; still others can be so sensitive as to become docile at a mere glance. Consequently, we must admit that children learn discipline and reach maturity in different ways, depending on their personality. Perhaps we should expect to find no less in the area of spiritual growth.

So what about the option of education? I am not talking about the humanistic ideal of education as social redemption. I am referring to education that involves availing oneself of the knowledge of God that comes through revelation (i.e., the Bible). It is true that some learn to swim by nearly drowning. That may be the only way they could have learned. But surely others learn by taking swimming lessons and being taught stroke after stroke, by going short distances and then longer distances, by putting their heads under water, and finally by learning to dive. This latter avenue is open only to those who can overcome their fear of the water enough to take lessons. Is this how it is with godliness as well? Can we take “godliness lessons” that will help us to arrive at the same point of life commitment and victory over self-will as would be accomplished by brokenness? Peter suggests that we can in 2 Peter 1:3–4.

I had one teacher in my educational experience who believed in education through humiliation. As we gave a report in class, he would press us with questions until our research failed. When he finally caught hold of some lapse in our preparation, he would drive at it and explore it salt-like in a wound. We were intimidated; we were humiliated; we were made to feel worthless and incapable. We were broken. But there was no question about it that we learned much. We became impressed with the genius of this man because he continually demonstrated how inadequate our learning was next to his own. We resented him.

But I had another teacher, whose requirements were no less demanding. He too would ask questions that we could not answer. But the reason why we could not answer his questions was not because he found holes in our preparation but because he stimulated us to think thoughts we had never thought before. He guided us to new ways of thinking. Instead of belittling what we were, he challenged us to become more than we ever knew was possible. Again, we learned much. We became impressed with the genius of this man because he gave us a clear vision of what we could be and learn. We loved him, and we strove to be like him because we knew it would make us better students.

Not everyone who nearly drowns learns to swim, and any pagan can be broken by the circumstances of life and attribute it to deity. What kind of teacher is God? God’s solution to the plight of humankind is not to provide for systematic breaking, though the results of the Fall make us vulnerable to brokenness and in need of something to distract us from our self-will. Instead, God’s solution is self-revelation. By showing us what he is like, he gives us something to aspire to. The second teacher I talked about was sometimes confronted by a student who was unwilling to allow his mind to be expanded in the learning process. This teacher was capable of turning up the heat in such a way that in the end the simple-mindedness or stubbornness or blindness of the unwilling student was shown for what it was. Certainly this teacher could be intimidating. In the end, however, the key question was: What kind of student will I be?

Life can break us because we live in a fallen world. God can use such circumstances, for he intends them for good. Moreover, God can break us if that is the kind of student we turn out to be. But he has given us the revelation of himself in the Bible so that we may not drown in self but learn to swim toward him stroke by stroke and finally, diving in, be totally submerged in him as we submit to his will and yield our lives to his mastery.

But as committed as we may be to attain this end result, we must acknowledge that whatever path we take, the separation from self and sin cannot be painless—the surgeon must cut to heal and the builder must demolish to rebuild. Thus, we end with the prayer of John Donne (Holy Sonnet No. 14):

Batter my heart, three person’d God; for you

As yet but knock, breath, shine, and seek to mend;

That I may rise, and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend

Your force, to break, blow, burn and make me new.

I, like an usurpt town, to another due,

Labor to admit you, but Oh to no end,

Reason your viceroy in me, me should defend,

But is captiv’d and proves weak or untrue,

Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,

But am betrothed unto your enemy,

Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,

Take me to you, imprison me, for I

Except you enthrall me, shall never be free,

Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

Original Meaning

Jacob’s Request (47:27–31)

WE MUST NOT miss the strong covenant language in the opening verses of this section. (1) The Israelites have acquired property, albeit in Egypt (47:27). The promise for the land of Canaan (17:8) had become a reality but only on a small scale (23:4), though it had also been part of a tantalizing temptation (34:10). (2) Moreover, 47:27 indicates that the Israelites have become fruitful and multiplied. This again draws together the blessing to all humankind from 1:28 and the covenant blessing that Abraham’s family would become a great nation with many descendants. In other words, God has granted them covenant-type blessings in Egypt in a mini-fulfillment of the promises that will eventually come to full fruition only in the return to Canaan. The time in Egypt is not an interruption of the covenant but an incubation of the covenant people.

Jacob’s use of deferential language when addressing Joseph (47:29) may simply be a reflection of Joseph’s office, but as the narrative develops it seems rather to indicate a new status for Joseph as the head of the clan—a fulfillment of the dreams in Genesis 37. Typically the head of a clan was responsible for the funeral and for the continued care of the deceased. In some cultures this included funerary offerings and veneration of the ancestor, though no such practices have been observable in Abraham’s family. Minimally, it required attentive care to the gravesite and the bones of the ancestor. Popular belief in the ancient Near East attached comfort in the netherworld to a proper veneration of and care for the ancestor. Whatever the nature of Jacob’s beliefs, after death he would be entirely dependent on the head of the clan for whatever care he considered essential. The extent of Jacob’s concern is evident in his requesting Joseph to swear an oath (for the “hand under the thigh,” see comments on Gen. 24).

The idea that there is a transfer of status here also helps explain what has historically been a difficult phrase in the second half of 47:31, which the NIV translates, “Israel worshiped as he leaned on the top of his staff.” A glimpse at the NIV footnote translation (“Israel bowed down at the head of his bed”) is clear indication that something is very uncertain here.

The verb “worshiped”/“bowed” (ḥwh) refers most basically to the physical position, which in turn can be an expression of honor (to superiors) or worship (to God). The difficulty here is that no object is identified. There is no second verb in the clause; NIV adds “leaned” for clarification of the translation it has chosen. The preposition (“on”/“at”) can be translated many different ways, but on the few other occasions when it is used with this verb (Lev. 26:1; 1 Kings 1:47; Isa. 60:14; Ezek. 46:2; Zeph. 1:5) it indicates where the person bows. Though the final noun, “bed” (maṭṭa), can easily be repointed to mean “staff” (and by extension, “tribe,” maṭṭeh), the context of a deathbed scene makes the former more likely.

This word for “bed” also occurs two other times in the near context (48:2; 49:33). What does it mean to bow at one’s bed? Most helpful is 1 Kings 1:47, where David bows on his bed (different word for “bed” from Gen. 47:31) when news is brought that his kingdom has been securely passed to Solomon. In Akkadian rituals, figurines were set up at the head of a bed.1 If this indicates that one’s divine protector is positioned at the head of the bed, bowing down at the bed acknowledges divine care and protection. We can conclude, then, that Jacob’s bowing at the head of his bed is an acknowledgement of divine care that has allowed him to pass clan leadership successfully to his son Joseph.

Bridging Contexts

MANASSEH-EPHRAIM AND TRIBAL STATUS. Imagine the impact that the blessing of Genesis 48 has on the tribes of Israel that sit as the audience to this text. (1) The two tribes originally privileged by birth order, Reuben and Simeon, have been displaced and relegated to lowly entitlements.

(2) Ephraim and Manasseh have become two of the more prominent and powerful tribes. Together they represent a power block that rivals Judah in prestige and territory. This stands for Israel as a historical lesson in the rewards of faithfulness (Joseph) and the penalties assessed for violence and lack of self-control. If the audience for this book is the Israelites in the desert (as we have been suggesting), these lessons are pertinent as they prepare to enter the land—refraining from senseless violence against the people of the land and exerting self-control in the process.

(3) The elevation of the younger son, Ephraim, over the elder, Manasseh, not only continues a pattern that has characterized the patriarchal period but signals the eventual emergence of Ephraim as the dominant tribe. This is one of the ways that the book is making a transition from the ancestor stories to the author’s present Israelite audience.

Function of the blessing in the narrative. By the time we come to this last patriarchal pronouncement, the issues of land and family have been settled for the time being. The seed of Abraham will be out of the land for some centuries. They have settled in Egypt. The family is well established, a distinct clan, separated from the Canaanites and isolated from the Egyptians. But what is the status of the blessing? In the preceding narrative, it was through Joseph that all the nations of the earth were blessed. One of the major accomplishments of Genesis 49 is its indication of the future track of blessing. Though Joseph receives the double share and therefore is himself blessed, we are introduced to a new and distinct way that, in the future, all the nations of the earth will be blessed through the line of Judah. Leadership will pass to his tribe.

This last portion of Genesis features a number of important transitions. Genesis 47:29 begins the first of three transition sections from Jacob to the next generation. As proposed in the treatment of Original Meaning, 47:29–31 represents the transition that passes clan leadership to Joseph. Genesis 48 is the transition that adopts Ephraim and Manasseh as replacements for the disgraced Reuben and Simeon. Genesis 49 is a third transition targeting the more distant future, when the tribe of Judah will move into a place of leadership among the tribes. Joseph is to be leader among the sons; Judah is to be leader among the tribes. The unfolding of the canon will eventually find in this the specific targets of David and Jesus.

“Am I in the place of God?” (50:19). It is one thing to recognize the sovereignty of God. It is another thing to keep oneself and one’s role in proper perspective. The Israelites in the desert, to whom Moses is addressing the book, have a clear illustration of this before them in Moses himself. By nature Moses was a humble man. But on one occasion he was driven to the end of his patience with the doubting and complaining Israelites. Rather than serve as the humble instrument of God’s provision, he wielded the staff of God’s power as if it were his own: “Listen, you rebels, must we bring you water out of this rock?” (Num. 20:10). The minute he took on himself the role of power, he forfeited his position of privilege, for God will brook no rival.

Joseph not only has a firm picture of who God is, but he has the equally important understanding of what he himself is not. When Jacob used the same rhetorical question of 50:19 in response to Rachel’s frustration about her barren condition (30:2), he was confessing his inability to assume the role of deity (cf. the comments of King Joram of Israel in 2 Kings 5:7). In contrast, Joseph’s use of this rhetorical question reflects his commitment to restraint. He refuses to take on the role. Being in a position of power over others is not in and of itself a license to use that power. To use that power more often than not leads to the abuse of power.

If Joseph’s leadership in the clan can be seen as a precursor and model for Judah’s eventual leadership of the tribes and the nation, perhaps we can say that this should stand as a lesson to the Davidic kings in the restraint that should characterize those in positions of power. The kings of Judah were to see themselves as God’s representatives and instruments. As such they were supposed to reveal what his kingship was like. This role would be compromised if they abused the power with which they had been entrusted.

God intended it for good. I would submit that 50:20 is not just the lesson of the Joseph story, but the conclusion of the book of Genesis as well. In the first chapter we saw God’s introduction of blessing. Once the decision of rebellion was made, sin and blessing continued apace. Why did God create a world that he knew would go awry? Why did God allow the serpent into the garden? Why did God not eliminate sin as soon as it started? Why do we live in a fallen world? Why is there evil and suffering? Whatever we intend for evil, God intends for good.

As God reveals this simple truth about himself, many other attributes fall into place. His sovereignty, his love, his mercy, his justice, his faithfulness, his goodness—all of these are revealed about God as we stand on the sidelines of Genesis and watch him work in the world. Moses’ audience not only gains a perspective on their history; they gain a perspective on their years of slavery, on their rebellion in the desert, and on the intimidating Canaanites. Evil cannot triumph. Blessing will prevail. Obstacles will melt away. God’s revelation of his mastery and control of his creation is the message of Genesis.

Contemporary Significance

REASONS IN HISTORY. As the Israelites sit around their campfires and listen to their family histories, they learn that some of the intertribal status quo has identifiable causes, such as the offenses of Reuben and Simeon. They learn that other elements have no identifiable cause, such as the elevation of Ephraim over Manasseh. God has worked in both ways.

Perhaps this can help us understand something about how we should think about God in connection with the situations we find ourselves in. Sometimes these situations have identifiable causes. We know that dysfunctionality has certain inevitable results that reverberate from one generation to another. In that sense we are all products of the choices of the generations that have preceded us. Nevertheless, for some situations no one can be considered at fault—there is nowhere to place the blame. We should never confuse God’s punishment with God’s providence.

Self-righteousness. It is interesting that Genesis never takes the time to try to explain how the brothers were punished for their treatment of Joseph. It would have been easy for Joseph to feel self-righteous. He was the victim who had been given the opportunity for payback. Revenge could easily have been masked by adopting the role of the “rod of God” and portraying himself as God’s instrument of justice and retribution.

Joseph does not take the easy way, for which we can admire him. But if you have read this commentary from the start, you know exactly what my next comment will be. The message of Genesis 50:19 is not that no one should try to take the place of God by taking revenge into his or her own hands. As true as that may be, Joseph’s comment in this verse is only the introduction to verse 20, which in reality offers the key teaching of the chapter, and in a way, to the book as a whole. In conclusion, then, we turn to the issue of God’s mastery of circumstances.

God’s mastery. From the introduction and throughout the commentary I have presented the book of Genesis as tracing the idea of the covenant. In the process, I contend, the book has sought to establish a case for the mastery of God. From the initial chapters that showed his mastery in bringing order out of chaos, to the development of the covenant that brought order to his relationship with the world through revelation and the overcoming of obstacles, and finally to bringing order to the world through his people (battling the chaos of famine and providing food), God has shown his mastery in creation, covenant, and history.

Each of these elements begins to provide answers to the question, “What must be subdued for God’s mastery of his kingdom to be secured?” And, of course, all of this is just the beginning. The biblical narratives continue to pursue this quest through the history of Israel as well as theologically through the redemptive history that culminates in the work of Christ. Salvation shows God’s mastery over the chaos that came about because of sin. Eventually all chaos will be subdued as God establishes his kingdom forever and the forces of chaos are finally destroyed, not just balanced, limited, or contained. This is the story of eschatology.25

How should we respond to God’s proclaimed mastery over the cosmos, over history, over nations, over generations, over families, and over the circumstances of each and every life? This is ultimately our job. Biblical narrative is often content to show us what God is like without detailing what we are to do about it. Perhaps to some extent it is considered self-evident, though there are other genres that take up the task of elaborating on human response. Some of these we call laws, while others we call psalms. Some we identify as prophetic oracles. Some are the parables and sermons of Jesus or the exhortations of the letters. But we, with the help of the Holy Spirit, must search out the connections between the narratives and the instructive genres.

As we do so, we find that all of these tell us that our life is our response—not a raised hand in the prayer-hushed auditorium, not an emotional walk down the revival aisle, not mystical meditation or a cultivation of the haunting sense of the other. The only appropriate response to God’s mastery is total submission. The only appropriate response to revelation is commitment. The essential abandonment of self-will is not defined by asceticism, sacrament, or liturgy, though for some these may light the path. The daily discipline of godliness cannot be defined by duty or devotion, though it is natural that these will result from it. Transformation must go beyond a superficial façade, and maturity must be measured not in the years but in the mileage.

How does this happen? First we must want it to happen—not just want to want it to happen. Sad to say, the true desire for a life response is often only possible when God breaks us, as he did Jacob or Judah. Self-will, self-sufficiency, self-indulgence, self-reliance, self-satisfaction, self-centeredness, self-conceit, and self-preservation do not simply go away because we tell them to. Should we ever get to the point where we bid them leave, our initial and automatic reaction will be self-congratulation that we have been so selfless! The parade of self cannot be defeated by focusing more intently on it (self-denial, self-abasement, self-deprecation)—such will only lead to a deeper self-absorption. Instead, self must be overshadowed—consumed by neediness, overwhelmed by unworthiness, filled with awe. We cannot break ourselves. God must break us when we need to be broken.

But does everyone need to be broken? As I write this, I am tormented by the awareness of the self-element because the easiest response I sense in myself is that I should be pleased to have arrived at such insight. Won’t the readers be impressed and helped by this spiritual exhortation? At the same moment I recognize a fear and unwillingness to let go, to ask God to break my own self-will. The fact is that none of us wants the hard lessons that become the instruments of God to break us. There is “a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance” (Eccl. 3:4), but we would invariably choose laughing and dancing over the alternatives.

So, frankly, we all want to know: Isn’t there another way? A less painful way? Can we only get to a life response by experiencing brokenness? Must we pray for God to break us if we hope to achieve godliness? There are a couple of reasons that suggest that the answer to that question is negative. (1) We should notice that neither Genesis nor the Bible as a whole is filled with broken people. There are occasional cases where God breaks someone, but that is not the norm.

(2) Since God is often portrayed in the metaphor of a parent, it may be fruitful for us to consider its significance to the question we have posed. Children are all different from one another. Some need their wills broken; others are fairly compliant and move along with the program of maturity without requiring a strong hold on the tether; still others can be so sensitive as to become docile at a mere glance. Consequently, we must admit that children learn discipline and reach maturity in different ways, depending on their personality. Perhaps we should expect to find no less in the area of spiritual growth.

So what about the option of education? I am not talking about the humanistic ideal of education as social redemption. I am referring to education that involves availing oneself of the knowledge of God that comes through revelation (i.e., the Bible). It is true that some learn to swim by nearly drowning. That may be the only way they could have learned. But surely others learn by taking swimming lessons and being taught stroke after stroke, by going short distances and then longer distances, by putting their heads under water, and finally by learning to dive. This latter avenue is open only to those who can overcome their fear of the water enough to take lessons. Is this how it is with godliness as well? Can we take “godliness lessons” that will help us to arrive at the same point of life commitment and victory over self-will as would be accomplished by brokenness? Peter suggests that we can in 2 Peter 1:3–4.

I had one teacher in my educational experience who believed in education through humiliation. As we gave a report in class, he would press us with questions until our research failed. When he finally caught hold of some lapse in our preparation, he would drive at it and explore it salt-like in a wound. We were intimidated; we were humiliated; we were made to feel worthless and incapable. We were broken. But there was no question about it that we learned much. We became impressed with the genius of this man because he continually demonstrated how inadequate our learning was next to his own. We resented him.

But I had another teacher, whose requirements were no less demanding. He too would ask questions that we could not answer. But the reason why we could not answer his questions was not because he found holes in our preparation but because he stimulated us to think thoughts we had never thought before. He guided us to new ways of thinking. Instead of belittling what we were, he challenged us to become more than we ever knew was possible. Again, we learned much. We became impressed with the genius of this man because he gave us a clear vision of what we could be and learn. We loved him, and we strove to be like him because we knew it would make us better students.

Not everyone who nearly drowns learns to swim, and any pagan can be broken by the circumstances of life and attribute it to deity. What kind of teacher is God? God’s solution to the plight of humankind is not to provide for systematic breaking, though the results of the Fall make us vulnerable to brokenness and in need of something to distract us from our self-will. Instead, God’s solution is self-revelation. By showing us what he is like, he gives us something to aspire to. The second teacher I talked about was sometimes confronted by a student who was unwilling to allow his mind to be expanded in the learning process. This teacher was capable of turning up the heat in such a way that in the end the simple-mindedness or stubbornness or blindness of the unwilling student was shown for what it was. Certainly this teacher could be intimidating. In the end, however, the key question was: What kind of student will I be?

Life can break us because we live in a fallen world. God can use such circumstances, for he intends them for good. Moreover, God can break us if that is the kind of student we turn out to be. But he has given us the revelation of himself in the Bible so that we may not drown in self but learn to swim toward him stroke by stroke and finally, diving in, be totally submerged in him as we submit to his will and yield our lives to his mastery.

But as committed as we may be to attain this end result, we must acknowledge that whatever path we take, the separation from self and sin cannot be painless—the surgeon must cut to heal and the builder must demolish to rebuild. Thus, we end with the prayer of John Donne (Holy Sonnet No. 14):

Batter my heart, three person’d God; for you

As yet but knock, breath, shine, and seek to mend;

That I may rise, and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend

Your force, to break, blow, burn and make me new.

I, like an usurpt town, to another due,

Labor to admit you, but Oh to no end,

Reason your viceroy in me, me should defend,

But is captiv’d and proves weak or untrue,

Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,

But am betrothed unto your enemy,

Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,

Take me to you, imprison me, for I

Except you enthrall me, shall never be free,

Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.