God's Problem (19 page)

The final quarter of the book of Genesis (chapters 37–50) is largely about how God saved the family of the patriarch Jacob (the twelve brothers whose descendants would become the twelve tribes of Israel) from a famine that swept through the land, threatening to destroy its inhabitants, the forebears of the nation of Israel; had the famine succeeded it would have annulled the promise that God had given Jacob’s grandfather Abraham, to make of him a great nation (the Jewish people). The story is a bit complicated but wonderfully told. It begins long before the famine with a tragic instance of familial discord in which one of the brothers is abused and sold into slavery—suffering, as we will see, that was all part of the divine plan.

Jacob (whose other name was “Israel”) had twelve sons from a variety of wives, back in the days when there was more to worry about than a polygamous relationship here or there; his favorite was Joseph, upon whom he showered special favors, including “a “long robe with sleeves” (traditionally rendered as “a many-colored robe”). Jacob’s favoritism stirred up some jealousy among the brothers, all of whom (except Benjamin) were older. The problem was exacerbated when Joseph had two dreams. In the first, he and his brothers were binding sheaves of grain in the field, and all the other sheaves bowed down to his. In the other dream, he saw the sun, moon, and eleven stars bowing down to him. His brothers got the point: Joseph was claiming that one day they (along with his mother and father) would all be subservient to him (Gen. 37:1–11).

The brothers did not much like this idea and, sweet-tempered fellows that they were, decided to kill Joseph (Gen. 37:18–20). Brother Reuben urged them, however, not to kill Joseph but to cast him into a pit. As it turned out, a caravan passed by, and another brother, Judah, convinced the others to sell Joseph to the Midianite traders as a slave. The traders took him off to Egypt, and the brothers took Joseph’s special robe, dipped it in goat’s blood, and brought
it back to his father, who concluded with some agony that Joseph must have been eaten by a wild beast.

Meanwhile Joseph became successful as a slave in Egypt, because “the L
ORD
was with him”; his owner, Potiphar, was a wealthy aristocrat, and Joseph was made the chief overseer of his entire estate. Potiphar’s wife, however, developed a romantic crush on the handsome young slave. When he refused to sleep with her, she cried rape, and Joseph was hauled off to prison. He succeeded even in prison, however, because “the L
ORD
was with him,” and he was put in charge by the chief jailor (chapter 39). In prison, Joseph proved to be a remarkably reliable interpreter of dreams, so that after some years, when the Pharaoh of Egypt had a couple of disturbing dreams, his servants let him know that there was a prisoner who could interpret them for him.

Pharaoh had dreamed of seven “sleek and fat cows” grazing by the Nile who were devoured by seven “ugly and thin” cows; he also dreamed of a stalk with seven “plump and good” ears of grain that were devoured by seven “thin and blighted” ears of grain. Joseph had no trouble interpreting the dreams: they indicated that the land would experience seven years of bounteous crops followed by seven years of famine. The Pharaoh needed to appoint an administrator who could conserve resources during the seven abundant years as a provision against the seven lean years to come. Pharaoh realized that Joseph himself would be ideal for the job, released him from prison, and made him his right-hand man (chapter 41).

The famine that eventually came struck not just Egypt but the land of Israel as well, and it threatened massive starvation. Jacob sent his sons to Egypt to buy food, as it was widely heard that the Egyptians were well stocked with provisions. The brothers appeared before Joseph, not realizing who he was, of course, all these years later, and true to the dream of his youth, they bowed down in obeisance to him. After a number of intricate episodes in which Joseph tested their mettle, he eventually revealed himself to them, there was a happy reunion, and he promised deliverance for the
famished families back home. These, along with their father Jacob, were sent for, and eventually all lived together in part of the land of Egypt under the protection of Pharaoh’s chief administrator, Joseph. (This is how the people of Israel got to Egypt in the first place; this narrative, in other words, is used to set up their “exodus” four hundred years later under Moses.)

Jacob eventually died, and Joseph’s brothers became nervous: would Joseph now turn on them for the evil that they did to him? After all, it was ultimately their fault that he had suffered so miserably: they had mocked him, threatened to kill him, kidnapped him, and sold him into slavery; he had served as a slave, had been wrongly convicted of attempted rape and spent years in prison, and so on. It had not been an entirely pleasant life, and it was all their fault. Knowing that his wrath could mean their deaths, they humbly approach him and ask for his forgiveness (Gen. 50:15–18). And then comes the key line of the text: “Joseph said to them, ‘Do not be afraid! Am I in the place of God? Even though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good, in order to preserve a numerous people, as he is doing today’” (Gen. 50:19–20). Joseph promises then to tend to the needs of his brothers and their families, which he does until his death. And thus ends the book of Genesis. Through Joseph’s suffering, God has saved his people.

This idea, that what human beings “intend for evil” God can “intend for good,” can be found implicitly behind a large number of the biblical narratives of suffering. Sometimes, thanks to the intervention of God, suffering is redemptive. Some suffering, the biblical writers suggest, makes it possible for God to work his salvific purposes. The person who suffers may not realize it at the time; she or he may be completely ignorant of what God intends to do. But God sometimes brings good out of evil, salvation out of suffering.

Other Examples of Redemptive Suffering in Scripture

The idea that human suffering can serve divine purposes is shown in the very next set of stories in the Hebrew Bible, those involving
the exodus of the children of Israel out of their slavery in Egypt under Moses. When I was a young boy, and my mom would read Bible stories to me, I was always particularly enthusiastic about the accounts of the ten plagues against the Egyptians: the water-turned-to-blood, the frogs, the gnats, the flies, and so on. One of the reasons these stories fascinated me was that it always seemed like the plagues should have
worked:
if Moses says he’ll bring a plague unless his demands are met, and then he brings a plague, you would think that after four or five times Pharaoh would get the point. But Pharaoh had a hardened heart. And the harder his heart became, the harder it was on the Israelite slaves, who continued to suffer the indignities of slavery while Moses put on a show for the aristocrats of Egypt.

One of the intriguing and much debated aspects of the plague stories, though, is just this business of Pharaoh’s hardened heart. Sometimes the text indicates that it was Pharaoh himself who hardened his heart (e.g., Exod. 8:15, 32)—which makes some sense. When a plague ends, Pharaoh refuses to believe that it had anything to do with divine intervention and becomes more determined than ever to keep the Israelites enslaved. On other occasions, however, the text indicates that it is God who hardened Pharaoh’s (or the other Egyptians’) heart (Exod. 4:21; 10:1; 14:17; and so on). But why would God make Pharaoh not listen to reason or heed the nasty signs being done against him? On this the text is clear: God did not want Pharaoh to let the people go.

When he finally did let them go, he had a change of heart and chased after them. Then God himself performed a mighty act in order to show that he alone was the one who had delivered the people from their slavery. This is all made explicit in the narrative. Early on, God tells Moses, “I will harden his heart,
so that
he will not let the people go” (Exod. 4:21). He later explains the logic: “I have hardened his heart and the heart of his officials, in order that I may show these signs of mine among them, and that you may tell your children and grandchildren how I have made fools of the Egyptians…so that you may know that I am the L
ORD
” (Exod. 10:1–2). Somewhat later,
when the children of Israel are prepared to cross through the sea on dry land, God says: “I will harden the hearts of the Egyptians so that they will go in after them [into the sea]; and so I will gain glory for myself over Pharaoh and all his army…. And the Egyptians shall know that I am the L
ORD
…” (Exod. 14:17–18). And of course that is what happens. The children of Israel cross through the sea with the water standing like a wall on either side of them. But when the Egyptians follow, the water returns and drowns the lot of them.

The suffering of the Israelites in slavery was prolonged so that God could show beyond any doubt that it was he—not a kindhearted Pharaoh—who delivered them from their slavery. And the Pharaoh and all his armies suffered the ultimate punishment—resounding defeat in battle and death by drowning—in order for God to reveal to all that he was the mighty Lord who could bring deliverance to his people. Suffering can show forth the power and salvation of God.

In a kind of distant way, this story of the plagues against Egypt, in which God intentionally creates hardship and delays before helping his people, has long reminded me of a well-known story in the New Testament, perhaps Jesus’ most famous miracle, the raising of Lazarus from the dead in John 11. I’ve found over the years when discussing this passage with groups of undergraduates that people tend to read quickly over the first part of the story to get to the juicy bits at the end. And to be sure, the ending is the high point: Jesus goes to the tomb of this man Lazarus, who has been buried for four days (and therefore is probably starting to putrefy rather noticeably), and in a rather theatrical voice calls out, “Lazarus, come forth”—after which the man rises from the dead in full view of the crowds. That climax is, of course, the point of the story. It shows that Jesus has the power over death. That’s why Lazarus had to be dead for four days; otherwise, someone could say that he had just swooned, or that his spirit was still hanging around the grave. He was dead, really dead. Jesus, however, is the one who can overcome death. It is Jesus who is “the resurrection and the life” (John 11:25).

What is just as interesting to me, though, is the beginning of the story. It does not start with Lazarus’s death, but with his illness. His sisters Mary and Martha send a message to Jesus—who is several days’ journey away—that their brother is ill, asking Jesus to come heal him. But he refuses. And why? Because for Jesus, this illness “is for God’s glory, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it” (John 11:4). And then comes the intriguing verse 6: “And so, because Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus, when he heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed two days longer in the place he was.” Students have a hard time believing that they’re reading the text correctly.
Because
Jesus loved Lazarus, he stayed away for two days? Does that make any sense? If Jesus loved Lazarus, wouldn’t he rush to heal him? No, not for the author of the Gospel of John. In this book, Jesus stays away precisely because he wants Lazarus to die. If Lazarus doesn’t die, then Jesus can’t raise him from the dead. And so Jesus doesn’t start his journey for three days; and by the time he gets there, Lazarus has been dead four.

Why? “So that the Son of God might be glorified.” The deliverance of God is intensified when the suffering is intensified. Jesus brings a resurrection, not just a healing.

And so, in some passages of Scripture, suffering is experienced
so that
God can be glorified by it. In other passages, suffering comes for other reasons, but God is able to bring good out of it. Suffering, in these passages, has a kind of silver lining. As an example of the latter we might return to the story of David and Bathsheba that I discussed in chapter 4. The king seduces his next-door neighbor, and when she becomes pregnant, he finds a way to have her husband murdered. As we have seen, the Deuteronomistic historian who tells this tale (2 Sam. 12) was firmly committed to the classical view of suffering, that sin brings punishment. And throughout this entire episode, David certainly sinned: seducing the wife of another, deceiving the cuckolded husband, and then arranging for him to be killed. Because there was a sin, there needed to be a punishment. In this case, David was punished by the death of Bathsheba’s child: “The L
ORD
struck the child that Uriah’s wife bore to David, and it became very ill” (2 Sam. 12:15).

David prayed for God to spare the child, fasted, and spent the night on the ground, for seven days. Then the child died. This kind of “punishment” that David suffered should call into question the adequacy of the classical understanding of suffering: yes, David spent days in agony, and the outcome was not good for him. He suffered. But he didn’t die. The
child
died. And the child hadn’t done anything wrong. Killing one person to teach someone else a lesson—is that really how God acts? If we are to be godly people, does that mean we should act that way too? Kill someone’s child to teach the parent a lesson?

In any event, the passage embodies another understanding of suffering as well, one more germane to our present discussion. For we are told that after the child’s death, David “consoled his wife Bathsheba” and they eventually had another son. It was none other than Solomon. Out of evil, good can come. Solomon became one of the greatest kings in Israel’s history, and the one through whom God promised to establish an eternal throne for his people (cf. 2 Sam. 7:14), a promise that later bearers of the tradition took to refer to the future messiah. For Christians, Jesus’ royal lineage is traced back through Solomon (Matt. 1:6). In this reading of the text, David’s suffering led to salvation.