Missions Paul

Ever feel like you arrived too late and with the wrong story? Ephraim and Manasseh knew something of that. They were born in Egypt to a foreign mother and outside the bloodline of promise. But in these next few verses, we see that this did not matter to Jacob, or to God.

“Now then, your two sons born to you in Egypt before I came to you here will be reckoned as mine; Ephraim and Manasseh will be mine, just as Reuben and Simeon are mine. Any children born to you after them will be yours; in the territory they inherit they will be reckoned under the names of their brothers. As I was returning from Paddan, to my sorrow Rachel died in the land of Canaan while we were still on the way, a little distance from Ephrath. So I buried her there beside the road to Ephrath” (that is, Bethlehem). (Genesis 48:5–7)

Ever feel overlooked?

Jacob is old, and his eyes are failing, but his words here are deliberate. He adopts Ephraim and Manasseh, Joseph’s Egyptian-born sons, not as grandsons kept at a comfortable distance, but as his own. Equal in standing to Reuben and Simeon, the firstborn line. It is a remarkable act of inclusion.

Then, right in the middle of this legal arrangement, he stops and speaks about Rachel.

She died in the land of Canaan. A little way from Ephrath. I buried her there, beside the road.

Why say this now? Because these boys are Rachel’s grandchildren. And Jacob wants them to know it. He wants them to feel the weight of the line they belong to. He wants Joseph to hear it again, that the grief and love haven’t faded.

Jacob is not rushing past the painful details on his way to the promise. He is holding them and naming them.

Ephraim and Manasseh were born in Egypt, to an Egyptian mother, in a foreign land. By every measure of the ancient world, birth order, bloodline, and geography, they had no claim to what was being offered. The promise belonged to others. The inheritance was spoken for. They were, in the most literal sense, outside.

But Jacob reached across every one of those boundaries and said, “These are mine.”

This is covenant language. It is the same word at the heart of every promise God makes to his people: you are mine, I am yours, nothing in your story disqualifies you from that.

You may feel like you arrived too late. But this is the God who counts the overlooked in. Not despite your history. With it. You are counted. You are named. You are his.

Jacob is old now. His life has been full of so many events. But there is one event that is closer than the other chapters.  

“Jacob said to Joseph, “God Almighty appeared to me at Luz in the land of Canaan, and there he blessed me ⁴ and said to me, ‘I am going to make you fruitful and increase your numbers. I will make you a community of peoples, and I will give this land as an everlasting possession to your descendants after you.’” (Genesis 48 v 3-5)

Jacob is old now. His life has been full of so many events. But there is one event in his life that is not far from his mind.

 God Almighty appeared to me at Luz.

Jacob looks back all the way to Bethel, to a night when he slept on a stone pillow and to a promise from God that he had a future involving fruitfulness and multiplication.

Maybe this is an encouragement to someone today.

When circumstances squeeze you, God’s promises do not change. When the body fails, the word spoken over your life does not expire. The promise God made at Luz was still perfectly intact despite the many difficult chapters of his life.

What has God said over you? It may not have come to pass yet. The landscape may look nothing like the promise. But the One who spoke to you in previous chapters is still speaking.  

All of us know what it is to present our good side to the world, the polished version of ourselves, and hide what we think will go against us. What we read today is a great example of grace.

“Joseph went and told Pharaoh, ‘My father and brothers, with their flocks and herds and everything they own, have come from the land of Canaan and are now in Goshen.” ² He chose five of his brothers and presented them before Pharaoh. ³ Pharaoh asked the brothers, “What is your occupation?” “Your servants are shepherds,” they replied to Pharaoh, “just as our fathers were.” ⁴ They also said to him, “We have come to live here for a while, because the famine is severe in Canaan and your servants’ flocks have no pasture. So now, please let your servants settle in Goshen.” ⁵ Pharaoh said to Joseph, “Your father and your brothers have come to you, ⁶ and the land of Egypt is before you; settle your father and your brothers in the best part of the land. Let them live in Goshen. And if you know of any among them with special ability, put them in charge of my own livestock.” (Genesis 47 v 1-6)

Joseph, second only to Pharaoh, dressed in the finest of clothes, operating with the greatest of authority in the whole of an empire, is not ashamed of his family or his roots.

My father and brothers are here.

Joseph is not ashamed of them in front of the most powerful man in the world.

The brothers tell the truth (for once) and tell of their occupation. They do not inflate their family story. In Egypt, being a shepherd was the lowest occupation; it meant you had to live on the outskirts of the country.

They did not try to be who they were not. They did not inflate themselves. They came as they were.

Pharaoh gave them the best – Goshen.

This family arrived with empty hands. They receive abundance not because they earned it

This is a great example of grace.

Grace says, “Come as you are.” What we receive from the Lord far outweighs any credentials that could ever be secured.

The brothers brought nothing impressive as they stood before Pharaoh. Just the truth of who they were. They received far more than their heritage expected.

The Lord works this way. He doesn’t ask us to come to Him polished and to perform our best act. He asks for honesty. Come as you are. Warts and all. What He gives far exceeds anything else we can secure for ourselves.

My dad right now is in the biggest battle of his life, as every day he fights Alzheimer’s. I get to see him probably every 2-3 weeks. According to my mum, he gets excited when he knows I am coming. Thankfully, he still knows me.

As we all move into the closing chapters of our lives, being able to feel and express emotions becomes a gift; sadly, some don’t even have that.

In two short verses as we begin chapter 48, we see this with old man Jacob.

“Some time later Joseph was told, “Your father is ill.” So he took his two sons Manasseh and Ephraim along with him. ² When Jacob was told, “Your son Joseph has come to you,” Israel rallied his strength and sat up on the bed.” (Genesis 48 v 1-2)

Jacob actually had enough strength left to give another blessing. It wasn’t rest that gave him the strength to rally. It was the name of his son, Joseph. He had enough life in him for one final blessing, but he needed his son’s arrival to find it.

We, too, are often like Jacob, worn down by circumstances beyond our control. Tired in ways that rest doesn’t fix. Lying back when we once stood tall. God knows who to send that will cause you to sit up again, to go again. He knows the people who can light up the room you are in. Sometimes the relief we need is not the circumstance to change but a person to walk through the door. The right person at the right moment can do what no amount of rest or resolution can: reach something in us that we thought was gone.

And of course, we can be that person for someone else. We can be the name that gets spoken and causes someone to rally. We can walk into a room and change it.

Someone, somewhere, is lying back on their bed. They’re not waiting for their circumstances to change. They’re waiting for you to walk in.

What would you ask for at the end of your life? What would be your final words? I suppose that depends on your circumstances and where you are.

Jacob is a hundred and forty-seven years old, and he knows he is dying. Seventeen years in Egypt, years of plenty, of reunion, of rest, and still, when the end comes near, Jacob makes one request. Carry me out of Egypt. Bury me where my fathers are buried.

What a man asks for at the end tells you everything about where his heart has been all along.

“Jacob lived in Egypt seventeen years, and the years of his life were a hundred and forty-seven. ²⁹ When the time drew near for Israel to die, he called for his son Joseph and said to him, “If I have found favour in your eyes, put your hand under my thigh and promise that you will show me kindness and faithfulness. Do not bury me in Egypt, ³⁰ but when I rest with my fathers, carry me out of Egypt and bury me where they are buried.” “I will do as you say,” he said. ³¹ “Swear to me,” he said. Then Joseph swore to him, and Israel worshipped as he leaned on the top of his staff.” (Genesis 47 v 28-31)

Egypt had been the salvation for his family, but Jacob never confused rescue with home. He had been given a promise, a future that stretched beyond anything he would live to see. Egypt was a provision, not a destination.

So he calls Joseph. He asks for the ancient oath — hand under thigh, the most solemn of pledges. And he asks one thing: carry me out.

After Joseph agrees to his request to be taken out of Egypt, Jacob worships.

The writer of Hebrews holds this moment up as an example of faith: By faith, Jacob, when dying, blessed each of the sons of Joseph, worshipping as he leaned on the top of his staff (Hebrews 11:21). We will be reminded in the next chapter just who these sons really were. God’s choices rarely follow our logic.

If you were being perfectly honest, you wouldn’t have picked you. You know yourself too well. You know the detours, the failures, the long stretches of ordinariness. But He chose you when it didn’t make sense, when the odds were stacked against you, when others seemed more obvious candidates. He chose you, and He did it right on time.

This is the pattern all the way through. After Abraham came Isaac. After Isaac, Jacob. After Jacob, Joseph. After Joseph, Ephraim and Manasseh — grandsons elevated to sons, the younger raised above the elder. God keeps raising the next generation, and His criteria are not ours. It is grace from top to bottom. The only fitting response is gratitude.

So this is not the day to waste time wondering whether God will use you, or when, or how. You belong to a long line of people who didn’t deserve to be called but they were. Don’t give up on that. Ask for much. Expect much. Do much.

Jacob had spent most of his life grabbing birthright, blessing, wages, and wives. But here, at the end, there is no grabbing. Only trust. He cannot carry himself to Canaan. He cannot see what God is doing on the other side of his death. He can only ask, believe, and worship.

The staff matters; it’s the sign of a pilgrim, a wanderer, a man who never quite settled. And he is still leaning on it at the end.

Do you know this experience? You look around and can see the evidence of God’s provision. You have put down roots. But something in you knows this isn’t the place you were made for. You are not ungrateful, but you know there is more. This is what verse 27 speaks to me about.

“Now the Israelites settled in Egypt in the region of Goshen. They acquired property there and were fruitful and increased greatly in number.” (Genesis 47 v 27)

Let’s pause a moment. We need to. We have had the famine, the reunion, the tears, the gifts, and the ongoing hardships for Egyptians living through the famine.

In this one verse, we have the opposite happening for Jacob’s family.

They settled. They acquired. They increased greatly.

But remember, this is Goshen, in Egypt; this was never supposed to be the destination.

So, is this blessing, or is this entanglement, or both?

The Promised Land was not this land. A nation was not meant to grow from within Egypt. This is still exile.

Ever wondered if you are in the right place? You are blessed, but something doesn’t feel right?

The promise of their own nation is alive, but right now it lives in exile.

Ever know the feeling of the blessing arriving in a form you didn’t expect?  You settle because there is no alternative. It is all you can do. You know this isn’t what you are called to or for, but this is it, for now.

Where are you settled right now? Is Goshen home, or is it just a fruitful place on the way to somewhere better?

Goshen was provision, but not the promise. The Israelites settled, and God was in that settling. But the story was not over.

Sometimes the only way to get to your destiny is to live faithfully in the place you are, until the road opens again.

Do you know those moments when you have tried everything, but the cupboard is bare? The Egyptians have no money and no livestock. All they have left is themselves. So that’s what they offer Joseph.

“When that year was over, they came to him the following year and said, “We cannot hide from our lord the fact that since our money is gone and our livestock belongs to you, there is nothing left for our lord except our bodies and our land. ¹⁹ Why should we perish before your eyes—we and our land as well? Buy us and our land in exchange for food, and we with our land will be in bondage to Pharaoh. Give us seed so that we may live and not die, and that the land may not become desolate.” ²⁰ So Joseph bought all the land in Egypt for Pharaoh. The Egyptians, one and all, sold their fields, because the famine was too severe for them. The land became Pharaoh’s, ²¹ and Joseph reduced the people to servitude,from one end of Egypt to the other. ²² However, he did not buy the land of the priests, because they received a regular allotment from Pharaoh and had food enough from the allotment Pharaoh gave them. That is why they did not sell their land. ²³ Joseph said to the people, “Now that I have bought you and your land today for Pharaoh, here is seed for you so you can plant the ground. ²⁴ But when the crop comes in, give a fifth of it to Pharaoh. The other four-fifths you may keep as seed for the fields and as food for yourselves and your households and your children.” ²⁵ “You have saved our lives,” they said. “May we find favour in the eyes of our lord; we will be in bondage to Pharaoh.” ²⁶ So Joseph established it as a law concerning land in Egypt—still in force today—that a fifth of the produce belongs to Pharaoh. It was only the land of the priests that did not become Pharaoh’s.” (Genesis 47 v 18-26)

The Egyptians have nothing left to bargain with. Their money and livestock are gone. So they came to Joseph with what they had left. ‘Take us’ is all they had.

A fifth of every harvest, from that day forward, would belong to Pharaoh.

They came to Joseph with nothing, and they left with seed in their hands and a future in front of them. Four-fifths of the harvest was theirs to keep. The land they had surrendered was now, in effect, given back to them to work. What looked like dispossession was, in their own words, salvation.

The seed in their hands was grace. It often is. Grace may not look like a bumper harvest. It might look like a seed in empty hands. But it shouts of a future.

You may not have much in your hand today. It may even be a seed. But it certainly is grace and miracles happen through the grace of God.

Do you know that experience when ordinary life has to take a back seat? The rules change. Yesterday’s security has gone, and today we need new rules.

The famine has gripped the land, and the people, stripped of resources, are left with few options; they have only one thing on their minds: survival. They come to Joseph.

“When the money of the people of Egypt and Canaan was gone, all Egypt came to Joseph and said, “Give us food. Why should we die before your eyes? Our money is all gone.” ¹⁶ “Then bring your livestock,” said Joseph. “I will sell you food in exchange for your livestock, since your money is gone.” ¹⁷ So they brought their livestock to Joseph, and he gave them food in exchange for their horses, their sheep and goats, their cattle and donkeys. And he brought them through that year with food in exchange for all their livestock.”  (Genesis 47 v 15-17)

Livestock is the currency in a famine, not money.

But in a moment like this, when our world is completely upside down and what we relied on isn’t there anymore, what do we do?

What do we cling to when everything else fails?

What are we willing to trade just to make it through another day?

Survival often demands sacrifice.

Around the world, people still trade long-term security for short-term survival. They sell land, possessions, even their dignity, just to eat.

In this famine, we are reading that these people do not perish; provision comes, at a cost, but it comes.

I wonder what you think of this story. Preserving life is what Joseph did, but it came at a cost, maybe of their dignity and future hope.

These verses bring us to the point where we ask ourselves the kind of stewards we want to become when resources and compassion are both in our hands.

What do we cling to when everything else fails? What are we willing to trade just to make it through another day? When we are the ones with food in our hands and people at our door, what kind of stewards will we be?

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Joseph feeds his family while also serving his Pharaoh, tightening the economic grip on a starving population. He cannot make those two things fit neatly together. He doesn’t try.

“So Joseph settled his father and his brothers in Egypt and gave them property in the best part of the land, the district of Rameses, as Pharaoh directed. ¹² Joseph also provided his father and his brothers and all his father’s household with food, according to the number of their children. ¹³ There was no food, however, in the whole region because the famine was severe; both Egypt and Canaan wasted away because of the famine. ¹⁴ Joseph collected all the money that was to be found in Egypt and Canaan in payment for the grain they were buying, and he brought it to Pharaoh’s palace.” (Genesis 47 v 11-14)

How can the same hands that supply provisions for his family be involved in making life even harder for the population?  The two realities sit side by side. Abundance in one hand and desperation in the other.

He cannot save everyone. He cannot feed his family, serve his Pharaoh, and do it tension-free.

Most of us live in the complicated middle, too, where we struggle to please everyone at once. But while Joseph is preserving lives, he is also strengthening Pharaoh’s economic control. He is the man caught in the middle.

Both realities sit side by side; that is where Joseph actually lives.

Most of us live there too. We are pulled between people whose needs don’t always align, serving institutions while trying to protect those we love. Joseph doesn’t resolve the tension. To carry two things at once and keep going may be a fresh variety of faithfulness, and beneath it all, God’s plan moves forward.

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Jacob is standing before Pharaoh. He has survived famine, grief, betrayal, and the long silence of thinking his favourite son was dead. Now, Pharaoh looks at this old man and asks a question.

“Pharaoh asked him, ‘How old are you?’ And Jacob said to Pharaoh, ‘The years of my pilgrimage are a hundred and thirty. My years have been few and difficult, and they do not equal the years of the pilgrimage of my fathers.'” (Genesis 47:8–9)

The summary of his own life is this: it’s been hard and not long enough. A pilgrimage marked by struggle. A journey with direction, even when the road was brutal. He doesn’t pretend it was easy. But he is still on pilgrimage. Jacob reveals his theology: this life is not the destination.

You are allowed to call your life tough if that is what it has been. But do so with the thought of it being a pilgrimage very much in your mind. It has been a journey, held by God who knows where you have been going, even when you didn’t. It is still a journey. This is a pilgrimage. Still moving ahead. Still going somewhere with God leading.

That is all we need to understand at times.

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