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