In 1882, a New York City businessman named Joseph Richardson owned a narrow strip of land on Lexington Avenue. It was 5 feet wide and 104 feet long. Another businessman, Hyman Sarner, owned a normal-sized lot adjacent to Richardson's skinny one. He wanted to build apartments that fronted the avenue. He offered Richardson $1,000 for the slender plot. Richardson was deeply offended by the amount and demanded $5,000. Sarner refused, and Richardson called Sarner a tightwad and slammed the door on him.

Sarner a.s.sumed the land would remain vacant and instructed the architect to design the apartment building with windows overlooking the avenue. When Richardson saw the finished building, he resolved to block the view. No one was going to enjoy a free view over his lot.

So seventy-year-old Richardson built a house. Five feet wide and 104 feet long and four stories high with two suites on each floor. Upon completion he and his wife moved into one of the suites.

Only one person at a time could ascend the stairs or pa.s.s through the hallway. The largest dining table in any suite was eighteen inches wide. The stoves were the very smallest made. A newspaper reporter of some girth once got stuck in the stairwell, and after two tenants were unsuccessful in pushing him free, he exited only by stripping down to his undergarments.

The building was dubbed the "Spite House." Richardson spent the last fourteen years of his life in the narrow residence that seemed to fit his narrow state of mind.1 The Spite House was torn down in 1915, which is odd. I distinctly remember spending a few nights there last year. And a few weeks there some years back. If memory serves, didn't I see you squeezing through the hallway?

Revenge builds a lonely house. s.p.a.ce enough for one person. The lives of its tenants are reduced to one goal: make someone miserable. They do. Themselves.

No wonder G.o.d insists that we "keep a sharp eye out for weeds of bitter discontent. A thistle or two gone to seed can ruin a whole garden in no time" (Heb. 12:15 MSG).

His healing includes a move out of the house of spite, a shift away from the cramped world of grudge and toward s.p.a.cious ways of grace, away from hardness and toward forgiveness. He moves us forward by healing our past.

Can he really? This mess? This history of s.e.xual abuse? This raw anger at the father who left my mother? This seething disgust I feel every time I think of the one who treated me like yesterday's trash? Can G.o.d heal this ancient hurt in my heart?

Joseph asked these questions. You never outlive the memory of ten brothers giving you the heave-ho. They walked away and never came back. So he gave them a taste of their own medicine. When he saw them in the breadline, he snapped at them. He accused them of treachery and threw them in jail. "Take that, you rascals!"

Isn't it good to know that Joseph was human? The guy was so good it hurt. He endured slavery, succeeded in a foreign land, mastered a new language, and resisted s.e.xual seductions. He was the model prisoner and the perfect counselor to the king. Scratch him, and he bled holy blood. We expect him to see his brothers and declare, "Father, forgive them, for they knew not what they did" (see Luke 23:34). But he didn't. He didn't because forgiving jerks is the hardest trick in the bag. We will feed the poor and counsel the king. Why, we'll memorize the book of Leviticus if G.o.d says to do so.

But . . .

"Don't let the sun go down while you are still angry" (Eph. 4:26 NLT)?

"Let all bitterness, wrath, anger, clamor, and evil speaking be put away from you, with all malice" (Eph. 4:31)?

"As Christ forgave you, so you also must do" (Col. 3:13)?

Really, G.o.d?

I have a friend who was six years old when her mother ran off with a salesman, leaving her to be raised by a good-hearted dad who knew nothing about dolls, dresses, or dates. The father and daughter stumbled through life and made the best of it. Recently the mom reappeared, like a brother out of Canaan, requested a coffee date with my friend, and said, "I'm sorry for abandoning you." The mom wants to reenter her daughter's world.

My friend's first thought was, That's it? I'm supposed to forgive you? Seems too easy. Doesn't the mom need to experience what she gave? A few years wondering if she will see her daughter again. Some pain-filled nights. A bit of justice. How do we reconcile the pain of the daughter with G.o.d's command to forgive? Isn't some vengeance in order?

Of course it is. In fact, G.o.d cares about justice more than we do. Paul admonished, "Never pay back evil for evil . . . never avenge yourselves. Leave that to G.o.d, for he has said that he will repay those who deserve it" (Rom. 12:17, 19 TLB).

We fear the evildoer will slip into the night, unknown and unpunished. Escape to Fiji and sip mai tais on the beach. Not to worry. Scripture says, "[G.o.d] will repay," not he "might repay." G.o.d will execute justice on behalf of truth and fairness. Case in point? Prepare yourself for the most surprising turnaround of the Joseph story.

After three days Joseph released all but one brother from jail. They returned to Canaan to report to Jacob, their father, a weak shadow of an old man. The brothers told him how Simeon was kept in Egypt as a.s.surance they would return with Benjamin, the youngest brother. Jacob had nothing to say except, "You have bereaved me: Joseph is no more, Simeon is no more, and you want to take Benjamin. All these things are against me" (Gen. 42:36).

Such a louse. Jacob played favorites, refused to discipline, had multiple wives, and upon hearing of the imprisonment of his son, had a pity party. What a prima donna. No wonder the family was screwed up.

But as we read further, a light breaks through the clouds. Judah, who once wanted to get rid of Joseph, stepped forward. "Send [Benjamin] with me, and we will arise and go, that we may live and not die, both we and you and also our little ones. I myself will be surety for him; from my hand you shall require him. If I do not bring him back to you and set him before you, then let me bear the blame forever" (43:89).

Is this the same Judah? The same man who said, "Let us sell him to the Ishmaelites" (37:27)? The same brother who helped negotiate the slave trade?

Well, yes . . . and no.

Judah, as it turns out, has had his own descent into the pit. After Joseph's abduction Judah went on to have three sons. He arranged for the eldest to marry a girl named Tamar. But the son died. Following the proper protocol of his day, Judah arranged for his second son to marry Tamar. The son didn't manage the situation well and died. Judah a.s.sumed Tamar was jinxed. Afraid that his third son would meet the same fate, Judah put the matter on hold, leaving Tamar with no husband.

Later Judah's wife died. Tamar heard that Judah was coming to town. Apparently she hadn't been able to get Judah to reply to her e-mails, so she got creative. She disguised herself as a prost.i.tute and made him an offer. Judah took the bait. He exchanged his necklace and walking stick for s.e.x, unaware that he was sleeping with his daughter-in-law. (Oh, how l.u.s.t blinds a man!) She conceived. Three months later she reappeared in Judah's life as Tamar, pregnant Tamar. Judah went high and mighty on her and demanded she be burned. That's when she produced Judah's necklace and walking stick, and Judah realized the child was his. He was caught in his own sin, disgraced in front of his own family.

Things had come full circle. Judah, who had deceived Jacob, was deceived. Judah, who had trapped Joseph, was trapped. Judah, who had helped humiliate Joseph, was humiliated. G.o.d gave Judah his comeuppance, and Judah came to his senses. "She has been more righteous than I," he confessed (38:26).

For years I wondered why Judah's exploits were included in the Joseph narrative. They interrupt everything. We just get started in chapter 37 with the dreams and drama of Joseph when the narrator dedicates chapter 38 to the story of Judah, the hustler, and Tamar, the faux escort. Two dead husbands. One clever widow. An odd, poorly placed story. But now I see how it fits.

For anything good to happen to Jacob's family, someone in the clan had to grow up. If not the father, one of the brothers had to mature to the point where he took responsibility for his actions. G.o.d activated the change in Judah. He gave the guy a taste of his own medicine, and the medicine worked! Judah championed the family cause. He spoke sense into his father's head. He was willing to take responsibility for Benjamin's safety and bear the blame if he failed. Judah got his wake-up call, and Joseph didn't have to lift a finger or swing a fist.

Vengeance is G.o.d's. He will repay-whether ultimately on the Day of Judgment or intermediately in this life. The point of the story? G.o.d handles all Judahs. He can discipline your abusive boss, soften your angry parent. He can bring your ex to his knees or her senses. Forgiveness doesn't diminish justice; it just entrusts it to G.o.d. He guarantees the right retribution. We give too much or too little. But the G.o.d of justice has the precise prescription.

Unlike us, G.o.d never gives up on a person. Never. Long after we have moved on, G.o.d is still there, probing the conscience, stirring conviction, always orchestrating redemption. Fix your enemies? That's G.o.d's job.

Forgive your enemies? Ah, that's where you and I come in. We forgive. "Do not let the sun go down on your anger, and do not give the devil an opportunity" (Eph. 4:2627 NASB). The word translated opportunity is the Greek word topos,2 the same term from which we get the English noun topography. It means territory or ground. Interesting. Anger gives ground to the devil. Bitterness invites him to occupy a s.p.a.ce in your heart, to rent a room. Believe me, he will move in and stink up the place. Gossip, slander, temper-anytime you see these, Satan has claimed a bunk.

Evict him. Don't even give him the time of day. In the name of Jesus tell him to pack his bags and hit the road. Begin the process of forgiveness. Keep no list of wrongs. Pray for your antagonists rather than plot against them. Hate the wrong without hating wrongdoers. Turn your attention away from what they did to you to what Jesus did for you. Outrageous as it may seem, Jesus died for them too. If he thinks they are worth forgiving, they are. Does that make forgiveness easy? No. Quick? Seldom. Painless? It wasn't for Joseph.

The brothers returned to Egypt from Canaan, Benjamin in tow. Joseph invited them to a dinner. He asked about Jacob, spotted Benjamin, and all but came undone. "G.o.d be gracious to you, my son," he blurted before he hurried out of the room to weep (Gen. 43:29).

He returned to eat and drink and make merry with the brothers. Joseph sat them according to birth order. He singled out Benjamin for special treatment. Every time the brothers got one helping, Benjamin got five. They noticed this. But said nothing.

Joseph loaded their sacks with food and hid his personal cup in the sack of Benjamin. The brothers were barely down the road when Joseph's steward stopped their caravan, searched their sacks, and found the cup. The brothers tore their clothes (the ancient equivalent of pulling out one's hair) and soon found themselves back in front of Joseph, fearing for their lives.

Joseph couldn't make up his mind! He welcomed them, wept over them, ate with them, and then played a trick on them. He was at war with himself. These brothers had peeled the scab off his oldest and deepest wound. And he would be hanged before he'd let them do it again. On the other hand, these were his brothers, and he would be hanged before he lost them again.

Forgiveness vacillates like this. It has fits and starts, good days and bad. Anger intermingled with love. Irregular mercy. We make progress only to make a wrong turn. Step forward and fall back. But this is okay. When it comes to forgiveness, all of us are beginners. No one owns a secret formula. As long as you are trying to forgive, you are forgiving. It's when you no longer try that bitterness sets in.

Stay the course. You'll spend less time in the spite house and more in the grace house. And as one who has walked the hallways of both, I can guarantee that you are going to love the s.p.a.ce of grace.

CHAPTER 12.

The Prince Is

Your Brother

You've never seen a scene like this. The basketball player stands at the free throw line. His team is down by one point. Only a few seconds remain on the game clock. Players on both teams crouch, ready to grab the rebound. The shooter positions the ball in his hand. The crowd is quiet. The cheerleaders gulp. Again, you've never seen a scene like this. How can I be so sure? Because the player shooting the ball has never seen a scene like this.

He's blind.

Everyone else on his team is sighted. Everyone on the other team is sighted. But Matt Steven, a high school senior in Upper Darby, Pennsylvania, can't see a thing. His brother stands under the rim, rapping a cane on the basket. Matt listens, dribbles, and lifts the ball to shoot. We wonder, why does a basketball coach place a blind kid on the foul line?

The short answer? Because he is Matt's big brother.

The long answer began years earlier when Matt was born with two permanently detached retinas. He lost his left eye in the fifth grade and his right eye in the sixth. But even though Matt can't see, his big brother has enough vision for them both. Joe spent a childhood helping Matt do the impossible: ride a bike, ice-skate, and play soccer. So when Joe began coaching the basketball team, he brought his baby brother with him as the equipment manager. Matt never practices or plays with the team. But with Joe's help he shoots free throws after every practice. Long after the team leaves, the brothers linger-the younger one at the charity line, the older one beneath the basket, tapping a stick against the rim.

And so it is that Matt, for this tournament game, is the designated free throw shooter. Joe convinced the refs and the opponents to let Matt play. Everyone thought it was a great idea. But no one imagined the game would come down to this shot.

So far Matt is 0 for 6. The gym falls silent. Joe hits the iron rim of the basket with the cane. Up in the stands Matt's mom tries to steady the video camera. Matt dribbles. Pauses and shoots. Swish! The game is tied! The screams of the fans lift the roof of the gymnasium. Finally the crowd settles down so Matt can hear the click, and the scene-never-seen repeats itself. Swish number two! The opposing team grabs the ball and throws a Hail Mary at the other basket and misses. The game is over, and Matt is the hero. Everyone whoops and hollers while Matt-the hero-tries to find his way to the bench. Guess who comes to help him. You got it. Joe.1 Big brothers can make all the difference. Got bullies on your block? Big brother can protect you. Forgot your lunch money? Big brother has some extra. Can't keep your balance on your bike? He'll steady you. Call your big brother.

Big brother. Bigger than you. Stronger. Wiser.

Big brother. Since he is family, you are his priority. He has one job: to get you through things. Through the neighborhood, without getting lost; through the math quiz, without failing; through the shopping mall, without stopping. Big brothers walk us through the rough patches of life.

Need one? You aren't trying to make a basket, but you are trying to make a living or make a friend or make sense out of the bad breaks you've been getting. Could you use the protection of a strong sibling?

The sons of Jacob certainly needed it. As they stood before Joseph, they were the picture of pity. Accused of stealing the silver cup. Tongue-tied goat herders before a superpower sovereign. Nothing to offer but prayers, nothing to request but help. Judah told the prince their story. How their father was frail and old. How one son had perished and how also losing Benjamin would surely kill their father. Judah even offered to stay in Benjamin's place if that was what it would take to save his family. They were face-first on the floor, hoping for mercy, but they received much more.

Joseph told the officials to clear out, his translators to leave the room. "Then Joseph could not restrain himself" (Gen. 45:1). He buried his face in his hands and began to heave with emotion. He didn't weep gently or whimper softly. He wailed. The cries echoed in the palace hallways, cathartic moans of a man in a moment of deep healing. Twenty-two years of tears and trickery had come to an end. Anger and love had dueled it out. Love had won.

He broke the news: "I am Joseph; does my father still live?" (v. 3). Eleven throats gulped, and twenty-two eyes widened to the size of saucers. The brothers, still in a deep genuflect, dared not move. They ventured glances at each other and mouthed the name: Joseph? Their last memory of their younger brother was of a pale-faced, frightened lad being carted off to Egypt. They had counted their coins and washed their hands of the boy. He was a teenager then. He was a prince now? They lifted their heads ever so slightly.

Joseph lowered his hands. His makeup was tear smeared, and his chin still quivered. His voice shook as he spoke. "Please come near to me." They rose to their feet. Slowly. Cautiously. "I am Joseph your brother, whom you sold into Egypt" (v. 4).

Joseph told them not to fear. "G.o.d sent me here. G.o.d did this. G.o.d is protecting you" (see v. 7). In today's language, "There's more to our story than meets the eye."

The brothers were still not sure who this man was. This man who wept for them, called for them . . . and then cared for them.

Fetch your family, he instructed, and come to Egypt. He promised to provide for them and sealed the promise with even more tears. He stood from his chair and threw his arms around his baby brother. "He fell on his brother Benjamin's neck and wept . . . he kissed all his brothers and wept over them, and after that his brothers talked with him" (vv. 1415).

One by one he received them. Judah, the one who came up with the slave trafficking idea. Reuben, the firstborn who didn't always behave like a big brother. Simeon and Levi, who wrought such violence at Shechem that their father deemed them "instruments of cruelty" (49:5).2 Those who had tied his hands and mocked his cries. He kissed them all.

Hostility and anger melted onto the marble floor. Joseph didn't talk at them or over them. They just talked. "How's Dad? Reuben, you're looking chubby. Simeon, how's your health? Levi, did you ever marry that girl from across the field? Have any kids? Any grandkids?"

When Pharaoh heard about Joseph's siblings, Pharaoh told him, "Any family of yours is a family of mine." And the next thing you know, Joseph was outfitting his brothers in new clothes and carts. They were honorary citizens of Egypt. Outcasts one moment. People of privilege the next.

At about this point the brothers began to realize they were out of danger. The famine still raged. The fields still begged. Circ.u.mstances were still hostile. But they were finally safe. They would make it through this. Because they were good men? No, because they were family. The prince was their brother.

Oh, for such a gift. We know the feel of a famine. Like the brothers of Joseph, we've found ourselves in dry seasons. Resources gone. Supplies depleted. Energy expired. We've stood where the brothers stood.

We've done what the brothers did. We've hurt the people we love. Sold them into slavery? Maybe not. But lost our temper? Misplaced our priorities? You bet. Like the shepherds of Beersheba, we've sought help from the Prince, our Prince. We've offered our prayers and pleaded our cases. We've wondered if he would have a place for the likes of us. What the brothers found in Joseph's court we find in Jesus Christ. The Prince is our brother.

Is this a new thought for you? You've heard Jesus described as King, Savior, and Lord, but Brother? This is biblical language. On one occasion Jesus was speaking to his followers when his family tried to get his attention. His mother and brothers stood outside and sent word that they wanted to speak to him. Jesus took advantage of the moment to make a tender gesture and statement. "He stretched out His hand toward His disciples and said, 'Here are My mother and My brothers! For whoever does the will of My Father in heaven is My brother and sister and mother'" (Matt. 12:4950).

Had you and I been present that day, we would have looked at the "family" of Jesus and seen little to impress us. None of his followers was of n.o.ble birth. No deep pockets or blue blood. Peter had his swagger. John had his temper. Matthew had his checkered past and colorful friends. Like Jacob's sons in the Egyptian court, they seemed outcla.s.sed and out of place. Yet Jesus was not embarra.s.sed to call them his family. He laid claim to them in public. He lays claim to us as well. "Jesus, who makes people holy, and those who are made holy are from the same family. So he is not ashamed to call them his brothers and sisters" (Heb. 2:11 NCV).

Jesus redefined his family to include all who come near him.

The account of Joseph is simply an appetizer for the Bible's main course, the story of Jesus. So many similarities exist between the two men. Joseph was the favorite son of Jacob. Jesus was the beloved Son of G.o.d (Matt. 3:17). Joseph wore the coat of many colors. Jesus did the deeds of many wonders. Joseph fed the nations. Jesus fed the mult.i.tudes. Joseph prepared his people for the coming famine. Jesus came to prepare his people for eternity. Under Joseph's administration grain increased. In Jesus' hands water became the finest wine, and a basket of bread became a buffet for thousands. Joseph responded to a crisis of nature. Jesus responded to one crisis after another. He told typhoons to settle down and waves to be quiet. He commanded cadavers to stand up, the crippled to dance a jig, and the mute to sing an anthem.

And people hated him for it.

Joseph was sold for twenty pieces of silver, Jesus for thirty. Joseph was falsely accused and thrown into a prison. Jesus was condemned for no cause and nailed to a cross. The brothers thought they had seen the last of Joseph. The soldiers sealed the tomb, thinking the same about Jesus. But Joseph resurfaced as a prince. So did Jesus. While his killers slept and followers wept, Jesus stood up from the slab of death. He unwrapped his burial clothes and stepped out into the Sunday morning sunrise.

G.o.d gave Jesus what Pharaoh gave Joseph: a promotion to the highest place. "G.o.d raised him from death and set him on a throne in deep heaven, in charge of running the universe, everything from galaxies to governments, no name and no power exempt from his rule. And not just for the time being, but forever. He is in charge of it all, has the final word on everything" (Eph. 1:2022 MSG).

This is where the similarities cease. Joseph's reign and life eventually ended. But Jesus'? Heaven will never see an empty throne. Jesus occupies it at this very moment. He creates weather patterns, redirects calendars, and recycles calamities-all with the goal of creating moments like this one in which we, his undeserving family, can hear him say, "I am Jesus, your Brother."

He weeps at the very sight of you. Not tears of shame but tears of joy.

He calls for you. "Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest" (Matt. 11:28 NLT). One foot of distance is too much. He wants us to come near. All of us. We who threw him into the pit. We who sold him out for silver. We who buried the very memory of our deeds. Come. Come. Come.

He cares for you. Joseph spoke to his king, and Jesus speaks to ours. In him "we have an Advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous" (1 John 2:1). Joseph gave his brothers wagons and robes. Your Brother promises to "supply all your need according to His riches" (Phil. 4:19).

Let's trust him to take care of us.

G.o.d is doing in our generation what he did in ancient Egypt: redeeming a remnant of people. In his final book G.o.d reiterates his vision: "A great mult.i.tude which no one could number, of all nations, tribes, peoples, and tongues, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed with white robes, with palm branches in their hands, and crying out with a loud voice, saying, 'Salvation belongs to our G.o.d who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!'" (Rev. 7:910).

This dream drives the heart of G.o.d. His purpose from all eternity is to prepare a family to indwell the kingdom of G.o.d. "'I know the plans I have for you,' declares the LORD, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future'" (Jer. 29:11 NIV).3 Oh, the beauty of the thrice-repeated word plans. G.o.d is plotting for our good. In all the setbacks and slipups, he is ordaining the best for our future. Every event of our days is designed to draw us toward our G.o.d and our destiny.

To the degree that we believe and accept his vision for our lives, we will get through life. When people junk us into the pit, we will stand up. G.o.d can use this for good. When family members sell us out, we will climb to our feet. G.o.d will recycle this pain. Falsely accused? Wrongly imprisoned? Utterly abandoned? We may stumble, but we do not fall. Why? "[G.o.d] works out everything in conformity with the purpose of his will" (Eph. 1:11 NIV). Everything means everything. No exceptions. Everything in your life is leading to a climactic moment in which Jesus will "reconcile to himself all things, whether things on earth or things in heaven, by making peace through his blood, shed on the cross" (Col. 1:20 NIV).

At the right time, in G.o.d's timing, you will be taken home to Canaan. But till then, stay close to your Brother.

After Matt Stevens made the foul shots, he became the hero of his high school. Everyone wanted to meet him. Cheerleaders wanted to talk to him. It was reported that he was thinking about asking a girl to the prom. Wonderful things happen when a big brother helps out.

You will get through this. Not because you are strong but because your Brother is. Not because you are good but because your Brother is. Not because you are big but because your big Brother is the Prince, and he has a place prepared for you.

CHAPTER 13.

Good-Bye to

Good-Byes