Fig Leaves and a Fancy Coat

Have you ever been treated harshly? Have you ever been rejected and despised by someone you thought might actually love you? 

The deepest hurts, the most painful betrayals come from the people closest to us. You can't very well be betrayed by someone whose opinion doesn't matter much to you. But to be stripped and thrown into a pit to die by your very own brothers? That's a whole new level of heartbreak, but that's what happened to Joseph, son of Israel, in Genesis 37. Verses 23-24 of the Complete Jewish Bible put it this way:

So it was that when Yosef arrived to be with his brothers, they stripped off his robe, the long-sleeved robe he was wearing, and took him and threw him into the cistern (the cistern was empty; without any water in it).

There'd been some tension between Joseph and his brothers --half-brothers, actually, and that was part of the problem. Joseph and his brother, Benjamin, were the product of Israel's relationship with his favorite wife, Rachel. The remaining sons came to be through another marriage and Israel's union with two slave girls. Joseph's father had made him a beautiful coat to demonstrate his great love for his son. When the other sons of Jacob were out in all sorts of weather tending their father's sheep, Joseph was keeping an eye on them and, apparently, they weren't always doing what they were supposed to be doing. He snitched. To Dad. But his loquaciousness didn't stop there; he was sure to tell his brothers about his dreams, dreams in which they and their father would bow to Joseph. Yeah, it became a tense situation. 

On one particular day, the brothers decided to act on their anger. They seized Joseph, stripped him of his robe, and threw him in an empty cistern. Did Joseph deserve a little comeuppance? Perhaps, but his brothers fully intended to kill him! Only the self-seeking ploy of the oldest brother, Reuben, saved him from that fate (v. 21-22). But I'm not sure you could have convinced Joseph he was better off. After all, his family orchestrated, carried out, and seemingly celebrated his betrayal: as he sat stripped, alone, and wondering in a dark pit, his brothers sat down to lunch. Pretty savage.

In the Garden of Eden, after Adam and Eve turned their backs on God, they knew they were naked. They'd always been naked, and it had never been an issue. What changed? They'd been stripped, stripped of their identity, stripped of their protection, stripped of everything that had before kept them pure and happy and holy and free. They felt compelled to create something of their own to stand in the place where the covering of their undefiled relationship with God once stood. The sewed fig leaves. Fig leaves! Think about that. How good are fig leaves against the cold? How good are fig leaves for comfort? How good are fig leaves at wicking away sweat? How good are fig leaves for durability? Compared to cotton, fig leaves wouldn't be much, but compared to being under the shadow of the Almighty, under His wings, behind the shield of His truth...? Hah! Rubbish!

And it was in a pit that Joseph, too, sat stripped. Stripped of any illusions about his brothers' feelings or intentions. Stripped of his dignity, his hubris, the self-satisfaction that may have prompted him to share his dreams with the very family members who had "bowed before him." Stripped of the comfort and safety of his father's home --perhaps, forever. Stripped of any longings to be counted as one of the brothers, sons of Israel. Stripped of the life he knew. Stripped of a coat that blazed with the favor and honor of a sinful man. Stripped of all those things that once made him feel normal, comfortable, special, even self-righteous. But God! Genesis 50:20 records Joseph's words to his brothers years later:

You meant to do me harm, but God meant it for good — so that it would come about as it is today, with many people’s lives being saved.

I believe --in fact, I testify, the walls I built around my life to protect me from the world were insufficient. The hardness I developed, the lies I told to best a crooked system, the recompense I stole in payment for terrible things done to me, the success for which I strove that I might make those who betrayed me look ridiculous, the behaviors that brought embarrassment to those who I believed deserved to bear my shame, the things I accumulated and the reckless antics I pursued --all of these fig leaves, by God's grace, withered and died. I was stripped, left naked without them, in a dark pit with nothing but my thoughts and the God who faithfully, lovingly held out His hand to me. As He did Adam and Eve. As He did Joseph. The God who is not necessarily looking to replace things others have taken from us, but to show us how little those things matter and how great life under His protection and provision is. The God who assures us, the worst of this life can be the best of an eternal one, a life without pretense and pride, fickle fame and fleeting finances, youth with no substance and age with no wisdom. Sometimes the stripping is necessary that we might be clothed in something much more eternal, much more worthwhile.