Show Don't Tell: Genesis 47:13-26

Picture the dusty streets of ancient Egypt, where the sun hangs low in the sky, casting long shadows that dance across the parched earth. The once-bustling market squares are now hushed and somber, the vibrant colors of ripe fruits and fresh vegetables replaced by the ashen faces of desperate people. Famine has gripped the land, and hope is as scarce as the grain they once took for granted.

In the heart of this chaos stands Joseph, a Hebrew slave elevated to the highest ranks of Pharaoh’s administration. His sharp eyes scan the crowd, witnessing the desperation unfold like a tragic play. First, the coins vanish; they clink and clatter into his hands, held tightly by a trembling populace. “Take what you need,” they plead, their voices strained with hunger. But soon, the jingling echoes fall silent, and the livestock follow—sheep, cattle, and donkeys, all bartered for a morsel of sustenance.

As the last cow leaves their grasp, families turn to an even more harrowing decision: “Buy us and our land in exchange for food.” With heavy hearts, they relinquish the very soil that once nourished them. Joseph listens, a mixture of sympathy and resolve etched on his face. He knows the weight of power he wields.

In a matter of days, he transforms the social fabric of the land. One-fifth of all produce now belongs to Pharaoh forever; only the priests retain their land, a peculiar mercy granted to those who serve the gods. As the people shuffle away, they murmur, “You have saved our lives.” But at what cost?

In this stark transition, we witness not just survival, but the consolidation of power—an empire reshaped, a family protected. Was it wisdom or exploitation? The text dares not judge. It simply holds before us the reality of a man navigating the treacherous waters of necessity and authority, leaving us to ponder: what would we do in his place?