Mercy at the Table

Genesis 43

Grab your bibles, tonight we are in Genesis 43.

But lets back-up for a second.

The famine’s hit hard. The land’s bone-dry, and people are hungry—not just physically, but spiritually. Jacob’s house is hurting. So he sends his sons—the same ones who sold Joseph into slavery decades ago—to Egypt to buy food. And wouldn't you know it... the brother they betrayed is now the man in charge. Only they don’t recognize him... but Joseph recognizes them.

Now just imagine Joseph standing there. These are the faces from his nightmares—the brothers who threw him in a pit, who tore up his robe, who sold him like a piece of property. And now, years later, God has elevated him to a place of power for such a time as this (sound familiar?). But instead of throwing down vengeance, Joseph tests them. He wants to see if these brothers have changed. So he accuses them of being spies, keeps Simeon as collateral, and tells them not to come back unless they bring the youngest brother, Benjamin.

They head home scared, confused, and full of guilt. And Jacob? He’s broken. He’s already lost Joseph, and now Simeon’s gone too—and they’re asking to take Benjamin? It’s more than his heart can take.

Genesis 42 ends with tension, grief, and guilt. It’s a picture of a fractured family, reaping what they sowed years ago, but what they don’t know yet is that God’s not done. He’s not just working behind the scenes—He’s orchestrating redemption. Joseph isn’t looking for revenge. He’s after reconciliation.

Ultimately, Jacob decides his sons must return to Egypt to buy grain. But on their return there, the brothers are not met by the hostile ruler they expect. Instead, they are reunited with Simeon and treated to all the favor and extravagance Joseph can extend.

So lets read Genesis 43:1-34

Genesis 43:1–34 ESV

Now the famine was severe in the land. And when they had eaten the grain that they had brought from Egypt, their father said to them, “Go again, buy us a little food.” But Judah said to him, “The man solemnly warned us, saying, ‘You shall not see my face unless your brother is with you.’ If you will send our brother with us, we will go down and buy you food. But if you will not send him, we will not go down, for the man said to us, ‘You shall not see my face, unless your brother is with you.’ ” Israel said, “Why did you treat me so badly as to tell the man that you had another brother?” They replied, “The man questioned us carefully about ourselves and our kindred, saying, ‘Is your father still alive? Do you have another brother?’ What we told him was in answer to these questions. Could we in any way know that he would say, ‘Bring your brother down’?” And Judah said to Israel his father, “Send the boy 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 will be a pledge of his safety. 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. If we had not delayed, we would now have returned twice.” Then their father Israel said to them, “If it must be so, then do this: take some of the choice fruits of the land in your bags, and carry a present down to the man, a little balm and a little honey, gum, myrrh, pistachio nuts, and almonds. Take double the money with you. Carry back with you the money that was returned in the mouth of your sacks. Perhaps it was an oversight. Take also your brother, and arise, go again to the man. May God Almighty grant you mercy before the man, and may he send back your other brother and Benjamin. And as for me, if I am bereaved of my children, I am bereaved.” So the men took this present, and they took double the money with them, and Benjamin. They arose and went down to Egypt and stood before Joseph. When Joseph saw Benjamin with them, he said to the steward of his house, “Bring the men into the house, and slaughter an animal and make ready, for the men are to dine with me at noon.” The man did as Joseph told him and brought the men to Joseph’s house. And the men were afraid because they were brought to Joseph’s house, and they said, “It is because of the money, which was replaced in our sacks the first time, that we are brought in, so that he may assault us and fall upon us to make us servants and seize our donkeys.” So they went up to the steward of Joseph’s house and spoke with him at the door of the house, and said, “Oh, my lord, we came down the first time to buy food. And when we came to the lodging place we opened our sacks, and there was each man’s money in the mouth of his sack, our money in full weight. So we have brought it again with us, and we have brought other money down with us to buy food. We do not know who put our money in our sacks.” He replied, “Peace to you, do not be afraid. Your God and the God of your father has put treasure in your sacks for you. I received your money.” Then he brought Simeon out to them. And when the man had brought the men into Joseph’s house and given them water, and they had washed their feet, and when he had given their donkeys fodder, they prepared the present for Joseph’s coming at noon, for they heard that they should eat bread there. When Joseph came home, they brought into the house to him the present that they had with them and bowed down to him to the ground. And he inquired about their welfare and said, “Is your father well, the old man of whom you spoke? Is he still alive?” They said, “Your servant our father is well; he is still alive.” And they bowed their heads and prostrated themselves. And he lifted up his eyes and saw his brother Benjamin, his mother’s son, and said, “Is this your youngest brother, of whom you spoke to me? God be gracious to you, my son!” Then Joseph hurried out, for his compassion grew warm for his brother, and he sought a place to weep. And he entered his chamber and wept there. Then he washed his face and came out. And controlling himself he said, “Serve the food.” They served him by himself, and them by themselves, and the Egyptians who ate with him by themselves, because the Egyptians could not eat with the Hebrews, for that is an abomination to the Egyptians. And they sat before him, the firstborn according to his birthright and the youngest according to his youth. And the men looked at one another in amazement. Portions were taken to them from Joseph’s table, but Benjamin’s portion was five times as much as any of theirs. And they drank and were merry with him.

1. True leadership steps in, takes responsibility, and points to Jesus.

So the grain runs out. Again. And Jacob—the patriarch, the one who’s supposed to lead—finally decides his sons have to go back to Egypt. But there’s a catch. Judah steps in and reminds his father of what should’ve been clear from the beginning: We can’t go back without Benjamin. No Benjamin, no grain. No Benjamin, no Simeon. No Benjamin, no survival.

Jacob’s caught in a place many of us men know all too well—a rock and a hard place, where every option feels like loss. He can give up one son or lose the whole family. And in that moment, he lashes out, not because he doesn’t care, but because fear has gripped his heart more than faith has steadied his hands. This is leadership under pressure, but not the good kind. He hesitates. He delays. He waits until the cupboards are bare and desperation is choking the air.

Now, let’s not be too quick to throw stones. A lot of men today lead like Jacob. We wait. We avoid. We hope the crisis solves itself. But leadership doesn’t punt. Leadership steps up. And here’s where Judah shines.

Judah, the same brother who once sold Joseph into slavery, is now standing up like a different man. He leans in and says, “Let me take him. I’ll be responsible. Hold me accountable.” He’s not just trying to get grain—he’s pleading for salvation. For his family. For the covenant line of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Judah doesn’t just ask his father to send Benjamin—he begs him to empower him to save them all from death.

And right here, church, is where the shadow of Jesus shows up. Because Judah’s not just being a good older brother—he’s pointing to the true and better older brother. Judah says, “I’ll take his place. I’ll guarantee his safety.”

It reminds me of what C.S. Lewis once said:

“The Son of God became a man to enable men to become sons of God.”

And that sounds a whole lot like Jesus, who said, “I am the bread of life” (John 6:35) and who came to rescue us—not from a famine of grain, but a famine of the soul.

The time for waiting was over. The time for rescue had come. And Jacob—finally—lets go of fear and lets his son go, not realizing that through Judah’s plea and Benjamin’s journey, God is moving every piece into place to save the whole family and preserve the promise.

So Jacob finally gives in. Not because he wants to—but because he has to.

So Jacob does what many of us do when we’re out of options—he tries to sweeten the deal. He tells his sons to pack up the best the land’s got to offer—some honey, some spices, a little pistachio action—and bring double the silver. Why? Because he’s still thinking this Egyptian ruler can be bought. Maybe gifts can smooth it over. Maybe silver can fix what went wrong.

But even in all his planning, Jacob lets a little faith slip through. He says, “Take also your brother, and arise, go again to the man. May God Almighty grant you mercy before the man, and may he send back your other brother and Benjamin.” (Genesis 43:13–14, ESV). And then—this is the turn—he stops leaning on gifts and strategy and starts leaning on God. In other words: “If we’re gonna make it out of this alive, it won’t be because we played it smart—it’ll be because God showed up.”

And then come some of the most raw, honest words you’ll hear from a father: “As for me, if I am bereaved of my children, I am bereaved.” (Genesis 43:14, ESV). That’s not a man giving up. That’s a man surrendering. Jacob’s saying, “I can’t control the outcome, but I can trust the One who does.”

See, the real shift in Jacob isn’t just that he lets Benjamin go—it’s that he finally lets God be God. He moves from managing the outcome to trusting the Almighty. And church, that’s a word for some of us today: your hope is not in your plans, your provision, or your performance—it’s in the mercy of God.

And the good news? We don’t have to curry favor with some distant Egyptian lord. We’ve already been given favor through Jesus Christ, who doesn’t just show mercy—He is mercy.

2. Grace prepares a feast for the guilty.

When Joseph’s brothers return to Egypt, you can just feel the tension in the air. They’re walking into the unknown, their hearts probably pounding like war drums. These are the same brothers who once sold Joseph for silver, and now they stand unknowingly in his presence. They don't recognize him, but Joseph sees Benjamin—and it hits him deep. The text says that as soon as Joseph sees his little brother, he doesn’t throw accusations or warnings. No, he calls for a celebration. He tells his steward, “Bring these men to my house. Prepare a meal. They’re eating with me at noon” (Genesis 43:16). That’s not vengeance. That’s grace in motion.

Now hang on, this is where it gets wild. These guys are terrified. They're walking into a foreign ruler’s house thinking, “This is it. They’re going to enslave us and take our donkeys” (v. 18). I love how the Bible includes that—“take our donkeys.” Like, of all the things to worry about—your donkeys?

They’re scared because they still think like men under condemnation. They’ve got guilt in their bones. So when they finally get to the house, they start blurting out half-truths to cover themselves: “Hey, just so you know, we brought back the silver. All of us found it in our bags!” (v. 21). Except… that’s not quite true. Only one of them found it (42:27). Guilt will make you spin the story, won’t it?

And here’s the twist: instead of punishment, the steward greets them with peace. “Peace to you, do not be afraid. Your God and the God of your father has put treasure in your sacks for you. I received your money” (v. 23). Y’all, that’s a Gentile, in Egypt, giving glory to the God of Israel! Sometimes people outside the covenant understand the grace of God better than the folks inside.

And then Simeon shows up—remember, he’d been held as collateral—and the brothers are invited inside. They get water to wash their feet, just like honored guests (Genesis 43:24). That’s the kind of hospitality that echoes Abraham in Genesis 18. That’s covenantal kindness. That’s family table kind of grace.

Then Joseph walks in, and the brothers bow low, just like he dreamed years ago (Genesis 37). Prophecy fulfilled, right there at the dinner table. And Joseph doesn’t gloat. He doesn’t say, “Told you so.” He asks them, “Is your father well?” But in the Hebrew, that word is shalom. He’s asking, “Is there peace?” (v. 27). That word shalom appears three times in the passage—it’s like the heartbeat of the story.

Here’s the thing: years earlier, Joseph’s brothers couldn’t even speak shalom to him because of their hatred (Genesis 37:4). Now Joseph, the wounded one, the betrayed one, is offering shalom to the very people who broke it. That's not revenge. That's redemption.

Joseph is overwhelmed when he sees Benjamin. The text says his “compassion grew warm” and he had to leave the room to weep (vv. 29–30). He blesses Benjamin with the words, “May God be gracious to you, my son.” He’s overcome—not with bitterness—but with love.

Here’s where the gospel jumps off the page. The brothers expect condemnation, but Joseph gives them a feast. They expect chains, and he gives them bread and wine. They expect justice, but get mercy.

That reminds me of something Charles Spurgeon once said:

“God’s mercy is so great that you may sooner drain the sea of its water, or deprive the sun of its light, or make space too narrow, than diminish the great mercy of God.”

That’s what Joseph is showing here. Great mercy. Gospel-sized mercy.

Let me give you an image for this: A while back, a pastor friend told me about a woman in his church who had disappeared for a season. She was battling addiction, estranged from her family, living out of her car. She thought the church would want nothing to do with her. One Sunday, out of nowhere, she showed up. No warning. Just walked in, mid-service. People looked. Some whispered. But one elderly woman—the woman who had led her to Jesus years ago—got up from her pew, walked straight to her, hugged her with tears in her eyes and said, “We’ve been waiting for you. Come sit with me.”

That’s what Joseph does. That’s what Jesus does.

Now, five things about that meal:

They eat separately. Egyptians thought eating with Hebrews was “detestable” (v. 32). Even in a feast of grace, division still lingers. But grace pushes through.

The seating arrangement is divinely suspicious. They’re seated in birth order, and they’re looking around like, “What is going on?” (v. 33). God’s sovereignty is showing off.

The portions are overflowing. Benjamin gets five times the food. Not because he earned it, but because of love (v. 34).

The wine is flowing too. The brothers relax. Fear melts into joy. This is not the meal they expected. This is Luke 15 all over again. The prodigal expected a lecture and got a party.

This meal is a glimpse of the gospel. Psalm 23:5 says, “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.” And here’s Joseph, the one they betrayed, preparing a table for his brothers. A feast for his enemies turned family. That’s grace.

This whole moment whispers the gospel. The righteous sufferer, exalted to power, prepares a table of grace for the ones who betrayed him. Just like Jesus.

Jesus doesn’t throw us in a pit. He doesn’t rub our failures in our faces. He invites us to his table. He gives us a portion, not of food, but of his Spirit. He calls us family. He welcomes us home.

Just like Revelation 19 describes, we’re headed to a feast—the marriage supper of the Lamb. And friend, if you’re in Christ, your seat has already been set.

So come to the table. Not because you’re worthy. But because Jesus is.

“Oh, taste and see that the LORD is good! Blessed is the man who takes refuge in him!” — Psalm 34:8 (ESV)

That’s not just poetic language—it’s a gospel invitation. It’s not a call to analyze the Lord’s goodness, or to debate it, or to store it on a theological shelf somewhere. It’s a call to experience Him. To pull up a chair to the table of grace, to take a bite of mercy you didn’t earn, and to drink deeply from a cup you didn’t deserve.

Just like Joseph’s brothers, you and I come with baggage. We carry guilt. We come expecting judgment. We rehearse our defense like they did, hoping maybe we can convince God we’re not as bad as we really are. But instead of wrath, we find a feast. Instead of condemnation, we’re welcomed by nail-scarred hands. Instead of a prison sentence, we get a seat at the wedding banquet of the Lamb.

Beloved, that is the gospel. Not that we cleaned ourselves up and earned our place at the table—but that while we were still a long way off, the Father ran to us. That while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. That Jesus, like Joseph, suffered unjustly, rose to power, and now uses his authority not to crush his enemies—but to save them. To save us.

So today, the same Spirit that moved Joseph to show compassion is the Spirit who beckons you home. He whispers, “Don’t be afraid. Peace to you.” The question is—will you come?

The table is set. The portions are generous. The invitation has your name on it.

Come taste and see that the Lord is good.

Let’s pray.