Walking With Christ

(Part 2 of 9)

Genesis 40:6–7 (6)When Joseph came to them in the morning, he saw that they were troubled. (7)So he asked Pharaoh’s officers who were with him in custody in his master’s house, “Why are your faces downcast today?”(ESV)

We know Joseph’s story. His brothers betrayed him. He was sold into slavery. He was falsely accused and thrown into prison. Eventually, he stood before Pharaoh, interpreted his dreams, and rose to a position of extraordinary authority in Egypt.

It’s one of the most remarkable reversals of fortune in Scripture. But somewhere between Joseph entering prison and Joseph standing before Pharaoh, something happened that we tend to rush past.

Joseph noticed that two other prisoners were troubled. That may not sound particularly remarkable. Until we remember what Joseph himself was going through.

A Man With Every Reason to Be Bitter

Joseph hadn’t earned his imprisonment. He’d already suffered betrayal at the hands of his brothers. He’d been taken from his home, sold into slavery, and forced to build a life in a foreign land.

Even after demonstrating faithfulness in Potiphar’s household, he found himself imprisoned because of a false accusation.

He had plenty of reasons to be angry. Plenty of reasons to withdraw. Plenty of reasons to become so consumed by his own suffering that he stopped paying attention to anyone else’s.

Scripture doesn’t tell us everything Joseph felt during those years. We shouldn’t pretend that we know whether he struggled with bitterness, anger, or despair. But we do know something about what he did.

When two prisoners appeared troubled, Joseph asked them why.

Two Men With Troubled Faces

The chief cupbearer and chief baker had offended Pharaoh and been placed in custody. Both men had dreams on the same night. Both were disturbed because they didn’t understand what those dreams meant.

The next morning, Joseph came to them and noticed their distress. Then he asked: “Why are your faces downcast today?”

Consider how ordinary that question sounds. Joseph didn’t begin by announcing that he had a message from God. He didn’t begin by explaining his own circumstances. He didn’t begin by asking whether either man might be able to help him.

He noticed something was wrong. And he asked about it.

We know how important that conversation eventually becomes. The cupbearer will later remember Joseph when Pharaoh has a dream. But that’s not what Joseph knows when he asks the question.

At that moment, two men are troubled, and Joseph takes an interest in what’s happening to them.

When Your Own Problems Are Enough

There’s something uncomfortable about this part of Joseph’s story. We often become so occupied with our own difficulties that we stop recognizing the difficulties of others.

Sometimes that happens because our suffering is genuinely overwhelming. Sometimes we’re exhausted. Sometimes we’re afraid. Sometimes we simply don’t have the emotional or physical resources to take on another burden.

Scripture doesn’t require us to pretend those limitations aren’t real. But Joseph’s example challenges the assumption that we must have our own lives completely sorted out before we can care about someone else’s.

Joseph was still a prisoner. He still had no clear path to freedom. His circumstances hadn’t improved. And yet he was attentive enough to recognize that someone else was struggling.

He didn’t have to solve his own problems before he could ask another man what was wrong.

The Answer Joseph Gave

When the men explained that they’d dreamed and had no one to interpret their dreams, Joseph directed their attention toward God. He told them that interpretations belong to God and invited them to tell him their dreams.

That matters.

Joseph didn’t present himself as the source of some extraordinary personal ability. He acknowledged God. And then he listened.

The interpretations weren’t equally encouraging. The cupbearer would be restored to his position. The baker would be executed.

Joseph didn’t turn both messages into comforting promises simply because the men were distressed. He told them what he understood the dreams to mean.

Sometimes caring about someone doesn’t mean telling them what they want to hear. Sometimes it means being willing to speak truthfully, even when the truth is difficult.

The Man Who Forgot

After interpreting the cupbearer’s dream, Joseph made a request. He asked the man to remember him when he returned to Pharaoh’s service. Joseph explained that he’d been taken from his homeland and had done nothing to deserve imprisonment.

This is an important detail. Joseph wasn’t indifferent to his own suffering. He wasn’t pretending that his imprisonment was acceptable. He wanted out.

He recognized a possible opportunity to obtain his freedom, and he asked for help. There’s no contradiction between caring about others and acknowledging that we also need help. But the cupbearer forgot him.

Joseph remained in prison for another two years before Pharaoh’s dreams brought his name back into the conversation.

We often concentrate on those two years because they lead to Joseph’s eventual promotion. But there’s another lesson here.

Joseph’s willingness to help the cupbearer wasn’t immediately rewarded with help in return.

The man he assisted forgot him. That didn’t make Joseph’s earlier concern meaningless. It simply meant that doing something good for another person didn’t guarantee that the person would do something good for him.

More Than a Stepping Stone

It’s easy to read the cupbearer as a necessary connection in Joseph’s journey toward Pharaoh. And narratively, he certainly becomes that.

But when we treat him only as the man who eventually introduces Joseph to Pharaoh, we overlook the interaction that brought them together.

Two prisoners were distressed. Joseph noticed. He asked a question. He listened. He acknowledged God. And he spoke truthfully.

All of that happened before anyone knew the cupbearer would eventually mention Joseph to Pharaoh. The conversation had significance beyond what it eventually accomplished for Joseph. It revealed something about how Joseph treated people while he was suffering himself.

Who Have We Stopped Seeing?

There’s a challenge here that has very little to do with Joseph becoming a ruler in Egypt.

Who are we overlooking because we’re too occupied with our own circumstances? Who has been unusually quiet? Who looks troubled? Who has stopped participating in conversations they once enjoyed? Who might be waiting for someone to notice that something is wrong?

We can’t carry every burden. We can’t solve every problem. And sometimes we’re the ones who need someone to stop and ask how we’re doing. But there’s a difference between being unable to help and failing to notice.

Joseph didn’t begin by solving the men’s problems. He began by paying attention. And sometimes that’s where caring for another person begins.

Not with a grand gesture. Not with an extraordinary sacrifice. Not with the promise that everything will work out.

Just a question. “Why are your faces downcast today?”

We remember Joseph because he eventually stood before Pharaoh.

But perhaps we should also remember that, while he was still a prisoner, he took the time to notice two other men who were hurting.

Sometimes the most important thing happening in the middle of our own struggles is the person standing beside us.