Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: Mercy (01/15/26)
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TITLE: Can This Be? | Previous Challenge Entry
By Jack Taylor
01/20/26 -
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The sweet resin of the palace courts drifted in as my brother’s bodyguard stepped inside. “Come!” There was no option. Father was scarcely in the ground, and now fear wrapped a shroud of darkness around me.
I’d sent a messenger, hoping to avoid this judgment. The images from past years had haunted my nights and dreams. I rehearsed the careful lies we’d given to the messenger. “Your father left instructions before he died…” Who was I fooling? We had lived on Joseph’s mercy while our father breathed, but now our shield was gone.
The messenger had returned moments before the bodyguard, his eyes darting like a trapped bird. “Master Judah, the Viceroy calls for you. I don’t think he believed the message.”
My legs wobbled like a withered bullrush in the breeze. The thumping in my chest outpaced the pounding of the ceremonial drums for Ra. The throne room rose before me like a mountain as my sandals scuffed onto the plaza. Columns soared heavenward, painted with scenes of conquest, chariots crushing enemies, Pharaoh adorned by falcons, suns, and hideous-faced deities. This was not the place of mercy. I fell to my knees on the polished stone, cool on my hands and knees. My brothers stumbled in and fell, prostrate beside me.
As my forehead pressed into the stone here, I remembered pressing my face near the dirt as we lowered Joseph into the pit. I had ignored his cries along with the others. At least I had worked to spare his life. Surely that stood for something. So many nights now, I had heard those desperate cries from the pit. Pleading for mercy. I had none. Nor could I expect any now.
“We are your slaves,” Reuben said, his voice cracking.
The sound of sandals shushed across the surface. I flinched as a shadow fell over me. “Don’t be afraid.”
I lifted my head. His eyes were wet. Was there regret, anger, pity for our fate?
“Am I in the place of God?” he asked, almost whispering.
The possibility struck me harder than an iron rod. Of course he was. I had waited for this day of vengeance, wondering if my wife and children would have to pay for my regrets. Every sunrise drove the spear of terror deeper inside. Images of chains, prisons, torture, or worse had plagued my thoughts as the reality of justice repaid sucked my soul dry.
“You intended evil against me,” he said.
The blade of those words severed any hope and twisted deep, clean and precise. I swallowed. Flashbacks of Joseph’s coat covered in goat’s blood surfaced as I handed it to our father and stayed silent through his grief. Begging for grain before the Viceroy, as he tests us, watches us, terrorizes us, and plays with us like a cat with a mouse.
“God intended it for good,” Joseph continued, “to accomplish what is now being done—the saving of many lives.”
Fire surged up my chest and into my throat. Good? Could slavery, chains, prison, and starvation be good? And yet, there had been grain. Egypt had been fed along with my children.
Joseph, the ruler of Egypt, knelt and placed a hand on my shoulder. His hand, heavy and warm, real as breath. “Do not fear,” he repeated. “I will provide for you and your little ones.”
Everything broke inside me. A gasp, a half-sob, half-prayer of gratitude escaped my throat as I collapsed and shook. His hand stayed gentle on my shoulder. Undeserved mercy fell in place of judgment. I had been elevated from the pit of fear and famine to the pillars of joy and wonder.
His words caressed my heart, soothing like a breeze from the Nile, refreshing like the moon after the desert sun, filling like the finest of feasts. Accusations receded; terror softened under grace.
He returned to his throne. I returned to my knees. My brothers hugged and smiled, staring at the figure that had lifted the sword from our necks. I understood. Mercy wasn’t about forgetting the fact of evil; it was seeing it clearly and choosing life anyway.
And for the first time since that day at the pit, I believed God’s mercy might be greater than my sin. Could there ever be another one who might express his mercy in such a way?
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