A Funeral Procession of Faith Text: Genesis 50:7-11
Introduction: The Weight of a Promise
The book of Genesis, which begins with the creation of the entire cosmos out of nothing, ends with a coffin in Egypt. But it is a coffin full of hope. It is a coffin pointed toward the promises of God. We have just witnessed the death of Jacob, a patriarch whose life was a tangled mess of striving, wrestling, deception, and ultimately, profound faith. Before he died, he made his son Joseph swear a solemn oath. It was not a request for a grand Egyptian pyramid or a monument to his name. It was a simple, yet profoundly theological, command: "Do not bury me in Egypt, but let me lie with my fathers. Carry me out of Egypt and bury me in their burial place" (Gen. 47:29-30).
We live in a sentimental age that often treats funerals as "celebrations of life," which usually means we talk about the deceased as though he were not actually deceased. We tell amusing anecdotes and try to avoid the raw, uncomfortable fact of death. But the patriarchs were not sentimentalists. They were men of faith, which meant they were realists. They knew death was real, but they also knew God's promises were more real. For them, a burial was not primarily about looking backward at a life that was over. It was about looking forward to a promise that was yet to be fulfilled. It was a stake driven into the ground, a claim made on a future that God had guaranteed.
The patriarchs took the matter of burial with the utmost seriousness. Abraham purchased the cave of Machpelah as the very first piece of the Promised Land he actually owned, and it was a graveyard (Gen. 23). He and Sarah were buried there. Isaac and Rebekah were buried there. Jacob buried Leah there. And now, Jacob, who died in the splendor of Egypt, under the protection of his powerful son, insists on being carried back to that same plot of ground. Joseph, for his part, will later extract the same promise from his sons concerning his own bones. Why? Because their faith was not in Egypt. Their hope was not in chariots and horsemen. Their identity was not found in being comfortable aliens in a foreign land. Their hope was in the covenant God made with Abraham, a promise of land and of a seed who would bless the world. This funeral procession, therefore, is not a mere family affair. It is a public, political, and theological declaration. It is an act of covenant faithfulness on display for the Egyptians and the Canaanites to witness.
This is the final act of the story of Jacob, and it is the hinge upon which the story of the Exodus will turn. It is a demonstration that the people of God, even when surrounded by the wealth and power of a pagan empire, live by a different set of promises. Their compass is oriented to a different true north.
The Text
So Joseph went up to bury his father, and with him went up all the servants of Pharaoh, the elders of his household, and all the elders of the land of Egypt, and all the household of Joseph and his brothers and his father’s household; they left only their little ones and their flocks and their herds in the land of Goshen. There also went up with him both chariots and horsemen; and it was a very immense camp. And they came to the threshing floor of Atad, which is beyond the Jordan, and they lamented there with a very great and immense lamentation; and he observed seven days of mourning for his father. Now the inhabitants of the land, the Canaanites, saw the mourning at the threshing floor of Atad, and they said, “This is an immense mourning for the Egyptians.” Therefore it was named Abel-mizraim, which is beyond the Jordan.
(Genesis 50:7-11 LSB)
An Imperial Procession for a Pilgrim Prince (vv. 7-9)
We begin with the mustering of the funeral procession.
"So Joseph went up to bury his father, and with him went up all the servants of Pharaoh, the elders of his household, and all the elders of the land of Egypt, and all the household of Joseph and his brothers and his father’s household; they left only their little ones and their flocks and their herds in the land of Goshen. There also went up with him both chariots and horsemen; and it was a very immense camp." (Genesis 50:7-9)
Joseph, true to his word, begins the journey. But he does not go alone. This is not a quiet family funeral. Pharaoh, in a remarkable display of honor for Joseph and his father, sends the entire Egyptian court. We see "all the servants of Pharaoh," "the elders of his household," and "all the elders of the land of Egypt." This is the political and administrative leadership of the most powerful nation on earth at the time. This is a state funeral. Pharaoh is not just honoring Jacob; he is honoring the man who saved his nation. Joseph's wisdom and faithfulness have brought such blessing to Egypt that the king essentially shuts down the government to pay his respects to Joseph's father.
Alongside the Egyptians are "all the household of Joseph and his brothers and his father’s household." The entire clan of Israel, except for the youngest children and the livestock, makes this pilgrimage. This is a corporate act of covenant remembrance. They are all participating in this declaration of faith. They are leaving the comfort of Goshen, the land that had sustained them through the famine, to journey to a land they do not yet possess, to bury their father in a cave.
And then we see the military might: "There also went up with him both chariots and horsemen; and it was a very immense camp." The word "immense" or "great" is used repeatedly in this passage. This is not just an honor guard; it is a significant portion of the Egyptian army. On one level, this is practical. It is a dangerous journey, and such a high-profile caravan would be a tempting target for bandits. But on a theological level, we see a beautiful irony. The chariots of Egypt, which will one day be the instruments of Israel's oppression and which will be swallowed by the Red Sea, are here serving as the protectors of God's covenant people as they go to claim a piece of their inheritance. It is a picture of God's sovereignty, pressing the machinery of a pagan empire into the service of His redemptive plan. The world's power, whether it knows it or not, ultimately serves the purposes of the church.
This "very immense camp" is a preview, a foreshadowing of the Exodus. A great multitude of Israelites, accompanied by the wealth and power of Egypt, is going "up" toward the Promised Land. This journey is a dress rehearsal for the one their descendants will take centuries later. But for now, it is a temporary visit, a pilgrimage with a purpose, before they return to Egypt for a season of testing.
Mourning on the Border (v. 10)
The procession reaches a significant location and pauses for a solemn ceremony.
"And they came to the threshing floor of Atad, which is beyond the Jordan, and they lamented there with a very great and immense lamentation; and he observed seven days of mourning for his father." (Genesis 50:10 LSB)
They stop at the "threshing floor of Atad." A threshing floor is a place of separation, where grain is beaten to separate the wheat from the chaff. It is a place of judgment and processing. The location is "beyond the Jordan," meaning on the east side. They have not yet entered the heart of Canaan proper. They are on the border, on the threshold of the Promised Land. It is a fitting place to pause and mark the gravity of the moment.
Here, they engage in a "very great and immense lamentation." The language is emphatic. This is not a quiet, dignified affair. This is loud, public, visceral grief. Eastern mourning practices were demonstrative, and this one, amplified by the sheer size of the crowd, must have been an incredible spectacle of sorrow. Joseph leads this, observing a formal seven-day period of mourning. This is a deep and profound expression of loss, but it is also a public statement. They are mourning the loss of a great man, the patriarch of their people, at the very edge of the land God promised him.
The seven days of mourning are significant. Seven is the number of completion and perfection in Scripture. This period of mourning marks the completion of Jacob's earthly pilgrimage. His wrestling is over. His journey is complete. He has been gathered to his people, and his body is about to be laid to rest in the soil of the promise, awaiting the final harvest and the great resurrection.
A Witness to the Nations (v. 11)
The public nature of this mourning has its intended effect. It is noticed, and it is interpreted by the local inhabitants.
"Now the inhabitants of the land, the Canaanites, saw the mourning at the threshing floor of Atad, and they said, 'This is an immense mourning for the Egyptians.' Therefore it was named Abel-mizraim, which is beyond the Jordan." (Genesis 50:11 LSB)
The Canaanites, the very people who currently occupy the land promised to Abraham's descendants, are the audience for this display. They see the Egyptian officials, the chariots, the horsemen, and the massive crowd, and they draw a logical conclusion: "This is an immense mourning for the Egyptians." They see the outward trapping of power and assume this must be for a great Egyptian. They are right about the immensity of the mourning, but they are mistaken about its central character. This is not fundamentally an Egyptian affair; it is a Hebrew affair that Egypt is serving.
This misunderstanding is itself instructive. The Canaanites see the power of Egypt, but they are blind to the covenant of God. They see the chariots, but they don't see the faith that is driving the whole procession. This is how the world always views the church. They see our outward circumstances, our successes or failures by their standards, but they are deaf to the melody of God's promises that we are marching to.
As a result of this event, the place gets a new name: Abel-mizraim. This can be translated as "the mourning of the Egyptians." A permanent marker is left on the landscape, a testimony to this great event. A place on the border of the Promised Land is forever named for the mourning that occurred when the sons of Israel, escorted by the empire of Egypt, brought their father home. It is a signpost of God's faithfulness. Even in their grief, even before they possess the land, God is making a name for His people and His promises in the sight of the nations.
Conclusion: Burying Our Hope in the Right Field
This funeral procession for Jacob is more than just a touching story of filial piety. It is a profound lesson in what it means to live by faith. Joseph was the second most powerful man in the world. He could have built his father a magnificent tomb in Egypt, a monument that would have lasted for centuries. But a tomb in Egypt, no matter how grand, would have been a monument to despair. It would have been an admission that God's promises had been forgotten, that comfort in the present was more valuable than hope in the future.
Instead, Joseph uses all the power and prestige that God had given him in Egypt to do one thing: obey his father and honor God's covenant. He leverages the might of an empire to place his father's bones in a dark cave in a foreign field. From a worldly perspective, this is foolishness. But from the perspective of faith, it is the only sane thing to do. That field was the field of hope. That cave was a down payment on the resurrection.
Our burials, like those of the patriarchs, ought to be testimonies. They are a standing and practical testimony to our belief in the resurrection of the body. We do not bury our dead as those who have no hope. We lay them in the ground, as a farmer plants a seed, in the sure and certain hope that what is sown in corruption will be raised in incorruption (1 Cor. 15:42). We are planting them in the hope of the great harvest, when the Lord Jesus Christ, who himself was buried and rose again, will return and call forth all who are in the graves.
This procession was a witness to the Canaanites. Our lives, and our deaths, are to be a witness to the world around us. Do they see us living as comfortable Egyptians, content with the leeks and onions of this world? Or do they see us as pilgrims, a great camp on the move, our hearts set on a better country, a heavenly one? Do they see us investing all our hopes and dreams in the passing glories of this age, or are we, like Joseph, leveraging everything we have for the sake of a promise that is yet to be seen?
Jacob's body was laid to rest in Canaan, but his true inheritance was far greater. And so is ours. We look for a city whose builder and maker is God. And we do so because the true Joseph, Jesus Christ, has gone before us. He has conquered death, secured our inheritance, and promised to bring us home. Therefore, we can live and die with the same rugged faith as our fathers, knowing that the God who keeps His promises to the patriarchs will most certainly keep His promises to us.