If you read through the end of Genesis, you might be struck by something odd. After the grand, sweeping narratives of creation, the fall, the flood, and the patriarchs, the book slows down and dedicates over half of its final chapter to the death, mourning, and burial of one man: Jacob.
Joseph weeps over his father. An elaborate, 40-day embalming process is undertaken by physicians. The entire nation of Egypt mourns for 70 days, a period of honor nearly equal to that of a Pharaoh. A great company of chariots and horsemen travels from Egypt to Canaan for the burial, a journey so conspicuous that it leaves a geographical mark, with the local Canaanites renaming a place “Abel-mizraim,” meaning “mourning of Egypt.” Martin Luther rightly observed, “There is no burial in the Scriptures quite as honorable as this or with such wealth of detail.”
Why? Why does this book, which begins with the explosion of life, end with such a prolonged focus on death? In many ways, the central question of Genesis is, “How can we live and not die?” From Judah’s plea to his father to God’s providence in sending Joseph to Egypt, the aim was always to “preserve life” (Genesis 45:5). And yet, here at the end, we are forced to linger over a coffin.
The reason is that Genesis 50 teaches us how to view death biblically. It shows us that for the people of God, mourning is not a denial of our faith but an expression of it. The Bible presents a path where we both accept death and defy it.
We accept death as the enemy
Our culture doesn’t know what to do with death, and this is often true even for Christians. On one hand, we try to deny it. We use euphemisms like “passed away” because the word “died” feels too harsh. We turn funerals into “celebrations of life,” as if we can gloss over the sorrow and pain with a party. But funerals are not birthdays, weddings, or graduations. Those are celebrations of life’s milestones. Funerals are for acknowledging that life has ended, and that death is a terrible thing.
The Bible presents a different path. First, we must accept death as the tragic and unnatural result of sin. Before the fall, there was no death. God’s command was clear: “of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die” (Genesis 2:17). Adam’s sin brought death into the world (1 Corinthians 15:21), and its devastating reality unfolds throughout Genesis — from the animal skins God made as the first covering for sin, to Cain’s murder of Abel, to the final words of Genesis 3:19, “for you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”
Because death is an enemy — the consequence of rebellion against a life-giving God — it is right and good to grieve. It is appropriate to weep. Joseph fell on his father’s face and wept. Later, at the tomb of his friend Lazarus, “Jesus wept” (John 11:35). The wisest man who ever lived wrote, “It is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting, for this is the end of all mankind, and the living will lay it to heart” (Ecclesiastes 7:2).
Sorrow is not a sign of weak faith. Funerals are for the living. They are a necessary space for us to acknowledge the horror of death, to process our grief, and to say goodbye. A funeral is not primarily for the person who has died, but for those who still live. As believers, we must have the courage to look death in the face and call it what it is: an intruder in God’s good world. We must mourn. “Blessed are those who mourn,” Jesus says, “for they shall be comforted” (Matthew 5:4).
We defy death in the resurrection
But our mourning is fundamentally different from the world’s. We accept death, but we also defy death. We do not despair. Our grief is framed by a glorious and certain hope. This is the heart of the Gospel. Paul makes this clear to the Thessalonian believers:
“But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, about those who are asleep, that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have fallen asleep” (1 Thessalonians 4:13–14).
Notice Paul doesn’t say, “Don’t grieve.” He says, “Don’t grieve as others do who have no hope.” Our tears are shed in the sure and certain hope of resurrection. Our faith is not a vague optimism; it is anchored to an historical event: the resurrection of Jesus Christ. As Paul argues in 1 Corinthians 15, if Christ has not been raised, our faith is futile, we are still in our sins, and we are of all people most to be pitied (1 Corinthians 15:17, 19).
“But in fact Christ has been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep. For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive.” (1 Corinthians 15:20, 22)
Christ is the “firstfruits.” His resurrection is the guarantee of our own. Because he conquered the grave, we can stand at the grave of a believing loved one and say with confidence, “O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?” (1 Corinthians 15:55, ESV).
This is why a Christian funeral is such a powerful witness to unbelievers. Think of the scene in Genesis 50. The Egyptians and Canaanites saw an unprecedented level of mourning. They saw deep, authentic sorrow. But they also saw a family so committed to a promise about a future inheritance that they would undertake a massive, difficult journey to bury their father in a specific plot of ground. This combination of profound grief and unshakable hope is a powerful testimony. It shows the world that we take death seriously, but we do not fear it. Our hope is not a crutch; it is a conviction that makes us act in ways that are noticeable to the world around us.
Our renewed hope in God’s promises
This hope is what characterizes the entire scene in Genesis 50. Why the long journey back to Canaan? Because Jacob’s burial was a profound statement of faith. Funerals for the believer serve to provide renewed hope in the promises of God. God had promised that land to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. He had promised Jacob, “I myself will go down with you to Egypt, and I will also bring you up again” (Genesis 46:4). Burying Jacob in the cave of Machpelah was an act of holding God to his word. It was a gravestone marking a down payment on a future inheritance.
Moses even portrays this funeral procession using language that foreshadows the Exodus. Pharaoh tells Joseph, “Go up and bury your father” (Genesis 50:6), the same language Pharaoh will later use to command Moses, “Up, go out from among my people” (Exodus 12:31). Jacob’s journey to his resting place was a picture of the nation’s future journey to the promised land.
For these patriarchs, the land of Canaan was a tangible symbol of a greater hope. As the author of Hebrews explains, “they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city” (Hebrews 11:16).
So yes, Christian, we mourn. We weep. We go to the house of mourning and feel the sadness of loss. We acknowledge death as the terrible wage of sin. But we do not despair. Our sorrow is overshadowed by a glorious hope. We grieve, but we do so while trusting the promises of God, who raised Jesus from the dead and has secured for us an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in Heaven for us.
Originally published at G3 Ministries.
Scott Aniol, PhD, is Executive Vice President and Editor-in-Chief of G3 Ministries. In addition to his role with G3, Scott is Professor of Pastoral Theology at Grace Bible Theological Seminary in Conway, Arkansas. He lectures around the world in churches, conferences, colleges, and seminaries, and he has authored several books and dozens of articles. You can find more, including publications and speaking itinerary, at www.scottaniol.com. Scott and his wife, Becky, have four children: Caleb, Kate, Christopher, and Caroline. You can listen to his podcast here.
