The Joseph Cycle

Twelve years had passed since Joseph came 
To Egypt as a slave. The shame 
He felt in early years was all 
But gone, though he could still recall 
The days when he was doubly scorned 
As shepherd slave, and often warned 
To keep his distance from the maids, 
Who swished their skirts, and wore their braids, 
And called him “boy,” and brushed against 
Him in the barn, and when he tensed, 
Would roll their eyes, and sometimes curse: 
“A virgin is a fool, or worse.” 

Twelve years of chastity, and now 
A prisoner, because the vow  
He never broke was not believed, 
And Potiphar, with craft deceived, 
Put Joseph in the prison where 
The king’s defectors lie. And there 
The hand of God, from year to year, 
Was daily with him, and the fear 
Of God grew deeper night by night, 
As Joseph set his heart to fight 
The fear of man, and put his trust, 
Against each doubt and painful thrust 
Of disappointment, yet in all 
The promises of God, and call  
On him for wisdom how to be  
A pris’ner for his majesty. 

The keeper of the prison turned 
To Joseph, as the twilight burned 
Its fiery red into their eyes, 
And said to him, “Do you despise 
The woman? She must fill your mind 
With rage, because you’ve been confined 
Here seven years for nothing – just  
A lie – a young man gathering dust, 
Like some forgotten souvenir. 
How long had you been there, a year?” 

“Five years. They bought me when I was 
Almost eighteen. And then, because 
The Lord was good to me, the man 
Gave me authority to plan 
The purchasing of all his wares, 
And told me often that his cares  
Were lifted, since I served his house.” 
The jailer said, “One lustful spouse! 
And you spend seven years in jail, 
And maybe all your life! No bail, 
No friends, no relatives to bring 
You gifts, the malice of the king, 
Who trusts the captain of his guard, 
And would as soon let you be tarred 
As hang his baker by the neck. 
And yet, she didn’t get a speck 
Of fault on you. Now tell me, was 
It easy all those years? Or does 
Your body work another way? 
She’s beautiful, and bid you lay 
With her!”  
       “My body doesn’t work 
Another way. My passions lurk 
Like every man’s, and steal up from 
Behind my eyes, awaiting some 
Allurement. And hers was not small, 
Nor was it only once in all  
Those years. And it was so much more 
Than physical, or what she wore. 

In early days, when I first came, 
She was the one who used my name. 
She’d call me Joseph, as if we 
Were friends. And she would say, ‘I see 
You dreaming after work. You must 
Be lonely here.  It seems unjust, 
I guess, for you to be cut off 
From everyone you love. Some scoff, 
I know, and call you “boy,” but I 
Think you’re a man.’ Thus she would try 
To steal my heart, before I knew 
She had designs on more. All through 
Those years she tried to undermine 
My hope in God. ‘It is a sign,’ 
She’d say, about my slavery, 
‘That your great, holy God would see 
You stolen from your home, and look 
The other way while traders took 
You captive as a slave. What kind 
Of God is that? Or is he blind?’ 
‘No ma’am, he is not blind,’ I’d say,  
Nor did he look the other way.’ 

In time she took away the veil 
And said, “Because you are a male 
Your noble vow and long travail 
With purity is bound to fail. 
Your God demands what cannot be. 
The flesh is not for chastity. 
Your soul perhaps may be; 
Your body has been made for me. 
And mark this, Joseph, I can make 
You ecstasy, or I can break 
You with one word.’  
     I said to her, 
‘You do not know my God, and err 
At almost every point. I grant 
You that what God commands I can’t 
Perform, and that there is an ecstasy, 
Of sorts, that you could give to me, 
And that, if I decline, you can 
Indeed dispose of such a man. 
But what I do not grant, and you 
Cannot conceive, though it is true, 
Is this: God gives what God demands. 
Although I may be bound with bands 
Of passion in my flesh, one word 
From my Creator God, unheard 
By human ears, will make me free, 
And I will see this “ecstasy” 
You offer me for what it is, 
And with revulsion turn to his. 
You have the power, even now, 
To break my back, not my vow. 
So mark this ma’am, I will not plow 
My fields with someone else’s cow.’” 

The warden smiled at Joseph on 
The prison porch. “You could have gone 
To feed the lions for a tongue 
Like that. Perhaps you would have sung 
A diff’rent tune, if you had fears 
That it would cost you seven years. 
Perhaps today you would be free. 
It seems a waste, don’t you agree?” 

“Sir, I would rather lose my life, 
Than even touch another’s wife. 
Let lions feed on Hebrew meat 
Before I touch the scented feet 
Of Lady Potiphar. You know 
I don’t agree. And I can show  
You why. My father chided me 
For dreams. My brothers, for a fee, 
Sold me to Egypt like a sack 
Of corn tossed on a wagon back. 
My master’s crafty wife betrayed  
Me with a lie. Yet I obeyed 
The word of God. And now for these 
Twelve months the royal butler sees 
The light of liberty, and leaves  
Me here to die. My friend, it grieves 
Me, I admit; but I believe 
With all my heart, that God will weave 
These dark and deadly strands of my 
Short life into a cord before I die, 
To save the people of my birth, 
And free the scepter of the earth.” 

Now let the flame of purity 
Ignite the light of candle three. 
And let both man and woman say, 
With Joseph on this advent day, 
“We will not recompense our pain 
With lawless pleasures, nor disdain 
The promises of God, as though 
He will not on our lives bestow 
The highest rapture we could know, 
And deepest gladness here below. 
So let us then the Lord obey, 
And pluck out our right eye today, 
Before we look in lust to find 
Delights that God has not designed 
For us to have. But let us feed 
On this: God gives us what we need; 
And sweetest pleasures are in store 
At his right hand for evermore. 

Part I 
Part II 
Part III 
Part IV 
 
Copyright  1997 John Piper 
Piper's Notes