As Joseph leaned back against the rough wall of the dark, dry cell, one thing seemed clear: every time he served God, things got worse.

In his soul he knew this was not the whole story – at least, he hoped not – yet he could not deny that his most faithful moments preceded his most tragic.

From a young age Joseph wanted to honor both his Heavenly Father and his physical father, Israel. He would curl up as a child in his aging father’s lap and take in the stories of his great grandfather Abraham’s faithfulness and his grandfather Isaac’s trust that was so deep he did not fight the sacrificial binding. “I see them in you, my child, and our God sees you,” his father would say with pride. His love for Joseph was so pronounced that he made a colorful ornate robe for him, which Joseph carried everywhere.

Honoring his father led to the first tragedy in his life: his brothers harbored a hatred for him so raw that they refused to speak to him.

As they shepherded the flocks, Joseph’s brothers would act as though he was not there, pushing past him and carrying on conversations about him. In his weakest moments his anger at his brothers seemed stronger than his contentment in God, and he would share condemning reports to his father of their activities in the field. This would only make them more livid, and the tension between them seemed indestructible.

For a moment, Joseph believed all this would change when a striking dream startled him awake. “This must be a vision from God! I have to share it” He rushed to wake his brothers and share God’s word before he forgot it: “Listen to this dream I had: we were binding sheaves of grain out in the field when suddenly my sheaf rose and stood upright, while your sheaves gathered around mine and bowed down to it.”

So heartbroken had Joseph been of the mistreatment by his older brothers that he believed God was promising he would be treated better. God does see me, just as He saw Hagar; He is telling me that my time of rejection will soon end! He was so caught up in the vision that he had not processed whether hope or pride drove him, yet it made no difference, for his brothers were furious.

“Do you intend to reign over us?!” Their hatred deepened, irreconcilably so when Joseph approached later with another dream that angered even his father.

This led to the second tragedy.

During a particularly active shepherding stint, the brothers, grateful for distance from Joseph, saw him in the distance.

“Here comes the dreamer!” All at once, they grew quiet as a horrific idea developed in their minds. “We could kill him.”

A frightening energy built among them. “It would be so easy to kill him and throw him into one of these cisterns. Who would know?”

“We could say a vicious animal devoured him.”

“He’s out here alone, it happens, and we could return home in tears at discovering his bloody remains.”

“Let’s see his dreams come to pass now!”

All seemed resolved but Reuben, who desperately searched for a plan that did not out his love for his brother. “Wait, we do not need to become murderers… there’s… there’s a better way. Just throw him in the cistern without killing him. That way, his blood is not on our hands.” Reuben held his breath, fearful they would catch on that he intended to save his brother.

“Smart, Reuben,” one of the brothers said as he patted him on the back, “I’d planned to draw lots on who would do the deed, but I have no issue pushing that fool in a pit.”

Joseph, of course, knew none of this. He was there as an act of obedience to Israel, and could do nothing when they overwhelmed him, stripped him, and threw him into the cistern. He clawed at the mud walls futilely as his brothers tried on his colorful robe and schemed. He heard as they quieted as though someone approached, and Ishmaelite accents joined the voices. A rope was thrown down, and though he thought they had reconsidered he found himself immediately bound by Midianite merchants while his brothers collected silver.

Joseph breathed deeply as he came back to himself in the cell. It was hard to remember his youth, when he was free and had the support of his father. “I believed God’s dreams… where did it get me?”

His eyes clenched shut as he remembered the journey to Egypt, abused by the merchants who saw him as nothing more than property. “My God, what are you doing?” Joseph began to question his dreams that had once seemed so divine; they seemed unreasonable as a younger brother, impossible as a slave. Had he actually heard from God?

He laughed as he remembered his desire to remain faithful to God. “If this is where my God has me,” he had said when sold to Potiphar, one of Pharaoh’s officials, “I will be faithful to him.”

This began the third tragedy of Joseph’s faithfulness to God.

Initially, it seemed like seeking God was beneficial. His faith in God over his circumstances gave him a hope and optimism absent in the other servants, and situations began to work out in his favor. Potiphar, seeing how successful Joseph was in everything he did and recognizing the benefits he reaped, put him in charge of everything he owned. Potiphar trusts me completely, Joseph would think. This may be God’s creative plan… I will find freedom through friendship with this master!

Everyone seemed to be drawn to Joseph, none more than Potiphar’s wife. What he once took as cordial interaction soon became much more – extended glances, slight touches, prolonged presence – to the point that Joseph felt awkward in her presence.

“Don’t be shy,” she would flirt, “I don’t bite.”

Joseph longed to be faithful to God and obedient to Potiphar, and though the attention of a woman was tempting, he knew the danger. His resistance, however, did not matter, as her persistence was undeterred. “We are alone, Joseph… sleep with me.”

Joseph was never more thankful for his commitment to God; he rejected her advances without hesitation. “Your husband has entrusted me with everything, everything except you. I will not do such a horrendous thing and sin against God.”

She touched his arm. “God doesn’t have to know.” Day after day she found ways to be near him, using her body and words to tempt him and break down his defenses, but he would not give in.

“Perhaps he fears getting caught,” she realized one morning, and immediately dismissed the other servants. Joseph arrived, and early into his duties felt the unusual silence well before he saw her in the doorframe, barely clothed. “No one will know, Joseph; my bed is waiting,” she stepped forward and grabbed his cloak with both hands.

Joseph yanked back without thinking, hard enough to sprain her wrists; harming her seemed less a risk than being caught with her. Somehow her grip did not loosen, and she jerked him towards the room. Instinctively Joseph dipped in a fluid motion with his arms extended, his cloak sliding off and Potiphar’s wife falling to the floor as Joseph rushed in his undergarments out the door. The servants outside watched him with confusion as he barreled past, then jerked back as they heard a scream from within.

“The Hebrew tried to take advantage of me! Somebody help me!”

Joseph’s tears hit the cell floor as the pain of that moment hit fresh. He and Potiphar had developed a friendship, and the fury in Potiphar’s eyes when his wife recounted a near-rape left a scar in Joseph’s mind. These paired with the scars on his body, remnants of a beating from Potiphar and his guard. The skin was still rough under his fingers. “I was faithful to you, God, and to Potiphar, and I respected his wife… why… why did you let Potiphar believe the lie? He knew I would never… why did you let them beat me? Why did you imprison me when all I’ve tried to do is serve you?!”

Sometimes Joseph would feel furious with God, and would enter periods when he felt incapable of praying; yet, inevitably, he could not disavow God. Even in his silence, his soul was postured toward God. In fact, he could not deny that God had given him favor even in imprisonment, even as he contested, “I’d rather have freedom as a free man!” Deep down, he knew he would not give up on God even if at times it seemed God had given up on him; this positioning opened him to the gift of interpreting dreams.

Initially, it was treated among his cellmates as a novelty. Occasionally one would call from his cell, “Hey Joseph, I dreamed a large spider cast a web in my cell and I laid on it in comfort… what does that mean?” and Joseph would discern a meaning. So in touch with God was Joseph’s soul that the most obscure dreams would surprisingly make sense, even in his seasons of avoiding God.

This deep faithfulness led to the fourth tragedy.

After years of imprisonment, Joseph heard a commotion as two men were tossed into the cell next to him. Based on their attire, he knew they were important, and over time learned they had served Pharoah himself as cupbearer and baker. Joseph – still favored by the captain of the guard – was placed over them, and they developed a friendship, initially forged in their stories of injustice.

One morning Joseph awoke abruptly to them shouting his name. “Joseph, Joseph!” Joseph let his heart calm before acknowledging them. “We both had dreams – they were so vivid and frightening – and no one could help us figure them out. We don’t know what to do, these do not feel like mere dreams.”

Joseph knew. He could hear in their voices that God had confronted them, even if they had no concept of who God was. “Why are you asking everyone else? Isn’t God, the giver of dreams, the one you should ask?” They stared at him blankly, as though to say, “we do not know God, but you do.” Joseph sighed: “Tell me your dreams.”

When others would observe this process, they would wrongly assume Joseph merely listened to every detail and used elements to discern some kind of meaning; they figured he was either highly intelligent, deeply magical, or consistently lucky, as his interpretations were consistently accurate. This could not be further from the truth.

Joseph knew that interpretation rested not on him, but God, which meant he had to be more attentive to God than the telling of the dream. As he listened, it was as though their voices were simultaneously clear and muffled; images would branch from the syllables to create a narrative reminiscent of the dream and yet wholly separate. As the dreamer’s voice finished, Joseph would sense his Father’s voice wrapping up as well, and before comprehending it he would know the divine message. “This is what it means,” he would say, before fully grasping the words the Spirit would speak through him.

“The three branches in your dream are three days.” It suddenly hit Joseph that his words to the cupbearer would mean freedom from prison; all at once he realized God may be creating a way to free him as well. “Within three days Pharoah will redeem you from this prison and restore your position of influence. He will trust you again.” Joseph could barely contain his excitement of God’s creative ways. “When this happens, remember this moment and show kindness to me; tell Pharoah about me so that I can be freed too. I was forcibly enslaved, and if that wasn’t bad enough, I have done nothing to deserve being put in a dungeon.”

In the days that followed Joseph sat in nervous expectancy; his mind shifted from excitement that his freedom might be near and fear his interpretation was wrong. On the third day his heart leapt as Pharoah’s guards marched into the prison and retrieved the baker and cupbearer. As they passed his cell Joseph reached through the bars to catch the cupbearer’s attention.

“Thank you! Thank you!” Joseph cried, beaming.

He was immediately uneasy when their eyes met and he saw the cupbearer’s brow furroughed with confusion. Is it possible he’s already forgotten my request?

He suddenly realized they were beginning to exit the dungeon. “Mention me to Pharoah!” Joseph cried after them. “Don’t forget about me!”

Days slipped into weeks, and eventually Joseph stopped leaping to his feet when the prison doors would open. Why did you raise my hope, God? Joseph had no name for it, but a deep sadness settled over him; he would spend his days curled in the corner, muttering, how long will you keep me here, God? then why have you abandoned me? and finally saying nothing at all. It was not that he was refusing to speak to God; rather, he had said all he could, and there was nothing left. He was not hopeless, but hope seemed too distant to entertain.

Joseph lost track of how many years had passed since his young mind danced at the dreams of being honored and respected. Those dreams filled him with pain, as every year since has been marked by rejection, neglect, and abandonment. In his youth he was convinced seeking God would bring thriving; now, as he leaned back against the rough wall of the dark, dry cell, it seemed clear that every time he served God, things got worse.

He did not hear the guards enter the dungeon – he had stopped listening – and was unaware they were standing before his cell. The firm, abrupt voice started him from his lament.

“Get up, Hebrew, and put on these clothes; Pharoah has called for you.”