Stupid

Stupid

Joseph was a very handsome and well-built young man, and Potiphar’s wife soon began to look at him lustfully. “Come and sleep with me,” she demanded. But Joseph refused. “Look,” he told her, “my master trusts me with everything in his entire household. No one here has more authority than I do. He has held back nothing from me except you, because you are his wife. How could I do such a wicked thing? It would be a great sin against God.”

She kept putting pressure on Joseph day after day, but he refused to sleep with her, and he kept out of her way as much as possible. One day, however, no one else was around when he went in to do his work. She came and grabbed him by his cloak, demanding, “Come on, sleep with me!” Joseph tore himself away, but he left his cloak in her hand as he ran from the house.

When she saw that she was holding his cloak and he had fled, she called out to her servants. Soon all the men came running. “Look!” she said. “My husband has brought this Hebrew slave here to make fools of us! He came into my room to rape me, but I screamed. When he heard me scream, he ran outside and got away, but he left his cloak behind with me.” She kept the cloak with her until her husband came home. Then she told him her story. “That Hebrew slave you’ve brought into our house tried to come in and fool around with me,” she said. “But when I screamed, he ran outside, leaving his cloak with me!” (Gen. 39:6-18)

It was a beautiful mountain morning, on a cold, crisp January. I was with a church youth group, and we’d gone to the San Bernardino Mountains to play in the snow. Now, when you’re a teen, there’s nothing better than leaving it all on a field of snow – especially snow on a mountain slope with a toboggan in your hand. And we’d found the perfect spot to race my sled: a gradually descending slope exiting onto a little-used road, and then down to another steeper slope that ended in a long flat area to coast to an easy stop.

So, there I was on my toboggan, holding a kindergartner in my lap, ready for the thrill of a lifetime. It almost was. You see, that little-used road that separated one slope from the next was the end of a blind curve and, because of the previous night’s temperatures, had been reduced to an asphalt skating rink. Compounding matters, it had snowed the night before. And although great for skiing, powder is not the best surface for bracing yourself when you need to come to a quick stop.

But there we were – me and my friend’s younger brother. We had a lookout posted on the road, but I guess he was too busy drinking hot chocolate and not paying attention. Because when I asked if the coast was clear, I got the green light and off we went. But it was only seconds later that I heard the lookout screaming that a car was coming around the corner on that not-so-often-used road. At that point, the only thing I could think of was stopping the toboggan and trudging up the hill to try it again. But there was just one problem: I couldn’t stop. The previous night’s powder prevented me from getting the traction I needed to come to a stop. Panicked, I shoved the kindergartner off the sled and hoped for the best.

Well, the best got me because when I hit the asphalt, I came to an abrupt stop. The problem was that the car didn’t; it didn’t even see me. Wiping the snow from my eyes, lying on the icy pavement, I saw the car’s left rear tire – chains and all – roll over my leg. Now, when you’re a teenager, you’re bullet-proof, right? So, I hopped up from the near-tragic calamity while the occupants got out of their car to see what they’d run over. That would be me, but who wants to waste a day in the snow? Then came the morning. I awoke that next morning to the sight of chain-link bruises tattooed on my larger-than-life knee, including the accompanying pain that goes along with a one ton car stretching every ligament and tendon within reach of its tread. Teenagers.

And then it hit me. What if I’d slid just a little further? What if I hadn’t shoved that kindergartner off the sled? What if I’d left just a moment sooner and taken the brunt of a front-end collision. I began to sweat. The thought was numbing like the snow on that cold, January day, and equally convicting. “What were you thinking, Randy?” That was the problem, of course – I wasn’t. Dumb became dumber because I treated a bad decision with a poor, impulsive choice. Forgivable on a sled, perhaps. But in life?

Joseph was probably in his twenties when he almost got run over by a Jaguar of sexual temptation. When his brothers sold him into slavery, they probably assumed they’d doomed him to hard labor and an early death. Instead, Joseph moved up the career ladder like a fireman after a cat. Potiphar, who promoted Joseph in his home, no doubt promoted him among his circle of officials. He boasted about the Midas touch of this bright Hebrew boy who’d made him a wealthy man.

And Joseph came to have clout. He could spend and hire, send and receive. Merchants reported to him, and other people noticed him – especially women. "Now Joseph was a very handsome and well-built young man." (Gen. 39:6) A real Hollywood head turner. This guy was a square-jawed, ripped abs Adonis whose biceps bulged every time he carried Mrs. Potiphar's tray. Which was often. She enjoyed the sight of him. "And Potiphar’s wife soon began to look at him lustfully. ‘Come and sleep with me,’ she demanded." (v. 7)

The first lady of the household made a play for the Hebrew slave. "Joooeeeyyyy, how about a little sugar with my coffee?" Wink, wink. As she passed him in the hallway, she’d brush up against his arm. As he brought dessert to the table, she’d touch his leg. By the clothes she wore, or maybe didn't, she made it clear: "I'm yours for the taking, Joseph. So, take me now." She pursued him "day after day." (v. 10) He had plenty of opportunities to consider the proposition. And plenty of reasons to accept it.

Wasn't she married to his master? And wasn't he obligated to obey the wishes of his owner, even if the wish was a secret rendezvous? And it’d be a secret because no one would know. Just like Las Vegas. What happens in the bedroom stays in the bedroom, right? Besides, a dalliance with the not-so-lady of the house would give Joseph a chip in the political poker game; an ally at the top level. The end justified the means. And the means wasn't all that unpleasant. Powerful Potiphar had his pick of women. His wife was likely a jaw-dropper, but maybe she’d gone ignored. And let’s face it. Joseph didn't lose his libido just because he lost his coat of many colors. A few moments in the arms of an attractive, willing lover? Joseph could use some relief.

And didn't he deserve some? These were lonely days: rejected by his family, twice bought and sold like livestock, far from home, and far from friends. Maybe the stress of managing Potiphar's household had gotten him – overseeing the terraced gardens and multitudes of slaves while mastering the peculiar protocol of official events. Joseph's job was draining. He could’ve easily justified his choice.

And you can, too. You've been jilted and bruised, sold out and turned away. Run over by a car brandishing chains of bad health, bad credit, and bad luck. Few friends and fewer solutions. The hours are long, and the nights are longer. So, Mr. Potiphar slides his room key in your direction, or Mrs. Potiphar pushes a bottle your way. A co-worker offers you some drugs. You can pay some personal bills with company cash, or stave off bankruptcy by embezzling funds. Justifications and rationalizations pop up like weeds after a spring rain. No one will know. You’re only human, right?

Your Egypt can be a cruddy place. No one disagrees with that. But Egypt can also be the petri dish for brainless decisions. Don't make matters worse by doing something you'll regret. Joseph didn’t. He went on high alert. When Mrs. Potiphar dangled the bait, "he refused." (v. 8) He gave the temptress no time, no attention, no chitchat, no reason for hope. "He refused to sleep with her, and he kept out of her way as much as possible." (v. 10) So, when her number appeared on his cell phone, he didn’t answer. When she texted, he didn't respond. When she entered his office, he left the building. He avoided her like the poison she was. "[Potiphar] trusts me with everything in his entire household,” he announced. (v. 8) To sleep with her would have been a sin against his master. Actions have consequences, and Joseph placed his loyalty above lusts. He honored his master . . . .

And his Master. Joseph's primary concern was the preference of God. "How could I do such a wicked thing? It would be a great sin against God?" (Gen. 39:9) The lesson we learn from Joseph is pretty simple: do what pleases God. Your friends hand you a joint; your classmates show you a way to cheat; the Internet lures you with pornography – ask yourself the question: How can I please God? "Do what is right as a sacrifice to the Lord and trust the Lord,” the Psalmist said. (Ps. 4:5) You don't fix a struggling marriage with an affair, or a drug problem with more drugs, or debt with more debt. You don't fix stupid with stupid. You don't get out of a mess by making another one. One act of carnality is a poor exchange for a lifetime legacy lost. Do what pleases God. You’ll never go wrong doing what’s right. Thomas made that discovery.

Thomas, in many ways, was a modern-day Joseph. Born in 1899 to a Baptist pastor and a church pianist, Thomas was exposed to music early on. By the age of twelve he was imitating the jazz music of the African American community in the Deep South. In his late teens he went to Philadelphia and then to Chicago, where he played in speakeasies. Somewhere along the way he forgot his faith. He compromised his lifestyle and turned away from the convictions of his youth. His talent may have opened the doors, but his conscience wouldn't let him rest. Long nights on the road left him exhausted and weary. A relative urged him to return to God. And at the age of twenty-one, he did. He had an encounter with God that would lead him to write later that, "My inner-being was thrilled. My soul was a deluge of divine rapture; my emotions were aroused; my heart was inspired to become a great singer and worker in the kingdom of the Lord."

Young Thomas poured his energy into God-honoring music. Rhythm and blues met worship and praise. The result was a brand-new genre of toe-tapping, soul-lifting music. He took a position as a music director at a Chicago church. At the age of twenty-six Thomas met the love of his life and got married. He began a publishing company and founded the National Convention of Gospel Choirs and Choruses. He worked with some of the greatest singers in the history of gospel music, including Mahalia Jackson. By 1932, Thomas was enjoying the blessings of God at full speed: happy marriage, growing ministry, first child on the way. Life was good.

But then he got run over by that “car.” One night after singing to a Saint Louis audience, he was handed a Western Union telegram. It read, simply, "Your wife just died." She had passed away in childbirth. Thomas hurried back to Chicago, where his newborn son died the next day. Thomas fell into a crevasse of grief. He avoided people and grew angry at God. "I just wanted to go back to the jazz world I knew so well. I felt God had done me an injustice. I didn't want to serve Him anymore or write gospel songs," he wrote.

He secluded himself, nursing his anger and sorrow. Fortunately, a friend seemed to know what he needed and took Thomas to a neighborhood music school. That evening as the sun was setting, Thomas sat down at a piano and began to play . . . and pray. He poured out his heart to God, and these are the words he spoke, “Precious Lord, take my hand. Lead me on. Let me stand. I am tired, I am weak, I am worn. Through the storm, through the night, lead me on to the light. Take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home.”

For the rest of his life, Thomas A. Dorsey testified that the Lord healed him that night as he sat at the piano. He went on to pen more than three thousand songs and became one of the most influential Christian songwriters of all time. All because he reached out to God.

So do the same. Turbulent times will tempt you to forget God. Shortcuts will lure you. Sirens will call you. But don't be foolish or naive. Do what pleases God. Nothing more, nothing less.

Oh, and maybe think twice before you race down that slippery slope toward that blind curve; it could hurt you.

Grace,

Randy