Servant Girl: Parting The Reeds

 Exodus 2:1-10

I never questioned.

Why should I?

It never affected me.

It was always Them.

The Others.

Foreigners.

I never cared.

Why should I?

It was far away.

Almost like a rumour.

Didn't think about it,

because why should it matter?

It never touched me.

Until now.

Suddenly,

parting the reeds

to a screaming baby,

I part the curtains

to a world of pain and sorrow.

I open the basket

to suffering

I never let myself care about.

It's not far away

anymore.

It is right here.

Death and loss,

childless mothers,

this child left to drift

a last hope against hope.

Maybe

I never cared

because this is too hard.

It is too much.

Because now

how can I go back

and let this keep happening?

How can I go back

now that I have seen

this child just like mine,

abandoned for his safety,

a fragment of the suffering

that happens every day?

I never questioned.

Now, I must.

I never cared.

But now I have seen

and it's come close to me

and I cannot go back

to before.

_____________________

[20. July 2021]

Another one who wasn't on my list... XD I tell you, there are way more women in the Bible than we often realise. Today I led a workshop on my method of interpreting the Bible through identifying with figures in the text and writing poetry from their perspective - and this was our text. And I realised I had missed a bunch of women in here, namely the servant girls! So while everyone was writing I wrote too.

I considered the situation in Egypt with the Hebrews being persecuted, their boys murdered, and how the servant girl as an almost "ordinary" Egyptian might have perceived it. Often when we belong to the privileged group it's easy to ignore or overlook the oppression of other groups. Not even on purpose necessarily: it's simply not "on our radar", it doesn't affect us, we never even have to think about it. Or maybe we know but don't realise how terrible it actually is, maybe we even have our excuses to support the injustice.

Actually getting to know someone who is directly affected changes everything. Suddenly it comes much closer, we are confronted with the issue, we have to form an opinion, we have to grapple with our prejudices and maybe revise what we used to think. It's easier not to care when we don't need to come face to face with those who suffer.

So maybe the servant girl had her first brush with what was actually going on with the Hebrews, when she fished that basket out of the water. 

Picture: James Tissot

Rizpa: Ich bin Mutter

 1. Samuel 21,1-17

 

Ich bin Trauer –
zerrissen von Verlust,
ein Loch in meinem Herzen
wo du einmal warst.

Ich bin Verlust –
allein nun, verlassen,
meiner Söhne beraubt –
grausames Menschenopfer
im Namen Gottes getan.

Ich bin Liebe, ausgegossen
aus gebrochenem Herzen,
fliessende Tränen
die dich nicht auferwecken können,
schützende Arme
die dich umhüllen
dass dich am Tag die Sonne nicht steche
noch der Mond des Nachts.

Ich bin Zorn
der kämpft für meine Kinder
gegen alle Gewalten der Natur,
wenn es sein muss: gegen Gott;
gegen die Verwesung,
gegen den Tod.

Ich bin Treue
mächtiger als Hass,
schärfer als ein Schwert,
stärker als der Tod;
ich ertrage jeden Sturm,
ertrage jeden Schmerz –
deine Beschützerin
über das Ende hinaus.

Ich bin Mutter.
Meine Liebe stirbt nie.
Ich würde den Tod töten
wenn ich es nur könnte.

Wo ist nun Gott?
Freut er sich über Menschenopfer?
Oder bekämpft sie den Tod mit mir?

__________________________________

[Übersetzung 7. Mai 2021]

Bild von George Becker

Mephibosheth's Nurse: Forgive Myself

Jonathan son of Saul had a son who was lame in both feet. He was five years old when the news about Saul and Jonathan came from Jezreel. His nurse picked him up and fled, but as she hurried to leave, he fell and became disabled. His name was Mephibosheth. (2. Samuel 4:4)

I will hate myself forever.
I will carry this guilt
for as long as I live.
Maybe you can forgive me,
but God, it's hard
to forgive myself.

They trusted me -
a trust that I shattered
with his poor little bones.
Responsibility
weighs me down like gravity
that pulled him to the ground.
How I wish
those seconds could have slowed
where he slipped from my hands.
Maybe they can forgive me
but God, it's hard
to forgive myself.

It was an accident,
they will say.
I did my best,
they will say.
Better that I ran,
ran for our lives,
ran for his life
and dropped him,
better he live on like this,
better crippled than dead.
Maybe they can forgive me
but God, it's hard
to forgive myself.

They say that I saved him -
I see that I ruined his life forever.
What if some nights
the thought crossed his mind
that he'd rather be dead?
Maybe he can forgive me
but God, it's hard
to forgive myself.

God, help me
to forgive myself.

_____________________________________________

[1. May 2021]

Mephibosheth was a son of Jonathan, son of Saul the first king of Israel. After Saul was defeated by the Philistines, Mephibosheth's nurse fled with him - and dropped him. This had lifelong consequences for him.

What a thing for the poor nurse to be living with! I'm hard enough on myself when I make a mistake with my own child - with someone else's child (the king's son's child!) you have the added burden of others having entrusted their child to you. Ican't imagine the burden the nurse will have carried with her. Even though she saved him and the accident happened in the act of saving him, sometimes our failures impress us more strongly than our successes. Sometimes we are the ones who are hardest on ourselves.

So I made this about the inability to forgive oneself even when forgiveness is there, even when we are not actually at fault.

Picture: Wilhelm Amberg

Cannibal Mothers: In the Destruction of my People

The hands of compassionate women have boiled their own children; they became their food in the destruction of my people. (Lamentations 4:10)

Oh my dear, beloved child,
why
did I bring you into this world
in such a time as this,
in the destruction of my people?

How selfish of me
to give you life
when life can only be suffering -
to inflict on you
something you could not choose
in such a time as this,
in the destruction of my people.

I see you suffer,
I hear your cries,
my dear, beloved child.
No future,
no hope,
no light,
no life -
why
did I bring you into this world
in such a time as this,
in the destruction of my people?

How I wish
I could protect you,
shield you from the threats,
spare you,
save you
from the destruction of my people.

How I wish
you could crawl right back,
back into my body, where you were safe.
How I wish
I could take you back
into my womb, warm and at peace,
protected
from the destruction of my people.

So come now,
my dear, beloved child -
I'll make you a part of me again.
Back to how it used to be,
back where I can keep you safe,
back to where you can be free -
free from the pain,
free from the fear,
where I can forever hold you near
in the destruction of my people.

__________________________________________________

[22. November 2020]

Creepy? ^^;

I actually had the idea for this months ago and never got to write it until now. I'm having a "Corona baby" so I have on and off been thinking about what it means to bring a child into a very messed up world. Even without the pandemic there's climate change which is pretty much inevitable now. We can't necessarily expect our children to be as privileged as we have been (speaking as a 90s kid). Is it still "responsible" to bring children into this world? Is it "fair" to bring children into this world who will have to deal with things like climate change, more frequent pandemics, etc? Is it selfish to want children in this day and age? My husband and I have discussed this off and on a bit.

I had to think of this terrible verse in Lamentations about "compassionate women" eating their own children. And the image that came to my mind was of taking the child back into one's body - back into safety, in a sense. "Compassionate women" - maybe the cannibalism isn't a crass breach of their compassion, but their attempt to be compassionate with their children and free them from suffering? Horrible, yes - but I decided to pick up that idea here. What if they felt death would be better than life for their children, in all the disasters they were experiencing? What if they felt it would be more compassionate to administer that death themselves, from a loving hand, instead of watching their children suffer and die agonisingly?

I don't think that makes it excusable to kill and eat your own child. But what I was going for here was that strong desire to keep your child safe - a desire that can get completely irrational (title of the picture here btw is "Faim, folie et crime" and the mother looks like she has lost her mind and does not really know what she's doing).

Our conclusion by the way to the whole "is it right to bring a child into the world now" question is best summed up by something Martin Luther said: "Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree." Having children is about having hope, about having faith. We have no control over our children's future, but it does not have to be a bleak one. To me, every child is hope - because every child is also potential for good, for change, for new things. And while the prophets in the Bible paint a lot of very dark and bleak images, almost all of them also give hope and talk about how God will heal and rebuild.

So I don't feel bad for having a baby in the middle of a pandemic. I do think about how some things may be more challenging for my child than they were for me. But on the whole I'm not afraid. It's not all destruction. And the safest place is not my womb but the womb of God which is everywhere, so ;-) I let go and trust in the mothering power of God.

Picture by Antoine Wiertz

Rebecca's Nurse Deborah: The Flesh Is Willing But The Spirit Is Weak

"And Deborah, Rebekah’s nurse, died, and she was buried under an oak below Bethel. So it was called Allon-bacuth." (Genesis 35:8)

"Keep awake and pray that you may not come into the time of trial; the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak." (Mark 14:38)


If only
if only
if only it were easy
if only it were quick
blink of an eye
pass through a veil
cross over a threshold
and then I am there

Instead
this pain
this battle
every breath a rattle
waiting
waiting
fighting
wanting to leave
wanting to let go
but no
I can't
not yet

The flesh is willing 
but the spirit is weak.

I am ready
so ready
my body is tired
exhausted
finished
done
I want peace
I want rest
I want to stop
breathing
stop
living

The flesh is willing
but the spirit is weak.

I wish
I could see them
my children
my grandchildren
growing up
and what they accomplish
I wish
I could say
so many things
but my lips are dry and cracked
and where has my voice gone
I wish
I could forgive
I wish
I could be forgiven
instead I wait
and breathe
and fight

The flesh is willing
but the spirit is weak.

The flesh is ready
this body wants to go
but no
my spirit
clings on
with iron might
to all my loves
and all my hopes
and all my pain
if only
if only
I could just let go

The flesh is willing
but the spirit is weak.

Maybe that is why
we say
Into your hand, O Lord
I was a midwife in life
will you be
my midwife in death
and help me
cross that threshhold
pass through that veil
let go at last
and find rest and peace?

"Into your hand
I commit my spirit;
you have redeemed me,
O Lord, faithful God."

______________________________________________________

[7. June 2020]

The only thing we hear about Rebecca's nurse (a different Deborah from this more famous one) is about her death - so I decided to write about dying from her perspective.

I'm a hospice chaplain part-time so this was somewhat inspired by experiences and conversations I have had in the hospice with the dying. The other week I got the sentence in my head "The flesh is willing / but the spirit is weak" - a turning-around of what Jesus said in Gethsemane. Because sometimes the body is just so ready to go but you're not able to let go yet.

Art by Claude Monet.

Oholibamah: Girl

Genesis 36

Please be a girl.
So I can dress you up and style your hair.
So I can have small helping hands.
So I can have a companion
in this man's world
to talk to and share with
all the wisdom and beauty of womanhood.
I want you to know the wonder
of living in a woman's body,
of carrying the potential for creating life.
I want you to be free
to show your emotions,
to cry sometimes, to be weak,
which they wouldn't let you
if you were a boy.

Please don't be a girl.
Because they will forget your name.
They won't count you
in their genealogy lists.
They won't value you
the same as your brothers.
I don't want you to suffer
as so many of us have done,
to bear the heavy weight of womanhood.
I don't want you to fear
the footsteps behind you,
don't want you to second-guess
a man's look, a man's touch.
I don't want you to be hurt
but I know you will be
if you are a girl.

I wish I could keep you
in this safe little bubble
of neither-nor;
no expectations,
no stereotypes,
just you
yourself
for this little while.
No "boys should do this",
no "girls should be that";
no rules what to wear,
who to be, how to act.

How I wish this were a world
where I need not be scared
of having a girl
and keeping her safe.
I long for a girl -
still I pray you're a boy,
for your sake
precious child.

______________________________________

[7. May 2020]

I just had this idea in my head and I picked Oholibamah, one of Esau's wives, to "carry" it. She is one of many "women without a story" who appear in genealogies. The genealogy talks about Esau's "sons and daughters", but none are listed by name in the genealogy, so I felt it would be fitting to put Oholibamah's name to this poem. (I chose her of the three because the other two have a bit more "story" to them by being described to have caused grief for Isaac and Rebecca - whatever that means. To Be Written About Later...)

I imagine it would not have been easy being a girl or raising a girl in the world of Genesis - seen e.g. by the missing daughters in genealogies, stories like the rape of Dinah, the predicament of childless Tamar or the "handmaidens" (Bilhah, Zilpah) of Jacob's wives. In such a "man's world", I imagine a woman would have been torn between wanting a daughter (someone to be her companion in the "woman's sphere" which was probably pretty separate from the men's world), and being afraid of having a daughter. Not just because of the pressure to have "sons", but because she knew how hard it was being a woman in that world, dependent on the men around her, viewed as "less than" and sometimes even truly in danger.

It's still like this in many parts of the world today, where being a girl is hard and even dangerous. I keep hearing people say "we don't need feminism" - but we do. As long as mothers still need to be afraid for their daughters, as long as girls are being aborted just for being girls, AND as long as boys are being taught that it's "not manly to cry" (boys suffer under toxic masculinity too!), as long as the sexes are not treated fairly and equally, and for so many more reasons, we need feminism.

The image of the "bubble of neither-nor" was what came first for this poem (though I was playing with the idea for weeks). I don't want to know the sex of my child in advance, and I realised why when that image came to me. There are so many fixed notions about boys and girls, so many expectations, so many stereotypes, starting with the "pink and blue", gendered clothing, things like that. These expectations and stereotypes do so much damage - to both boys and girls. Why not let at least the time in the womb be completely free of all that? I think it's important even afterwards to not push a child into what is stereotypically "expected" of their sex - to view the child as a person, a human being with a dynamic personality, not a "princess" or whatever. I think we CAN keep that "bubble" even afterwards by not making "being a boy" or "being a girl" such a fixed, "you-can-only-be-like-this" / "you-can-only-have-these-interests" thing. Of course there are gender-specific things - but not all girls like pink glittery tutus and not all boys like trucks. Girls like trucks too (I did - and pirates, and soldiers), and boys like pink glittery stuff too. Just my thoughts.

Art by Gustav Klimt - "Hope II". I felt the skulls and the (weeping?) women at the bottom of the picture were kind of fitting.

I FINALLY WROTE A POEM AGAIN!!!!1!11!1
Sorry I'm so unproductive. 
This lady was not even on my list yet. This project is going to take YEARS more...

Christusbild

Ich hielt nicht dafür,
als dass ich etwas wüsste unter euch
als allein Jesus Christus,
den Gekreuzigten.

Dein nackter Körper
auf hartem Holz.
Nägel, Dornen, Wunden, Blut.
Kein schöner Anblick,
und doch muss ich schauen,
und doch muss ich staunen
über dich, den Gekreuzigten.

In deinen Wunden
erkenne ich die meinen.
Weil du verlassen wurdest
bin ich nie mehr allein.
Du stehst mir auch
in Not und Tod zur Seite.
Du kennst meine Ohnmacht,
meine Machtlosigkeit.

In dir finde ich Gott
der sich eins macht mit uns Menschen.
Gott der leidet, Gott der stirbt.
Gott, nicht fern und abgehoben
sondern im finstern Todestal dabei.
Gott, der jeden Schmerz geschmeckt hat,
Gott, der mitfühlt, unser Los nicht scheut.
Gott, in der Ohnmacht mächtig.
Und kein Mensch ist mehr allein.


______________________________________

[Oktober 2019]

Mein Beitrag zum regionalen Reformationsgottesdienst am 3. November 2019 - Thema "Bilderflut - Bildersturm". Nach einer Dialogpredigt, bei der Huldrych Zwingli und Johannes Comander mit zwei Modedesignern ins Gespräch kamen, stellten wir vier Christusbilder vor aus verschiedenen Bereichen der Kunst. Mein Bereich war natürlich Sprache. :-)

Bild: Anthony van Dyck