Parable of the Lost Coin: God is a Poor Woman

Luke 15:8-10

It's just a coin.

Maybe, to you.
Something small,
replaceable.
Not to me.

Six hungry mouths to feed,
ten precious coins
for bread and meat,
ten times a hard day's work,
ten coins to last us
a week, maybe two.
And then?
We'll see
as we always do.

But now there's just nine.
Where is the lost?

It's just a coin.
Maybe, to you.
Not to me.

One night more
awake to the tune
of hungry children crying
themselves to sleep,
one day of labour wasted away,
one day's sweat poured out in vain,
precious hope and sustenance
collecting dust
somewhere under a cupboard.

It's just a coin.
But I will turn this house
upside-down if I must.
And I will sweep away the dust
and shine my light in the darkest corners,
move furniture, disturb the cat,
I will not rest
until I find that coin at last.
And when I do - celebration!

It's just a coin.
Maybe, to you.
And you can leave it where it lies,
and go on with your life.
But to me it's so much more -
and so much greater the joy
when I hold it in my hands again at last.


Imagine, then:
God,
a poor woman like me,
and you
the precious coin she seeks,
a precious coin she needs,
not worthless or small or replaceable,
not useless
but the fruit of sweat and tears,
valuable for the work ahead,
worth looking for.

____________________________________

[30. July 2019]

I looked up the estimated worth of a drachma in ancient times. It was the currency of ancient Greece, a silver coin. It would have been the daily wages for a skilled worker. I have read very different things about how much it was really worth, but I decided to bounce off the idea of it being the pay for a day's labour, as well as considering this woman had 10 in total so a whole tenth of her complete savings was missing. It makes me assume she can't have been a particularly rich woman.

The sentence "God is a poor woman" snuck into my mind. I like the thought. On the one hand the reminder that God knows our human experiences - including the experience of poverty. On the other hand the thought that poverty can teach you the value of things. God knows the value of things. He doesn't need "extra". We are precious to him like the coin to the poor woman, without being something "special" or especially "spiritual".

Also while writing I considered: money is payment for work, the result of work, and we are God's work - and also: money buys things, so what does God want to use us for, what is God "buying" with us? It made me think of our inclusion in God's mission. A poor woman can use money to buy food to feed her children, so I had to think of how we are called to serve others, feed the hungry, care for the needs of people around us, ... What could it mean for us to be God's coins?!

Art by James Tissot.

Woman of Thebez: Mightier than the Sword

Judges 9

O great tyrant, powerful king,
you thought you had won,
thought power was strong.
See: you were wrong.

Now you lie
in a pool of blood
dying
at a woman's hand,
your head bashed in
by kitchenware.

The millstone is mightier than the sword.

Fear went before you,
destruction followed,
fire swallowed
women and men.
They said you were unstoppable,
they said you were unbeatable.
They thought power was strong.
Seems they were wrong.

Ashamed to die
at woman's hand,
your head bashed in
by kitchenware.

The millstone is mightier than the sword.

Not power is strong,
but furious love,
the love that burns behind the stove,
the love that feeds little open mouths,
the love that like a millstone
works hard day after day,
invisible until
she is unleashed,
protective
fearless
mightier
than a thousand armies.

The millstone is mightier than the sword.
Mother is mightier than king.
Woman is mightier than all your armies.
I am mightier than you.

_________________________________

[21. July 2019]

During the time of the judges Abimelech, son of Gideon, attempted to start a monarchy. He killed all 70 of his brothers to remove all competition. He reacted harshly against resistance, e.g. by burning a thousand people alive at Shechem. Thebez was his next stop - and his last. While he and his army were besieging Thebez, a woman threw a millstone down on his head - dying, he asked his armour-bearer to kill him so he wouldn't have to bear the "shame" of having been killed by a woman (eye-roll).

Anyway when I re-read this story last, I realised the fact that a millstone is a kitchen utensil (used to grind grain and things like that) - and liked the irony of that. In fact the Bible is full of ironies like this - mighty men losing to women who aren't using weapons, but household items or other "weak"-seeming things (Jael and the tent peg, Delilah and a haircut, Judith an flirting...). Looks like true power is not where we are used to finding it...

Art: Charles Foster

Mother of Abimelech: No Mother Knows

Judges 8:31 / Judges 9

No mother knows
what will become of her son -
and if she did
would that change anything?

Maybe I should have seen.
Maybe I should have suspected.
Little misbehaviours,
small cruelties.
Maybe I should have known.
Maybe I could have
if not
for that thing that clouds
a mother's eyes.

But
even if I did
would that have changed anything?

No mother knows
what will become of her son -
that he might be a king,
that he might be
a killer,
murderer
of his on flesh and blood,
tyrant,
oppressor.
Maybe
I could have known
if not
for that thing that clouds
a mother's eyes.

No mother knows,
but sometimes,
sometimes,
no, often,
she asks herself:
Why did I not know,
what should I  have done,
what did I do wrong,
is it my fault
that he has become
this?

No mother knows,
and if she did
would that change anything?
Maybe
I could have
changed all our fates
had I known
had I
Done Something
(what?)
(drowned him?)
(suffocated him in his sleep?);
if not
for that thing that clouds
a mother's eyes,
that thing that
even now
clouds my eyes with tears.

Because
how could I love him
any less?


____________________________________

[19. July 2019]

Abimelech was the son of Gideon (of Sunday School fame) (I don't know why they like to teach small children stories from Judges as hero stories... Judges is a terrible book about terrible people). His mother, Gideon's concubine, is mentioned in one small verse that talks about his birth (Judges 8:31). Yesterday I re-read his story (Judges 9) - a terrible story of extreme violence. To become king, Abimelech killed his 70 brothers. He laid entire cities to waste and burned people alive. He was a horrible person.

Thinking of his mother, then. A mother loves her child, expects and hopes good things for him. Sometimes, horrible people come from horrible family backgrounds, neglect, abuse etc. But I decided to assume here that Abimelech's mother was a "normal" mother. And to consider what might go through the head of a mother who realises her beloved son has become something terrible, maybe feeling guilty, maybe wondering what she could have done differently in bringing him up, how she might have prevented this happening... but still not being able to hate him. I imagine she would feel really torn and conflicted.

While writing this I had to think of the Swiss German song "Kei Mueter weiss, was ihrem Chind wird gscheh" (no mother knows what will happen to her child). Actually a Christmas song about Jesus. But true for any mother, and any child. There is only so much you can do as a mother (or father, or teacher, or any role in bringing up a child).

Art: Christian Krohg

Shiphrah and Puah: Breaking the Law

Exodus 1:8-21

I would love to
be an upstanding citizen,
do what the law says.
Usually, I do.
I would love to
submit to authority,
obey my rulers.
Usually, I do.
But I cannot, now.

For how can I obey
the laws of man
if they would have me break
the Law of God?

Don't you see
the death all around you?
No - you only see the law.
Don't you hear
the piercing cries of bereft mothers?
No - you only hear the law.
Don't you care
for the vulnerable trampled underfoot?
No - you only care about the law.

How
can you value something dead
above pulsing, screaming life?
How
can you expect me,
a servant of life
to obey the rule of death?

Sorry.
No.
I don't care anymore.
Take me.
Put me behind bars if you will.
Do what you like.
But don't speak to me
about your laws
when lives are at stake.
Don't expect me
to do what is wrong
just because it's the law.
For how can I obey
the laws of man
if they would have me break
the Law of God?

I will resist.
I will tell lies.
I will disobey.
I will fight.
And you may look on
in horror and disgust
as I trample your law.
But in the end,
in the eyes of God
I will be right.


_______________________________

[18. July 2019]

So I was sitting here with writer's block, not knowing how to start, when I realised that the story of Shiphrah and Puah is so very relevant right now. It has actually been replaying in the news recently. I ended up writing this with Captain Carola Rackete in mind, as well as other modern-day Shiphrahs and Puahs: brave people who stand up against unjust laws to do what is right.

Thousands of refugees trying to cross from Africa to Europe drown in the Mediterranean every year. Last year, 2'277 died or went missing (stats from UNHCR here). Meanwhile, many European countries are extremely restrictive. Carola Rackete, who does rescue missions on the Mediterranean, was arrested for docking a migrant rescue ship in an Italian port without authorisation - "against the law". Discussions about this on social media became truly sickening: people (many of them would call themselves "Bible-believing Christians") argued that people like Rackete are doing wrong rescuing the drowning because these actions break the law. One should not encourage illegal immigrants to come to Europe. In these discussions, the people suffering and drowning on the Mediterranean are dehumanised. I have in all honesty seen people claim it's "their own fault" and they should just stay in their countries. I can't believe this kind of terrible rhetoric. Since when is saving lives wrong? Since when is following "the law" more important than serving human beings loved by God?

I had to think of all this when I decided to write about Shiphrah and Puah - two Midwives who broke laws, told lies, and pretty much acted in a way that I know certain people, certain Christians even, would think wrong. They were commanded by the Pharaoh to kill Hebrew boys upon birth. They refused, saving many lives. They covered up their disobedience by lying that the Hebrew mothers gave birth too quickly for them to arrive on the scene in time.

Sometimes, we need to break laws to do what is right. Because it is more important to obey God than man (Acts 5:29). The worldly authorities are not God. I on purpose referenced Romans 13 for the first stanza, since that is often quoted to support submission to authority. But Paul is not talking about total, blind obedience in all things. He is talking about, as Christians (who will always be foreigners in this world because we serve a different master and belong to a different kingdom) respecting the society we live in as well as its rules. But it should be obivous to us that there is a very, very clear line in how much we can obey what other authorities dictate. Because ultimately, Jesus is our Lord, not our country or our government, and our allegiance should be to the Kingdom of God, not any country on this earth. There is a place for civil disobedience in obedience to God. Just because something is law does not mean it is right.

We need to discern and follow the will of God. Ask ourselves what Jesus would do - Jesus who died a criminal's death on a cross because he broke the law.

Art: Ancient Roman relief carving of a midwife