Widow Of Seven Husbands: On The Other Side

 Matthew 22:23-33

On the other side
will I see them again?
What a reunion
with all my seven men.
Awkward,
I imagine.
Do I really want
to meet all of them again?

On the other side
whose will I be?
Can there be fights
Over There?
And if not: how else
will we solve it?
Whose
do I really want to be?

On the other side
what will we do?
Won't they expect me
to serve them as I did,
housework and cooking
and childcare and sex
for ever and ever?
What do I want to do?

On the other side
I think I'd like to be free.
To do what I want.
To belong just to me.
On the other side
I'd like no more pain,
no more loss, no more grief,
no more conflict or shame.

You say
on the other side
He'll call me by my name,
no longer wife of a man,
mother of a son,
daughter or sister
but me.
You say
on the other side
all I need to know
is I am His,
and He wants to be mine.
You say
on the other side
all will be new
and all will be changed.

The other side
is still shrouded in mystery
but I am not afraid
because Love is there.
And Love will take me by the hand
across
into the mist,
and I will trust
all shall be well
on the other side
with You.

____________________________________________

[27. Jun2 2023]

The Sadducees try to trick Jesus with a question. They don't believe in the resurrection, so they try to show how ridiculous the idea is by telling the story of a hypothetical woman who got married 7 times (through the custom of levirate marriage). Who will be her husband after the resurrection?

Jesus' answer is that they have a completely wrong idea of what resurrection / "life after death" mesans. What they are rejecting is not actually that which Jesus means when he speaks of eternal life. Eternal life does not mean living on just as we do now. It will be completely different, marriage won't be a thing anymore. And while writing from the woman's perspective I considered what that would mean for her (a woman experiencing marriage in a patriarchal setting and 7 times not being allowed to choose who she wanted to spend her life with!).

To what extent do we still view "life after death" the way the Sadducees do, as an "extension" of life on earth, which (sometimes problematic) things from our human cultures "carried on" to eternity? The things we know and are comfortable with now are not good for everyone. God has promised us a new creation where there will be no more tears, no more pain, no more grief - and for that to happen, some things that we take for granted now must fall away. And that's not comfortable, because that makes it way harder to picture what it will be like.

Jesus does not tell us what happens to the wife of the seven husbands - he does not give a concrete picture of eternal life in this conversation with the Sadducees. All he says is: there is a resurrection of the dead because God is a God of the living, not the dead. Through the love of God, God choosing us, God taking us by the hand, we can have eternal life. That is all we need to know: that God is there, that God's relationship with us is what will "carry us across". Which also means: if we get to know and love God now, then the unknown won't have to be so scary. Because we won't have to go into it alone. And it's not completely unknown anymore, because we have someone we know there: God.

Picture: Alphonse Osbert

Nursing Mother: My All For You

"But we were gentle among you, like a nursing mother taking care of her own children. So, being affectionately desirous of you, we were ready to share with you not only the gospel of God but also our own selves, because you had become very dear to us." (1. Thess 2:7-8)

I am no longer my own.
This is my body,
given for you,
for that pink, hungry mouth,
rooting for food,
for those sticky, clutching hands,
grasping for calm,
for that small, helpless body,
looking for home.

I am no longer my own.
I give myself to you,
my own body becoming food,
my whole self a haven
where you learn how to trust,
my life your first parable
of a greater Love.

I am no longer my own.
Little hands pulling me,
little feet following me,
loud cries calling me,
demanding my time,
my presence,
my body.
This my living sacrifice,
denying myself
for you.

I am no longer my own.
I must look after myself
if I want to care for you,
I can't give what I don't have:
I need water, rest and food,
love, peace and calm
to share with you.

I am no longer my own.
Let us go this road together
as long as you need me this way.
Let me watch as you grow
and your needs change.
Let me see with joy that day
when you walk on your own feet.
Until then I will be here
my all for you.

__________________________________

[24. June 2023]

Saw this verse shared on Instagram yesterday and knew I had to write about it (again: not a woman from the list 🤦‍♀️🤣). Paul uses breastfeeding as an image for ministry. 

It's a tricky image! Because it can be misunderstood as just selflessly giving all the time. Yes, selfless giving is part of it. Emulating Jesus who gave his life for all of us ("This is my body.."). As long as your child is a dependent baby, you really have to reapond to every squeak. But a child grows and their needs develop. So also the people we serve and minister to. Breastfeeding does not stay the same, breastfeeding a newborn is quite different from breastfeeding a toddler, you adapt to needs and at some point you can set boundaries and communicate pretty well (my nursling is 2.5). And at some point they stop nursing altogether. Ministry adapts too in this way. 😊 

I also learnt while breastfeeding that if you're looking after a vulnerable little person you need to look after yourself too. Milk supply especially in the early days suffers if you're dehydrated or stressed. Yes, breastfeeding is very self-giving and in a sense self-denying, BUT it also teaches you a "healthy selfishness". Because without adequate self care you get difficulties caring for others. (And it's quite sad that in some countries and contexts with lack of maternity leave / support / pressures and expectations etc this care of self is made harder or blocked.)

Another thought I had is how in the nearness of mother-child / parent-child that happens in breastfeeding but also formula feeding, holding, carrying, cuddling, etc the child has a safe haven learning trust and love in a tangible way. Making something invisible (love) physically felt (much like a sacrament makes invisible realities / mysteries of God tangible). In that sense breastfeeding / holding / cuddling are a parable of parental love that the smallest baby can feel and understand, and create a basis for trust later on as the child grows up and that intense nearness of the early days starts to dissipate. I get the impression that it's because of that nearness early on that children feel confident to become independent later on. I'm sure that also says something about ministry, modelling the love of God and who Jesus is through our lives, and enabling the people we serve to build a relationship with God of their own.

Picture: 19th Century sculpture from Democratic Republic of Congo

Psalmist's Mother: My God, my God

 Psalm 22

"Yet it was you who took me from the womb; you kept me safe on my mother’s breast. On you I was cast from my birth, and since my mother bore me you have been my God. Do not be far from me, for trouble is near and there is no one to help." (Ps 22:9-11)

"My God, my God"
I moaned, I cried
and then he was out,
delivered.

Then there I was
swamped with feeling,
a tiny purple thing
latched to my breast
overwhelmed with love.

My child, my child,
how can I love you
how shall I protect you
from the baying dogs
and the charging bulls,
from people who will laugh
and scorn and abuse,
from death that lurks
for us all in the end
who am I
to take you by the hand
in this world where I have no control
helpless
just like you?

My God, my God,
I cast him onto you
for what else can I do?
When I am too weak
when I am too small
when one day I am gone
You will be there.
A Love even greater
than the one that's threatening
to tear my heart in two.
My God, my God
never forsake him,
do not be far from him
in his time of need.

Can a mother forget her child?
Never.
And neither can you.

___________________________

[11. June 2023]

Reading through the Psalms right now and found out Ps 22 mentions a mother and a birth scene and I was inspired.

In my daughter's first night I looked at her at one point and just had to burst into tears ober the realisation that God loves her with a love even greater than I could ever have. For me as a mother, knowing that God is there when I can't be is such a great help with so many things in motherhood and in life just not being in my control.

Ps 22 is the famous "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" Psalm that Jesus quotes on the cross. Having this little scene of the mother entrusting her child to God in the middle of it for me is a reminder of how we are dependent on God from the beginning. These verses set a contrast to the negative beginning. But also emphasises again the question: Where is God now in my suffering?

The Psalm ends with the experience that God is still there and does not really turn away or abandon anyone. The lament of the first half abruptly turns into praise. God can be trusted. I wanted to make this poem less about the lament (though I picked up some elements from the Psalm) and more about the trust, and that decision to entrust one's child to God because we can't do this parenting thing alone.

Picture by Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida

Bathsheba: Butchered

TRIGGER WARNING: rape

2. Samuel 11:1-12:15

I could not say no.
I would not have said yes.
I was not asked,
and if I had been,
what could I have said?

Caught
like a deer in the hunter's sight,
should I flee?
should I fight?
maybe
if I cower before him
and fawn at his feet
do what he wants
he'll be kind to me?

(but still
in the end
he'll butcher me,
won't he)

I could not say no.
I would not have said yes.
If I had screamed,
who would have cared?
who would have dared
come to my rescue?

I could not say no.
Should I have?
I should.
Does that make me complicit?
Does that make this my sin?
Is it my fault
that it went so far
because I didn't say stop,
couldn't say no?

I could not say no.
I would not have said yes.
"Come," he said,
and sanctimoniously:
"I won't do anything you don't want"

and just like that
the burden is on me
and it's my responsibility
and I can go home with the guilt
of "maybe he didn't know better"
"maybe he misunderstood"
"maybe it's my own fault".

I could not say no.
I would not have said yes.
But who will know?
Who will care?

Now I am set before the door
to gather up the shattered pieces of my dignity
with the tattered remains of my clothes
butchered
bearing the shame
questioning myself
while he rests free and easy
certain he's not to blame
because I couldn't say no

but
I did not say yes.

__________________________________________________________

[11. February 2023]

Growing up I always learnt David "had an affair", or the even worse version: "Bathsheba seduced David" (by "bathing on the roof"). It was only more recently, during my theological studies, that I discovered this is actually a story of rape. And there are still Christians who will fight against this interpretation and insist Bathsheba was somehow at fault! I feel like how we handle this story has a lot in common with how abuse and rape are still handled in the wider culture and by Christians.

Here in Switzerland at the moment feminists are fighting for the legal definition of rape to be changed so that "only yes means yes". At the moment, it's only rape if you said no, pretty much. But what if you can't say no?

Recently I have been thinking about the complexities of consent (partly because of this initiative in Swiss politics, partly from watching "Anatomy of a Scandal" which handles this question). And really it should not be so hard. But the way stories like Bathsheba's are still handled shows that society has not learnt at all yet. As long as we still say things like "she could have said no", "why didn't she call for help", "what was she wearing", etc, there's still something very wrong in society. This kind of mentality endangers women.

The Bible is really, really clear on Bathsheba's story though. The prophet Nathan in 1. Sam 12 gives a very clear explanation of how the incident should be understood, in his story of the rich man slaughtering the poor man's lamb. The Bible itself compares Bathsheba to a lamb being slaughtered, a sacrifice to David's lust. There is no way a sheep can be complicit in its butchering. I feel like we have spent so much energy trying to make David a "good guy" because there's this half verse somewhere about David being a "man after God's own heart" - instead of just honestly reading the Bible and letting the Bible speak for itself. The Bible is on Bathsheba's side, God is on Bathsheba's side. Bathsheba was raped. And it shouldn't matter to us whether she said no or not. Because without a yes it was rape. The Bible text uses only passive verbs for Bathsheba in this story, she is all victim here.

I need to write another poem though for later in Bathsheba's life, because she rose up and became very influential in David's court, so much so that it was through her actions that her son Solomon became king after David's death despite being pretty far down in the line. She does not remain passive.

Other Bathsheba poem: O Child (about the child she lost after this)

Picture: 17th Century Anonymous

Mary: Kicks

Joy -
May I feel it?
Dare I feel it?
Can I believe it?
It feels unreal.
Is there really
a child
growing in me?
Hesitant
and a little afraid
I rejoice.

Joy
despite it all.
Despite being doubled over
heaving my soul out,
dizzy, exhausted,
feeling sick
at the mere sight  of food -
because there is really
a child
growing in me.
How comforting
how strengthening
to rejoice.

Joy
at this little bump
finally showing,
my body, changing,
prepare him room.
Now the world may know
a child
is growing in me.
Ever more clearly
ever more loudly
I rejoice.

Joy
at every flutter and kick
as they grow and get bigger,
even start to hurt.
They keep me up at night
but are the sweetest signs:
"Hello, I am here,"
a child
growing in me.
Ever more confident,
ever more certain
I rejoice.

Joy
pushing me to action,
"nesting" -
prepare the way of the Lord.
Impatient
to meet at last
this child
growing in me.
Expectantly,
excitedly
I rejoice.

Joy to the world
the Lord ist come!
Forgotten is the pain.
At last I meet you
face to face
my child
my God
my joy complete.
With heaven and earth
I rejoice.

__________________________________________________

[9. January 2023]

Me: I have only about 30 women on the list and then this project will be complete! Let's go!
Also me: *writes an umpteenth Mary poem*
🤷

Last week was the Swiss Evangelical Alliance prayer week with the theme "Joy". I was asked to do a short sermon on "Joy in Christ", the scripture provided was Luke 1:44 (baby John doing a skip in Elisabeth's womb). After a bit of writer's block I remembered I quote I had read years ago (just after my daughter's birth): "Notice the kicks of the living Christ in you." Which made me reflect on how our joy in Jesus could be a bit like the joy of a pregnant mother. (NB everyone's experience of pregnancy is different and I based this a lot on my own.) Following is a rough translation / summary of my thoughts:

1. There's the hesitant joy of finding out you are pregnant. Maybe there's still some disbelief there ("Is that really a second line?" / "Did I really miss a period or is my body playing tricks with me?"), maybe also some fear, not quite daring to be too happy yet because we know the stats about the first trimester, possibility of loss, etc. (which is why many don't announce a pregnancy before that first phase is done)

Maybe sometimes our joy in Jesus is like that: some disbelief still, uncertainty, not quite daring to rejoice yet. (Does Jesus exist? Is he really what the Bible says he is? Is God really loving? - especially if we come out of faith traditions that showed us God in a different, less loving light)
 

2. Pregnancy has its less-than-pleasant side effects. Nausea, vomiting, dizziness, I had a bunch of fainting spells and was given lovely compresson stockings to force myself into every day in the heat of summer (yay). I had to unfollow recipe pages on social media because seeing food made me feel sick. (And I think I had a comparatively easy pregnancy) But the joy in the child helps to endure this side of pregnancy and gives strength.

Life is not easy. We experience grief and suffering, that's part of being human. Being a Christian and following Jesus is also not easy in most parts of the world. But joy in Jesus can give strength to endure the sufferings of life.

3. Often the baby bump is the first visible sign from the outside. I know I could not wait for the bump to appear.

Maybe sometimes our joy in Jesus is in the visible signs of him in our lives. Seeing visible changes in how we live and how we treat others.

4. Kicks are like the first "communication". I remember for the longest time it felt completely unreal to me that I had a child in there, and despite reading everywhere to "talk with your baby" and really wanting to start building a relationship before birth already, I simply could not. It felt weird. I felt disconnected. The kicks made it more real. And kicks are not just nice and sweet. Towards the end they HURT. 

"Notice the kicks of the living Christ in you": where do we feel Jesus communicating with us? Maybe we also have a hard time connecting with him sometimes. Invisible like the baby inside. What are signs we get from Jesus that he is here? What are the signs we see in the world that show us God at work already to transform it into his kingdom of love, the signs that give us joy and hope?
 

5. I think I need to preach about nesting next Advent because I realised Advent is really just institutionalised nesting. xD I redecorated the entire house without help because it had to be done YESTERDAY. German has the lovely word "Vorfreude" (pre-joy) for anticipation. Being joyful in the waiting and expecting. That's the kind of joy you have in nesting - that also gives energy (lots of energy) despite already being half a whale. Also: towards the end I got really impatient and started doing things like exercises ("guaranteed to get labour started!!!") or eating loads of spicy food (despite heartburn... yep.) to try and "help things along".

Our joy in Jesus can be this joy of anticipation. Preparing for his second coming and this world fully becoming the kingdom of God. I believe that living the way Jesus taught us is one way to prepare and to "nest". To do our own part in spreading the Kingdom of God.
Also: can we be so crazy excited for Jesus to come back that we do weird things do "help things along" (even though that doesn't really work, in both cases, but - I mean the energy behind that)?

6. The ultimate joy is having your baby in your arms after labour and forgetting how much it hurt. I had too many happy hormones to sleep despite having missed a night. "Sleep when the baby sleeps" - not a chance at that point, you just worship baby for a while (or I did).

We will have the joy of meeting Jesus face to face. :-)

I know this is pretty much a Christmas poem with all the "Joy to the World" references and such, but because Advent and Christmas is busy time for me at work, I never got to reflect and write (and I write when the words come, instead of sitting down and deciding to write something, usually). 

Maybe the next poem will be one of the ladies I still have on my list (Eunice has been in the queue for a while..), but we'll see.

Art by the "Master of the Spes Nostra"

Daughters of Shiloh: In Your Own Eyes

 Judges 21:15-25

And we danced
in the sunshine
not a care in the world
and we sang
our God's praise
without trouble or fear
free
like our mothers
who left Egypt by His hand
free
in the shelter
of His justice and love.

But now
I am loot
to be carried away.
I am your quarry
to be hunted down.
I am prey to be caught,
a prize to be captured,
I am flesh to be used.

Oh you pious men
keeping your vows before God,
oh you righteous men
looking out for your brothers,
oh you faithful men -
you do what is right,
what is right in your own eyes -
but is it right in God's?

In God's,
whose will is shelter
in justice and love?
In God's,
who led our mothers
out of Egypt by His hand?
Would this Saviour of Slaves
have us treated like loot,
like quarry, like prey,
a prize to be captured,
flesh to be used?

You do what is right
in your own eyes
and think yourselves pious
and righteous and good
free
like your fathers
led from Egypt by His hand
but as long as your daughters
remain so enslaved,
as long as your actions
are not justice and love
your hearts will be stuck
in Egypt's land
and you'll still be slaves to sin.

Turn around, then.
Turn around and dance with me.
Dance with me
in the love of the God
who created us as equals.
Turn around to the King
whose commandment is love.
Turn around and let justice reign.
Then you and I can all be free
dancing in praise of the Saviour of Slaves,
not a care in the world,
without trouble or fear
doing right in the eyes
of God our king.

____________________________

[16. October 2022]

This story is so horrible (and this is just one part of the horror, the beginning of Judges 21 is about genocide as well as rape). At the end of the book of Judges, Israel is a mess. They just decimated the tribe of Benjamin as revenge for what happened with the Levite's concubine (awful, awful story of gang rape - the Bible really is not silent about the horrors of the human race). Anyway after the massacre the other tribes feel sorry and want to prevent the entire tribe of Benjamin dying out. However, they have vowed not to give any of their daughters as wives to the men of Benjamin. What follows is a lot of unnecessary pain and violence all to keep that vow while still helping the Benjaminites come to women.

The "daughters of Shiloh" are girls participating in a religious festival, the Israelites set up a kidnapping so that they won't have "given" the girls freely.

Like a refrain in the book of Judges, and again at the very end (Judges 21:25) is the sentence: they did what was right in their own eyes. Judges is about things going wrong. When we read about genocides and murder and gang rape and here the kidnapping and rape of hundreds of young women, it's nothing "condoned" by God. It's people making a big hash of things after having been shown by God how society can actually be different (law given on Sinai). And the tragic thing is, so often we human beings are capable of thinking we're on the right path while actually doing horrible things that are opposed to the will of God. These guys thought they were being good people doing their best to keep a vow, helping out their countrymen, etc.

Which is why I think we need to keep in connection with God, and always be open to repent and turn around. So many things were thought to be okay for the longest time, even by Christians (slavery, racism, subjugation of women). Change is hard but true salvation is not just a change of what we believe or a spiritual thing, but a change in how we live our lives and how our societies work. That's why the giving of the law,at Sinai was an important step on the way out of Egypt: Okay, you're not slaves anymore - here's how to live so you won't be slaves again! True freedom is not in having no one tell us what to do (doing what is right in our own eyes) but letting ourselves be guided to a way of living that is best for everybody.

Picture by Franz von Stuck

Jochebed: Weaning

Exodus 2:1-10

How often now

have I said "I'm done" -

when you bit me

or had a trying night.

"I can't do it anymore,"

I thought

so many times.

And yet

I'm just not ready.

Every time

you turn away your head

or would rather play,

every time you prefer

meat or rice or figs

sadness overcomes me

and fear

as I realise:

Our time is coming to an end

and soon

you'll be no longer mine.

Even this borrowed time

must come to a close

and I'll have to give you away.

No, child, no - 

stay small

stay mine

I'm not ready

I'm so done

but I'm not ready.

I'd rather hold you

wriggling and screaming

to this dry breast you no longer want

than let you go

and give you up

for good this time.

______________

[Feb / July 2022]

Jochebed, Moses' mother, put her son in a basket after it became impossible to keep him hidden in Egypt where all Hebrew boys were killed. It was her last resort to keep him safe. By a miracle, he ended up being found by the Pharaoh's daughter, who took pity and wanted to adopt him. Through the quick thinking of his sister Miriam, Jochebed got her son back through the role of wet nurse.

But then what would it have been like for Jochebed to have that time come to an end as Moses started weaning? It's likely she was allowed to nurse way past 2, it's only modern Western culture where breastfeeding less than 2 years is thought to be the "norm". But still. That time ends. Every child weans. No more wet nurse. A second goodbye.

I'm in a bunch of breastfeeding groups and have observed that weaning is a complex topic. Sometimes as a mother one just has enough and wants to wean, other times the child abruptly stops before Mama is ready. Often the end is bittersweet. I'm not there yet 😆 but have experienced odd days where my daughter showed no interest for hours and I felt oddly offended by it. 🤣 So I imagine it must have been an extremely conflicting experience for Jochebed. You can't force a toddler to nurse (hence the "wriggling and screaming"), when they're done they really are done. But to have that mean not only the end of the breastfeeding relationship but also the end of your time with your child - terrible! 

I first wrote this in German this Feb at a workshop I did in my church (I like taking Ex 2 because there are 4+ women in the story), translated it today because I'm doing another workshop and just rediscovered it among my notes. 😆 

Picture by Utamaro Kitagawa. A very "toddler nursing" picture. 🥴 

Haggith: Don't Heal Me

Don't heal my broken heart, God.

I want to feel the pain.

I want the wound

to stay open, bleeding.

I want to stay shattered;

Don't gather my pieces.

Let me grieve.

Don't heal my broken heart, God.

Let me stay here instead,

wallowing in bleeding love,

bleeding for him.

Healing would feel

like forgetting

getting over him

betraying him.

Losing him forever.

Don't heal my broken heart, God.

Don't take the pain,

don't comfort me.

For as the pain fades

so does he.

Keep my tears flowing.

Silence my laughter.

Keep me broken;

I don't want to be fixed.

I need him to stay present

in my pain, in my tears.

I need him to keep haunting me,

I need it to keep hurting me.

So don't heal my broken heart, God.

Let me grieve.

___________________________

[19. July 2022]

I read about a most terrible loss of a baby today. While I was praying for the mother the thought came to me that with such a loss, I would not want to be comforted. "Feeling better", ever, would feel like a betrayal.

Modern-day Western culture is very uncomfortable about grief. We try to make people feel better because that makes us feel better. But sometimes we just need to feel our feelings. It is so important to have and give permission to grieve. To feel all of it for as long as it takes, in whatever way it takes (everyone grieves differently!), instead of feeling under any pressure to "go back to normal".

I chose Haggith for this poem because she is one of many grieving mothers in the Bible. Her son Adonijah is one of the contenders for David's throne and almost becomes king. Bathsheba manages to get her son Solomon on the throne instead. Solomon then has Adonijah and his supporters killed. Politics and intrigue and we can have all sorts of theological conclusions about what went on here, but in the end you will always have people experiencing loss and grief.

I believe God allows us to grieve, that being a Christian does not mean having to be always happy, that it is perfectly fine to not want to get better yet. God lets us take our time to grieve. He will heal when we are ready.

So this also makes me think about how I am there for people in grief. How I pray for them. "Heal the broken hearts" - yes, but are they ready to be healed? What do they actually want and need? Maybe instead of being released from their feelings, they want a safe place to express them? Maybe I can be that safe place for someone. Just listening, not trying to comfort. Maybe a better prayer would be that grieving people can receive what they need - be that comfort, sleep, a listening ear or the courage to be angry.

Picture: "Grieving Mother" in Volgograd

Born of God

John 1:10-13

we become
children of God

not by praying
a standard prayer
clean and tidy

not by checking off
the right beliefs
on a checklist

not of natural descent
nor of human decision
nor a husband's will

we become
children of God
through the blood, sweat and tears
of love
powerful as contractions
we become
children of God
through the raw, animal passion
of life that must come out
that will come out
though the little head seems
to keep slipping back up
we become
children of God
pushed between her thighs
drawn towards her chest
to suckle at her loving breast

we become
children of God
born of God

________________________________

[6.-7. May 2022]

Me reading John 1 on Tuesday: Ugh it's so hard to learn anything new from a text you know by heart.
Me reading John 1 on Wednesday: Hang on. "Born of God"? God gives birth?! *poem idea born*

It's also John 1 where God has a uterus (v.18: the Greek "kolpos" often translated "bosom" is actually "womb"). So no, there's nothing "biblical" about God being "male", and there's nothing "unbiblical" about imagining God as a mother or (o horror) imagining God giving birth. God is neither male nor female, but male and female imagery can help us understand what God is like. Traditionally we have limited ourselves mostly to male imagery, but the Bible itself is full of feminine imagery as well, from the mother hen to the nursing mother to the uterus in John 1:18 and now this (which to be honest I only noticed this week).

We talk a lot about being "born again", but never really think the image through. What does it mean to be "born"? On the one hand it does signify a completely fresh start, the purity of a new beginning, maybe also the potential that is in every newborn child. But what we tend to omit is the actual act of giving birth and what that means to the mother. Maybe because (in Western culture at least) we speak of giving birth as being this terrible, scary, painful thing. And yes, it can be. But birth is also beautiful, and it can also be empowering. Maybe what makes it scary is how "feral" it is, how completely physical and instinctual. The pain comes from the powerful muscles working to get baby out. The mind only gets in the way here.

We like to view God as the one who brings order into chaos. Birth and the female sphere in general have often been relegated to the "chaotic". So what does it mean that God "gives birth" to us? I don't want to name conclusions, I'd rather let the image speak. So maybe next time we talk about being "born again" we consider what that means - what a raw connection that must be between us and God. How much we must mean to God.

Picture by Paula Modersohn-Becker

Widow of Zarephath: My Cup Overflows

1. Kings 17

I am alone
but my cup overflows.
No husband to support me
but my cup overflows.
Sole provider for my child
but my cup overflows.
Troubled are our times
but my cup overflows.

Your abundance
comes flowing down
covering our needs.
My cup overflows.
All the strength that I needed
to live through this time,
endurance and joy,
my cup overflows.

Faced with starvation
but my cup overflows.
Faced with illness
but my cup overflows.
Faced with loss
but my cup overflows.
In all adversity
my cup overflows.

All your riches,
your luxurious love,
pouring into our lives,
more than enough.
My cup overflows
enough to share
with hungry prophets
and weary guests.
My cup overflows.

_____________________________________________________

[23. January 2022]

The other day I randomly pondered whether there were any single mothers in the Bible. Of course there are quite a bunch. This is one of them and the first who came to mind.

Her story really spoke to me in the moment that I thought about her. She is a single mother like me. She lives in challenging times like we do currently (for her: drought and famine, for us: pandemic). She experiences miraculous provision - which I have been experiencing too ever since the separation. Oil in the Bible is a symbol of joy and abundance. She experiences the miracle of her tiny remainder of oil never being used up. What if we read this not only as the literal kitchen ingredient never running out, but as God providing all she needs? Personally these past few months I have somehow always had the strength and courage to get through all the challenges of becoming a single mother. Reading the widow's story, the "oil" in my life is these things.

So yes this is one of those cases where I write a poem for a woman of the Bible from the perspective of my own current experience. This story is an encouragement to me.

I also find it interesting how the whole thing connects to hospitality. The widow has too little for herself and her son, then suddenly has a guest on her hands when Elijah basically invites himself. It is in this situation that the oil and flour never run out. The widow dared to be hospitable - and it paid out. I have also made this experience that sometimes when I'm going through a hard time, helping others actually helped me. Weird maybe, but it happens - miracles of provision I think are more common than we might expect.

"My cup overflows" from Psalm 23:5 jumped into my head for this one, and I decided on the repetitive pattern to emulate the "his love endures forever" refrain in Psalm 136.

Picture by Mary Cassatt

Weihnachtspredigt 2021: Gottes Weg der Geburt

 

1. Wenn Geburt doch so einfach wäre

Liebe Gemeinde,

Am vergangenen Wochenende war ich in Bischofszell zu den "Bischofszeller Weihnachtsspielen". In der ganzen Altstadt verteilt wurde von Station zu Station die Weihnachtsgeschichte vorgespielt, vom Besuch des Engels bei Maria über die Reise nach Bethlehem, die Abweisung beim Wirtshaus und die Geburt im Stall, bis zur Ankunft der Hirten beim neugeborenen Kind. Es war ein sehr besonderes Erlebnis und sehr schön gemacht.

Etwas, das mir besonders zum nachdenken gegeben hat, war die Geburt. Maria und Josef kamen beim Stall an, und der Erzähler sagte, dass die Zeit der Geburt gekommen war. Maria und Josef gingen hinein. Kurz darauf kamen sie wieder heraus, Maria mit dem Kind auf dem Arm.

"Das war wohl eine Sturzgeburt," hat jemand neben mir bemerkt, und ein paar haben gekichert.

Ja, wenn das doch nur so einfach wäre! Schwuppsdiwupps, da ist das Kind. Keine Mühe, keine Schmerzen, es ist einfach da. Erholung braucht die Mama danach auch keine, sie sieht frisch aus und zufrieden. Das Kind ist herzig und lieb und liegt still und brav da, hält schön hin für den ganzen Besuch.

Ja, so stellen wir das doch dar, alle Jahre wieder, in Bildern, in Krippenszenen, auch in unseren Liedern. "Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht" – alles schön ruhig und friedlich, Maria und Josef, die glücklichen Eltern, beide frisch und gut ausgeruht, "in reinlichen Windeln das himmlische Kind, viel schöner und holder als Engelein sind." Sogar Futterkrippe und Stall sind sauber und ordentlich. Alles ist schön, alles ist sauber, alles ist friedlich.

Aber sind wir mal ehrlich: so sieht es bei einer Geburt nicht aus.

2. Wie es (wahrscheinlich) eigentlich war...

Stille Nacht? Für Josef und Maria ist es nicht besonders still. Und das Lied trägt dem auch Rechnung, denn es heisst: "Einsam wacht / nur das traute hochheilige Paar." Einsam wacht. Für sie ist das eine strenge Nacht.

Zuerst der ganze Stress, einen Platz zu finden, wo Maria gebären kann, in diesem Ort so weit weg von daheim. Reisen in der Spätschwangerschaft ist sicher nicht so angenehm, mit dem immer unpraktischer werdenen Körper. Beschwerden – vielleicht hat sie Sodbrennen, vielleicht bekommt sie Wassereinlagerungen, sie wird schneller müde, vielleicht kann sie in der Nacht schlecht schlafen, weil der Bauch ihr im Weg ist oder das Kind zu fest tritt. Vielleicht ist Maria ungeduldig, endlich ihr Kind kennenzulernen – und freut sich, wenn es jetzt endlich, endlich losgeht. Aber vielleicht hat sie auch Angst, was da auf sie zukommt. Geburt ist ja nicht ungefährlich, weder für die Mutter noch für das Kind, damals noch mehr als heute.

Steht ihr ausser Josef noch jemand zur Seite, um sie zu unterstützen? Wie geht sie um mit den Schmerzen, in dieser Zeit, in der Schmerzmittel noch gar keine Option sind? Nicht alle Frauen tönen während der Geburt – ist Maria eine, die stumm bleibt, oder muss sie lauthals schreien? Geht die Geburt lang, oder ist das Kind schnell da? Bekommt sie Risse oder andere Geburtsverletzungen?

Und dann ist es endlich da, das Kind – der "holde Knabe im lockigen Haar". vielleicht sieht er etwas zerquetscht aus; viele Neugeborene sind am Anfang etwas gräulich-blau, runzlig, nass. Weiss nicht, ob irgend jemand ausser Maria in dem Moment ihn "schöner und holder als Engelein" gefunden hat. Und die reinlichen Windeln sind sicher nicht so lange reinlich geblieben, hoffentlich nicht – ich weiss noch, wie wir auf das erste Bisi bangen mussten weil es sich etwas verspätet hat und das nicht gesund gewesen wäre.

Einsam wacht: die strenge Nacht geht weiter. Vielleicht kann Josef erschöpft einschlafen. Ob Maria schlafen kann? Sie braucht die Erholung, aber vielleicht sind die Glückshormone zu stark und halten sie wach, vielleicht muss sie aufbleiben und dieses wunderbare Wesen anschauen, berühren, bewundern. Vielleicht hält das Kind sie wach mit Stillen. Vielleicht kann sie nicht einschlafen, weil jetzt die Sorgen anfangen: Geht es meinem Kind gut? Ist alles in Ordnung? Atmet es noch? Vielleicht muss sie immer wieder einen Finger über die Nase des Kindes halten um sicherzustellen, dass er noch atmet.

Einsam wacht: nicht mehr ganz einsam, sobald die Hirten eintrudeln. Dann haben sie Gesellschaft. Wollen sie die überhaupt? Sind sie überhaupt bereit dafür? Maria hat eine riesengrosse innere Wunde und kann vielleicht kaum aufstehen und laufen. Sie hat gerade eine ganze Nacht schwerste körperliche Arbeit geleistet. Duschen im Stall kann man vergessen. Sie ist verschwitzt und verklebt und es tut noch alles weh. Und da stehen plötzlich lauter Fremde – und auch nicht gerade die willkommensten Fremden. Hirten gehörten damals zum Rand der Gesellschaft, wahrscheinlich waren diese Menschen zerlumpt und dreckig und gaben keinen besonders vertrauenswürdigen Eindruck. "Redliche Hirten", was für ein Widerspruch, hätte man damals gesagt. Das sind nur unredliche Leute.

Und so haben wir unsere Krippenszene: blutig, schwitzig, dreckig, es müffelt nach Tier und nach Körperflüssigkeiten, da ist Erschöpfung und Schmerz, auch ein bisschen Sorge und Angst.

Aber da ist auch Freude. So viel grosse, unaussprechlich grosse Freude. Eine Freude wie nach jeder Geburt, wenn das Kind da ist und es Mutter und Kind gutgeht. Und noch etwas mehr: die Freude an diesem ganz besonderen Kind. Emmanuel – Gott mit uns. Gott ist Mensch geworden. Mitten in all dem Blut und Schweiss und Dreck ist Gott. Nicht im Sterilen, Reinen, Perfekten sondern in diesem total irdischen, total körperlichen, total menschlichen, ja fast tierischem Geschehen.

3. Das geht doch nicht

Liebe Gemeinde,

Wird es uns unangenehm, wenn wir uns die Geburt Jesu so vorstellen? Stört es uns, wenn sie anders dargestellt wird als wie gewohnt schön, sauber, rein und friedlich? Vor einigen Jahren machte ein Bild auf den sozialen Medien die Runden, wo Maria schreiend das Jesuskind herauspresst. Es gab viele negativen Reaktionen. Das geht doch nicht! Das ist doch unwürdig, das ist respektlos!

In einem Artikel über Tabus rund um die Geburt habe ich gelesen: "Wenn die Frau schreit vor Schmerzen, den Stuhlgang nicht kontrollieren kann, Blut fliesst, dann empfinden manche Männer das als erschreckend, eklig und entwürdigend für ihre Frau." Da ist es klar, dass es für unsere fromme Sensibilitäten schwierig sein kann, die "reine Jungfrau Maria" so zu sehen. So eine Darstellung kann einem fast blasphemisch vorkommen.

Oder neuerdings habe ich eine Zeichnung gesehen von einem Baby, dem gerade der Po gewischt wird – der Titel: "Allmächtiger Gott". Da kommt einem doch eine instinktive tiefe Ablehnung hoch. Das geht doch nicht. Das kann man doch so nicht denken.

Das Heilige hat doch mit dem Irdischen, mit dem Menschlichen, mit dem Körperlichen nichts zu tun. Und auch wenn wir glauben, dass Gott Mensch geworden ist, fällt es uns extrem schwer, das in seiner ganzen Konsequenz durchzudenken und zu akzeptieren. Gott ist ein Kind in Windeln geworden, und wir wissen was Kinder in Windeln machen, und da ist nichts besonders reinliches dran. Das passt uns aber so gar nicht in den Kopf. Es fühlt sich so falsch an.

Und das, liebe Gemeinde, ist für mich das Wunder von Weihnachten.

4. Das Wunder von Weihnachten: Gott wird ganz Mensch

Das Wunder von Weihnachten ist, dass Gott ein schreiendes, kötzelndes Kind wird. Das Wunder von Weihnachten ist, dass Gott, statt einfach vom Himmel herabzusteigen, wie er es sehr wohl gekonnt hätte, den Weg der Geburt ausgesucht hat, mit allem was dazu gehört. Das Wunder von Weihnachten ist, dass das Heilige nicht abgehoben, unnahbar und überperfekt ist, sondern dass es sich ganz in das Allermenschlichste eintaucht.

Es ist so in uns eingeprägt worden: Geist gut, Körper schlecht. Das Heilige, wohlwollend aber auf Abstand. Gott sagt an Weihnachten, dass das nicht so ist. Er wird Mensch und heiligt damit unsere menschlichsten Erfahrungen. Gerade das Körperliche, auch das Unattraktive, sogar das Dreckige wird Raum für das Heilige, Begegnugnsraum mit Gott.

Das will uns Mut machen. Mut machen, dass Gott uns nahe kommen will. Dass Gott in all unseren Erfahrungen da ist, unser ganzes Menschsein mit all seinen Facetten mit uns teilt. Die Krippe ist kein unmöglicher, ferner, idyllischer und perfekter Ort, sondern der Ort, wo Gott unsere Unvollkommenheit heiligt. Gerade unsere Unvollkommenheit hat er erwählt. An Weihnachten träumen wir nicht von unmöglicher Idylle, sondern Gott erinnert uns: der Friede auf Erden kommt in dem ganz normalen, Gott kommt zu uns, wie wir gerade sind. Er hat keine Berührungsängste. Auch wir dürfen uns in dieser Geschichte finden, an der Krippe, so wie wir sind. Und an dieser Krippe können wir Kraft schöpfen, Hoffnung schöpfen, nicht weil da eine heile Welt ist, sondern weil Gott sein Heil in unsere Welt hineinbringt, mitten hineinbringt. In unsere Krankheit, in unsere Trauer und unseren Verlust, in unsere Sorgen und Ängste, in die Banalitäten des Alltages, in unsere kleinen und grossen Freuden, in unsere ganz menschlichen Erfahrungen – da wird Gottes Heil geboren, da können wir es jeden Tag erleben, weil Gott an einem Tag vor langer Zeit geboren wurde, so wie jedes Kind geboren wird.

Amen

Hiobs Frau: Fluche Gott, und stirb!

Und seine Frau sprach zu ihm: Hältst du noch fest an deiner Frömmigkeit? Fluche Gott und stirb! (Hiob 2,9)

Fluche Gott
und stirb!
Was ist der Sinn
weiterzugehen?
Er hat alles genommen.
Was ist der Sinn
an ihm festzuhalten
wenn das der Lohn ist
für all deinen Glauben,
für all deine Treue.
Wenn sogar Gottlosigkeit mehr bringt,
warum noch glauben?
Warum noch leben
wenn er uns schon verflucht hat,
das Leben zur Hölle gemacht,
nicht mehr lebenswert?

Gott.
Ich verstehe nicht.
Ist das was du Liebe nennst?
Ist das wie du uns verdankst
für Glauben und Treue?
Ist das was wir verdient haben?

Was soll ich tun
mit diesem Loch in meiner Seele?
Ich klage an
gegen den Himmel,
rüttle an deinen Thron,
denn ich kann nicht mehr,
kann nicht verstehen,
kann nicht glauben,
ich mag nicht.

Wer hört meine Geschichte?
Wer heilt meine Wunden?
Wer lässt mich weinen, und tröstet mich?
Wer lässt mich fluchen und klagen
so viel wie ich muss
bis das Gift raus ist?
Wer
wenn nicht du?

Oh Gott,
der Gott der mich verwundet,
der Gott der mich heilt –
ich verstehe dich nicht,
kann dich manchmal nicht einmal leiden,
und doch
bist du mein Gott
den ich suche
sogar wenn ich dich hasse.

Ich kann nicht vergeben
was du getan hast –
hilf mir, zu vergeben.
Ich kann dich nicht lieben
weil du das zugelassen hast –
hilf mir, zu lieben.
Ich kann nicht vertrauen
der Hand, die mich fallen liess –
hilf mir, zu vertrauen.
Ich kann nicht glauben
an einen "Gott der Liebe"
der dieses Leid zulässt –
hilf mir,
Gott der Liebe,
an dich zu glauben.

Wenn ich es nicht alleine kann,
wenn ich ertrinke in der Finsternis
meiner Trauer und Wut,
rette mich vor mir selbst
und mach mich wieder dein.

______________________________________

[Übersetzung: 13. September 2021, Original: Job's Wife]

Wir haben im Konfirmandenunterricht heute Abend das Thema "Warum müssen Menschen leiden?" und ich dachte, eventuell baue ich dieses Gedicht irgendwo ein, und so habe ich es jetzt schnell übersetzt. Keine Ahnung ob ich es jetzt in der Stunde verwende oder nicht, aber jetzt ist es zumindest mal übersetzt. XD

Was mir wichtig ist aus dem Hiobsbuch: Es gibt keine Antwort zur Frage, warum Menschen leiden müssen - Gott gibt uns keine Antwort. Aber wir dürfen klagen. So habe ich auch dieses Gedicht geschrieben: wir dürfen klagen, dürfen Gott anklagen, dürfen fluchen, dürfen auf Gott wütend sein, vielleicht hassen wir Gott auch zeitweise wenn wir mitten im Leid sind. Gott hält das aus. Oft haben wir gelernt, solche Gefühle nicht auszudrücken, nicht nur nicht gegenüber Gott sondern auch gegenüber Mitmenschen. Lieber still in sich hineinfressen. Was nicht wirklich so gesund ist. Gerade die Geschichte von Hiob zeigt uns aber, dass wir klagen dürfen. Von Hiobs Frau lesen wir wirklich nur diesen Satz, Hiob selbst lässt aber so einiges raus, was wir uns vielleicht nicht getrauen würden, Gott zu sagen. Aber Gott hält es aus! Gott kommt damit klar, und er ist es auch, der uns trösten kann und mit der Zeit auch wieder zu sich führen kann. Aber wenn wir im Moment auf Gott wütend sind dann glaube ich dürfen wir das. Gott hält das aus.

Vom Buch Briefe die ich niemals schrieb von Ruth van Reken habe ich den Gedanken aufgenommen, dass wir manchmal "Gott vergeben müssen". Wenn man so aufgewachsen ist wie ich, dass Gott doch nie Fehler macht usw., dann kann das ein fremder Gedanke sein. Aber auch wenn Gott keine Fehler macht: vielleicht habe ich  mal Mühe mit etwas, das Gott zugelassen hat. Da kann es mir guttun, wenn ich Gott sagen kann: Ich fand das nicht richtig. Und da kann es entlasten, wenn ich Gott vergeben kann. Mehr als wenn ich das Ganze in mich hineinfresse in der Meinung "Gott macht ja keine Fehler usw". Das schadet der Beziehung zu Gott finde ich mehr als wenn ich das wie einen Fehler behandle. Gott kommt damit klar. Ich denke Gott hält in der Beziehung mit uns so viel mehr aus als wir oft meinen. Bei Hiob hat er ganz viel Klage und Anklage ausgehalten und Hiob am Ende recht gegeben.

Wir verstehen zwar nicht, warum Menschen leiden müssen, und Gott gibt uns keine Antwort. Aber wir dürfen klagen. Wir dürfen anklagen. Wir dürfen wütend und traurig sein. Und Gott ist in dem allem bei uns. Für mich ist Gottes Antwort auf das Leiden das Kreuz: Gott der mitleidet. Gott der mitten in das Leiden hineinkommt, es selber am eigenen Leib erlebt, und unsere Klage zur seinen macht, "Mein Gott, mein Gott, warum hast du mich verlassen?" Für mich ist das die "christliche Antwort auf das Leid", und das ist wohl keine Erklärung aber mir gibt es Kraft, wenn ich leide.

Bild von Albrecht Dürer.

Solomon's Judgement: Rent Hearts

1. Kings 3:16-28

 I.

You were all I had.

My bright light

in this dark life,

something to live for,

a small thread of meaning

in the drudgery.

You were all I had.

But now

the light is snuffed out,

the thread is cut.

My arms are empty.

My arms are empty,

longing,

desperate to be filled.

So I will fill them -

I must, I must.

I will pretend

that he is you

back in my arms again.

You were all I had.

I can't give you up.

I will pretend

that he is you.

And if I can't - then so be it.

Let them rend him with a sword,

my heart is rent already.

I'm too broken to care,

too deep in grief

to grant her what I can't have.

If I must suffer,

she should too.

If I can't have you

no one should.

Let them rend him with a sword.

My heart is rent already.

II.

You are all I have.

My bright light

in this dark life,

something to live for,

a small thread of meaning

in the drudgery.

You are all I have.

But now

the threat of losing you -

snatched, stolen, ripped from my side,

my arms are empty.

My arms are empty,

fighting,

fighting to get you back.

I love you,

I need you,

I need you to be safe.

Come back to me,

back to my arms again.

You are all I have.

I can't give you up.

I need you

back in my arms -

but if I can't, then please be safe.

My heart is rent without you,

but I need you to be whole,

need you to live

and shine your light,

if not for me,

then for yourself.

If the only way 

to keep you safe

is letting you go -

then so be it.

My heart is rent without you,

but I need you to be whole.

_________________________________

[29. August 2021]

Actually had other ladies higher up on my to do list but spontaneously decided to write the p.o.v. of the two prostitutes who fought over a baby. One had accidentally smothered hers in her sleep and now both were claiming the living one. Solomon suggested cutting the baby in half to find out who the real mother was, because she would be more concerned with keeping her child alive.

Anyway because this poetry project is about compassion with the characters / trying to imagine what they are feeling, I did not want to do a "bad mother / good mother" thing. Was the mother of the dead baby selfish for not caring if the live one was killed? Maybe, or maybe she was just too full of grief (which can make us not think straight). One mother's primary concern is her grief, which makes her care about little else. The other's main concern is her child's safety, which makes her willing to sacrifice. Both women are in a terrible situation though - each in some way has her heart broken. One can't do anything for her child anymore - the other can still try to keep him safe.

Picture by William Blake

Dienerin: Hinter dem Schilf

 Exodus 2,1-10

Ich habe nie hinterfragt.

Warum auch?

Es hat mich nie betroffen.

Es waren nur Die Da.

Die Anderen.

Ausländer.

Ich habe mich nie gekümmert.

Warum auch?

Es war weit weg.

Fast wie ein Gerücht.

Dachte nicht daran,

denn was war dran wichtig?

Es hat mich nie berührt.

Bis jetzt.

Plötzlich

trennt sich das Schilf

über ein schreiendes Kind,

eröffnet sich mir

eine Welt von Schmerz und Trauer.

Ich öffne den Korb

und sehe Leid

das ich nie an mich rangelassen hab.

Jetzt

ist es nicht mehr weit weg.

Jetzt ist es hier.

Tod und Verlust,

kinderlose Mütter,

dieses Kind, ausgesetzt

als letzte sterbende Hoffnung.

Vielleicht

kümmerte ich mich nie

weil es zu schwer ist.

Es ist zu viel.

Denn jetzt

wie kann ich zurück

und es einfach heschehen lassen?

Wie kann ich zurück

jetzt wo ich dieses Kind -

ein Kind wie meines -

gesehen habe,

verlassen zu seiner Rettung,

nur ein kleiner Teil des Leidens

das jeden Tag geschieht?

Ich habe nie hinterfragt.

Jetzt muss ich.

Ich habe mich nie gekümmert.

Aber jetzt habe ich gesehen,

und es ist mir nahegekommen,

und ich kann nicht mehr

zurück.

_____________

[20. Juli 2021]

Wie viel Ungerechtigkeit lassen wir an uns vorbeigehen, weil wir nicht direkt betroffen sind? Manchmal brauchen wir die direkte Begegnung mit dem Leid, die direkte Konfrontation mit dem Unrecht, das geschieht, um es wirklich zu bemerken und ernstzunehmen. Das kann unangenehm sein aber ist heilvoll.

Der Pharaoh wollte die Israeliten in Schach halten und liess alle Jungen töten. Wie sahen das die "gewöhnlichen Ägypter"? Vielleicht war es für sie auch einfach weit weg. Waren ja "nur die Sklaven". Vielleicht war die Entdeckung des Mose so eine Begegnung, die die Perspektive geändert hat...

Bild von James Tissot

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?

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[Übersetzung 7. Mai 2021]

Bild von George Becker