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

God Is A Window

God is a window
opening wide
onto new horizons.
God is a door
leading to adventure
and home.
God is a road
sometimes rocky,
twisting and turning
into the far unknown.

God is a bridge
across the deepest of waters
that sways as you cross it
but never will fall.
God is a stream
lively and refreshing.
God is a sea
of uncharted depths.
God is an iceberg
you only see the tip of.

God is a painting
of finest detail,
sometimes abstract,
hard to interpret.
God is a book,
a page-turner,
a thriller
that will keep you up at night.
God is poetry
that doesn't always rhyme.

God is a song,
the kind of catchy tune
that plays in your head
for weeks on end.
God is a dance,
elegant and dignified
or joyful and wild.
God is a rhythm
deep in your bones
you can't help but tap your feet to.

God is a cup of hot tea
on a cold winter's night.
God is bread
feeding the hungry,
meant to be shared.
God is a table
large enough
for many guests.
God is water
raining on parched ground.

God is adventure,
God is suprise,
a Christmas present,
a treasure chest.
God is a secret
waiting to be told,
waiting to be shouted
from the rooftops.

God is a mountain
infinitely high
but well worth the climb.
God is a sheer drop
you can't see the bottom of -
why don't you
            let
               go
                 and
                    fall
                        into
                            Her.

[July 2012]

Inspired by and dedicated to 馬牧師

Art by Winslow Homer

Rachel: Give me Children or I Die

When Rachel saw that she bore Jacob no children,
she envied her sister; and she said to Jacob,
“Give me children, or I shall die!” (Genesis 30:1)

Give me children or I die -
die of yearning
after waiting all this time.
All my life
it was all I ever wanted,
taken for granted -
I never thought
it would be this hard,
never dreamed I might become
one of Those
whose arms stay empty
all their lives.

Give me children or I die -
die of envy,
surrounded by others,
my maid, my sister,
who become pregnant
if you but cough at them.
Why not I?
Don't I deserve
something good as well?
Why does she have four,
and I not even one?
Is that fair?

Give me children or I die -
die of frustration
at the remarks and the comments,
the stupid questions,
the useless suggestions,
unwanted advice.
"Your clock is ticking."
Believe me, I know.
"You gained weight -
could you be -" NO.
Don't people see
how much it's hurting me?

Give me children or I die -
die alone and destitute,
some day,
as yet far away,
but that day will come.
That day without a husband
and no son to support me,
no value to society,
just the poor barren woman
with no family to care.
If you loved me
wouldn't you provide?

Give me children or I die.
Yes, I wish it was in our control.
I wish I could blame,
I wish I could explain,
I wish there were
some four-step recipe,
one-size-fits-all solution.
I wish it really were
in your power
and cajoling you enough
could grant me my wish.
Instead, I go on,
month after month,
repeating my cry:
Give me children
or I die.

_____________________________________________________________________

[14. December 2019]

I have always found this proclamation of Rachel's intriguing. Even though I've written a poem for her already (here), I decided to write another one. :-)

Rachel desperately wanted children. She ended up having two (Joseph and Benjamin), but it was a long struggle getting there - and ironically, she ended up dying in childbirth. There are many reasons to want a child so desperately. In ancient times, children played an important social role, kind of like an "insurance" for old age. Childless women were at risk of ending up alone and poor if they were widowed.

I used to think the whole "childbearing contest" and Rachel's tantrum ("I shall die") were rather childish. In the meantime, though, I have come to know people who struggled similarly. We all need more compassion for people who have experiences different from our own. The Bible is one place where we can start, by reading about people who are different from us. I think sometimes we all too easily read the Bible with a "judging" eye already, trying to figure out which are the examples we're supposed to copy and which are those we should avoid. But the people we read about in the Bible are first and foremost people - and I think all of them have a bit of both in them, like all of us too. It helps me feel less alone when I find stories I can relate to. But I think it can also teach us compassion when we read stories we can't really relate to. That's part of why I write these poems. What happens when we try to put ourselves into these women's shoes just for a moment, and imagine what they feel, what they might want to tell us?


Art: William Adolphe Bouguereau

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