My blog has been silent for a few weeks - partly due to the fact that I've been sick and partly due to the fact that I'm not sure how to put my thoughts into words that encourage rather than words that bring guilt. So I pray that as you read these words, it's not guilt, but conviction, that you sense and that you are drawn closer to the Lover of your soul.
I recently read Judges 19 and 20 - the story of the Ephraimite whose wife left him (whether or not she was unfaithful or just angry with him seems to be up for debate). He traveled to her father's house to bring her back, and on their way home, they stopped in Gibeah where she was raped and murdered.
It's an interesting cast of characters: the wife, for whatever reason, leaves her husband and returns to her father's house (not so lightly done back then); the man who opens his home to the travelers also offers his virgin daughter and the man's wife to the men of the city; the husband shoves his wife out the door for the men of Gibeah to do with as they please and in the morning, when he sees her sprawled across the front porch - I'm sure in less than pristine condition - he just says to her "Get up." It doesn't say that he bent down to her and held her in his arms or wept when he saw her condition. He knows she's been abused all night long, but he's ready to hit the road, so he just tells her to get up. A real jewel of a husband.
When the trio (a servant accompanied them) originally looked for a place to spend the night, the servant had suggested a town not within Israel. The man refused. He wanted to stay among Israelites, his people, the people of God. He'd thought he would be safe there. You would think.
I began to wonder: I'm part of the people of God, but am I a safe place? I doubt that I have to worry about the townspeople coming to my house demanding that I physically give to them someone who is in my home for their personal entertainment and abuse, but what about my words? In my efforts to protect myself, do I shove someone else out the door? "Here, say what you want about her, but don't touch me."
As I read and re-read this story, I became increasingly indignant at the husband and his host. How could they offer their wife and daughter as sacrifices to these men?! How could they? What kind of men do that? But as I struggled with this story, I realized that this story wasn't written so we can make judgments against the men of Gibeah. I think it was written as a mirror for each of us to look into. "Mirror, mirror on the wall . . . " We may be the host who, in protecting strangers, offers his own flesh and blood for slaughter. We may be the husband who so desperately wants to protect himself that he pushes someone else out the door. Perhaps we're the wife who was fed to the crowd by someone who should have protected her. Or perhaps we're a part of the crowd, hungry for someone new to devour with our words, our attitudes or perhaps we've been all four at some time or another.
Lord, forgive me. Forgive us. We, your people, rape and abuse each other with our words. We don't even realize it. As we desperately try to protect ourselves, we point fingers at others. We make others look bad, so we can look good. Make us aware, Lord. Show us our sin and grant us the gift of repentance. Heal the hearts of those we've hurt. I want to be a place where others can come and find safety and refuge, where others can come and find You.
I recently read Judges 19 and 20 - the story of the Ephraimite whose wife left him (whether or not she was unfaithful or just angry with him seems to be up for debate). He traveled to her father's house to bring her back, and on their way home, they stopped in Gibeah where she was raped and murdered.
It's an interesting cast of characters: the wife, for whatever reason, leaves her husband and returns to her father's house (not so lightly done back then); the man who opens his home to the travelers also offers his virgin daughter and the man's wife to the men of the city; the husband shoves his wife out the door for the men of Gibeah to do with as they please and in the morning, when he sees her sprawled across the front porch - I'm sure in less than pristine condition - he just says to her "Get up." It doesn't say that he bent down to her and held her in his arms or wept when he saw her condition. He knows she's been abused all night long, but he's ready to hit the road, so he just tells her to get up. A real jewel of a husband.
When the trio (a servant accompanied them) originally looked for a place to spend the night, the servant had suggested a town not within Israel. The man refused. He wanted to stay among Israelites, his people, the people of God. He'd thought he would be safe there. You would think.
I began to wonder: I'm part of the people of God, but am I a safe place? I doubt that I have to worry about the townspeople coming to my house demanding that I physically give to them someone who is in my home for their personal entertainment and abuse, but what about my words? In my efforts to protect myself, do I shove someone else out the door? "Here, say what you want about her, but don't touch me."
As I read and re-read this story, I became increasingly indignant at the husband and his host. How could they offer their wife and daughter as sacrifices to these men?! How could they? What kind of men do that? But as I struggled with this story, I realized that this story wasn't written so we can make judgments against the men of Gibeah. I think it was written as a mirror for each of us to look into. "Mirror, mirror on the wall . . . " We may be the host who, in protecting strangers, offers his own flesh and blood for slaughter. We may be the husband who so desperately wants to protect himself that he pushes someone else out the door. Perhaps we're the wife who was fed to the crowd by someone who should have protected her. Or perhaps we're a part of the crowd, hungry for someone new to devour with our words, our attitudes or perhaps we've been all four at some time or another.
Lord, forgive me. Forgive us. We, your people, rape and abuse each other with our words. We don't even realize it. As we desperately try to protect ourselves, we point fingers at others. We make others look bad, so we can look good. Make us aware, Lord. Show us our sin and grant us the gift of repentance. Heal the hearts of those we've hurt. I want to be a place where others can come and find safety and refuge, where others can come and find You.
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