Unity Church of Castro Valley
Sunday Message for March 8, 2009
The Unnamed Concubine
This is the second Sunday in Lent and I would like to talk about a story from Judges 19 called the Levites Concubine. And throughout this story we never learn even her name - she is just another unnamed woman in the Bible; just somebody's possession.
It's an interesting story. In reading it in various versions of the Bible there are differing interpretations. Most of them tend to paint the woman as bad and the man as good. And, yet, when I tell you the story you will have to ask yourself how what he did to her could so easily be glossed over. And I have seen this so many times where there are things in the Bible that we don't talk about.
Add to this the fact that he was a Levite. The Levites who descended through Aaron became the priests of Israel, and the other Levites filled lower places in the religious worship and services of the Israelite nation and in the Temple. These were the enlightened ones?
Actually Fillmore tells us in the Metaphysical Bible Dictionary, "As ministers and priests in the Temple and in the Temple worship they signify our natural religious tendencies, not necessarily spiritual. This also is the basis of the formal religion where rites and ceremonies take the place of true spirituality"
I looked up several different bible commentaries and not one of them address what the Levite did to this woman. They all avoid that and talk about the horrible men in the city of Gibeah and how they should be punished.
THE LEVITE'S CONCUBINE
So let me tell you a story from the Bible in Judges chapter 19. (Judges 19) There was a certain Levite, residing in the remote parts of the hill country of Ephraim who took to himself a concubine from Bethlehem in Judah. But his concubine became angry with him, and she went away from him to her father's house and was there some four months.
Then her husband set out after her, to speak tenderly to her and bring her back. When he reached her father's house, the girl's father saw him and came with joy to meet him. His father-in-law, the girl's father, made him stay, and he remained with him three days; so they ate and drank, and he stayed there.
On the fourth day they got up early in the morning, and he prepared to go; but the girl's father said to his son-in-law, "Fortify yourself with a bit of food, and after that you may go." So the two men sat and ate and drank together; and the girl's father said to the man, "Why not spend the night and enjoy yourself?"
When the man got up to go, his father-in-law kept urging him until he spent the night there again. On the fifth day he got up early in the morning to leave; and the girl's father said, "Fortify yourself." So they lingered until the day declined, and the two of them ate and drank.
When the man with his concubine and his servant got up to leave, his father-in-law, the girl's father, said to him, "Look, the day has worn on until it is almost evening. Spend the night. See, the day has drawn to a close. Spend the night here and enjoy yourself. Tomorrow you can get up early in the morning for your journey, and go home."
But the man would not spend the night; he got up and departed, and arrived opposite Jebus. He had with him a couple of saddled donkeys, and his concubine was with him. When they were near Jebus, the day was far spent, and the servant said to his master, "Come now, let us turn aside to this city of the Jebusites, and spend the night in it." But his master said to him, "We will not turn aside into a city of foreigners, who do not belong to the people of Israel; but we will continue on to Gibeah."
Then he said to his servant, "Come, let us try to reach one of these places, and spend the night at Gibeah or at Ramah." So they passed on and went their way; and the sun went down on them near Gibeah, which belongs to Benjamin.
They turned aside there, to go in and spend the night at Gibeah. He went in and sat down in the open square of the city, but no one took them in to spend the night. Then at evening there was an old man coming from his work in the field. The man was from the hill country of Ephraim, and he was residing in Gibeah. When the old man looked up and saw the wayfarer in the open square of the city, he said, "Where are you going and where do you come from?"
He answered him, "We are passing from Bethlehem in Judah to the remote parts of the hill country of Ephraim, from which I come. I went to Bethlehem in Judah; and I am going to my home. Nobody has offered to take me in.
The old man said, "Peace be to you. I will care for all your wants; only do not spend the night in the square." So he brought him into his house, and fed the donkeys; they washed their feet, and ate and drank. While they were enjoying themselves, the men of the city, a perverse lot, surrounded the house, and started pounding on the door. They said to the old man, the master of the house, "Bring out the man who came into your house, so that we may have intercourse with him."
And the man, the master of the house, went out to them and said to them, "No, my brothers, do not act so wickedly. Since this man is my guest, do not do this vile thing. Here are my virgin daughter and his concubine; let me bring them out now. Ravish them and do whatever you want to them; but against this man do not do such a vile thing."
But the men would not listen to him. So the man seized his concubine, and put her out to them. They wantonly raped her, and abused her all through the night until the morning. And as the dawn began to break, they let her go. As morning appeared, the woman came and fell down at the door of the man's house where her master was, until it was light.
In the morning her master got up, opened the doors of the house, and when he went out to go on his way, there was his concubine lying at the door of the house, with her hands on the threshold. "Get up," he said to her, "we are going." But there was no answer. Then he put her on the donkey; and the man set out for his home.
When he had entered his house, he took a knife, and grasping his concubine he cut her into twelve pieces, limb by limb, and sent her throughout all the territory of Israel. Then he commanded the men whom he sent, saying, "Thus shall you say to all the Israelites, "Has such a thing ever happened since the day that the Israelites came up from the land of Egypt until this day? Consider it, take counsel, and speak out.' "
HER BODY BROKEN FOR MANY
In the story of the rape and murder of the unnamed concubine, we find a lesson in the cycle of domestic violence between spouses or partners. Those who have studied and/or lived with such violence have identified three phases that abusive relationships tend to follow:
the stage of escalation, when tensions mount;
the stage when an actual abusive episode occurs;
and the "honeymoon" stage, when the abusive partner attempts to win the other partner back. This final stage may last a little or a long while, but in an ongoing abusive relationship, it rarely lasts.
The writer of the book of Judges relates this story with a significant amount of detail, but we never hear the woman's voice. We never even know her name. We do not know why she left her husband. But as the text unfolds, we witness the story of a bold, decisive woman, who, by the end of the story, has been bartered to secure the life and the safety of her husband and his host.
In an unpublished paper entitled Imaging a Christian Feminist Theodicy, Dorri Sherrill retells this story from the unnamed concubine's perspective. To a woman who has no voice in the text, Dorri gives voice through her own imagination. I will share with you today a little of what she wrote.
A WOMAN POSSESSED
Perhaps the concubine prayed this prayer, "Abiding Spirit, accompany me in uncertain journeys. When I find the way filled with fear, may I know you as a faithful companion. You, God, know how painful my life has been. I was bought - purchased, I was purchased - as a concubine, and the man who 'owns' me does not honor me. At best, I am as any other of his possessions."
Jan Richardson wrote:
She is
a woman possessed
by pain
by despair
by aloneness
by desert
by wind
by dryness
by sorrow
by loss
by shame
by trouble
by him
by emptiness
by secrets
by silence
by choked breath
by fear-full hands
by hopelessness
by hesitation
by law
by unknowing
by stories
by possibilities
by the cusp
by the threshold
by the edge
by the verge
by flight.
So think about it, seriously - what possesses you?
LEAVE HIM
Perhaps the concubine wrote in her journal, "My life at home with my father certainly wasn't great, but it will be better there than here with one who ignores me. I will return home to my father, for there the pain and shame of being ignored is so familiar that maybe I won't even feel it."
This time is the most dangerous, they say. The Council on Battered Women said that when a woman is in the act of leaving an abusive situation, she faces the greatest threat of violence, even death. Because of this, you cannot tell a woman to leave. Because she may have no money, you cannot tell a woman to leave. Because she may have no emotional support or family or other resources, you cannot tell a woman to leave. Because children may be at risk, you cannot tell a woman to leave. Because, finally, a woman's life must be a woman's choice, you cannot tell her to leave.
And yet, those who work with them long to tell each one, leave. Leave, and come home with me. Leave, and I'll draw a hot bath for you and very gently wash your wounds, and you can stay in as long as you like. Leave, and I'll watch the door while you sleep through the night for the first time in years. Leave, and your children can gobble my food and jump on my bed and unlearn their fear. Leave, and I'll remind you each day of how talented you are, and how lovely. Leave, and you'll never have to wonder again, I swear, whether you could live without him. You are now free.
Imagine that you are the unnamed woman in this story. What has made you angry? Do you stay or leave? Why?
I WONDER
Did the concubine think, "My God, no! He's here - and my father is delighted! He came today, and Father and he are sharing the best of our food and wine. I thought I was free from him and his arrogance and disrespect and abusiveness. But he has come for me. And I don't want to go! I know my father, though, and he won't even ask me what I want. He will give me back and not think twice about it. Why did I think I could get away? O God, why did I think it would get better? And where are you? Why does my life continue to be so unfair? I'm afraid. Don't abandon me..."
Jan Richardson wrote,
Did she have a sister,
I wonder,
who brought the news when he broke the horizon
who held her hand when he trespassed the door
who met his gaze, unflinching
who cried out to her father
who would not share their table
who held her every night
who offered to go in her place
who placed her only ring on her sister's finger
who packed her bag with bread
who breathed an ancient blessing into her ear
who watched her to the horizon
who remembered her after she left?
Imagine you are there at her father's house. Who else is there? What do you say to each other before she leaves?
WHAT COUNTS?
At the house in Gibeah, was the concubine thinking, "There is some kind of commotion outside. I hear voices, lots of men's voices. What is it that these men want? What... O God, he's coming for me! My husband, he has my arm, he's dragging me out - out to these men! I hear the man of the house say, 'Ravish her, do with her what seems good to you.' What is happening? Why are you doing this, my husband? I don't like being your property, but even so - protect me - I am your property! Oh, my God... it hurts! ... O God, where are you?..."
On the radio, there was a report on domestic violence. They placed an excerpt from a tape, a woman's call to a police station. She's screaming for help, screaming about her husband - then, no, "I just had a temper tantrum. It's okay. Don't come."
The police officer says, "Ma'am, do you need help?"
She says, "No, really. No."
You can hear a man's loud voice in the background.
The police officer says, "Ma'am, if you don't need help, tell me a number between one and five."
There is a pause, and she says, "Six."
And you have to wonder if behind that door in Gibeah where stood the husband, the host, the servant, and the virgin daughter, any counting went on as their companion called for help. Whether they were counting seconds between screams, counting the laughs of the crowd outside, counting their own blessings, counting sheep in order to fall asleep that night behind the door.
I wonder what they counted, and I wonder if somewhere, anywhere, someone heard the screams and cried out for the woman beyond the door who, in the eyes of that crowd, simply didn't count.
How does it make you feel that no one did anything for the woman of this story?
POINTING HOME
In the morning did the concubine think, "Where am I? What did they do to me? Am I safe now?... Where can I go? The house where he is - the one who gave me over to these men - it's over there... if I can just make it to the door... It's not all that far - I had no idea we were so close to the house. That means he must have heard what was going on!... Just give me the strength to get to the door - I want him to see me... Just a bit farther... Just a few more feet... Let them hear me knocking!... my body - how it aches! I'm feeling strange - God, are you here? God, if you can, take care of me!"
She died with her hands on the threshold. This image is the most haunting of all for me. In a strange town, in an unfamiliar place, she goes to the only place she knows, this place of uncertain security. And with her hands on the threshold - of hope, of a touch, perhaps of revenge, perhaps of a final mercy - she dies.
I imagine her with her hands on the threshold, her fingers pointing west. I imagine her with her hands empty, having flung her spirit toward the house of the dying sun, toward the land of no-turning-back, toward the hills of the last light. I imagine her hands splayed in supplication to the guardians of the gates of night, may they draw her safely through. I imagine her pointing the way toward the Great Sea, the Mediterranean; toward salt, toward land's edge, toward water's birth, toward moon's rising, toward the place where they wait for her, toward the home of safe return.
To what does this woman point in her own life, in yours?
DOORWAYS
In several biblical stories doorways serve as a boundary between the "safety" of the home and the danger that lies beyond.
Only the male head of the household can pass through the doorway safely, and the well-being of his guests depends primarily on him. In these stories the host protects the men in his home. The women are allowed, or pushed, through the doorway to deal by themselves with the dangers that await immediately outside. The doorway does not belong to the woman, yet it determines her fate.
The symbolism of the doorway was described in this woman's dream. She wrote, "I had a dream that I was building a door. It was a beautiful wooden door. It was partially open as I was working on it and the frame. Friends came by to help but it was my door - I was in charge and competent enough to build a door. And it wasn't a "keeping out" door, but it was a "going through" door. I think that's just where I am in my life. I need to claim me, my doors, and my ability to make them with the intention of going through them."
Her dream and her life speak to me of claiming our "doorways," our passages - turning them from other-owned openings to death into self-owned, self-fashioned passages to life, passages through which others may find safe space. Honest doorways that open into ourselves, into God.
Imagine your own doorway. What does it look like? Onto what space does it open? Whom do you let through?
Take your own life back. Create your own doorways. And move through this Lenten season claiming the Christ within you as your reality.
Let it be your way.
SCRIPTURE: Judges 19
REFERENCE: Metaphysical Bible Dictionary Charles Fillmore; Sacred Journeys Jan L. Richardson; Imaging a Christian Feminist Theodicy Dorri Sherrill
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