She had a husband but she was no wife. In a world where a woman had to belong to somebody, be it her father or her husband, she was bound to him but he had no obligation to her. Without betrothal and without a wedding, she found herself tasked with living as a wife without the security that a wife had. She was a concubine, a compromise between a man’s desire for children and his need for respectability. Through her, he could have legitimate children without the financial burden of paying a dowry and he could discard her without the legal hassle of an official divorce. That is what she was. Now she lies dead, reaching for the door. Who killed this woman?
Her story begins with her running to her father’s house. It is unclear why she ran. Some say she cheated on him while others say she was angry with him. I throw my hat in with those who say she ran because she had grown tired of being prostituted by him. What ever the cause may have been, she would have had strong reasons for fleeing a man she was bound to, for braving the danger of being alone in a violent land. To her father she ran but her man followed her with sweet words.
Surely, her blood stains her father’s hands for should any place be safer than your father’s house? Yet, here she was seeking refuge and her father’s solution was to wine and dine. He seems impotent in his own house: powerless to admonish his daughter if she were guilty; unable to tell his son-in-law to go hang. Perhaps he is afraid to lose face in a village where walls had ears and all secrets were shared, the embarrassment of having a daughter who failed at being even a concubine may have been more than he was willing to handle. What ever the case, wining and dining hardly seems appropriate. She was not safe in her father’s house. For choosing rich food and fine wine over his dying daughter, he shares the guilt.
The host, hailing from the husband’s home region, comes across as a compassionate man. Surely, she may find refuge in a neighbour’s home. He, like her father, furnished them with food and wine, even taking care of their livestock. At last she had found refuge! Alas, when ruffians knocked at the door and demanded a piece of the husband, the host offered her and his own daughters instead. His hospitality had its limits. The man who had offered the safety of his home now offered her for his own safety. Even in the eyes of this kindly host, she is not worth saving. She is as valuable as the scratching post we put in the house to keep our upholstery safe from the cat’s claws.
Her countrymen are covered with guilt too. Feeling unsafe among foreigners, her husband had deemed it safer to spend the night among countrymen but alas, they stood at the door clamouring, with lust, for his body but when she was offered to them, ravished her so violently, she died. The rest of her countrymen will react with violent outrage too but will reveal that they too are not very different, because, amid feasting, they will arrange for the kidnapping of their daughters. In the end, violence cannot resolve violence. Violent outrage only escalates violence.
Her husband is easy to dislike. He seems remorseful at first but unwilling to bend from his decisions. Thrice, he was warned to be wary of the danger of the night but only after the third warning did he reluctantly agree. However, when the danger of the night, that he had ignored, came knocking at his door, he took his concubine and threw her at it. We would expect better from a Levite, from a man who served in the very presence of God. Yet he seems cold, selfish and arrogant. The narrator refers to him not as her husband but as her master in order to emphasise her absolute dependence on him. He is her husband, a spiritual leader, yet instead of offering her refuge, he gives to the night, to danger, to death. There is no escape for her in this life and so she crawls to the door and dies reaching for it.
She is nameless and forgotten but God has not forgotten her. Her story is in the Bible because God remembers her. To all those around her, she is a commodity, a blow up doll and a baby factory, forgotten in the cacophony of feasting but to God she has significance. In recording this story, God reveals that He is not oblivious to the human condition. He knows the depths of human suffering and the depths of human depravity (even among His followers) that causes and sustains it. In this story, the horrific nature of those who inflict suffering, those who feast in denial and the impotence of violent outrage are revealed. God has another solution – He will not stand by, neither will he attempt to solve it by throwing violent tantrums for both those extremes will only escalate the problem. He will engage.
I am a believer and I ask myself if I am willing to engage too. Will I pour myself a drink and ignore the plight of the vulnerable? Will I attempt to dissolve violence in more violence and escalate the problem? I have a sinful nature but by accepting Christ, I have a spiritual nature too. Though they tussle within me, i decide which one wins. Giving in to violence feeds the sinful nature thus, even if my violence is aimed at the violent, I only become like those whom I attack. This is what I see in our polarised world – people hooked on violent words, hiding the violence within them behind bandwagons and hashtags. I see it in the bashing of those who dare voice opposing opinions and in the chiaroscuro of online standoffs – “I’m right because I’m angry.”
Aloofness is not the solution either, for evil thrives in the face of cowardice. In the end, if I am a child of God, I cannot remain aloof in the face of oppression. I too must engage. I too must remember those who reach for the door. I must open it. So help me God!
PS: I recommend the audio series found here.
Always Ask Why 