Two Rivers Pastoral Charge
December 18, 2022 – Advent 4
Scripture: 2 Samuel 11:26 – 12:10
(Note: this
Advent, we are exploring the stories from Jesus’s family tree recounted in Matthew 1:1-17 – specifically the stories of the 5 women who are named there. Each
week, one woman is going to visit us, share her story, and offer a blessing to
the newborn child lying in a manger.)
I was the lamb in that story that Nathan told to David. Only I wasn’t a lamb – I was a human woman, and I have a name. I am Bathsheba, wife of Uriah, and later the wife of King David.
I was beautiful when I was young, and Uriah and I were very much in love with one another. But one day the king woke up from his afternoon nap, and strolled out onto the patio on his roof where he could spy into all of the gardens of the houses around him.
I thought that our garden was private, and I was taking advantage of the warm afternoon to bathe so that my long hair could dry in the sun. But the king saw me, and he lusted after me, and he had his servants fetch me to bring me to him.
What could I do? He was the king. He was stronger than me, and more powerful than anyone else in the land. If I had refused, what might he have done to me, or to my loved ones?
When I got home, I wept for days on end. I wept for the violation of my body. I wept for the woman that I had been. I was afraid to go back into the garden. I was afraid to even open the curtains on the windows. I sat in the dark hot house and let the tears run down my face.
My husband was in the army and he had been away fighting, and around the time that he came home, I discovered that I was pregnant. I sent word to the king, because I didn’t know what else I could do.
But instead of helping me, instead he sent my beloved, my Uriah, back into battle, right to the front lines where he was sure to be killed. And he was killed. And my heart kept on breaking.
At some point, in the middle of my grief, I was brought to the palace again, and the king made me his 8th wife. My baby was born, but he never thrived. I think that even without realizing it, my baby was carrying the grief of his mother and the guilt of his father. He didn’t eat well, even from the time he was born. Perhaps grief made my milk bitter. And when he got sick, his frail little body couldn’t fight it, and before I knew it, he was gone.
I would later bear another baby boy who I named Solomon, but he would never replace my first baby who died.
I experienced so much suffering in my life. The violation of my body. The murder of my husband. The death of my baby. By all rights, I should have become angry and bitter. By any logical reasoning, my heart should have never stopped grieving, and I never should have left the seclusion of my room.
But I have always been a woman of faith. I have always known that God-whose-name-is-Holy is with me. I think that even in my moments of deepest grief, I have been able to sense that divine presence. And despite everything that happened to me in my life, joy gradually seeped back in to my heart..
Joy doesn’t make any sense. It’s not linked to anything that happens in our lives – if it was, then I don’t think that I would ever have been able to feel joy after what I went through.
But one day I noticed that I woke up with a song playing in my heart and in my head. The next month, I found myself laughing at a joke that one of the other women in the palace made. And then one day I was alone in the garden and the sunshine was dancing with the shadows, and the scent of the flowers was in the warm air, and I could hear the sound of the bees buzzing gently, and I found myself filled with a deep sense of peace, with a deep sense of the presence of God-whose-name-is-Holy, with a sense of deep joy.
These moments of joy that are always so unexpected gave me the courage to keep on living despite everything that had happened to me. They gave me the strength to care for my children. When my son Solomon was crowned as king after his father’s death, I was able to smile with him.
And you, child – you carry my blood in your veins, even though my name is not included in your genealogy. I am only listed as the “wife of Uriah” but my name is Bathsheba.
And I offer you my blessing of joy. Your life, like mine, isn’t going to be easy. Your life, like mine, is going to have hardship and suffering and pain. Your body, like mine, is going to be violated against your will by those with power.
But I offer you my blessing of joy, so that no matter what you are experiencing, no matter what hardships and suffering you face, your inner joy might flow through you like a mighty river, strengthening you and giving you the courage to face whatever your future might hold. And may you always know the presence of God-whose-name-is-Holy. Amen.
Hanging Gardens
Mumbai, India
(c) Kate Jones, 2013
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