This is three times slightly lyrical prose, a subjective perspective on three biblical stories about women, projected in black types on this white canvas with some poetic license – three women who encounter the prophet Elijah, the Messiah Jesus of Nazareth, and the husband God had planned for her from the beginning of time. Written in February and March of 2021.
The widow of Zarephath
Prelude
When King Ahab and his wife Jezebel did evil in the eyes of the Lord
“and went and served Baal and worshipped him“ (1 Kings 16: 31)
“and did yet more to provoke ADONAI God of Israel than all the kings of Israel who were before him“ (1 Kings 16: 33)
A terrible season came upon all the land
Subjecting the earth, and everyone walking on it to frustration,
And to the realm of death.
This is the power of kings, and this is the power of queens.
And Elijah the Tishbite stood up against him
Resisting him.
I
In the midst of the drought, in the midst of my despair
“Only a handful of flour in the jar, and a little oil in the jug“ (1 Kings 17: 12)
That is all that is left, and it is not enough
I said to myself, looking at my one and only son
A boy in the likeness of his father:
All my life I have fought so hard to keep the two of us alive.
But for a long time now, the heavens have been shut. No dew, no rain.
Everything is long dried up. The fields have withered.
There is no wheat or barley harvest where I could go for gleanings
Where I could search for leftovers of grain.
And in tough times like these, people withhold their mercy.
People look out for themselves. Everyone is out there on his own.
Look around, one can only gather sticks. And eat wood, not bread.
My son, this time we will not make it. This time around
It is beyond my strength.
We will join your father soon. We will join him
In death.
II
In the midst of the drought, in the midst of my despair
A stranger calls out to me. He is thirsty. And hungry.
Asks me for drink and food. How can I feed him
When I cannot even feed myself?
How can he not realize, this man, this stranger coming from the wilderness
That all of us
Are just as poor, just as thirsty,
Just as hungry, and just as weak as he is?
What could I give to him?
Why does he dare to ask this of me? Why does he dare to haunt me like this?
I am nothing but a widow who has fought hard
To keep my son and myself alive.
And has fought in vain.
What does this man want of me?
Oh my son, suddenly he reminds me of your father. It‘s almost like it’s him.
In the midst of the drought, in the midst of my despair
In the midst of the fight of our lives
A human voice, a human face, a human encounter
Out of the blue light of day
Daring to challenge me.
And I am shaking, trembling. I feel overwhelmed.
III
“Fear not!“
“Make me a little cake from what you have there.
Bring it out to me and afterwards, make some for you and for your son.
For thus says ADONAI God of Israel,
‘The jar of flour shall not be exhausted
nor shall the jug of oil be empty
until the day ADONAI sends rain on the land.‘“ (1 Kings 17: 13-14)
In the midst of the drought, in the midst of my despair
Why am I doing this? Standing in my kitchen
Spending the last handful of flour, the last little drip of oil from the jug
For baking bread for a stranger
Who believes in the God of Israel
Hoping beyond hope
On some kind of unlikely miracle he prophecied, he counts upon
Who is this “God of Israel“? I shake my head, and I can‘t believe
I am doing this.
But if, soon, we all die together
This stranger, my son, and me
At least I did not save anything
For days we never saw.
At least I did not die with leftovers on the kitchen shelf:
With a handful of flour in the jar, and a little oil in the jug.
IV
In the midst of the drought, in the midst of my despair
Every day I am standing in my kitchen
Baking bread for the three of us
And “the jar of flour was not exhausted,
nor did the jug of oil become empty“ (1 Kings 17: 16)
Every morning I cannot believe my eyes
I cannot believe my heart
That leaps with joy
Every day I witness a miracle:
The jar is not exhausted, and the jug is not empty.
And I keep wondering about this stranger
Who came to our door
Out of the blue light of day
And has saved us
By commanding me to do something
That made me feel my weakness like never before
But I remember: when I started kneading the bread
Just like he had told me, obeying his voice
Trusting his friendly face
This despair
That had been almost choking me
Paralyzing me from within
This despair
I was already used to
Taking over every night, and every morning
The moment I emptied the jar and the jug
Ready and willing to save nothing before I die
It went away
Postlude
“And Elijah said, ‘See! Your son is alive.‘
Then the woman said to Elijah, ‘Now I know
That you are a man of God, and that the word in your mouth is
Truth.‘“ (1 Kings 17: 23-24)
The unclean woman with twelve years of bloodflow touching His garment
I
I look up to the clouds, I look up to the sun
Hovering above the Kinneret
I see the crowd gathering around Him
I have heard them say
His name
Hope rings in my heart
Every time I hear
His name
Many stories about Him have gone around.
In this seaside town.
“For He had healed many, so that all those afflicted
Fell down before Him in order to touch Him.“ (Mark 3: 10)
II
Even to my ears, even to my ears these stories came
Through the mouths of astonished people.
I hide my body, that is unclean
Behind one of the olive trees
Watching the clouds, the sun, and the crowd
Following Him
Then catching a glimpse of
His body
Wrapped in a garment
And a glimpse of
His face
In the midst of the crowd
It runs
Like lightning
Through my veins
I feel my heart pounding harder, and my blood rushing thicker
“If I touch even His clothes, I shall be healed.“ (Mark 5: 28)
III
“Who touched My clothes?“ (Mark 5: 30)
I feel my heart pounding harder, and my blood rushing thicker
I am healed. I am healed. I am free
From this disease.
He keeps looking around to find me
Where can I hide?
But how can I flee? He is the One who has healed me.
I touched the hem of His garment. Secretly.
I acted in hope, but also in fear
Under the clouds, and the sun
Hovering above the Kinneret.
Because I know that He is my last and only hope,
and I know that I am unclean.
And on my knees, my head bowed down, I confess: It was me.
It was me
Who touched the hem of Your garment
Hoping to get healed. Secretly.
I feel my heart beating
Upon me, in blows, in fear, as I tell Him
“the whole truth“ (Mark 5: 33).
But He knows. Somehow He knows
About all of my travail.
Twelve years of suffering. Going from doctor to doctor.
In search for healing, for new life
Beyond bleeding.
Beyond the pain, and the shame.
Doctors received all my money, time and time again,
For treatments of no avail.
IV
“Daughter, your faith has made you well.
Go in shalom and be healed from your disease.“ (Mark 5: 34)
Still on my knees, for minutes. Or hours? Alone.
They called Him to go to Jairus‘ house, and the crowd dispersed.
His words still present
In the air of midday
I cannot believe that life is new
That the past twelve years of my life are
Over. Now.
One last time, for a brief moment my astonished mind recalls
How every doctor
I ever went to always said something like:
“Lady, I think I have an idea on what to try.
This medicine might make you well.
Do you have … for me?“
But His words, still present in the air of midday,
Have chased their words away. Forever.
And have been sewn
Into my heart with the stitches of His voice
That pierced it.
I am healed. I am healed. I am free
From this disease.
Daughter, your faith has made you well.
He called me daughter, and he said that I have faith.
As with the flash of lightning he has given me life anew
And then He blessed me. With His peace.
I look up to the sky. I look for the clouds
But I see none.
I only see, and feel the bright warm sun
Powerfully touching down
Upon me, and upon this seaside town at the Kinneret.
Post scriptum
“The Lord grants in a moment
What we may have been unable to obtain
In dozens of years.“
Saint Philipp Neri
Sara, the bride of Tobias
I
The table is filled for wining and dining
And the young man, my husband, is smiling like
The most happy man I‘ve ever seen
“She is given to you from today and forever.
May the Lord of heaven, my child,
guide and prosper you both this night
and grant you mercy and peace.” (Tobit 7: 11)
Everyone‘s hopeful, my father, my mother, my husband‘s companion
And even the dog: they all agree
On one thing: that this is the man I am supposed to be with
From today and forever.
II
I remember the dark nights,
and it’s not a long time ago.
With a rope in my hands, thinking to quit
To exit this journey of mortification and unseen tears
Then crying out to the merciful God
To have mercy on me
That I may
Now be released from my pain
By His merciful hands,
And die,
And not live, and suffer so in vain.
I remember the prayers
I sent toward heaven during the dark nights
“Why should I still live?
But if it is not pleasing to you, O Lord, to take my life,
hear me in my disgrace.” (Tobit 3: 15)
III
This night is different, sparkling with joy
Like the cup of white wine
We together all raise
My husband was taught
All the wisdom he needs
By an angel
Who was sent
To heal both his father and me
“Blessed are you, O God of our ancestors,
and blessed is your name in all generations forever.
Let the heavens and the whole creation bless you forever.
You made Adam, and for him you made his wife Eve
as a helper and support.
From the two of them the human race has sprung.
You said, ‘It is not good that the man should be alone;
let us make a helper for him like himself.’
I now am taking this kinswoman of mine,
not because of lust,
but with sincerity.
Grant that she and I may find mercy
and that we may grow old together.” (Tobit 8: 5-7)
IV
I remember the dark nights,
and it’s not a long time ago.
When dreams and hopes were buried
In fresh graves
All the time.
When I could not sleep
As my misery
Kept me awake.
This night is different, breathing in peace
Immersed in the odor
Of the life-giving fish
Protected and safe
With the man who came from afar
And his faithful dog
Sleeping next to us
This night is different
From all the dark lonely nights
Lived through before
Little did I know then
That my greatest blessing
Is that close at hand
And already schemed
In heaven
With the archangel Saint Raphael
Telling a young man, yet far away:
“Do not be afraid,
for she was set apart for you before the world was made.
You will save her, and she will go with you.“ (Tobit 6: 18)
Little did I know
In my distress
That I had been made, and
Had been saved, and
Having been molded
And carved out
By the sharp knife of my tears
Had been kept
In waiting
For him
For the light of dawn
Falling on the two of us
Together
Praising the mercy of God