The writer didn't give Rahab much credit. She was just a whore. In fact, the fact that she chose that profession was essential to the story. It's old testament genocide. Yet she was spared even in her whoring ways. Which is crazy, because you know, the whole whore thing.
He asked, "If you were told to go in and remove a certain number of people who would you go after first?"
It's an appalling question now and whenever and wherever Rahab was. Never ask that or answer it.
"You don't have to answer it."
Rahab pleas and I don't know if it was before, during or after sex. But she begs for the two soldiers to spare her and her family as a trade for her kindness. Was it kindness or was it complete fear? Would we be as kind if we did not have fear?
I know pity is not love and I should not pity her so I simply fall in love with Rahab because inside her home was a story of love. I mean, I can't imagine she liked the smell of those men or the power they had over her but it is what she did she did to feed her family. She already knew love. She didn't have to have other people to tell her.
He said those men went to her house because, you know, that's what men do. They find the whorehouse, the easy. The simple, the uncomplicated. A transaction.
(enter Richard Gere in Pretty Woman)
It was always the damsel in distress and a hero, but what if everyone was fine just the way they were. That somehow the story would have played out just as great without the war.
This post was brought to you by the fact I've been watching too much violence coupled with Sunday night service.
Today I am grateful for a walk and a rain, for how we sang, and that she was able to sleep.
(her whole life looked like a struggle between some kind of right and wrong and comparing herself to others, but today when she closed her eyes she looked as peaceful as I've ever seen her.)