The Story - Chapter 8
A man is walking through town, eager to return home with his concubine, servant, and donkeys. He is a Levite from the hill country, who is returning from claiming his concubine who had ran away to her father's house. He has passed through Jerusalem, he is resting at Gibeah, in the heart of Benjamin country. It's growing dark, and he's unsure of why no one is extending hospitality to him and his small entourage.
Another man walks through the square - asking why the Levite is there. After an explanation, he pleads with him to not stay in the square overnight but to come to his house. All are relieved. They feed the donkeys. They sit to eat. They break bread.
And then they hear men's voices surrounding the house. There is terror - and fists began pounding on the door..."Give us your guest! We want to know him personally!" Much like Sodom and Gomorrah, the host of the house offers his virgin daughter and the man's concubine. They refuse - they want the man. And in an act of hostility I still don't understand to this day, they take the woman and abuse her throughout the night. The abuse is so horrific, she crawls back to her host's doorstep, only to die there.The Levite opens the door to see her there, and tells her to get up. He realizes what has happened, and carries her dead body onto his donkey and makes the rest of his journey home.
I wonder about that last leg of his journey. Did he feel regret? Revenge? Sadness? How could he have treated her so carelessly!? Clearly he cared enough for this woman that he went and sought her out, at least a two day journey, to have her back. And there she was, her silent, lifeless body, riding into the hill country.
We know one thing. He faced anger. Outrage. He takes her body and carves into 12 pieces. I wonder if there were tears. I wonder if he remembers the arms that held him, as he wrapped them so carefully. Each piece, each memory, is carefully parceled and sent out to each tribe - "This is what Benjamin has done. This is how they treated her. This is what they took from me."
Benjamin is later confronted and refuses to give up the "perverted men" of the city. In the remaining eleven tribes, there is anger at Benjamin for protecting those wicked men. There is war. And the tribes make an oath to not give any of their daughters to the men of Benjamin because of their horrid wickedness to the concubine and the Levite. Benjamin is almost wiped out as God grants the rest of Israel victory over their brothers. And 12 pieces are exchanged for the lives of 25,000 men.
There are many who suffer horrendous things and wonder if God ever sees, or ever cares. The pieces of our lives can feel scattered - reminders to others that we are damaged, that wicked people have pursued us, that ugliness has found us and had its way. We wonder where God is. We wonder if people will ever be brought to justice. We wonder if God cares.
The answer is He does. We serve a God that does not rest easy when we're overtaken by the fallen state of humanity. He doesn't slumber when even one of us suffers at the hand of another.
The story ends with Israel weeping because almost an entire tribe has been annihilated - they had to bring justice, and were willing to count the cost. Benjamin, once strong and sure, is reduced to 600 survivors. And in here we see the heart of a God who is not only holy, but wants to redeem. He provides wives for the survivors, and in turn, raises champions and leaders from a wreckage of a situation - Saul, Mordecai, and more.
I struggle with this story. And I know so much has changed. That's why I love Jesus - he elevated my status into "two or more" instead of a safe-guarded investment, property to be handled. I don't understand the Levite's mixed love for this woman. I don't know if he anticipated what would happen. I don't know if he struck down Benjamites on the field of war in anger because of the deep pit of regret he went to bed with every night.
But what I do know is this...in the hands of a sovereign God, as a woman, I am deeply loved and he doesn't take my treatment lightly. I am His and He is mine.
Eliza Cortés Bast
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