Our sermon this morning is a monologue done from Bathsheba’s point of view, as adapted from the book: “Lady Parts: Biblical Women and the Vagina Monologues”
Hi! I am glad you came; most people wouldn’t. You would think that for one of the juiciest stories around that people would come from miles around to hear about it.
I guess not. Anyway, just so you know, I’ve heard the rumours; I’ve seen the looks. I’m not completely oblivious. They call me “whore” “wench” even “Jezebel.” I do not belong grouped with the likes of her, just sayin’. Besides the names, there are the accusations. Adulterer, being number one. It seems as if everyone and their momma thinks I tempted David. This is not the case.
I remember it like yesterday. After my monthly cycle I had to complete the last step of my purification by taking my ceremonial bath, my mikveh, to ensure that all was done correctly. So my maid and I went outside to the water, and she said the blessing; the mikveh takes place once a month like clock work. Nothing out of the ordinary here – garden, bathe, blessing, dry off, and then sleep. Except this time there’s someone banging on the door. So my maid rushes to get it, and it’s none other than the Kings’ guard. Fear causes my heart to race. I knew, I knew deep in my soul, that the guard was here to tell me that Uriah was dead. Killed in the battle field. I’d said my goodbyes to my husband months ago, knowing full well what a warrior’s life was like. So I brace myself for the inevitable, only to be shocked by the goons at the gate yelling at me to get dressed, that the king needs me NOW.
Wait, what? The King needs me? What for? I know my family has worked for him in the past and all, but why me?
Since the guards were so impatient, I dressed and followed them to the palace. Here’s where things get juicy: once I arrive I am invited into a harem full of the most beautiful women in the city, in the country. Not sure I could have said no… from there I was washed again and then covered in oil. Once the women deemed me ready, I was led away to David’s rooms. We all know what happened next… I wasn’t given a lot of choice. No words were spoken, the deed was done, and when he was done, I was sent home. Now, does that sound like I acted like some great temptress? There was no romance, no tempting. It was sex and it was over.
Once home, I cried for hours. What if someone found out? What if Uriah found out? I worried and stressed for days, suspicious that people knew, that they were watching me. But soon, soon it would be too late, there’d be no hiding that something happened in Uriah’s absence, for I was pregnant. Here’s the problem: David – King, Husband – warrior who’d be gone for months, me – pregnant. All this added up to me being stoned to death for adultery, pummelled by the same people I went to market with.
So I decided that I needed to do something.
I wrote King David a letter. While I waited for a response, I had one of my maids go near the palace everyday because there was no better place to get the latest gossip than the palace gates. She came back with news of Uriah’s return. Why was HE home? What was David doing? No one wrote me to tell me my husband was coming home. I was getting mad about being left out of the loop. For all I knew, David was telling Uriah that I had been sleeping around Jerusalem – trying to save his own reputation. After all, the king was “the man after God’s own heart.”
So what did I do? I cooked Uriah’s favourite meal, cleaned the house, and put on my nicest gown. I would prove that I was worth keeping. I had to have him forgive me. He was, after all, my husband.
Uriah never came home. The food cooled on the table. My gown creased. I never saw him again until his funeral. I mourned, I cried for days. I loved Uriah. His funeral ended up being a hero’s celebration. Then came the banging on the door again. The palace guard, David’s me, packed up my stuff and shipped me to the harem, and I became queen. David’s wife. In the midst of all this chaos, the time to give birth to my child came closer and the whispers around the palace foretold of my baby dying.
Why? What did this beautiful not yet here baby do to deserve this time of prophecy? I didn’t believe, couldn’t believe a word of it. SO I held my head high and waited for the baby. As the date drew closer, the rumors ramped up with a new story: David had Uriah killed. What? Was he trying to protect me from Uriah’s anger? Or was he covering up for himself? Why was this happening to me? Before I could fully process all of this, my baby boy was born, but he was sick. I’m sure you know all about how David pled with God for our son. What you don’t know is how I pled, I screamed, I yelled, I cried… I did all I could; and in the end my son still died.
So let’s recap the story for far: David uses me, kills my husband, lies about it, and who gets punished? Me and my child. The child sacrificed and me punished for all time with my name full of blame (that’s if the stories ever give me a name instead of just calling me “Uriah’s wife”). Meanwhile David goes on in history as one of the greatest kings in history. Let me tell you, during those days David was lousy. I TEMPTED HIM? Ha.
Yeah, I may have ended up as queen, and I made sure that my next son, Solomon, became king, but I struggled. I went through so much pain at the hands of that man. I deserved all the power I got. I was the noble one – you know- forgiving, forgetting, all that jazz. So now you know the story. Maybe you won’t be so quick to call me names. Give them to someone who deserves it. I am Bathsheba. Better yet, call me Queen Bathsheba.
