Rain from Heaven

Rizpah daughter of Aiah took sackcloth and spread it out for herself on a rock. From the beginning of the harvest till the rain poured down from the heavens on the bodies, she did not let the birds of the air touch them by day or the wild animals by night.

When David was told what Aiah's daughter Rizpah, Saul's concubine, had done, he went and took the bones of Saul and his son Jonathan from the citizens of Jabesh Gilead. (They had taken them secretly from the public square at Beth Shan, where the Philistines had hung them after they struck Saul down on Gilboa.) David brought the bones of Saul and his son Jonathan from there, and the bones of those who had been killed and exposed were gathered up.

They buried the bones of Saul and his son Jonathan in the tomb of Saul's father Kish, at Zela in Benjamin, and did everything the king commanded. After that, God answered prayer in behalf of the land. (2 Samuel 21:10-14, NIV)

I was talking to a friend recently and she shared a message that her sister-in-law had preached on the scriptures above. (She comes from a family of preaching folk--daddy, brother, sisters, the in laws--these people ain't no joke. LOL) My friend said that she was ready for her issues to get a proper burial, that she'd been fighting the birds back for many months and it was time.

I agree.

Rizpah had a hard way to go. As the concubine of an ill-tempered, often absent and perhaps even demon-afflicted King Saul, all she had was her sons and her place in the palace. Now Saul was dead, her sons gone and her already second-place womanhood defiled by Abner, who'd gone over to David and left her too. All she had in the world were the bloody, exposed corpses at her feet.

And the vultures were circling.

She didn't have any spears, any strength, any help. All she had was her grief, her need. And she used it. Shuffling, shouting, waving those arms who carried the burden of a too proud king, shaking those hips that had once housed his future. From October to April, she beat back the birds, with no thought to her life, no regard for the cold, the hunger. . .

She'd taken a lot of things in her day, but this was too much. Until her last breath was spent, her arms no longer able to wave, her voice not able to scream, her eagle eyes couldn't see, only then would her spirit give in to her body's weakness. Through it all, she believed in God, hoped that somebody, somehow would help. Somebody with some land and a shovel and a strong back would come and put her corpses to rest.

I'm feeling Rizpah today. I've been beating back birds from April to October. She waited for the rain of spring, water from heaven. This year's spring rain brought me tears. Now it's harvest time, my usual period of mourning, hurting. I'm too tired to hurt. My voice to hoarse to cry. My shoes worn through from stomping the earth beneath me, from trying to leap to the heaven above me.

It's harvest time, Lord but I'm going to pretend it's a different day. A day of latter rain. I'm going to look past the black sky into the far corner to that small cloud, the breezy one that's been floating toward me lately. The cloud that Elijah saw after the drought.

The cloud shaped like a man's hand.

So I offer myself to you, Jesus. Me and all my mess, all my failure, all my faithlessness and disbelief. All my issues with God and men. Come to me, my King. Come to me and move my bones, still my heart. Come and give my rottenness a proper burial. Rouse my love for You, my Darling. You have stood by and held my hand, loving me through my brokenness. You did not chide me or speak. Thank you for waiting, for sprinkling me with Your Word, with Yourself. May Your Spirit move through this place like a flood.