Dear Jephthah

You thought perhaps

it would be someone else—

a servant, or a servant’s child,

or a child’s pet.

You would trade

in someone else’s grief,

while you made sad eyes

and talked about a greater purpose

and collateral damage

and breaking eggs to make omelettes,

and the cost of discipleship

and each of us bearing our cross

and sacrifice.

 

When she ran out of the door,

smiling,

breathless,

almost as tall as you,

long limbs (where does the time go?)

covering the ground in half the time

(where does it go?)

as your wife,

and the servants

and their children

and their pets,

first through the door,

because she was faster than the wind,

 

I saw your face crack;

I heard your heart break.

Only last month

(or was it last year?)

she asked for a story every night,

followed by a song,

followed by a prayer,

and I hoped you would have the sense

to know that God has no need

for anyone to prove their righteousness.

 

When you swore your oath,

to sacrifice the first creature

who ran out of your door

in exchange for victory,

the chance was slim,

you thought;

and if it did so happen

that it was your child,

then you saw yourself as faithful as Abraham.

In your head,

you were already composing the story,

and you were the hero

because you sacrificed so much.

 

(Do not bring God into this.

Your idea

never entered God’s mind.)

 

You told her to go into the mountains

and bewail her virginity, and so

that is what she told you

she did.

 

I heard what she bewailed:

She bewailed a world

where men trade their children

for the image of their own virtue,

where they prize abstinence and virginity

more than life,

where legislators

and preachers

and pundits

and generals

bereave parents again and again and again,

where people in authority

make foolish oaths,

and stupid laws,

and empty promises,

that keep taking the lives

of queer kids,

and straight kids,

and any child

who sprints out of the door,

full of hope, and excitement, and love.

 

Jephthah, God is tired;

tired of parents grieving

so you can prove

how worthy you are

by sacrificing their children

for your holy war.

 

Jeremiah 7:31
Judges 11:29-40