Weep for Bathsheba

Weep for Bathsheba, pray your tears ascend to heaven, like rain lifted back to the clouds and carried on the wind to reach her.

Weep for Bathsheba

Weep for Bathsheba.
Pray your tears ascend to heaven,
like rain lifted back to the clouds
and carried on the wind to reach her.

Find her in the palace courts,
brought here by men in uniform,
an emblem of the king pressed
into the iron of their swords.

Find her lying there, distraught,
crying out for dear Uriah.
Where is he? Where is he?
Does he know that she is here?

Does he know that she’s been summoned
into the chambers of their king?
And that whilst she was bathing,
cleaning her skin as the Torah had ordered,
she was only thinking of him.

She was only thinking of him.
She longed for her beloved
under satin covers,
smothered by the body of the
man the people covet.

She is silent.
Her cries do not make a sound,
and yet in her muted body
she holds the sorrow of every
woman who has suffered
at the hands of a man
who has abused his crown.

Weep for Bathsheba.
Make your protest loud.
Let it ring out in the city,
let it awaken the indifferent,
the slothful and the proud.

Say her name, slowly — let it provoke,
for she is faithful
and will be remembered
as daughter of the oath.

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I recently shared this poem during a sermon at KXC, the church I belong to in London. You can hear the talk here and the poem in context.