In my sermon on Tuesday I mentioned a piece of Biblical narrative entitled ‘Where is my voice?’ which had been written by a friend concerning the rape of Tamar in 2 Samuel 13. http://bible.oremus.org/?ql=108687163
I have been given permission by him to post it here. It’s a powerful and poignant piece and one I found difficult to read. If there is a possibility that this will trigger memories from your own past you may not want to read it. If this piece does raise issues for you, do find someone to talk to, either in RL or by contacting me inworld or at ailsa [at] ailsa-wright.net
Where, Oh Lord God, is my voice that none can hear me? Will you be a voice for the voiceless? Will you not listen? Where is your justice? Does your law mean nothing? Will my brother speak for me, will my father speak for me, will you, Lord God, speak for me?
I stand before you with my robe torn, clothed in the ashes of my grief, filled with unanswerable questions and unending tears. How could this have happened to me? How could you let this happen to me? This can’t have happened to me. I am filled with loathing, for myself and for the one who called himself ‘my brother’ – he is not even that; I cannot even bring myself to utter his name. How could he come to loathe me, how could he possibly loathe me more than he has left me loathing my own life?
How could he repay my kindness in such a way? How could he violate me, how could he do something so vile? Again and again I begged and pleaded with him to speak with our father and not to commit this act of desolation, yet he ignored me, he overpowered me; I had no choice. I closed my eyes and imagined I was invisible but he even destroyed that as he destroyed my innocence. And as I lay there broken and unclean, he violated me again by blaming me for his atrocity. I am totally broken and my shame has no end and no home.
No-one could see the wounds inside, no one could truly understand. My real brother silenced my voice and left me desolate for two full years. No one pleaded my cause. My father burned with anger and yet did nothing. My Lord God, what must I have done for this to happen? Show me where I am at fault and soothe my broken spirit. Time has not healed me, and my wound has festered and even now my brother has killed the guilty one I find no solace. The king and all his servants wept bitterly at his death, yet no tears were shed for me. I am still without voice.
The Anglican Cathedral of Second Life 
May 10, 2009 at 5:43 pm
Probably because it’s Mothers Day, we sang a hymn in church this morning about women, a hymn I don’t think I’d ever heard before, starting “God of the women who answered your call” and focussing on quite a number of Bible women. The third verse made me think again of this. It’s to the tune of “Lord of all hopefulness, Lord of all joy” http://www.oremus.org/hymnal/l/l375.html click upper right
The third verse is:
God of the women long put to the test
left out of stories, forgotten, oppressed,
quietly asking “Who smiled at my birth?”
in Jesus’ dying you show us our worth.