Trigger Warning: Incest and Sexual Assault

We know this story about Joseph and his tunic, sometimes it is translated as a coat of many colors and occasionally it’s technicolor and dreamy. The translation is important and the word is rare because its not just any robe with long sleeves. The other place this language resonates is with Tamar, King David’s beautiful daughter. She is wearing the ornate, long sleeve tunic reserved for the unmarried princess and, like Joseph, her dress ends up torn. But the dress gives us some context the translation doesn’t offer on the surface. We can imagine the setting of Joseph. Israel, who once went by Jacob, loves Joseph most of all, he is the clear favorite…annoying if you are one of his big brothers. The youngest son pestering all the others, arrogant and bold, dreaming big dreams and then telling his big hulking brothers that in his dreams they all bow down to him…super annoying. The baby of the family who starts giving bad reports on his brothers while they are working in the field…beyond annoying. We can understand how they feel (even if most of the time we think we are probably everyone’s favorite child). Joseph’s brothers’ annoyance grows into something ugly and hateful. We can imagine the moment their little brother, the tattletale dreamer, dressed like a Princess and practically floating in the field while they toil. Suddenly their hate-filled hearts take action and they attack their brother, selling him into slavery, removing him from everyone he knows, stealing his ability to control his own future and his own being and destroying the princess dress their father had given to Joseph.

Tamar’s dress is torn just like Joseph’s and her betrayal is rather like his; also the work of her brothers. In 2 Samuel 13, we find Tamar’s story even if we don’t always find her voice. Tamar is the beautiful daughter of Israel’s most powerful king, David. The Bible says her brother, her half brother falls in love with her. Chapter 13: 1b-2 says:

David’s son Absalom had a beautiful sister whose name was Tamar; and David’s son Amnon fell in love with her. 2Amnon was so tormented that he made himself ill because of his sister Tamar, for she was a virgin and it seemed impossible to Amnon to do anything to her.

Of course while love may be an accurate translation it is a terrible use of the word. A better word might note Amnon’s desire to possess Tamar, control her, have her, “do a thing to her” - and that is not love. Unfortunately, Amnon has the worst kind of  BRO. His friend is a “crafty man” and he concocted a plan so the first born, most favorite son of David can get what he wants. “Tell the king you are sick,” he says, “and that the only thing that will give you comfort is your sister Tamar making you cakes…in your room” (that is my retelling…you can read all of it in 1 Samuel 13).  King David does not sense anything dangerous in this plan and he, complacent in want happens next, sends his daughter like prey to the predators. The story continues with Tamar, vulnerable in the room of her half-bother, making cakes when he attacks her. She tries to reason with him in verses 12 and 13:

“She answered him, ‘No, my brother, do not force me; for such a thing is not done in Israel; do not do anything so vile! 13As for me, where could I carry my shame? And as for you, you would be as one of the scoundrels in Israel. Now therefore, I beg you, speak to the king; for he will not withhold me from you.’”

He refuses to listen to her voice. She knows her role in the patriarchy. As a beautiful daughter of a powerful king, she is supposed to marry well for the good of the whole people and perhaps to her own advantage. Her role is to make a new trade alliance and ensure peace and even with all of that, she knows that if her brother asks their father, he will forgo the diplomacy and give her to Amnon in marriage. He refuses and attacks her. Then the second sin - filled with shame, he shuts her out. It is the custom that the assault victim becomes the wife of the assailant; he has taken her value and she cannot marry anyone else. As Amnon shuts her out, she in grief rents her dress and cries out loud. Her bother, Absalom, takes her into his household and carries her pain.

The rest of the story is the story of the men. Tamar is a desolate woman and the narrative is the intrigue of the men. Tamar’s brother begins to hate, to concoct a plan to kill his brother in revenge (which also, just incidentally, places him next in line for David’s throne). David for his part grieves these but never grieves for his daughter. He doesn’t take her into his household, which he could have (and I imagine should have). The greatest King in Israel’s history proves to be among the worst. 

These are the stories we inherit, and even as we can say thank God we don’t have something so bad today, the truth is we continue these systems of injustice. Statistics speak of people believing they are entitled to the bodies and well-being of others, campuses are dangerous places, human trafficking plagues every zip code, and domestic violence remains ever-present. Court cases speak just like David did, when Judges refuse to punish a young man like Brock Turner for assault because one mistake shouldn’t have such a big impact on his promising future. We witnessed the election of a man known for “locker room” talk and haven’t done much to change the narratives in locker rooms. The church, the state, and every institution struggles in this era of change and truth telling; this season of #MeToo and #TimesUp. But, thank God, we are in a season of change.

Every time there is a season of change, big change, big shifts, there is this other reality - hearts are hardened. The archetype of this might be Pharaoh. When the people of Israel seek their freedom from slavery and escape from genocide, Pharaoh’s heart becomes hardened, epically. It happens when Jesus engages people with his message of abundance and they don’t want to relax their tight grasps. It happens when the early faithful live a different way and confront the systems of oppression by their very presence…hearts get hardened. Yesterday we witnessed what hard hearts look like, as protestors gathered outside because a young sacred soul in a princess dress was reading books about love to children in this sanctuary. Then a few of them, larger men, stomping around in boots with an air of hate and fear seeking to intimidate, disrupted the space and shouted two expletives right here in front of the very children their signs said they wanted to protect. It was hard to watch. Fortunately, the kids were so focused on the book they didn’t seem to notice; and to my great gratitude, our downtown police officers came quick to help clarify the boundaries that can make our space safe. Their hearts were hardened, impenetrable to conversation or reason or actual statistics or the sweetness of the stories or the beauty of the reader and her dress. The ugly moment did not stand without response, which brings me to the gift of community. Five people rose to the occasion, countering the voice of hostility, a voice of love and welcome outside. And inside, parents and friends of the Abbey stayed calm and loving and protective all at once. 

It would be easier to let our hearts become hard. To grow resentment from the hurt and hate of these men and how they violated, even if it was for just a moment, this sacred space. But I think that is the very call of our faith, to keep our hearts tender and open in the face of every system and sin that makes it so reasonable to armor up. So we do the things that give us courage and resilience and hope. We gather others to stand with in the hard spaces, we get a little closer and lean in to the story of love. We take action to make change, change of hearts, change of laws, change all the way around. When we were wrapping up, guests in the room named their gratitude for what they had just witnessed. They witnessed hospitality at our coffee bar even in the face of hostility. They witnessed resistance that was peaceful and powerful. They hugged me in gratitude for the work we are doing. One young man shared that he felt so embarrassed to be studying the Bible, those folks didn’t represent him or the Bible and he would be back next time to stand up outside with us. Showing up matters. It makes all the difference. We must do the things that keep our hearts open and fueled with resilience, that’s why we show up on Sunday. That’s why we worship and sing songs. That’s why we study the Bible and the prophets crying out for change. That’s why we go deep in small groups and hold the little ones a little closer during story time. 

We don’t know what happened to Tamar. Her story gets lost to history, but we can read between the ink because Tamar the desolate woman is not the last time she is named. She is named again in 1 Chronicles 3:9 when Israel is claiming its history and naming all the men, the who’s-who of David’s sons, this is how it ends. 

1 Chronicles 3:9 All these were David’s sons, besides the sons of the concubines; and Tamar was their sister.

I am fairly sure that in a palace of wives and concubines that Tamar was not the only baby girl. Her story must have lived beyond the label of desolation. Her name places the sin of her family before us, it holds the brokenness of the system up to the light and it honors her resilience. We don’t know the story but we know a truly desolate women is not going to be named…she is going to slip into the background.  She is a name of resilience; I think that is why her brother names his own daughter after Tamar. Joseph is too, his presence names his family’s sin and the systems of brokenness and he rises above, resilient in the face of every reason to harden his heart and give up hope in humanity. Joseph’s story is one of resilience and even reconciliation. We inherit incredible stories. They are terrible and real, they are hard to read and they are filled with reasons to give up, but faith is about staying in and staying present. Faith is about tender, loving, open hearts. 

When Lila (my six year old daughter) and I were driving home after the disruptive protesters were outside, she asked some questions. I reminded her what I had shared with all of the children and families - that sometimes grownups are scared and when we are scared or angry we don’t usually make good choices. She started singing a hymn, “We Are Called to act with justice. We are called to love tenderly…” she knows this hymn because of this sacred place. This is part of what we do here, to seed our souls with resilience and courage. 

Let’s sing. Let’s pray. Let’s be present and by God, lets make a better way.

Amen.