Who’s in the Pub? The Barmaid.
Harlot … Prostitute. This is what they call me. Not to my face, mind, but I hear them muttering on the other side of the bar…. as I leave the table after pouring their wine. And while they might scowl about me in derision and call me names, this does not stop them from gawking at me and reaching out inappropriately. On a good day, they call me by name, Rahab and here at the inn, I am often just called the barmaid.
In the 21st century, when they are being polite, they will refer to me as a ‘sex worker’ and when they are not being polite, well,… There is a colourful array of names that are not particularly helpful. None of these words really describes me properly, for no one really knows me for who I am… not really.
My parents and my siblings have had nothing to do with me ever since I came to work here. I call them the name of “hypocrite” as all of them have had their indiscretions. It’s just that since my soldier husband died, I had nowhere to go and no trade to support myself. I was left penniless, and I needed the money to live.
I see no way out of this, but I know that one day, my looks will fade and someone younger and prettier will take my place, and I will be in a worse position than I am now.
I’m not a monster, and I am always honest in my business transactions. What you see is what you get. I reckon that everyone, the businessmen, the soldiers and tax collectors, appreciate integrity. They certainly seem to keep on coming back.
Occasionally, there is small talk, gentle pillow talk, but usually there are the slaps and bruises after they have got what they wanted. After all, what am I going to do? Tell on them? But I know them. After all my dealings with men, I can see past their actions into their hearts. I see the loneliness, the need, the longing for something more than the superficial encounter.
But this is true for me too. I am more than just the figure they see and a body they take pleasure in. I know that I am unique. I have hopes and dreams, needs and wants, and apart from good ol' commandment no. 7, I do try to keep the law and commandments. I do go to synagogue, I do say my prayers, I do go to Passover and Yom Kippur, and if there is someone in need, I keep some of the leftovers from the bar meals for them.
But some of my clients are often dishonest, uncaring and brutish. They are always a ‘someone’ to me, whereas I am always a ‘no one’ to them. I find that I hang out with tax collectors because they, too, are despised and belittled, but we both have an extensive list of clientele, and because of our principles, I actually think we align more closely with the Torah than the scribes and Pharisees. Perhaps the tax collectors and prostitutes will get into heaven ahead of the clergy and the teachers.
I long for the coming of the messiah. To straighten out this squalid, upside-down mess of ours. To see everyone as they truly are and to shout it from the rooftops. And it would take nothing less than the Messiah to do this. We’ve got ourselves into quite a mess.
I long to be seen and loved for who I am, not what I do, and I think that is true of everyone who comes through the front door or the back door of the inn. To be seen, known and loved for who we truly are, not what we do. I am turning this over in my mind and heart when all of a sudden there is a loud, urgent knock on the door and there stands a rough-hewn, grubby carpenter with a teenage girl in labour.
“Jesus, Master carpenter, when you knock upon the woodenness of our indifference and sloth, give us the will to open the door and greet your arrival with joy. Grant us the strength to open our souls, our lives and our hearts to you. Step across the threshold of our complacency and lodge within us. Love us for who we are, not what we do. Weep, dance and laugh with us. Make us uncomfortable, surprise us, disturb us, disquiet us and challenge us. Replenish us when our cup has run dry, and when we are famished, nourish us with the bread of life. And finally, when our earthly temple collapses in death, bring us to the home you have prepared for us where your eternal banquet goes on forever and ever, Amen.”