out of chaos, life is being found

He gritted his teeth, willing his eyes not to betray his hatred of the man in front of him, the man who took his sister, ruined her, and now dared look her brothers in the eyes and ask for her hand. A single glance at his closest brother, and he knew exactly what to do. He stilled his quivering muscles, stuffed down the fury and smiled, spoke his own oily words.

Yes, of course you may have her. Only fulfill these conditions.

Three days later, he took his brother and a sword and slipped into the city. The air was heavy with sweat and the stillness of agonized healing. There was no need to be quiet once they were past the gates; there was no one capable of fighting back. He gripped his sword, squinted his eyes, and kicked down doors, facing incapacitated men and terrified women and children. He shattered homes and hacked and maimed and slaughtered. He destroyed human life with a rage known only to the wronged. He snatched his sister from the rapist's arms and slit his cowardly throat. As he watched the man's blood seep onto the ground by his feet, he felt a terrible satisfaction.

I have avenged my sister and restored my family's honor.

But no.

"You are a disgrace!" his father shouted. "You and your brother have brought shame and terror to the household! What have you done to me?"

And the shame was repeated in his father's dying words, like the thudding of a weary heart.

You are a violent impulsive man, one who is untrustworthy and unpredictable. Curses on you! You will never have a place to call your home.

~*~

He gritted his teeth, willing his eyes not to betray his disgust at the chaos surrounding him, his own brothers and sisters who ran rampant days after being freed from slavery, who spit in the face of their God. A single glance at the prophet, and he knew exactly what to do. He stilled his quivering muscles, stuffed down the fury and clenched his hand by his sides, listened to the horror of the order.

If you believe the LORD, slaughter them all, the very ones you love.

The air was woven with lust and the wailing of immorality. There was no need to be quiet; there was no one ignorant of the violence of the day. He gripped his sword, set his jaw, and entered the fray, facing his own brothers and neighbors and friends. He stood firm and swung with strength and drew blood and slaughtered. He destroyed human life, those lives so precious to him, with a rage known only to the warrior of God. He snatched his nation from the false lover's arms and bled away the shame. As he watched the idol burn into powdery dust, he felt a terrible satisfaction.

I have avenged my God, and restored the LORD's honor.

And it was so.

"You are holy to the LORD," the prophet whispered. "You and your brothers brought peace and healing to the nation. What can He do but bless you?"

And the honor was repeated in the prophet's dying words, like the skirling of a battle cry.

You are a strong warrior, one who is reliable and fierce. Blessings on you! The LORD Himself will give you posterity and stand against your enemies. The LORD sets you now in the place of honor, as mediator between Himself and His people.

So the LORD chooses who He will,
the most unpredictable, the most untrustworthy, the most impulsive of violent men;
and He makes them priests and prophets and healers.

Amen.

[Genesis 34, Genesis 49:5-7; Exodus 32, Deuteronomy 33:8-11]