This is a monologue I wrote for my church worship service. My goals were 1)give immediacy to Rahab's plight (make it accessible); 2) bring Scripture to life in context (make it meaningful); and 3) emphasize her faith in the face of war (make it spiritual). I have edited it somewhat, but it's essentially the same. Some of the content is not entirely accurate, but I am fairly pleased with it overall.

What am I doing? What have I done? My city is in peril and I’m talking to the One orchestrating its destruction. When I took Your spies into my house, “Elohim,” and acknowledged You as their God, I was deliberately turning my back on everything I have ever believed; do You know that? What have I done!? My inn is no mere brothel; I am admired and respected among my people. I am practically a priestess of our cult. Women and men come to me in order to prostitute themselves in the service of our gods. Who am I to say whether it is right or wrong? That’s what we do. And that’s why my actions are so radical. Here am I, servant to the gods, yet renouncing my religion and protecting the men whose God will destroy our lives and shatter the foundations of our faith!
There are those who laugh at You, for unlike their golden statues and stone idols, they cannot see You. We do not understand that which we cannot see. Others are afraid of You like they are afraid of a ghost in the night. But I know that you are very real.
You’ve been watching from whatever distant heaven You inhabit, haven’t You? Reports of the trials and accomplishments of Your people have become practically legendary. After leaving Egypt in near desolation, they roamed the wilderness, claiming lands and bringing whole kingdoms to ruin at Your direction. You, the God of the great fathers of Israel, could not be conquered by the many gods of the Egyptians or the Amorites. Already two kings of our country have fallen before the sword You wield through your people, Israel. You have blessed them at every turn. What power on earth has the strength to endure Your mighty hand?
Those spies who came to my inn while scouting our city of Jericho… how odd they were to me. They were merchants, they said, merchants come into the city in order to evaluate a “prospective business venture.” Sure they were. I’ve seen all kinds of “businessmen” in my line of work and they weren’t in town to barter palm trees. One of my regulars brought them to my inn and secretly told me where they came from. You’re not fooling me. I even had a few minutes warning before the soldiers arrived at my doorstep. That’s one of the few advantages in my profession. The king of Jericho heard that there were spies in the city and sent soldiers to my house. I suppose it makes sense that if I could find out who they were, then so could the king.
The two spies were so surprised when I confronted them and dragged them onto my roof. Those poor men—all of the fears which I had buried inside came rushing out in a torrent of words. (How like a woman, right?) I told them how the inhabitants of our land were of them and of You. And so I begged that, because of the kindness I had shown in rescuing them from the king’s soldiers, they would spare me and my family. They swore to me in Your name that I would be safe. I guess we’ll see soon enough whether my faith in Your kindness is founded.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. Already the Israelites march around our city, preparing our devastation. Death seems inevitable from all sides. How long will it be? Will I die at the hands of my enemies or the hands of my own people? If they knew, if they even suspected, that I was committing heresy, I would be killed. They would use the scarlet cord at my window as evidence to convict me. My gods will know. They know everything. But I can’t help myself. You, the invisible God are more tangible to me than my stone idols. I don’t understand it. I, in my scraps of scarlet adorned with the hallmarks of harlotry, who am I that You would care for me? I am a prostitute in a city of pagans, but I do not wish to be Your enemy. Is it too much to ask You not to destroy me?
I know you cannot be denied. If You have turned Your attention to my city, then You will have my city. Although the stone walls of my city are wide enough to drive a chariot over, they cannot keep You out. My spirit, though I have so little to offer, cannot resist You. It is drawn like a moth to a flame. I have gone so far as to confess to strangers bent on sacking my city that You are the “God in heaven above and on the earth below.” You direct the paths of kings and concubines alike. I am so afraid for what will happen, but I think I am willing to remain in Your hand.

Labels: creative writing, theater