Yet, I Will Rejoice
Book One: Rahab
by John Revell

Chapter 1

My Story

I knew the instant they walked through the door that they were different. The two men were not common merchants stopping at my inn for lodging – and whatever pleasures they might hope to find. Oh, they were dressed like the traders who visited Jericho en route to market their goods, but their faces were different – their eyes weren’t marked by the lust and greed I had come to expect from travelers. No, they were different.

Forgive me. I’ve gotten ahead of myself. My name is Rahab. You may remember me by my biblical designation as “prostitute.” I ran the inn on the south wall of Jericho. I must confess that I’m embarrassed to admit my profession to you, but in the culture of Canaan it wasn’t a despised or shameful profession. Innkeepers were not wealthy, and the extra income from prostitution helped provide food for my parents, brothers, and sisters. But that very lifestyle may have made me even more sensitive to the difference I saw in those two when they walked through the door. Perhaps you would understand better if I told you some of my story.

My Background
My father purchased the inn when I was about 13. He had been a farmer, but the drought had destroyed his crops one year, and he had to sell the field. He bought the inn, which was built into the walls that surrounded the city of Jericho, and was able to work a deal with a local farmer who owned a field not far away. My father would work his field in exchange for a small portion of the harvest each season.

But it was during those days that I started down my trail of darkness. It was not long after we moved into the inn that my father allowed his own father to have me. I know that sounds unthinkable to you but it was not uncommon for our culture. You see, the Canaanites believed their gods were moved to action based on the actions of people. Our main gods were El, Baal, Atar, and the Ammonite god Molech. Our main goddesses were Asherah, Anath, and Astarte – the goddesses of sex and war. A major part of our belief in these gods and goddesses involved sex acts. Supposedly, if we performed satisfactorily in their presence, then they would bless our crops, give us children, protect our health, and guard us from attacks by enemy forces.

It was common for relatives to lie with relatives – I believe you refer to this as “having sex” – grandfathers with their granddaughters, sons with their mothers, and so on. Men would lie with men, and women with women. If this did not move the gods to work, then some would even lie with animals. It’s very difficult for me to talk about it now, but it was a way of life for us back then.

Times were difficult, and my father thought that if he allowed his father to lie with me the gods would bless. He did – but they didn’t.

As you can imagine, my thoughts and feelings were all mixed up. It hurt. I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t like it. But none of that mattered.

That day something inside of me started dying.

If it had stopped then, I might have recovered, but it continued – with my grandfather, then my uncles, and then with a lot of different men from the town. But the gods didn’t respond. Deep down I wondered what kind of gods these must be if they required this from me, but did nothing in return.

I started sensing a darkness in my heart – I had lost all of the happiness I knew in childhood. For some reason, I felt horribly guilty. Whatever had started to die the first time was now dead.

Things got worse for my family. My father wasn’t making enough from the crops, so when I was in my late teens he decided the best way to make up for the loss was to sell my services to the travelers who stayed at the inn. I despised it. My value was determined by my ability to satisfy the lusts of cruel men … but there was nothing I could do. If I left home, the only way I could survive as a single woman would be as a prostitute. Why leave the safety of my home to do the same thing I was doing there?

My lifestyle was not despised, but neither was it respected. None of the men from Jericho would ever want me for a wife. But it would have been foolish for me to leave home.

I realized I was trapped.

Over time, the darkness grew deeper. I became bitter and cold. I refused to care about anyone or anything.

Then my father became ill. He was sick for a long time and couldn’t work in the fields. My younger brothers were able to help some, but not enough to take care of the family. So, I took charge of the inn. My mother and sisters would cook and clean and take care of my father, and I would take care of our customers.

I had resigned myself to living this life. If this was the way it had to be, so be it. At least I was doing some good by helping my family survive. That thought might have been the only thing that got me through the dark days – and nights.

But one day some Hittite traders stopped in on their way back to the coastal city of Joppa....