A sword in Gath

After 1 Samuel 21:10-15 

He flees to Gath,

seeking from one king

protection from his own, 

except this refuge is

the house of the giant

he slew, the giant

felled by a slingshot. And

here he is, the boy of the

slingshot, carrying 

the sword of the giant.

The king wasn’t stupid; 

the sword was known

not only for the hand

that first wielded it,

not only for the boy

who felled the giant,

but also as a threat,

implied, that the boy

with the slingshot

was now the man

with the giant’s sword.

 

Photograph by Ricardo Cruz via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Friday Readings

 

What do Miniature Codices Tell Us About Early Christianity? #3 – Michael Kruger at Canon Fodder.

 

Quelle Surprise: Le Quiet Revival! – Stephen McAlpine.

 

“The Duteous Day Now Closeth,” hymn by Paul Gerhardt – Anthony Esolen and Word & Song.

 

The Loneliness of Being Rejected – Seth Lewis.

Madness in My Royal City

Madness. Everywhere.
Even my servants sing of
Thousands and tens of thousands.
He is here, they sing,
Like some mad savior,
A mad savior seeking refuge,
A mad savior running
From that madman in Israel.

Selah, shewbread, priest of Nob;
He utters nothing but madness.

My mad servants sing to
Recognize, to herald,
To welcome, to embrace,
To lionize the lion, to
(Slyly) warn of his (sly) arrival
In my royal city,
To find refuge or, perhaps,
More tens of thousands?

Selah, shewbread, priest of Nob;
What is this lionized insanity?

Some of his tens of thousands,
Some of his fame were
My people of Gath.
His first was our champion,
Our giant who stopped an army in fear,
Except for the wretched shepherd boy
With his smooth stones of death.
Flung with careless abandon and deadly aim.

He mutters a darkness of
Selah, showbread, priest of Nob.

He comes to Gath, he comes
To my royal city as a madman,
A crazed mind;
This, the slayer of tens of thousands?
This, who holds a dagger of fear
At the heart of Israel’s king?
This, possessed by demons, spittle in
His beard, pounding on my walls?

I hear the madness inside my own head,
Selah, showbread, priest of Nob.

We have enough insanity in Gath,
Enough servants singing wildly,
Enough madmen to fill a city.
Send him back, back
To his own.
Let the servants of his own king,
His own Achish,
Let them sing of tens of thousands.

Selah, showbread, priest of Nob,
The madman carries a giant’s sword.