The Tongue Of A Ready Scribe (Day 3)
- Get link
- X
- Other Apps
"My heart overflows with a pleasing theme; I address my verses to the king; my tongue is like the pen of a ready scribe." (Psalm 45:1)
When you write a letter, how do you begin? “Dear . . .”
Do you write your Mom or Dad (you do write your Mom, or at least call, right?) in the same way you would your boss or a judge or a Congressman--or the President? Seems the higher up the ladder you go, the more language seems to change--or it should. Of course you should always give Mom the highest respect, right? There is respect . . . right?
This musician could have one day said, “Check out this new song I wrote on the way to the palace” (or something like that). But he doesn’t. He puts pen to paper and pours this love song onto vellum or parchment, etching the song into a permanent form. So permanent, it’s been on record (pun intended) for thousands of years. Remember how the song is also addressed to lead singers everywhere--so this song can be played by anyone who knows the lyrics. Over the course of time, it’s been translated into every known language of the world! So it can be sung, or at least read in any culture. Genius, I tell you.
But this says something about the King, doesn’t it? Who is this King? If you were the writer, what would you say? Our writer here is a “ready scribe.” He’s given thought to the “good words”, his “pleasant theme” because his song is for the King! He’s thought over the words of this love song, for they must be just right. A well-written song grabs you, works it’s way in and won’t let go. This is where we begin to make our way to the wisdom hidden of this song.
The weight of the simile (“my tongue is like the pen of a ready scribe”) shows how the “good words” of the song are not lost to the air but are carefully chosen and given longevity. You’ve heard a “slip of the tongue” but there is no “slip of the pen” here. There is discipline, diligence on the part of the writer. He writes with skill.
But why? Why does he write thusly? The reasons are simple: first, he recognizes the King is above him. Writing carelessly insists that the one with most authority bow down to him and this cannot be. The King deserves the best. Second, he loves his King and he loves the one who the King loves, that is, His Bride. Careless and sloppy writing does not show love nor help express it. Besides, insulting the King is one thing--speak lightly of His bride--that’s worse.
When you write a letter, how do you begin? “Dear . . .”
Do you write your Mom or Dad (you do write your Mom, or at least call, right?) in the same way you would your boss or a judge or a Congressman--or the President? Seems the higher up the ladder you go, the more language seems to change--or it should. Of course you should always give Mom the highest respect, right? There is respect . . . right?
This musician could have one day said, “Check out this new song I wrote on the way to the palace” (or something like that). But he doesn’t. He puts pen to paper and pours this love song onto vellum or parchment, etching the song into a permanent form. So permanent, it’s been on record (pun intended) for thousands of years. Remember how the song is also addressed to lead singers everywhere--so this song can be played by anyone who knows the lyrics. Over the course of time, it’s been translated into every known language of the world! So it can be sung, or at least read in any culture. Genius, I tell you.
But this says something about the King, doesn’t it? Who is this King? If you were the writer, what would you say? Our writer here is a “ready scribe.” He’s given thought to the “good words”, his “pleasant theme” because his song is for the King! He’s thought over the words of this love song, for they must be just right. A well-written song grabs you, works it’s way in and won’t let go. This is where we begin to make our way to the wisdom hidden of this song.
The weight of the simile (“my tongue is like the pen of a ready scribe”) shows how the “good words” of the song are not lost to the air but are carefully chosen and given longevity. You’ve heard a “slip of the tongue” but there is no “slip of the pen” here. There is discipline, diligence on the part of the writer. He writes with skill.
But why? Why does he write thusly? The reasons are simple: first, he recognizes the King is above him. Writing carelessly insists that the one with most authority bow down to him and this cannot be. The King deserves the best. Second, he loves his King and he loves the one who the King loves, that is, His Bride. Careless and sloppy writing does not show love nor help express it. Besides, insulting the King is one thing--speak lightly of His bride--that’s worse.
- Get link
- X
- Other Apps
Popular posts from this blog
"On Keeping A Notebook" by Joan Didion
I'm nearly finished reading Joan Didion's collection of essays, Slouching Towards Bethlehem. The book was discovered through another book I was reading, Jon Krakauer's Eiger Dreams . If Jon felt this book was good enough to pack along on a mountain climbing expedition, then I'm interested. Took me three tries, but I finally found my copy on Amazon. One of the best book buys I've made. Joan selected the title of this book from William Butler Yeats' classic poem, Second Coming . The book title is shared with one of her larger essays, a record of encounters with people in the 1960's drug culture. Didion's book is divided into three distinct parts: "Life Styles In The Golden Land," a collection of articles capturing the California experience of the 1960's; "Personals," a few of essays of the first-hand nature; and "Seven Places Of The Mind", some thoughts about those parts of California that are now long gone. One essay...
I’ll Be Gnome For Christmas
“And so, about this tomb of mine . . . “
“VANITY, saith the preacher, vanity! Draw round my bed: is Anselm keeping back? Nephews—sons mine … ah God, I know not! Well— She, men would have to be your mother once, Old Gandolf envied me, so fair she was! What’s done is done, and she is dead beside, Dead long ago, and I am Bishop since, And as she died so must we die ourselves, And thence ye may perceive the world’s a dream. Life, how and what is it? As here I lie In this state-chamber, dying by degrees, Hours and long hours in the dead night, I ask “Do I live, am I dead?” Peace, peace seems all. Saint Praxed’s ever was the church for peace; And so, about this tomb of mine. I fought With tooth and nail to save my niche, ye know: —Old Gandolf cozened me, despite my care; Shrewd was that snatch from out the corner South He graced his carrion with, God curse the same! Yet still my niche is not so cramped...