Asaph

(Context: Psalm 81:1)

I am song, and my world is song.
Just as we have dedicated this temple to God,
I have dedicated my life
To song, with song, for song.

This song is a song of God.
This song is a song of God’s mystery.
This song flows
From my mouth,from my throat, from my lungs.

But it is not my song.

Solomon

(Context: Proverbs 30:18)

Abishag’s eyes draw me deeply in, propel me down chasms of memory, engulf me in emotions that I had never guessed were there, suspend me in a maelstrom of feelings, of thoughts, of words. I suddenly understand the meaning of this love and the tragic mistake that I might be about to make. No, it isn’t Abishag’s love that I am experiencing, nor another’s love for me. It is the love of the woman that I am to marry tonight, that woman’s love for another man.

Nathan

(Context: 1 Chronicles 3:5)

Again, one of my brothers has killed another. Or perhaps he has had him killed. I no longer keep track of the details, or of how many brothers have died, or of how many brothers survive. Thanks to my father and his many women, I seem to have had an endlessly replenishing supply of brothers. As far as I know, we have only had one sister, and none of us have heard from her in many years. But brothers kept being born, and brothers keep dying. I try not to think about it much. I don’t think about it much. I carry on.

Ezekiel

(Context: Ezekiel 1:3)

I am soft stone, yes, a heap of dust that only God’s word can animate, that returns to dust when God’s will is done. The animal sense of my body drags me from my sleeping mat to a table to the rain barrel as I awaken, feed myself, clean myself. The dogs of the street that I once befriended bring me their scraps to eat. The rats and the rain carry away my waste. I sit in silent stupor, waiting for God’s word, fearing God’s word. When he needs me to dance for him, he puts visions in my head, causes me to demean myself, to rant like an idiot in the eyes of the people. Then I sit again, speechless, broken, cowed. I do not complain. There is nothing left within me that knows how to complain.

Belshazzar

(Context: Daniel 5:1)

Here, now, I am waiting; in this gaping, gasping silence, in the midst of this blaring party, waiting; in this air suffused with incense, with the scents of meat and sweat, waiting; waiting for this supposed prophet, for this man who is said to speak of dreams, in dreams, to dreams; waiting, praying that he will soon arrive, that he will never arrive.

Jushab-Hesed

(Context: 1 Chronicles 3:20)

My father is big. His shoulders are strong. Sitting on them, I can see people everywhere, cheering, singing, crying, looking at us, and looking up into the sky. I can’t count how many people there are. I asked my father if he thought there were a hundred people here. He laughed. He said that there were hundreds of hundreds.

There was a big building here, back when my father’s father’s father lived here. He says that it was bigger than any building that I have ever seen. He says that we will be building a new one, even bigger, even better. He says that God will live there. But I know that God lives everywhere. Hi, God.

Pharaoh Hophra

(Context: Ezekiel 31:18)

I am kneeling by the water, summoned from my sleep by the full moon, by its light from above, by the light of its reflection in the water, in the river below. I have slipped from my bed, careful not to awaken whichever wife it is whose sleeping breath has brushed my face like an echo of the river’s breeze, and crept out of the royal house, almost silent, almost awake, almost alone. I have put on a simple robe, simple sandals, and almost, as usual, put a crown on my head. But tonight I wish to be only a man, called from my bed to the light, the water, the arms and embrace of this present moon, this swollen river.

Haggai

(Context: Haggai 1:14)

I fade slowly into consciousness, awakened by the sound of panting, the scent of stale breath, and a rough wetness moving against my face. My eyes blink open after several tries and look into the eyes of a small dog, mottled grey with a white stripe on its nose. I sneeze, and the dog yelps, stops licking my face, and backs away a few hands’ breadths before he returns and starts licking again.

I try to stand and discover that I can’t. A heavy weight lies on top of my head, back, and one leg. One hand reaches back and feels rough wood, and I suddenly remember where I am and how I got here. I am just inside the borders of Jerusalem, lying in the dirt, pinned face down under a beam that I had been dragging in the middle of the night toward the site of the temple.

Zadok

(Context: 2 Samuel 15:25)

I am shivering with the cold from the wind, with the chill in my heart, standing alongside the ark on this hill at the city walls. The sun is lowering toward the horizon, toward twilight. As I look to the west, I can see hundreds, perhaps thousands of people streaming past me, out of my city, out of the gates of Jerusalem, out toward the valleys and caves where some will disperse and some will hide in the dark. All of them have covered their heads and bared their feet. All wear muted colors, forming a vague dim tapestry of the shades of their skin, of the shades of the earth. All try to look the same, in unity, in anonymity. Each wants to be counted, to be reckoned with the group, yet to be hidden, to avoid being singled out as a person with a face, with a name within the crowd.

But in this blur of people, one traveler still stands out, as if he is glowing with a different light. David, our king, is leaving his city, our city, on a path whose tracks are drawn by his tears and ours.

Gideon

(Context: Judges 6:39)

I have never asked much of you. Well, rarely — I have rarely asked much of you. But that scarcely compares to what you have asked of me. And, yes, I realize that I asked you for another small miracle last night, and that you performed it, and for that great favor I am infinitely grateful.

But please, now, if it be your will, I ask you to show yourself again, so that my wife will let me go out and fight your wars. Please, if you will, perform for me just one more tiny miracle.