That’s the feeling this ancient story evokes.
Imagine Jerusalem, poised on the brink of annihilation. God, in his wrath, sends an angel to destroy it. Can you picture it? A city about to crumble, its inhabitants facing utter despair. But just as the angel is about to unleash his devastating power, a voice rings out: "Enough! Stay your hand!"
This dramatic scene comes to us from the Myths of King David, as retold in Howard Schwartz's Tree of Souls. It's a powerful image, and it makes you wonder: what stopped the destruction?
The story continues: The angel of the Lord, obedient to the divine command, halts his mission. He stands by the threshing floor of Oman the Jebusite. And then David, King David himself, looks up. What he sees is enough to make him and the elders fall to their faces in supplication.
Picture this: An angel, colossal and awe-inspiring, suspended between heaven and earth. In his hand, a drawn sword, its point aimed directly at Jerusalem. It's an image that sears itself into your mind. A stark reminder of divine power and the precariousness of human existence.
Think about the implications. Jerusalem, the heart of the kingdom, spared from utter ruin. We see echoes of other stories here, don't we? It calls to mind the story of Abraham and Isaac. Remember that pivotal moment? God calls on Abraham to sacrifice his beloved son, and at the very last second, stays his hand. The Akedah, the binding of Isaac, is a foundational story for us. It is a test of faith, and a demonstration of God's ultimate mercy.
This myth of the angel and Jerusalem mirrors that moment. It speaks of divine intervention, of a last-minute reprieve. Jerusalem was on the verge of total destruction when God intervened, preventing it at the last possible moment.
What does it all mean? Perhaps it’s a reminder that even in the face of divine judgment, there is always the possibility of mercy. Perhaps it's a testament to the enduring power of faith and repentance. Or maybe it's simply a way of understanding that sometimes, just sometimes, we are given a second chance. A chance to rebuild, to redeem, to start again. It makes you wonder what "threshing floor of Oman the Jebusite" represents... Perhaps the place where the wheat is separated from the chaff, a place of judgement and renewal.
What do you think? Are there times in your own life when you've felt like that city, on the verge of collapse, only to be saved by a moment of grace?