This poem tells the story of Hezekiah reinstating the Passover feast after his father left worshiping the God who delivered them from Egypt and started worshiping Baals, Asherah’s and other idols. It had been years since the people celebrated and King Hezekiah knew that so he invited all the tribes of Israel, not just his own kingdom of Judah. The Biblical account can be found in 2 Chronicles 29 and 30.
The flickering flame has done a peculiar thing:
Rebels may flee, but the righteous come running.
Oh brothers, come! It has been so long!
Come, my brothers, and sing that old, old song.
Remember the words on night most dire,
Sing joy, sing thanks, with lute and lyre.
When that agent of death at our father’s door,
Passed on by lamb’s plea and nothing more.
But for a God Who calls us His own,
We sons of Abram would stand alone.
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So come, brothers, who have strayed far,
Scorn not an invitation wherever you are.
For some will mock our dusty envoys
But others will hear in spite of the noise.
Though our time be later than the law prescribes,
David knew You desire mercy not sacrifice.
So come scattered remnant in the second month,
Worship with this destitute, vulgar bunch.
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Fling wide your gates wearied Jerusalem.
Gather Your remnant from where’er you call them.
So long in darkness have we all dwelt,
Beckons a familiar truth from Zion felt.
The flickering flame has done a peculiar thing:
Rebels may flee, but the righteous come running.
He will not let the smoldering wick succumb.
A light shines in the dark and is not overcome.
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So come and dance! Bring your sacrifice!
Flawed and meager, it must suffice.
I think of Solomon’s hundred thousand lambs,
And I can’t help comparing our fraction of rams.
I know e’en the wealth of Solomon was inadequate,
Since our sins are great, so must be our advocate.
LORD pardon a people who stumble and fall.
Who, apart from Your hand, would be nothing at all.
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My brother should have ruled, but he is dead.
By a sovereign hand, I am raised instead.
In my father’s evil, our people are debased–
No better than the Canaanites we have replaced.
Their conquered idols, Judah’s given honor,
She deserves not the good You’ve poured upon her.
What manner of people trades the living God,
For our own handiwork and a speechless fraud?
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No judgment of You hand would be too severe,
Not even if You severed our ears to hear.
Given every advantage, now watch us blow it.
We deserve to be cast out and we know it.
I think that’s why our late Passover continues,
We feel it in our bones to our very sinews:
If there’s any chance God still walks with us,
Then we must exult, and beg His forgiveness.
Feminine 101 