You will reduce the noise of the alien,
As heat in a dry place;
As heat in the shadow of a cloud,
The song of the terrible ones will be diminished.
~~ Isaiah 25:5
As heat in a dry place;
As heat in the shadow of a cloud,
The song of the terrible ones will be diminished.
~~ Isaiah 25:5
The scene is a crowed city forum, or square. Surrounding the forum are jamming bands. Bands beating out one tune and other, competing, defying one another. The drums clash in a battle of rhythms. The guitars scream in defiance of the next one. Synthesizers whine and hiss angrily at each other. Choruses provide an agonizing drone to the clash of instruments, wailing higher and higher.
Adding to the cacophony is the crowds. Milling crowds, persons without identity. Some in masks, others painted, some pierced and marred beyond recognition. One feature they all have in common—be-popping to their own selected band, they scream with fervor...or cast aspersions on fans of other bands.
The noise is maddening and deafening. I begin to wonder what, if possible could be worse, than the absolute chaos playing below me. The disorder is striking and fearful.
Suddenly, adding to the din is a rumbling...a rumbling of massive thunder as a mighty storm sweeps across the sky. I look up and am blinded by a flash of lightening driving straight into the center of the assembled mass of squalling humanity.
There is a tremendous crash, followed by screams.
Moments pass and the din continues as though lightening had not struck. Blinking, I am once again able to see.
Rain is pouring down, drenching the crowds. They seem oblivious to the fact that their faces are running with water, hair plastered against their crowns, in many cases make-up streaking down their faces causing grotesque markings on their features.
Out of the din, I hear something. Impossible, you say, to hear a particular noise out of such a chaotic racket. Perhaps...but still I hear it.
I begin scouring the crowd with my eyes, trying to spot the lone snare-drummer beating a steady four-count rhythm, unaffected by the noises about him. Suddenly, I spot him and it is a shock. The drummer had been a statue, lifeless, but moments before...before the lightening had struck him! I realize with a gasp that life had been breathed into dead stone by a bolt of concentrated energy....
The drum continues to beat steady and sure, unwavering in the crowd.
And things yet stranger began to happen.
Across the square, one of the band's drummers, moments before wildly swaying with his driving beat, ceases his playing. Standing up, he throws his sticks aside and marches, yes, marches down the stage steps and towards the center of the crowded square. From here, there, and yon, people begin to emerge from the crowds, moving with decision, headed towards the drummer who is still keeping unwavering perfect time.
As the group grows larger, the noise gets louder and louder, yet it is incapable of drowning out the sound of that lone drum. Then I realize, it is not a lone drum now. As each person reaches the drummer, they picked up a drum for themselves (though where they get them I cannot tell!) and fall into the same orderly rhythm. The many beat as one and cannot be stilled.
The crowd begin to press about the group of drummers and suddenly the beat switches from an time-keeping four beat to a faster, blood-pumping martial rhythm. I lean forward, gasping, stirred, longing to join them—even in the fearful mass of writhing, increasingly angry people.
The shouts of the crowd became more and more enraged. Their voices lift against the solid group of drummers, rhythm rolling from them in decided harmony—not one slip or falter amongst them all.
I shout triumphantly as the drummers move as one man towards the main gateway into the forum. Immediately, they are set upon by the crowd. Rocks, bricks, shoes...whatever came handy, is thrown at them. The hurled weapons strike...bounce back...the rhythm never falters though bloody marks are left upon the drummers.
I suddenly find myself pressing towards them. I wonder, vaguely, how I got down from my balcony. I notice other figures likewise pressing towards the drummers. One thing they all have in common, their clothes have become scarlet red. I glance down at myself...so have mine. I realize also that I am dry...and so are the others. One by one, we near the group and pick up the drums that seem so naturally to be waiting for us. One by one, we fall into the body of drummers and find our untrained hands following the rhythm effortlessly.
I feel a great stab of pain as a rock cracks into my skull—but I do not cry out. I keep marching, drumming. Now my eyes see something I did not see before, a splendid gateway...and I realize, the screaming, scrabbling, foaming crowd about me cannot see it...nor the blinding, pure light beyond it.
And the rhythm shifts again. It is no longer a battle-rhythm, but an exulting beat, the kind of rhythm by which a victorious army might march in review. Suddenly, I realize that we have joined a multitude of others and that we indeed are a victorious army marching in review. I cannot for the brightness, see the King before whom we are marching, but I do not need to.
I also realise that the sodden crowd has disappeared and the raving noise has ceased. Only the orderly, joyful beat of thousands upon millions of snare drums beating as one is to be heard...and it is beautiful. Joyfully, painfully, beautiful.
To God be All Majesty and Glory, both now and forever. Amen!
Adding to the cacophony is the crowds. Milling crowds, persons without identity. Some in masks, others painted, some pierced and marred beyond recognition. One feature they all have in common—be-popping to their own selected band, they scream with fervor...or cast aspersions on fans of other bands.
The noise is maddening and deafening. I begin to wonder what, if possible could be worse, than the absolute chaos playing below me. The disorder is striking and fearful.
Suddenly, adding to the din is a rumbling...a rumbling of massive thunder as a mighty storm sweeps across the sky. I look up and am blinded by a flash of lightening driving straight into the center of the assembled mass of squalling humanity.
There is a tremendous crash, followed by screams.
Moments pass and the din continues as though lightening had not struck. Blinking, I am once again able to see.
Rain is pouring down, drenching the crowds. They seem oblivious to the fact that their faces are running with water, hair plastered against their crowns, in many cases make-up streaking down their faces causing grotesque markings on their features.
Out of the din, I hear something. Impossible, you say, to hear a particular noise out of such a chaotic racket. Perhaps...but still I hear it.
I begin scouring the crowd with my eyes, trying to spot the lone snare-drummer beating a steady four-count rhythm, unaffected by the noises about him. Suddenly, I spot him and it is a shock. The drummer had been a statue, lifeless, but moments before...before the lightening had struck him! I realize with a gasp that life had been breathed into dead stone by a bolt of concentrated energy....
The drum continues to beat steady and sure, unwavering in the crowd.
And things yet stranger began to happen.
Across the square, one of the band's drummers, moments before wildly swaying with his driving beat, ceases his playing. Standing up, he throws his sticks aside and marches, yes, marches down the stage steps and towards the center of the crowded square. From here, there, and yon, people begin to emerge from the crowds, moving with decision, headed towards the drummer who is still keeping unwavering perfect time.
As the group grows larger, the noise gets louder and louder, yet it is incapable of drowning out the sound of that lone drum. Then I realize, it is not a lone drum now. As each person reaches the drummer, they picked up a drum for themselves (though where they get them I cannot tell!) and fall into the same orderly rhythm. The many beat as one and cannot be stilled.
The crowd begin to press about the group of drummers and suddenly the beat switches from an time-keeping four beat to a faster, blood-pumping martial rhythm. I lean forward, gasping, stirred, longing to join them—even in the fearful mass of writhing, increasingly angry people.
The shouts of the crowd became more and more enraged. Their voices lift against the solid group of drummers, rhythm rolling from them in decided harmony—not one slip or falter amongst them all.
I shout triumphantly as the drummers move as one man towards the main gateway into the forum. Immediately, they are set upon by the crowd. Rocks, bricks, shoes...whatever came handy, is thrown at them. The hurled weapons strike...bounce back...the rhythm never falters though bloody marks are left upon the drummers.
I suddenly find myself pressing towards them. I wonder, vaguely, how I got down from my balcony. I notice other figures likewise pressing towards the drummers. One thing they all have in common, their clothes have become scarlet red. I glance down at myself...so have mine. I realize also that I am dry...and so are the others. One by one, we near the group and pick up the drums that seem so naturally to be waiting for us. One by one, we fall into the body of drummers and find our untrained hands following the rhythm effortlessly.
I feel a great stab of pain as a rock cracks into my skull—but I do not cry out. I keep marching, drumming. Now my eyes see something I did not see before, a splendid gateway...and I realize, the screaming, scrabbling, foaming crowd about me cannot see it...nor the blinding, pure light beyond it.
And the rhythm shifts again. It is no longer a battle-rhythm, but an exulting beat, the kind of rhythm by which a victorious army might march in review. Suddenly, I realize that we have joined a multitude of others and that we indeed are a victorious army marching in review. I cannot for the brightness, see the King before whom we are marching, but I do not need to.
I also realise that the sodden crowd has disappeared and the raving noise has ceased. Only the orderly, joyful beat of thousands upon millions of snare drums beating as one is to be heard...and it is beautiful. Joyfully, painfully, beautiful.
To God be All Majesty and Glory, both now and forever. Amen!