G.K. Werner's Blog, page 3
April 10, 2018
Here's a tale that, God willing, will one day b...
Here's a tale that, God willing, will one day be published in our last Robin Hood book. It was originally published in Lacuna: A Journal of Historical Fiction, Issue 2 , April 2010; and can still be found there online. It was the first Robin Hood tale we ever published. (Nothing like starting with the end in mind.)
Not as many spoilers in it as you might think, other than finding out who's still alive at this late date in the Clerk of Copmanhurst's history.
Hope you enjoy.
And check out some of the other great stories Lacuna published back when. Pity the magazine ceased publication. It was one of the only fiction magazines dedicated to the historical genre.
THE LAST ARROW
Translated by G. K. Werner
Translator's Note: The excerpt from the Clerk of Copmanhurst letters published here as The Last Arrow was long dismissed as a Renaissance hoax, a reworking of Robin Hood’s Deathand the last six stanzas of A Gest of Robyn Hode. We are indebted to literary historian Sir Clee Pearson whose Sherwood Tales: The Clerk of Copmanhurst Letters, Annotated (Halifax: Furness and Sons, 2007) has so ably demonstrated the Clerk’s veracity and his letters’ authenticity. In addition, I am indebted to my very own Marian, Virginia Ann Werner, whose editorial eye matches Robin’s arrows for the mark, and whose ear for the perfect word and phrase rivals the Clerk himself. I have not tampered with the Clerk's history beyond translating his late Old English into modern short story form, convinced that the people of history must tell their story unhindered by the present generation's biases. – GKW, Seaford, 2010
#
From the Clerk of Copmanhurst’s final letter: The crowd gathers one last time ‘neath the shade of Sherwood’s Great Oak. No laughter or jesting or jostling this day. The Minstrel strums his lute,
#
The Minstrel sings:
Come list fair ladies, yeomen too,
The truth may now be told,
A tale of Robin’s darey do,
A tale of John so bold.
The Devil's prioress made Rob’s bed,
Up in her tower, cold,
And Robin’s goose-fletched
A hey down down false-play.
No tale for squeamish, skittish faint,
No minstrel’s lie retold,
The Friar writes, the Minstrel sings,
The death of Robin Hood.
#
The Tale:
Robin had lived a full life and a merry. He had seen tragedy and triumph, cruelty and kindness, oppression and the freedom of a forest in May. Lived to see his grandchildren nock arrow to bow, and lived to see their freedom birthed at Runnymede where a hard-pressed and reluctant King signed the Great Charter.
Kirklees,
The nuns watched in superstitious dread, hands to hearts and mouths, as the giant came down out of the forest in the fading light, a limp form cradled against his massive chest like a beloved rag doll. He made for their nunnery, a crumbling and barren place, its gatehouse, hall and tower in the midst of an ill kempt, weed entangled estate. Despite his burden, he grasped the iron ring on Kirklees gate and knocked thrice loudly, scattering the nuns on the other side of the door.
#
Beckoned by her gaggle’s honking, the prioress came and squinted through the gate’s portal. A man with a child in his arms? Nay—a giant with a man in his arms! She peered closer, hardly believing what the torchlight revealed. Her worst enemies—at her very door! Little John carrying Robin Hood, their longbows at his back? Coming to her for physicking? It had to be a trick. She peered closer still, noted the giant's watery eyes and the fever-damp form in his arms blotched by blister-red and pox-white. Her eyesight was not so good as it used to be, but her great enemy certainly did not look well by torchlight.
“A boon!” cried the giant. “A boon in the name of God, I beseech you…” and he swayed like an oak in the wind before her door, Hood’s green-clad body still as death in his arms.
“This is a nunnery,’ she called through the little window in the gate. “We are nuns in here, devoted to our master and do not traffic with outlaws.”
“He's dying. My friend is dying. Oh save him, Lady Prioress. We are honest outlaws. Work your priestly art and heal him. I beg you. As you love the Lord our great physician.”
Phah! The Lord of the cross is not my lord, she wanted to shout. Never had been! She'd served another faithfully all her life and the Lord of the cross no longer dwelt within these walls. Had her true master rewarded her with the prize of a lifetime? She would be eternally grateful.
“This bag at my side contains twenty pounds in gold,” said Little John, his voice breaking now. “He bade me give it you for a cure. 'Spend it freely while it lasts,' he said, 'and you can have more when you want it.'”
“Show me the gold,” she called through the portal.
John kneeled to balance Hood on a raised knee, opened the bag on his belt, and hefted it with a resounding jingle-jangle.
The prioress smiled tightly. She clutched the dagger she always kept beneath her robes and signaled to a nun who had crept back to her side and now creaked the door open to admit them.
Beneath his burden, the giant staggered to his feet, through the gateway, and into the courtyard beyond. He ignored her nuns encircling him at a cautious distance, and gazed innocently into the prioress’ eyes.
She returned his gaze with finely arched brows. Did he not recognize her? Had the young seductress he once knew changed that markedly? The years had not been kind to Mother Maudlin, Prioress of Kirklees—she who had once been Isambart de Belame’s wife, the Lady of Evil Hold, and Sir Roger of Doncaster's lover. Red Roger! Her lover. Dead at Robin Hood's hands! Dead these many dry years.
Deftly, she clawed the bag off his belt, weighed it in one talon while the other delved deep. Twenty pounds of gold brought a warm glow to the prioress's pallid face. “Stay,” she croaked, crooking a finger at John.
She flew into the gatehouse, black robes flapping like happy bat-wings. Inside, she hid the bag in a secret place behind a loose stone, and returned to the courtyard.
“Bring him,” she ordered the giant, and, gathering her dark robes above her feet, led the way, torch in hand, across the courtyard toward the ancient bell tower of a ruined church. Her nuns followed, whispering among themselves, eyeing the giant and his friend.
Within the tower, a winding stair rose into darkness. The steps were cracked in places, littered with debris and covered in thick, undisturbed dust. An industrious spider’s great cobweb barred the landing’s wooden frame.
“Mother?” a nun exclaimed, shrinking back at sight of the web.
“Fetch my satchel,” the prioress snapped at her. Then turning to Little John, “Take him up,” she ordered. “The rest of you, wait here.”
John plowed through the web and started up. Slowly they ascended the worn steps, John in the lead, the torch-bearing prioress at his back protected from mishap by his weight. If a step gave way, it would be the giant's death and Hood's, not hers.
The square tower was tall and old, built soon after the Conquest as a refuge for the nuns. It had not been maintained. Cracks had been left to widen as mortar disintegrated, and holes gaped where stones had fallen out entirely.
Little John trudged on, up and up the steps, gently carrying his precious burden, draped by the giant cobweb from face to boot.
The prioress had not been up this winding stair since her days as a novice. So many years in the past! She had come to hide in Kirklees soon after Hood and his murderous band of outlaws burned Evil Hold to the ground, killing Isambart and her beloved Roger. She had sworn vengeance, but after many failed attempts on Hood's life, had given up hope of ever drinking its sweet wine. Till now!
She fingered a key hanging with others from her black-velvet belt, hoping it would still work the lock up there. The door probably stood open, but she’d not have her prisoner wandering off in a fever, killing himself by chance on the steps before she worked her ‘cure’. Afterward . . . well, there'd be no afterward for her hated foe.
They reached the top of the stair and John stumbled over the threshold into a small square room with a narrow window at the center of each wall. A rough-hewn bed, a chamber pot and a low table were the only furnishings. A puddled candle, broken trencher, rusted knife and prayer-beads littered the table. A moldy rope hung through the opening in the ceiling. The broken bell lay on its side in a dusty corner.
“Set him there.” The prioress pointed a long-nailed finger at the tattered mattress bristling with straw like a porcupine.
John smoothed the mattress in the sweeping motion with which he lay Hood down. He wiped and plucked the cobweb strands first from his friend's face and Lincoln-green tunic, then from his own.
The prioress thrust her torch into a sconce above the bed and peered down at her patient, a vulture considering her next meal.
“He hasn't eaten in days,” said John forlornly. “Can't keep anything down when he does.”
She poked Hood in the ribs by way of commencing her examination. “Skinny as a bow-string,” she confirmed, but had no way of knowing whether from old age or disease. He didn't look good in the flickering torchlight. That was certain. White as sifted flour and blotched as a pocky villein!
“We must bleed him, of course,” she said, “to remove the vile humours.” And, as if on cue, a nun arrived with Maudlin’s heavy cloth satchel. She laid it on the table. Then fled.
The prioress removed a set of silk wrapped blood irons
“Roll up his sleeve,” she ordered Little John. “And set that pot 'neath his elbow.”
John hesitated.
“If he is not bled, and that at once, he will surely die.”
John eyed her blood iron with loathing.
“An unwise man is he who heeds no warning,” she rasped, fetching the chamber pot herself and setting it under Hood's elbow. She hitched up his sleeve and laid the blood iron to the bend of his arm.
“NO!” cried John as, with a sudden swift thrust, she pierced a blue vein. Hood jumped in his skin, much to her satisfaction, and his full red blood fountained.
“What have you done?” roared John, advancing on her. “Oh, what have you done?”
“That which must be done and nothing more.”
John reared over her, glowering like a bear.
“Peace, outlaw. The evil humours must drain away if his health is to be restored. You begged a cure. This is it. A procedure recognized by scholars and physicians both here and on the continent. The four bodily fluids must be properly balanced. What know you of leech-craft?”
John relented.
Hood's blood ran pleasantly thick and long as night besieged the tower. Moments oozed by like snails.
John fretted.
The prioress felt for her key.
The blood in the pot below Hood's open vein rose higher and higher. A sound like rain on stone echoed in the stillness.
Suddenly, Hood sat bolt upright, reaching for her. Nimbly, she sprang back. “Treason!” he cried. “John! We are betrayed.”
John sprang to his side and grasped Hood's arm in his big paw, stanching the flow of blood. “Robin!” he wailed. “We are undone. Kirklees will be your deathbed in very truth.”
“Be still,” Hood hissed, weakly clutching at John's sleeve. His eyes rolled back in his head and he went heavy against John's arm.
“Robin! Robin!”
The door slammed at John’s back. The lock clanked shut.
#
The prioress lurked halfway down the spiral stair, listening for death to claim her foe. Hand on dank wall she craned her neck to hear what she might. A wail of woe from the giant? A dying curse from Hood? Whatever pleasure she might steal at the end!
The bell tower’s silence mocked her.
She couldn't stomach it, the suspense of not knowing. Heart in mouth she took a step up, then another, and another, up and up till, before she knew it, she was back at the bolted door stooped like an old crow with cocked head, her black-pupiled eye peering through the key hole of the tower's high, torch-lit chamber.
Little John sat on the bed where Robin Hood lay with a blood soaked strip from the sheet tied at his elbow. “I must have the last rites, friend John. Let me not die unconfessed.”
The prioress could hardly believe her ears. Hood's reputation was that of a heretic following the teachings of an excommunicated priest named Tuck.
“I’ll not have you confessed by the likes of this evil prioress,” John growled. “The rotten prune. The mothy bag! The cankered worm! The foul she-fiend! She’s like to send you down the other way.”
She heard Hood’s ragged choke, but could not tell if it were a death rattle or a laugh at her expense. Little did it matter, she thought to herself. Soon enough, my master'll give you a fair greeting.
“A boon, Robin,” the giant sobbed. “Ahhhh! Grant me a boon, noble master. I beg thee.”—his voice, a strangled cry.
“What is thy boon,” asked Robin Hood. “What boon dost thou beg of me?”
Mellow-dramatic fools! Did they think death a play to be performed?
“Give me leave to fire this tower, to burn all Kirklees to the ground. A funeral pyre of vengeance.”
The fear that spread its icy flame across her back was quenched by Hood's next words.
“That I will not,” he said, over-gently. “For it may not be. Ne'er in my life have I hurt fair maid.” John choked—a sob? “And neither shall it be at my end. 'Vengeance is mine', sayeth the Lord. Let us not trespass on his grace. But string my bow and give it me, and an arrow straight and true. Ah! My thanks, faithful John! Now brace me as I shoot.”
The giant lifted Hood to a sitting position, placed the bow in his hand and helped him nock arrow to string. Hood’s bow arm wavered. His arrow-point drifted this way and that—then locked on the keyhole.
The prioress flung herself back, narrowly avoided a plummet down the stairwell. She leaned shakily on the rail. Now she felt silly. Hood’s old ears could hardly have detected her presence, and bowman that he was he couldn’t pass a broad-arrow
Hood was leaning back against the giant’s chest, his arrow now aimed at the east window through which the forest could be glimpsed away to the east, a darker crest against star-lit night. The prioress savored the giant’s great wracking sobs, though she could not see his anguished tears.
“Where this arrow lands,” Hood told him, “dig me my grave and bury me in the good greenwood with a verdant sod for my pillow, my stout yew bow at my side and my arrows at my feet.”
Hood’s arrow leapt through the narrow window. John howled like a wolf bereft of its brother. The shaft arced forest-ward into darkness, keening like a lost soul.
With a deep moan, Hood went limp in his friend's arms.
John howled once more, a blood-curdling howl, a banshee's hellish wail. Gently, he lowered Hood’s body, straightened it out on the mattress. Then rose and threw himself against the door.
The prioress turned and fled down the spiral stair, down and down and down, stumbling in the dark. She missed a step to land hard upon the next. Then stepped out into nothingness.
#
At the foot of the steps, the nuns heard her scream and heard her body thud once, twice, thrice as she bounced to a stop at their torch-lit feet.
They stared at her in stunned silence. “Is she dead?” hung in the air, but no one dared mouth it. “Shall we summon the Master to save her?” a novice asked, and another rolled her eyes.
The prioress stirred. The merest flicker of an eyelash, and the sisters shrank back, watching, waiting. Amazingly, she crooked an arm, pressed palm to floor, then a leg, the other arm, another leg, elbows and knees all akimbo, unfolding herself like a giant black spider.
A crashing whine of metal in the darkness above their heads told them that the giant had smashed the chamber-door off its hinges. The nuns fled, the prioress scuttling along behind as best she could, fleeing pell-mell through the hall and spilling out into the courtyard.
#
Little John strode out the tower door, carrying the limp, death-white form of his beloved friend. He crossed the moon-lit courtyard to the gatehouse, paused to glare back at the nuns cowering against the farthest wall. The prioress straightened to meet his glare, fists on hips, defiant to the last.
“Witch! I should hang you from your own tower,” he growled. “And burn this godless priory to the ground. But, against my better judgment, I shall honor this godly man's last request and spare your miserable lives.”
And, with that, he strode off through the gate toward the greenwood, following the path of Robin's arrow.
The Great Oak, Sherwood Forest, 1242
The Minstrel's song ends on a discordant note.
The crowd winces as one.
His voice is almost a whisper. “Legend has it Little John found the arrow in a peaceful forest glade, lodged in grassy turf, and that there, ‘neath the shade of a Sherwood oak such as this, he buried his truest friend, Robin’s grave, nestled in the heart of his beloved greenwood.” There are tears in the Minstrel's eyes now. Tears of sorrow and loss? How alike are the body’s reactions to grief and glee.
The crowd begins to realize—shockingly, the Minstrel is laughing so hard he is crying. “Quite a remarkable shot,” he says, “even for Robin Hood, when one considers that Sherwood lies more than forty miles south of Kirklees Nunnery, Yorkshire. Ah, but hold! Robin Hood graves in northern England are thicker than fleas on an old dog. Praps he hit a closer one.”
This is too much! The crowd gapes at him in wonder, hardly crediting their ears. Is he ridiculing their hero's tale? The well-known and beloved tale? Ridiculing Robin himself?
“And, have any of you ever wondered how John managed to find Robin's arrow? In a forest? Robin must have rotted to dust while John searched for the proverbial needle in a—”
The outraged crowd shouts him down. How dare he make light of a brave man's death? Their hero! Had not the Minstrel himself been one of Robin's closest and dearest companions? “You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” they scold. “She killed ‘im. Just like that. The wicked prioress killed our Robin and you 'ave the gall to mock ‘is death?”
The Minstrel finds this all the more amusing.
The crowd grows quiet, thoughtful. “She did kill 'im,” somebody says—Robin Hood, after all, having been Robin Hood. “Didn't she?”
“Very nearly she did,” the Minstrel replies, controlling himself at last and with great effort. “Aye, thanks to her blood iron, he was at death's door that night in Kirklees' tower, and no mistake. But Robin and John, old as they were, could still think fast in a pinch. Always had! Even in the tightest of pinches!”
“You mean—”
“His enemies were relentless, younger replacing older, proliferating like flies on a dunghill. They wanted him dead. So why not be dead? He and Marian deserved a rest, peace in their final years. We all did!
“Their plan was a good one. Village gossip wouldn't do. For his enemies to believe Robin's death, an enemy must witness it. Conveniently, Maudlin had burrowed into nearby Kirklees. Marian contributed the onion for John's tears and the plum juice for Robin's fever-ravished complexion, Much the flour for a convincingly white corpse. A jolly good plan! Just like the old days. And it worked too, despite the prioress' unexpectedly swift stab at vengeance. Ironically, Will had suggested Maudlin as their least deadly enemy and Kirklees as the safest place to perform their play, ‘The Death of Robin Hood’. Sherwood shook with merry laughter when Robin and John returned to tell their tale.”
And now also, as the crowd hears the truth for the first time. Uproarious laughter. Robin the Fox! All these years! And minstrels spreading the tale of his death far and wide. They wink and elbow each other in the ribs and slap one another on the back and hold their sides and bellies till they ache and some fall down.
A simple-hearted folk! Robin had loved them dearly.
With all the merry band now gone,
Save only Tuck and me,
The merry jape is told at last,
Twas saved for such as thee.
Endnotes:
Here's a tale that will one day be published in our ...
Here's a tale that will one day be published in our last Robin Hood book. It was originally published in Lacuna: A Journal of Historical Fiction, Issue 2 , April 2010; and can still be found there online. It was the first Robin Hood tale we ever published. (Nothing like starting with the end in mind.)
Not as many spoilers in it as you might think, other than finding out who's still alive at this late date in the Clerk of Copmanhurst's history.
Hope you enjoy.
And check out some of the other great stories Lacuna published back when. Pity the magazine ceased publication. It was one of the only fiction magazines dedicated to the historical genre.
THE LAST ARROW
Translated by G. K. Werner
Translator's Note: The excerpt from the Clerk of Copmanhurst letters published here as The Last Arrow was long dismissed as a Renaissance hoax, a reworking of Robin Hood’s Deathand the last six stanzas of A Gest of Robyn Hode. We are indebted to literary historian Sir Clee Pearson whose Sherwood Tales: The Clerk of Copmanhurst Letters, Annotated (Halifax: Furness and Sons, 2007) has so ably demonstrated the Clerk’s veracity and his letters’ authenticity. In addition, I am indebted to my very own Marian, Virginia Ann Werner, whose editorial eye matches Robin’s arrows for the mark, and whose ear for the perfect word and phrase rivals the Clerk himself. I have not tampered with the Clerk's history beyond translating his late Old English into modern short story form, convinced that the people of history must tell their story unhindered by the present generation's biases. – GKW, Seaford, 2010
#
From the Clerk of Copmanhurst’s final letter: The crowd gathers one last time ‘neath the shade of Sherwood’s Great Oak. No laughter or jesting or jostling this day. The Minstrel strums his lute,
#
The Minstrel sings:
Come list fair ladies, yeomen too,
The truth may now be told,
A tale of Robin’s darey do,
A tale of John so bold.
The Devil's prioress made Rob’s bed,
Up in her tower, cold,
And Robin’s goose-fletched
A hey down down false-play.
No tale for squeamish, skittish faint,
No minstrel’s lie retold,
The Friar writes, the Minstrel sings,
The death of Robin Hood.
#
The Tale:
Robin had lived a full life and a merry. He had seen tragedy and triumph, cruelty and kindness, oppression and the freedom of a forest in May. Lived to see his grandchildren nock arrow to bow, and lived to see their freedom birthed at Runnymede where a hard-pressed and reluctant King signed the Great Charter.
Kirklees,
The nuns watched in superstitious dread, hands to hearts and mouths, as the giant came down out of the forest in the fading light, a limp form cradled against his massive chest like a beloved rag doll. He made for their nunnery, a crumbling and barren place, its gatehouse, hall and tower in the midst of an ill kempt, weed entangled estate. Despite his burden, he grasped the iron ring on Kirklees gate and knocked thrice loudly, scattering the nuns on the other side of the door.
#
Beckoned by her gaggle’s honking, the prioress came and squinted through the gate’s portal. A man with a child in his arms? Nay—a giant with a man in his arms! She peered closer, hardly believing what the torchlight revealed. Her worst enemies—at her very door! Little John carrying Robin Hood, their longbows at his back? Coming to her for physicking? It had to be a trick. She peered closer still, noted the giant's watery eyes and the fever-damp form in his arms blotched by blister-red and pox-white. Her eyesight was not so good as it used to be, but her great enemy certainly did not look well by torchlight.
“A boon!” cried the giant. “A boon in the name of God, I beseech you…” and he swayed like an oak in the wind before her door, Hood’s green-clad body still as death in his arms.
“This is a nunnery,’ she called through the little window in the gate. “We are nuns in here, devoted to our master and do not traffic with outlaws.”
“He's dying. My friend is dying. Oh save him, Lady Prioress. We are honest outlaws. Work your priestly art and heal him. I beg you. As you love the Lord our great physician.”
Phah! The Lord of the cross is not my lord, she wanted to shout. Never had been! She'd served another faithfully all her life and the Lord of the cross no longer dwelt within these walls. Had her true master rewarded her with the prize of a lifetime? She would be eternally grateful.
“This bag at my side contains twenty pounds in gold,” said Little John, his voice breaking now. “He bade me give it you for a cure. 'Spend it freely while it lasts,' he said, 'and you can have more when you want it.'”
“Show me the gold,” she called through the portal.
John kneeled to balance Hood on a raised knee, opened the bag on his belt, and hefted it with a resounding jingle-jangle.
The prioress smiled tightly. She clutched the dagger she always kept beneath her robes and signaled to a nun who had crept back to her side and now creaked the door open to admit them.
Beneath his burden, the giant staggered to his feet, through the gateway, and into the courtyard beyond. He ignored her nuns encircling him at a cautious distance, and gazed innocently into the prioress’ eyes.
She returned his gaze with finely arched brows. Did he not recognize her? Had the young seductress he once knew changed that markedly? The years had not been kind to Mother Maudlin, Prioress of Kirklees—she who had once been Isambart de Belame’s wife, the Lady of Evil Hold, and Sir Roger of Doncaster's lover. Red Roger! Her lover. Dead at Robin Hood's hands! Dead these many dry years.
Deftly, she clawed the bag off his belt, weighed it in one talon while the other delved deep. Twenty pounds of gold brought a warm glow to the prioress's pallid face. “Stay,” she croaked, crooking a finger at John.
She flew into the gatehouse, black robes flapping like happy bat-wings. Inside, she hid the bag in a secret place behind a loose stone, and returned to the courtyard.
“Bring him,” she ordered the giant, and, gathering her dark robes above her feet, led the way, torch in hand, across the courtyard toward the ancient bell tower of a ruined church. Her nuns followed, whispering among themselves, eyeing the giant and his friend.
Within the tower, a winding stair rose into darkness. The steps were cracked in places, littered with debris and covered in thick, undisturbed dust. An industrious spider’s great cobweb barred the landing’s wooden frame.
“Mother?” a nun exclaimed, shrinking back at sight of the web.
“Fetch my satchel,” the prioress snapped at her. Then turning to Little John, “Take him up,” she ordered. “The rest of you, wait here.”
John plowed through the web and started up. Slowly they ascended the worn steps, John in the lead, the torch-bearing prioress at his back protected from mishap by his weight. If a step gave way, it would be the giant's death and Hood's, not hers.
The square tower was tall and old, built soon after the Conquest as a refuge for the nuns. It had not been maintained. Cracks had been left to widen as mortar disintegrated, and holes gaped where stones had fallen out entirely.
Little John trudged on, up and up the steps, gently carrying his precious burden, draped by the giant cobweb from face to boot.
The prioress had not been up this winding stair since her days as a novice. So many years in the past! She had come to hide in Kirklees soon after Hood and his murderous band of outlaws burned Evil Hold to the ground, killing Isambart and her beloved Roger. She had sworn vengeance, but after many failed attempts on Hood's life, had given up hope of ever drinking its sweet wine. Till now!
She fingered a key hanging with others from her black-velvet belt, hoping it would still work the lock up there. The door probably stood open, but she’d not have her prisoner wandering off in a fever, killing himself by chance on the steps before she worked her ‘cure’. Afterward . . . well, there'd be no afterward for her hated foe.
They reached the top of the stair and John stumbled over the threshold into a small square room with a narrow window at the center of each wall. A rough-hewn bed, a chamber pot and a low table were the only furnishings. A puddled candle, broken trencher, rusted knife and prayer-beads littered the table. A moldy rope hung through the opening in the ceiling. The broken bell lay on its side in a dusty corner.
“Set him there.” The prioress pointed a long-nailed finger at the tattered mattress bristling with straw like a porcupine.
John smoothed the mattress in the sweeping motion with which he lay Hood down. He wiped and plucked the cobweb strands first from his friend's face and Lincoln-green tunic, then from his own.
The prioress thrust her torch into a sconce above the bed and peered down at her patient, a vulture considering her next meal.
“He hasn't eaten in days,” said John forlornly. “Can't keep anything down when he does.”
She poked Hood in the ribs by way of commencing her examination. “Skinny as a bow-string,” she confirmed, but had no way of knowing whether from old age or disease. He didn't look good in the flickering torchlight. That was certain. White as sifted flour and blotched as a pocky villein!
“We must bleed him, of course,” she said, “to remove the vile humours.” And, as if on cue, a nun arrived with Maudlin’s heavy cloth satchel. She laid it on the table. Then fled.
The prioress removed a set of silk wrapped blood irons
“Roll up his sleeve,” she ordered Little John. “And set that pot 'neath his elbow.”
John hesitated.
“If he is not bled, and that at once, he will surely die.”
John eyed her blood iron with loathing.
“An unwise man is he who heeds no warning,” she rasped, fetching the chamber pot herself and setting it under Hood's elbow. She hitched up his sleeve and laid the blood iron to the bend of his arm.
“NO!” cried John as, with a sudden swift thrust, she pierced a blue vein. Hood jumped in his skin, much to her satisfaction, and his full red blood fountained.
“What have you done?” roared John, advancing on her. “Oh, what have you done?”
“That which must be done and nothing more.”
John reared over her, glowering like a bear.
“Peace, outlaw. The evil humours must drain away if his health is to be restored. You begged a cure. This is it. A procedure recognized by scholars and physicians both here and on the continent. The four bodily fluids must be properly balanced. What know you of leech-craft?”
John relented.
Hood's blood ran pleasantly thick and long as night besieged the tower. Moments oozed by like snails.
John fretted.
The prioress felt for her key.
The blood in the pot below Hood's open vein rose higher and higher. A sound like rain on stone echoed in the stillness.
Suddenly, Hood sat bolt upright, reaching for her. Nimbly, she sprang back. “Treason!” he cried. “John! We are betrayed.”
John sprang to his side and grasped Hood's arm in his big paw, stanching the flow of blood. “Robin!” he wailed. “We are undone. Kirklees will be your deathbed in very truth.”
“Be still,” Hood hissed, weakly clutching at John's sleeve. His eyes rolled back in his head and he went heavy against John's arm.
“Robin! Robin!”
The door slammed at John’s back. The lock clanked shut.
#
The prioress lurked halfway down the spiral stair, listening for death to claim her foe. Hand on dank wall she craned her neck to hear what she might. A wail of woe from the giant? A dying curse from Hood? Whatever pleasure she might steal at the end!
The bell tower’s silence mocked her.
She couldn't stomach it, the suspense of not knowing. Heart in mouth she took a step up, then another, and another, up and up till, before she knew it, she was back at the bolted door stooped like an old crow with cocked head, her black-pupiled eye peering through the key hole of the tower's high, torch-lit chamber.
Little John sat on the bed where Robin Hood lay with a blood soaked strip from the sheet tied at his elbow. “I must have the last rites, friend John. Let me not die unconfessed.”
The prioress could hardly believe her ears. Hood's reputation was that of a heretic following the teachings of an excommunicated priest named Tuck.
“I’ll not have you confessed by the likes of this evil prioress,” John growled. “The rotten prune. The mothy bag! The cankered worm! The foul she-fiend! She’s like to send you down the other way.”
She heard Hood’s ragged choke, but could not tell if it were a death rattle or a laugh at her expense. Little did it matter, she thought to herself. Soon enough, my master'll give you a fair greeting.
“A boon, Robin,” the giant sobbed. “Ahhhh! Grant me a boon, noble master. I beg thee.”—his voice, a strangled cry.
“What is thy boon,” asked Robin Hood. “What boon dost thou beg of me?”
Mellow-dramatic fools! Did they think death a play to be performed?
“Give me leave to fire this tower, to burn all Kirklees to the ground. A funeral pyre of vengeance.”
The fear that spread its icy flame across her back was quenched by Hood's next words.
“That I will not,” he said, over-gently. “For it may not be. Ne'er in my life have I hurt fair maid.” John choked—a sob? “And neither shall it be at my end. 'Vengeance is mine', sayeth the Lord. Let us not trespass on his grace. But string my bow and give it me, and an arrow straight and true. Ah! My thanks, faithful John! Now brace me as I shoot.”
The giant lifted Hood to a sitting position, placed the bow in his hand and helped him nock arrow to string. Hood’s bow arm wavered. His arrow-point drifted this way and that—then locked on the keyhole.
The prioress flung herself back, narrowly avoided a plummet down the stairwell. She leaned shakily on the rail. Now she felt silly. Hood’s old ears could hardly have detected her presence, and bowman that he was he couldn’t pass a broad-arrow
Hood was leaning back against the giant’s chest, his arrow now aimed at the east window through which the forest could be glimpsed away to the east, a darker crest against star-lit night. The prioress savored the giant’s great wracking sobs, though she could not see his anguished tears.
“Where this arrow lands,” Hood told him, “dig me my grave and bury me in the good greenwood with a verdant sod for my pillow, my stout yew bow at my side and my arrows at my feet.”
Hood’s arrow leapt through the narrow window. John howled like a wolf bereft of its brother. The shaft arced forest-ward into darkness, keening like a lost soul.
With a deep moan, Hood went limp in his friend's arms.
John howled once more, a blood-curdling howl, a banshee's hellish wail. Gently, he lowered Hood’s body, straightened it out on the mattress. Then rose and threw himself against the door.
The prioress turned and fled down the spiral stair, down and down and down, stumbling in the dark. She missed a step to land hard upon the next. Then stepped out into nothingness.
#
At the foot of the steps, the nuns heard her scream and heard her body thud once, twice, thrice as she bounced to a stop at their torch-lit feet.
They stared at her in stunned silence. “Is she dead?” hung in the air, but no one dared mouth it. “Shall we summon the Master to save her?” a novice asked, and another rolled her eyes.
The prioress stirred. The merest flicker of an eyelash, and the sisters shrank back, watching, waiting. Amazingly, she crooked an arm, pressed palm to floor, then a leg, the other arm, another leg, elbows and knees all akimbo, unfolding herself like a giant black spider.
A crashing whine of metal in the darkness above their heads told them that the giant had smashed the chamber-door off its hinges. The nuns fled, the prioress scuttling along behind as best she could, fleeing pell-mell through the hall and spilling out into the courtyard.
#
Little John strode out the tower door, carrying the limp, death-white form of his beloved friend. He crossed the moon-lit courtyard to the gatehouse, paused to glare back at the nuns cowering against the farthest wall. The prioress straightened to meet his glare, fists on hips, defiant to the last.
“Witch! I should hang you from your own tower,” he growled. “And burn this godless priory to the ground. But, against my better judgment, I shall honor this godly man's last request and spare your miserable lives.”
And, with that, he strode off through the gate toward the greenwood, following the path of Robin's arrow.
The Great Oak, Sherwood Forest, 1242
The Minstrel's song ends on a discordant note.
The crowd winces as one.
His voice is almost a whisper. “Legend has it Little John found the arrow in a peaceful forest glade, lodged in grassy turf, and that there, ‘neath the shade of a Sherwood oak such as this, he buried his truest friend, Robin’s grave, nestled in the heart of his beloved greenwood.” There are tears in the Minstrel's eyes now. Tears of sorrow and loss? How alike are the body’s reactions to grief and glee.
The crowd begins to realize—shockingly, the Minstrel is laughing so hard he is crying. “Quite a remarkable shot,” he says, “even for Robin Hood, when one considers that Sherwood lies more than forty miles south of Kirklees Nunnery, Yorkshire. Ah, but hold! Robin Hood graves in northern England are thicker than fleas on an old dog. Praps he hit a closer one.”
This is too much! The crowd gapes at him in wonder, hardly crediting their ears. Is he ridiculing their hero's tale? The well-known and beloved tale? Ridiculing Robin himself?
“And, have any of you ever wondered how John managed to find Robin's arrow? In a forest? Robin must have rotted to dust while John searched for the proverbial needle in a—”
The outraged crowd shouts him down. How dare he make light of a brave man's death? Their hero! Had not the Minstrel himself been one of Robin's closest and dearest companions? “You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” they scold. “She killed ‘im. Just like that. The wicked prioress killed our Robin and you 'ave the gall to mock ‘is death?”
The Minstrel finds this all the more amusing.
The crowd grows quiet, thoughtful. “She did kill 'im,” somebody says—Robin Hood, after all, having been Robin Hood. “Didn't she?”
“Very nearly she did,” the Minstrel replies, controlling himself at last and with great effort. “Aye, thanks to her blood iron, he was at death's door that night in Kirklees' tower, and no mistake. But Robin and John, old as they were, could still think fast in a pinch. Always had! Even in the tightest of pinches!”
“You mean—”
“His enemies were relentless, younger replacing older, proliferating like flies on a dunghill. They wanted him dead. So why not be dead? He and Marian deserved a rest, peace in their final years. We all did!
“Their plan was a good one. Village gossip wouldn't do. For his enemies to believe Robin's death, an enemy must witness it. Conveniently, Maudlin had burrowed into nearby Kirklees. Marian contributed the onion for John's tears and the plum juice for Robin's fever-ravished complexion, Much the flour for a convincingly white corpse. A jolly good plan! Just like the old days. And it worked too, despite the prioress' unexpectedly swift stab at vengeance. Ironically, Will had suggested Maudlin as their least deadly enemy and Kirklees as the safest place to perform their play, ‘The Death of Robin Hood’. Sherwood shook with merry laughter when Robin and John returned to tell their tale.”
And now also, as the crowd hears the truth for the first time. Uproarious laughter. Robin the Fox! All these years! And minstrels spreading the tale of his death far and wide. They wink and elbow each other in the ribs and slap one another on the back and hold their sides and bellies till they ache and some fall down.
A simple-hearted folk! Robin had loved them dearly.
With all the merry band now gone,
Save only Tuck and me,
The merry jape is told at last,
Twas saved for such as thee.
Endnotes:
February 7, 2018
Hi folks!The prologue and first three chapters of THE SWO...
Hi folks!
The prologue and first three chapters of THE SWORD AND THE WAY
are back up on our blog! We're hoping and praying to publish the whole fantasy book (heck, the whole five-book saga) in the near future. Our thanks to all of you who enjoyed these chapters in the past. If you haven't had a chance yet, check them out by clicking on the title or cover.
SW is the first book in Jorgan's Saga and takes place in the same universe as Finders Keepers
and Skipjack and the Baleful Banshee ,
both available at AMAZON.
Thanks again!!!!!!!!!!!! --GK
The prologue and first three chapters of THE SWORD AND THE WAY
are back up on our blog! We're hoping and praying to publish the whole fantasy book (heck, the whole five-book saga) in the near future. Our thanks to all of you who enjoyed these chapters in the past. If you haven't had a chance yet, check them out by clicking on the title or cover.
SW is the first book in Jorgan's Saga and takes place in the same universe as Finders Keepers
and Skipjack and the Baleful Banshee ,
both available at AMAZON.Thanks again!!!!!!!!!!!! --GK
January 2, 2018
Shakespeare if introduced to modern education:O teach me ...
Shakespeare if introduced to modern education:
O teach me how I should forget to think.
Taken from: Romeo and Juliet
Shakespeare if introduced to modern plastic surgery:
God hath given you one face and you make yourselves another.
Taken from: Hamlet
-- from The Shakespearean Insulter by Chris Seidel
http://www.pangloss.com/seidel/Shaker/index.html
O teach me how I should forget to think.
Taken from: Romeo and Juliet
Shakespeare if introduced to modern plastic surgery:
God hath given you one face and you make yourselves another.
Taken from: Hamlet
-- from The Shakespearean Insulter by Chris Seidel
http://www.pangloss.com/seidel/Shaker/index.html
October 30, 2017
We are very grateful to the folks atwho have listedSKIPJA...
We are very grateful to the folks at
[image error]
who have listed
SKIPJACK AND THE BALEFUL BANSHEE
[image error]
in their notification library of fantasy, SF, and supernatural books,
a fantastic (pun intended) resource for
Christian fans and authors alike!
Also, be sure to check out their sister publication:
[image error]
September 6, 2017
THANKS FOLKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Our heartfelt thanks to eve...
THANKS FOLKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Our heartfelt thanks to everyone who ordered Finders Keepers and The Dragon Catcher for free -- another big response!
Hope you all enjoy the books.
Tell us what you think. (Go ahead. We can take it.)
Our heartfelt thanks to everyone who ordered Finders Keepers and The Dragon Catcher for free -- another big response!
Hope you all enjoy the books.
Tell us what you think. (Go ahead. We can take it.)
August 17, 2017
Hi again folks!My thanks to everyone who ordered Skipjack...
Hi again folks!
My thanks to everyone who ordered Skipjack and the Baleful Banshee free on Amazon. I’m very grateful for the big response. Hope you enjoy it.
For those who do and are curious about the characters from a previous age referenced in Skipjack (I’m trying to avoid a spoiler here), I’m making Finders Keepers available for free too.
Plus, here’s my wife’s story, The Dragon Catcher for free as well. It also takes place in Jorgan’s / Jack’s universe, though its plot is not directly related to Skipjack or Keepers.
Both of these shorter tales are free from 8-18 to 8-22-17.
Thanks again!!!!!!!!!
GK
FREE
[image error]
FREE
[image error]
August 11, 2017
Hi Folks! Special announcement time! Skipjack and ...
Hi Folks! Special announcement time!
Skipjack and the Baleful Banshee
(originally entitled P. S. Corsair)
[image error]
is now FREE on Amazon
8-11-17 to 8-15-17
If you like unhinged, apocalyptic SF with a dash of fantasy; if you are one of the hundreds of readers who enjoyed an earlier version of the first three chapters (still posted here on Narrow Way Storytellers); or if you like epic stories with multi-POVs and intricate plots (not to mention counter-plots) – you need to check this one out.
It’s a Game Withinstory
that takes place in the same universe as
Jorgan’s Saga
but in its far-flung future.
(See Finders Keepers.)
[image error]
October 9, 2016
Folks, loved ones--it's time to read and believe the true...
Folks, loved ones--it's time to read and believe the truest story of all. Please share this article from a wonderful man of God who recently went home to the Lord.
Click on link or read it below:
How To Interpret The Bible
A Bible Study by Jack Kelley
The Bible isn’t such a complex document that it requires years of formal education before you can begin to comprehend it. I’ve always believed the Bible was meant to be understood by any believer who can read and has a serious interest in knowing what it says. I say this because I believe the Bible is best approached by relying on the power of the Holy Spirit rather than one’s own intellect. James 1:5 says that any of us who lacks wisdom need only ask God who gives generously to all without finding fault.
Conversely the man without the Spirit can not accept the things that come from the Spirit of God regardless of his mental prowess. (1 Cor. 2:14) This is why we hear of people who tried to read the Bible as non-believers and found they couldn’t figure it out, but as soon as they were born again it began to make sense. They didn’t suddenly become more intelligent, they simply gained the supernatural insight of the Holy Spirit who teaches us all things. (John 14:26)
Over the 25 years or so I’ve been studying the Bible I’ve picked up a handful of principles that have also given me a better understanding of what it says. They help keep me honest so I know it’s the Holy Spirit teaching me, and not just my sin infested intellect coming to its own conclusion. From time to time I get asked about these principles, having mentioned them in answers to various questions, so here they are.
The Golden Rule of Interpretation“When the plain sense of scripture makes common sense, seek no other sense; therefore, take every word at its primary, ordinary, usual, literal meaning unless the facts of the immediate context, studied in the light of related passages and axiomatic and fundamental truths, indicate clearly otherwise.” Dr. D.L. Cooper
This hasn’t become known as the Golden Rule of Interpretation for nothing. If you ignore all the others and only follow this one rule you will avoid almost all the mistakes people make in reading the Bible. And the next one is like it, sort of an expanded version of the first.
Literal, Historical, Grammatical, ContextualThese could be called the most important words in Biblical Hermeneutics, which is the science of properly interpreting the Bible.
Literal means that each word is given the same exact basic meaning it would have in normal, ordinary, customary usage, whether employed in writing, speaking or thinking. Unless it’s clearly indicated otherwise, we’re to assume the Bible means exactly what it says. Examples of passages that are not intended to be taken literally are parables, dreams, and visions. These are all identified as such, alerting us to the fact that they’re meant to be understood symbolically.
Historical means that each passage is put into its proper historical setting and surrounded with the thoughts, attitudes, and feelings prevalent at the time of its writing. In Biblical times the Jewish view of the Messiah was one of a charismatic leader like King David. In other words, a man, not God in human form. Knowing that helps us understand how they failed to recognize Him, and why they accused Him of blasphemy when He claimed to be God.
Grammatical means that words are given meanings consistent with their common understanding in the original language at the time of writing. Grammatical interpretation also includes following recognized rules of grammar and in its more advanced form, applying the nuances of the Hebrew and Greek languages to the understanding of a passage.
A good example showing the importance of following the rules of grammar can found in Daniel 9:27 where the subject of the first sentence in the verse is a personal pronoun. “He will confirm a covenant with (the) many.” The rule of grammar regarding personal pronouns is that they refer to the closest preceding personal noun. In this case it’s “the ruler who will come” in verse 26 indicating that the person who will confirm the covenant with Israel is the anti-Christ, not the Lord as some commentators assert.
Contextual interpretation involves always taking the surrounding context of a verse/passage into consideration when trying to determine its meaning. The Holy Spirit has usually prompted the Bible’s writers to place indicators in the text surrounding a passage to guide you in interpreting it. In 1 Cor. 9:24-27 Paul compares our life to that of an athlete, training and competing for crowns. The mention of crowns tells us the passage is not about salvation, which is a free gift, but rewards believers can win after being saved. (In this case it’s the crown of victory, awarded to those who overcome the ways of the flesh by getting rid of selfish desires, bad habits and attitudes, etc.)
When you stop to think about it, reading the Bible this way actually makes perfect sense. If you received a letter from a friend you wouldn’t have to be reminded to apply these principles. You would naturally assume that your friend was using words that meant the same thing to both of you. You would understand them within the parameters of your shared history, you would assume that the rules of grammar you had both been taught applied, and you would interpret what was written within the context of your relationship. You would expect your friend to alert you if any of these assumptions were not going to apply, and explain the reason for it.
The only difference with the Bible is that it was written over a long period of time, during which the meanings of some words changed, and society is generally different now than it was when the Bible was written. This makes books on Bible history and a good concordance valuable additions to your library.
Expositional ConstancyThis is a fancy term to remind us that symbolism in scripture tends to be consistent. For example, through out the Bible leaven, or yeast, is used symbolically to stand for sin. Therefore there’s no justification for claiming that in the Parable of the Yeast (Matt. 13:33) and there alone, it stands for the Gospel. Expositional Constancy only applies to words that are used symbolically, so be careful. Peter’s statement in 2 Peter 3:9 that with the Lord a day is like 1000 years and 1000 years is like a day does not justify substituting 1000 years for a day every time it comes up. Peter was simply explaining that the Lord’s concept of time is way different from ours.
Internal ConsistencyThe Bible, being the word of God, cannot contradict itself. The Lord is just and righteous so He can’t say something in one place and something different in another. He knows the end from the beginning so He can’t change His mind or take back something He’s given. Everything He says has to agree with everything else He says. For example, if the Bible says it’s God who makes us stand firm in Christ, that He anointed us, set His seal of ownership on us and put His Spirit in our hearts as a guarantee of what’s to come (2 Cor. 1:21-22), then it can’t say that we can walk away from our salvation or have it taken away from us someplace else.
Principle Of First MentionOften when an important concept is mentioned for the first time there is elevated significance in the context of the passage in which it appears. The first mention of the Church is in Matt.16:18 where Peter declared that Jesus is the Messiah, son of the living God. Jesus said that this truth would be the foundation upon which He would build His Church. Notice who’s going to be doing the building and whose Church it is. Studying the passage where an important concept first appears can be very helpful in interpreting subsequent passages on the same subject.
Use Clear Passages To Interpret Obscure OnesSome passages of Scripture are more difficult to interpret correctly than others. When confronting one of these, it’s best to locate the clearest verses on the subject and use them to help interpret the difficult one. A classic example is Hebrews 6:4-6 which, when taken alone, seems to say that we can fall away and lose our salvation, and if that should happen we can never get it back. But the clearest verses on salvation are Ephesians 1:13-14 and 2 Cor. 1:21-22, and they plainly state the opposite. The Ephesians passage says we were included in Christ when we first heard and believed the gospel. Having believed we were sealed with the Holy Spirit, a deposit that guarantees our inheritance. In 2 Corinthians Paul went even further saying that God himself has accepted responsibility for making us stand firm in Christ and has set His seal of ownership on us, like a rancher brands his cattle.
Applying the principles above we must conclude that the writer to Hebrews had to be talking about something else. When we look at the context of the letter, we find that it was written to Jewish believers who were being lured back into the Levitical system, which used the sacrifice of a lamb to atone for sins. For the Church, the Lord’s death fulfilled what the sacrifice only symbolized, so going back to this was tantamount to sacrificing Him all over again and subjecting him to public disgrace, because by their actions they were saying that His death was not sufficient to atone for their sins.
And as if that wasn’t bad enough, going back to the sacrifice was no longer acceptable to God because the Law was only a shadow of the good things that are coming, not the realities themselves. For that reason it could never make perfect those who draw near to worship no matter how many times they repeated it. (Hebr. 10:1) But when the Lord offered His sacrifice once for all time, He made perfect forever those who are being made holy (Hebr. 10:12-14) During the Church Age all we have to do after sinning is confess our sins to receive forgiveness, be brought back to repentance, and be purified from all unrighteousness. (1 John 1:9) Now Hebrews 6:4-6 makes sense because it conforms to the internal consistency of God’s Word.
There are lots of other rules and principles man has developed for application to God’s word, but in my opinion if we just apply the ones I’ve listed above we’ll stand a good chance of avoiding the errors and misinterpretations that seem to be so common these days.
The Bible is quite simply the most amazing book ever written. Some parts of it were written at least 4000 years ago, and by 95AD its most recent chapters were finished. But according to Paul it was written to teach us, upon whom the end of the age has come. (Romans 15:4, 1 Cor. 10:11) If we’ll just read it the way we would any other document, as if it means what it says, the Holy Spirit will reveal wondrous truths from within its pages. Truths that will give us an anchor against the storms of deceit and controversy that have become so common in our time. Maybe that’s why it was written primarily to us. Selah 11-14-09
Click on link or read it below:
How To Interpret The Bible
A Bible Study by Jack Kelley
The Bible isn’t such a complex document that it requires years of formal education before you can begin to comprehend it. I’ve always believed the Bible was meant to be understood by any believer who can read and has a serious interest in knowing what it says. I say this because I believe the Bible is best approached by relying on the power of the Holy Spirit rather than one’s own intellect. James 1:5 says that any of us who lacks wisdom need only ask God who gives generously to all without finding fault.
Conversely the man without the Spirit can not accept the things that come from the Spirit of God regardless of his mental prowess. (1 Cor. 2:14) This is why we hear of people who tried to read the Bible as non-believers and found they couldn’t figure it out, but as soon as they were born again it began to make sense. They didn’t suddenly become more intelligent, they simply gained the supernatural insight of the Holy Spirit who teaches us all things. (John 14:26)
Over the 25 years or so I’ve been studying the Bible I’ve picked up a handful of principles that have also given me a better understanding of what it says. They help keep me honest so I know it’s the Holy Spirit teaching me, and not just my sin infested intellect coming to its own conclusion. From time to time I get asked about these principles, having mentioned them in answers to various questions, so here they are.
The Golden Rule of Interpretation“When the plain sense of scripture makes common sense, seek no other sense; therefore, take every word at its primary, ordinary, usual, literal meaning unless the facts of the immediate context, studied in the light of related passages and axiomatic and fundamental truths, indicate clearly otherwise.” Dr. D.L. Cooper
This hasn’t become known as the Golden Rule of Interpretation for nothing. If you ignore all the others and only follow this one rule you will avoid almost all the mistakes people make in reading the Bible. And the next one is like it, sort of an expanded version of the first.
Literal, Historical, Grammatical, ContextualThese could be called the most important words in Biblical Hermeneutics, which is the science of properly interpreting the Bible.
Literal means that each word is given the same exact basic meaning it would have in normal, ordinary, customary usage, whether employed in writing, speaking or thinking. Unless it’s clearly indicated otherwise, we’re to assume the Bible means exactly what it says. Examples of passages that are not intended to be taken literally are parables, dreams, and visions. These are all identified as such, alerting us to the fact that they’re meant to be understood symbolically.
Historical means that each passage is put into its proper historical setting and surrounded with the thoughts, attitudes, and feelings prevalent at the time of its writing. In Biblical times the Jewish view of the Messiah was one of a charismatic leader like King David. In other words, a man, not God in human form. Knowing that helps us understand how they failed to recognize Him, and why they accused Him of blasphemy when He claimed to be God.
Grammatical means that words are given meanings consistent with their common understanding in the original language at the time of writing. Grammatical interpretation also includes following recognized rules of grammar and in its more advanced form, applying the nuances of the Hebrew and Greek languages to the understanding of a passage.
A good example showing the importance of following the rules of grammar can found in Daniel 9:27 where the subject of the first sentence in the verse is a personal pronoun. “He will confirm a covenant with (the) many.” The rule of grammar regarding personal pronouns is that they refer to the closest preceding personal noun. In this case it’s “the ruler who will come” in verse 26 indicating that the person who will confirm the covenant with Israel is the anti-Christ, not the Lord as some commentators assert.
Contextual interpretation involves always taking the surrounding context of a verse/passage into consideration when trying to determine its meaning. The Holy Spirit has usually prompted the Bible’s writers to place indicators in the text surrounding a passage to guide you in interpreting it. In 1 Cor. 9:24-27 Paul compares our life to that of an athlete, training and competing for crowns. The mention of crowns tells us the passage is not about salvation, which is a free gift, but rewards believers can win after being saved. (In this case it’s the crown of victory, awarded to those who overcome the ways of the flesh by getting rid of selfish desires, bad habits and attitudes, etc.)
When you stop to think about it, reading the Bible this way actually makes perfect sense. If you received a letter from a friend you wouldn’t have to be reminded to apply these principles. You would naturally assume that your friend was using words that meant the same thing to both of you. You would understand them within the parameters of your shared history, you would assume that the rules of grammar you had both been taught applied, and you would interpret what was written within the context of your relationship. You would expect your friend to alert you if any of these assumptions were not going to apply, and explain the reason for it.
The only difference with the Bible is that it was written over a long period of time, during which the meanings of some words changed, and society is generally different now than it was when the Bible was written. This makes books on Bible history and a good concordance valuable additions to your library.
Expositional ConstancyThis is a fancy term to remind us that symbolism in scripture tends to be consistent. For example, through out the Bible leaven, or yeast, is used symbolically to stand for sin. Therefore there’s no justification for claiming that in the Parable of the Yeast (Matt. 13:33) and there alone, it stands for the Gospel. Expositional Constancy only applies to words that are used symbolically, so be careful. Peter’s statement in 2 Peter 3:9 that with the Lord a day is like 1000 years and 1000 years is like a day does not justify substituting 1000 years for a day every time it comes up. Peter was simply explaining that the Lord’s concept of time is way different from ours.
Internal ConsistencyThe Bible, being the word of God, cannot contradict itself. The Lord is just and righteous so He can’t say something in one place and something different in another. He knows the end from the beginning so He can’t change His mind or take back something He’s given. Everything He says has to agree with everything else He says. For example, if the Bible says it’s God who makes us stand firm in Christ, that He anointed us, set His seal of ownership on us and put His Spirit in our hearts as a guarantee of what’s to come (2 Cor. 1:21-22), then it can’t say that we can walk away from our salvation or have it taken away from us someplace else.
Principle Of First MentionOften when an important concept is mentioned for the first time there is elevated significance in the context of the passage in which it appears. The first mention of the Church is in Matt.16:18 where Peter declared that Jesus is the Messiah, son of the living God. Jesus said that this truth would be the foundation upon which He would build His Church. Notice who’s going to be doing the building and whose Church it is. Studying the passage where an important concept first appears can be very helpful in interpreting subsequent passages on the same subject.
Use Clear Passages To Interpret Obscure OnesSome passages of Scripture are more difficult to interpret correctly than others. When confronting one of these, it’s best to locate the clearest verses on the subject and use them to help interpret the difficult one. A classic example is Hebrews 6:4-6 which, when taken alone, seems to say that we can fall away and lose our salvation, and if that should happen we can never get it back. But the clearest verses on salvation are Ephesians 1:13-14 and 2 Cor. 1:21-22, and they plainly state the opposite. The Ephesians passage says we were included in Christ when we first heard and believed the gospel. Having believed we were sealed with the Holy Spirit, a deposit that guarantees our inheritance. In 2 Corinthians Paul went even further saying that God himself has accepted responsibility for making us stand firm in Christ and has set His seal of ownership on us, like a rancher brands his cattle.
Applying the principles above we must conclude that the writer to Hebrews had to be talking about something else. When we look at the context of the letter, we find that it was written to Jewish believers who were being lured back into the Levitical system, which used the sacrifice of a lamb to atone for sins. For the Church, the Lord’s death fulfilled what the sacrifice only symbolized, so going back to this was tantamount to sacrificing Him all over again and subjecting him to public disgrace, because by their actions they were saying that His death was not sufficient to atone for their sins.
And as if that wasn’t bad enough, going back to the sacrifice was no longer acceptable to God because the Law was only a shadow of the good things that are coming, not the realities themselves. For that reason it could never make perfect those who draw near to worship no matter how many times they repeated it. (Hebr. 10:1) But when the Lord offered His sacrifice once for all time, He made perfect forever those who are being made holy (Hebr. 10:12-14) During the Church Age all we have to do after sinning is confess our sins to receive forgiveness, be brought back to repentance, and be purified from all unrighteousness. (1 John 1:9) Now Hebrews 6:4-6 makes sense because it conforms to the internal consistency of God’s Word.
There are lots of other rules and principles man has developed for application to God’s word, but in my opinion if we just apply the ones I’ve listed above we’ll stand a good chance of avoiding the errors and misinterpretations that seem to be so common these days.
The Bible is quite simply the most amazing book ever written. Some parts of it were written at least 4000 years ago, and by 95AD its most recent chapters were finished. But according to Paul it was written to teach us, upon whom the end of the age has come. (Romans 15:4, 1 Cor. 10:11) If we’ll just read it the way we would any other document, as if it means what it says, the Holy Spirit will reveal wondrous truths from within its pages. Truths that will give us an anchor against the storms of deceit and controversy that have become so common in our time. Maybe that’s why it was written primarily to us. Selah 11-14-09
September 2, 2016
ADVICE FROMOLD STORYTELLERS "O villain, villai...
ADVICE FROMOLD STORYTELLERS "O villain, villain, smiling damned villain!My tables (calling for his writing tablet)--meet it is I set it downThat one may smile, and smile, and be a villain..."
--Shakespeare's Hamlet, Act I, Scene V, lines 106-109
Great characterization example from Bill the Bard.Great insight regarding real-life villains!
--Shakespeare's Hamlet, Act I, Scene V, lines 106-109
Great characterization example from Bill the Bard.Great insight regarding real-life villains!
