Lamb’s wool is cleaned, carted, and spun into balls of industry and artistry and then soaked with color so ancient that the hues are imbedded in the rock-hard strata of earth’s foundation — blue, scarlet, and purple. The coloration is so eternal that the Creator spoke their rich pigmentation into existence with the flash of a thought and a breath.
These are the Temple colors carried through time in pearlized shells from sea creatures to the hands of ancient Hebrews who dug them from the seashore, broke open their shells like alabaster boxes to release precious inky drops of living blood, hued to saturate the ages with a taste of eternity and to open the hearts of all who see the glory of an unseen king.
Willingly the Hebrew worshippers gave necklaces, bracelets and nose rings — the gold, silver, and copper that smelted into overlays, rods, poles, knobs and hooks to adorn a sanctuary and hold the curtains of finely twisted linen.
On a sandy breezy day in the wilderness you could see the drapes sway, in the portable tabernacle that traveled with them, between the holy place and the holy of holies. Each panel stitched with exquisite embroidery outlining the cherubim who covered the ark with their wings.
Blue, purple, and scarlet still speaks in breaking waves of chroma — the baptism of a priest, the robes of a king, and a bloody river that spilled from broken flesh on wooden cross of ignoble purity.
I let these colors soak my heart today with tears. Blue. Purple. Scarlet. I see a thousand words unwritten over the roughed road of thousands of years, and yet I’m silent as the blushes of antiquity ignite the kindling of my feeble heart with burning flames of fire.
December 6, 2016
Bonnie Saul Wilks