The servant’s name was Malchus.
Easter Midrash An imagined story of Good Friday "The servant’s name was Malchus." John 18:10 The servant's name is Malchus. I am not dead yet, rather, far from it. I don't know how others felt when they were healed but the inside of a miracle is a place of light and clarity beyond any new dawn. The complex weaving of skin only reflecting the myriad unravelling of thoughts and memories below the surface. Paths of life's story being made straight. My name is Malchus. Named by my mother. Her bedtime tale that I was named after the appearance, in Jerusalem, of regal scholars from the East. Magi seeking a king who had not yet been born. A slave herself, she had stood holding a lamp as the temple priests and scribes argued amongst themselves; no-one wishing to tell Herod that the prophecy was not for his line. When I was born just a few days later, I became her little 'king'. That's what Malchus means. I didn't thank her for it. Growing up ...
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I do remember she was supposed to have come over to Wales from Ireland eons ago and she is the patron saint of hares because she protected one under her cloak when a Prince was hunting it and he was so moved by her courage that he gave her a whole valley to herself as a sanctuary.
It's a nice synchrony too as once of my posts today was about walking and meeting a rabbit- not a hare but near enough maybe :-))
Blessings :-))