Why is a corrupt politician like an Amalekite? No, it's not a teaser from one of those baffling puzzle magazines some people take on holiday to while away the hours waiting for the sun's rays to give the required tan.
The source of the question is from tomorrow's Old Testament reading from the Second Book of Samuel, which opens with David, not yet king of Israel, in deep mourning over the death of the nation's first monarch, Saul.
The First Book of Samuel ends with the suicide of Saul after defeat in battle by a Philistine army. It was a miserable terminus to a life that never yielded the promise of its early years, and the Philistines rubbed in the scale of the defeat by mutilating their enemy's corpse, then nailing it to a town wall on public display.
David and his guerrilla force had been given the runaround for some while by Saul's armies, such was the antipathy between the two leaders, fuelled by Saul's insane jealousy and insecurity on hearing that the prophet Samuel had denounced him and already anointed David as his successor.
Of course, the story has added poignancy because Jonathan, Saul's son, also killed in the battle, was "best mates" with David and behind his father's back had protected the fugitive from the royal terror apparatus so David lost a friend par excellence.
His grief was clinical in its scale and extent. He was literally prostrated by his sense of loss and no doubt his colleagues wisely kept their distance.
Until, that is, an Amalekite came into the camp claiming that it was he who had delivered the fatal blow to Saul, already lying mortally wounded.
The Amalekite's claim to a kindly act of euthanasia reeked of falsehood and not least because he had somehow got hold of Saul's crown and armband with the royal seal prominent on it.
The political twist was that the Amalekite, coming into possession of the royal insignia by whatever means, saw them as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to get rich quick and insert himself into favour at David's court.
Yet again, however, the Bible's maxim "Be sure your sin will find you out" delivered its deadly reward and the Amalekite was summarily executed when David got it clear what had actually happened.
If there is a homily tomorrow, it may well focus on the fact that on the first page of yet another book of the Bible we run straight into the God who exposes us, who delights in truth in the inward parts (Psalm 51:6) and who sets our secret sins in the light of his presence (Psalm 90:8).
It ought not to be a homily to allow us to cuddle any notion that if we have duped and fooled our fellow mortals, we have thereby eluded the gaze of heaven as well.
Those who bamboozle tribunals and cover their tracks across oceans, along with the rest of us engaged in less infamous deceptions, need to know no one is going to escape D-Day. D-for-Disclosure Day, that is.
"There is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed, or hidden that will not be made known. What you have said in the dark will be heard in the daylight, and what you have whispered in the ear in the inner rooms will be proclaimed from the roofs," said Jesus, not in threat but in warning of the reality of God's patient way of handling these matters.
What happened to the Amalekite at Ziklag is not an unconnected fragment among the accidents of history.
It is a preview of what will be true for all at the last day, and we have that on the word of Jesus.
He should know, because God has authorised him to judge the secrets of the hearts of men and woman (Letter to the Romans 2: 16).
Fearing exposure at tribunals, public inquiries and judicial reviews is one thing, for everyone knows now how great can be the crash of the erstwhile high and mighty.
But let those of us tempted to rub our hands in glee and take in our daily dose of entertainment via the downfall of others remember D-Day.
Everyone's turn is coming for the video of their life to be re-run in the presence of God himself, and that should be enough food for thought to be going on with for one weekend.
G.F.