by Brian Godawa
“What kind of ‘loving god’ allows untold thousands of poor innocent women and children to suffer the ravages of disease and poverty?”
The satan was an actor of the highest caliber. He actually looked as if he meant what he was saying. Tears flowed from his crocodile eyes down his glistening scaly face. He did not care a whit for women and children. He actually thought poverty and disease were good ways to keep the population from expanding to unmanageable numbers that would threaten the earth’s ecosystem of life. To the satan, humans were in fact parasites of Mother Earth, grubworms of the Great Goddess. Disease was the Earth’s balancing revenge. But that belief would not stop him from using rhetoric to appeal to the sympathies and compassion of his enemy.
“But that is only ‘natural evil,’” he waxed eloquently. “What of personal evil?” Now his words took on the calculated righteous indignation of a politician. “What kind of god would allow the heinous evils of rape, murder, genocide, and war?”
Uriel snorted at the irony. At this very moment, the satan’s ally Inanna was leading a horde of thirty thousand unholy demigods on Eden. They were planning massive rape, murder, genocide, and war.
“I submit that if Elohim is truly ‘sovereign over his creation,’” the satan said, his words dripping with venom, “then he is responsible for all the evil that exists in the world. If he is not so sovereign, then he is an impotent deity without the authority to back up his covenant.”
The satan took a dramatic pause, pretending he was holding back a flood of empathetic tears. Then he finished, “A covenant is supposed to be constitutional, the very bedrock of truth and justice. This covenant is unconstitutional because its creator is a king who is a totalitarian oppressor, a cheat who makes the rules of the game to favor himself; a despotic dictator and tyrant who claims absolute ownership over creation; and worse, a genocidal emperor, who, mark my words, will soon kill everyone on earth who gets in the way of his imperialist empire!”
Enoch was stunned. He had never heard such a vile litany of invectives and hate speech against the Creator pour out of the mouth of a mere created being, except perhaps from Inanna.
The satan stopped abruptly and returned to the bar with a suddenly quiet and diplomatic disposition. “May the court forgive me, I forgot one thing. If I may, I would like to propose a humble suggestion. The defendant, Elohim, appears to be obsessed with transcendence and separation. Heaven is separated from earth, land is separated from waters, angel is separated from human, human from animal, male from female, and so on. With all this talk of the creator’s transcendent distinction from his creation, all this separation and difference within creation, perhaps therein lies the problem. Separation and distinction breed animosity and fear of the ‘other.’ If this god would only be one with his creation, if all things were considered one instead of separated and different then maybe we might not have all the alienation and violence that such fear of the other creates. Of course, the Creator might know this if he actually knew what it was like to be one of his lowly creatures, to be a man rather than the omnipotent potentate of power and pious purity that he proudly preaches.” He smirked. He thought his alliteration of Ps was a nice touch of poetic contempt.
He wrapped it up, “But I contemplate that would be impossible for such a ‘high and mighty one,’ so ‘separate’ and ‘distinct’ from his creation is he.”
It was quite an explosive opener, thought Enoch, followed by a low-key false humility that had the effect of making the audience listen intently. Like dropping your speech to a whisper after yelling. Enoch wondered what was next, if this was just his opener. His adversary had engaged in so much fallacious rhetoric that he thought it would be quite easy to dismantle the argument and make a fool of the accuser. But then he thought better. He realized that he did not want to fall into the trap of emulating the fool in his folly. He decided his strategy should be to avoid matching the emotional excess. Instead, he should strip the rhetoric down to its core of absurdity with calm cool reason. Use the folly against the fool. This was, after all, a court of law where rationality served truth and justice not agenda and advocacy.
Enoch strutted before the throne. He lifted his chin high in thought. He then spoke like a scribe would speak to his students. “This Accuser has laden his argument with so much emotional invective and blind hatred that one can only wonder where he received his credentials. I am not aware of any apkallu wisdom sage on earth or in heaven who teaches insulting, appeals to pity, force, and popular sentiment, false dilemmas, slippery slopes, equivocation and question begging as actual legal strategy.” That was good, thought Enoch. He did not hear the expected chuckles from the divine witnesses. But then again, they did follow strict rules of sobriety in trials. All his years of being an apkallu were bearing fruit in him now. It was almost as if it were all preparation for this moment.
He continued. “I would like to strip down the satan’s so-called arguments to their bare essentials and address those sparsely few issues with that gem so rare among the wicked; rationality. ‘Come, let us reason together,’ says the Lord. And so we shall.”
Enoch felt his confidence rising. He was much smoother than he had expected. The butterflies in his stomach had gone. He felt like a falcon flying pretty high, his eyes focused on his prey far below him.
“It is true,” said Enoch, “that Yahweh Elohim is sovereign over his creation and therefore the covenant.” He used the covenant name of God as proper protocol in the heavenly temple regarding covenant lawsuits.
He continued, “Our Creator works all things according to the counsel of his will. He makes nations great and destroys them. He brings both well-being and calamity upon cities and individuals. He has made everything for its purpose, even the wicked for the day of evil. And no purpose of his can be thwarted. In short, Yahweh Elohim is all-powerful and ordains whatsoever comes to pass. It is also true that he is an all-loving creator who cares for his creation. So if I may boil down the satan’s argument into its simplest form, void of all its emotional hysteria and libelous insults, it would look like this --
Premise one: If Yahweh Elohim is all-powerful he could destroy evil.
Premise two: If Yahweh Elohim is all-loving he would destroy evil.
Premise three: Evil is not destroyed.
Conclusion: Yahweh Elohim is either unable or unwilling to destroy evil.”
Now it was Enoch’s turn to pause for dramatic effect. He milked it with relish.
“Let us dispense with this popular sentiment of ignoramuses and mental midgets. It is really very simple. There is a hidden premise in that argument that is fallacious. It assumes that evil will never be destroyed or put to rights. Well, who says so? Is satan the god of time that he knows that evil will not be destroyed in the future? In fact, Yahweh Elohim promises to one day destroy all evil and put all things to rights. Simply because evil is not yet destroyed is no argument that evil will never be destroyed. I realize logical consistency is not a virtue to the satan, but it is a requirement of truth.”
His train of thought completely engrossed Enoch. His words came out like fire from heaven. His pronouncements of justice rolled down like waters. He barely stopped to take a breath.
“The satan accuses Yahweh Elohim of being the author of evil, but creating evil for a purpose is not the same as being evil. Just because we do not know his purpose or reason for the evil he ordains in this world does not mean there can be no good purpose or reason. Our finite ignorance is not a measure of the parameters of the truth. Creaturely freedom and responsibility does not logically negate the Creator’s sovereignty. Does the clay say to the potter, ‘Why have you made me like this?’ Shall the axe boast over him who hews with it, or the saw magnify itself against him who wields it? The satan complains of the Creator/creature distinction as the source of cruelty, but it is precisely the transcendent infinite God who distinguishes kindness from cruelty. If everything is one, kindness and cruelty are one and the satan’s complaint is dismissed.”<
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Enoch delivered the death blow. “And so I file a motion for summary judgment to dismiss this frivolous lawsuit. Amen.”
Enoch sat down next to Mikael on one side, Uriel and the other archangels on the other. He felt like one of the angels himself. He drew in a deep breath. He knew that he had just won the entire trial in one fell swoop of oratory.
“You may have just lost the trial in one fell swoop of oratory,” Mikael whispered to Enoch.
“Elegant delivery, apkallu,” said Uriel. “That was vanity befitting of the Serpent himself. Is that what they teach you in wisdom sage school?”
Gabriel added, “Have you switched sides?”
Enoch’s eyes stretched in terror. What had he done wrong? He had just made an iron clad rational case on behalf of the Creator. Or so he thought.
“Close your mouth,” said Uriel.
Enoch stared at him.
“I mean literally,” said Uriel. “Your mouth is hanging open like a fly catcher again.”
Enoch closed his mouth. He was dumbfounded.
Then he opened it again. “But I thought I was supposed to use rigorous wisdom to dismantle the satan’s position. I thought that is what truth is about.”
“Truth is a person, not a mere proposition,” said Uriel.
“So you think you fight vanity with vanity?” said Mikael. “You do not represent an idea, you represent Yahweh’s character. Of which you were evidently completely oblivious as you strode about like a pompous braying ass.”
“A strutting cock-a-doodle-doo,” added Uriel.
Enoch’s spirit dropped. His own pride, the worst sin of all, had just blindsided him. He had completely failed his God and had not even known it. Had he lost the case already?
Chapter 44
Methuselah found some straight saplings, cut them down and whittled a series of spears with his knife. The aim and accuracy of a spear required a finely balanced weight, which was not easy to attain with such primitive instruments. But he did his best with what he had.
So did the others. Betenos worked hard to create a bow and some arrows using one of the other knives. She used some durable and string-like casings of a wild vegetable for the string. Lamech, who was at a loss without Rahab, created a sling and filled a pouch with perfect stones from a nearby brook. Edna took the knives when they were done and created a makeshift three blade staff weapon, an adaptation of the angelic blade she had mastered over the years. They could not kill giants with these handmade weapons, but they would not be at the mercy of lesser predators, which described most everything else.
They searched along the western wall for quite some time. They decided to make camp for the night, when Edna yelled out that she had found something.
Everyone ran to where she was. Or rather had been. She was nowhere to be found in the rocky area.
“Edna?” called Methuselah. “Edna, where are you?”
He began to get worried when she gave no response. They shouted for her urgently.
Methuselah came to a portion of the rock wall covered with hanging vines and other foliage. He stopped and looked back out into the forest, searching for any sign of Edna. Suddenly, a pair of hands flashed out from the hanging vines and grabbed him. They pulled him into the wall of green, as if to dissolve into the mountain face.
It was Edna. The vegetation hid a ravine just three or four cubits wide. Edna hid within it.
“Gotcha, Poozelahpooneypoo,” laughed Edna. She gave him a big fat sloppy and probing kiss. Methuselah pulled back.
“Do not start something you do not expect to finish, Pednaplumperfect,” he warned.
“Well, with how long it has been, I figure we could probably be done before they find us,” she said with an impish smirk.
He had to laugh. He was hungry for her and she was thirsty for him. They had been in such danger for so long that they had not had time to reunite in God-given oneness. When they waited too long, the desire grew so strong that their lovemaking was difficult to extend as they enjoyed doing. In this case, that hot passion would be to their advantage. When love has lived long, the connection gets deeper and richer than young lovers have any idea of.
They went for it. Passion unleashed.
They could not keep quiet. Lamech and Betenos soon heard them and where they were and what they were doing.
Lamech looked at Betenos like a wolf looking at a lamb.
“Oh, there you go again, getting ideas,” she said. “Like father, like son.”
“I bet we can drown them out,” he said.
“I am not going to compete.”
“Oh, yes you are.”
“We should respect our elders,” she teased.
“I will give you some respect you will not soon forget,” he retorted, eyes narrowing in on his prey.
“I thought you did not have Rahab with you,” she said, looking down at his tunic.
“It is time we dive into the Abyss, and see what the dragon can do,” he chortled.
She bolted, giggling back at him, “You will have to catch me first you slippery eel!”
He dropped his weapons and ran after her.
Lamech and Betenos lay cuddling on the bank of the brook, having spent their time swimming in the current of love together. They felt rested and at peace for the first time in a long time. He kissed her and traced his hand down her curves in adoration. She loved the way he would consume her beauty. He would say she was a feast for all his senses: sight, sound, smell, taste, and touch. He proved it by engaging all those senses to their height when he was with her. He made her feel so beautiful. Only Elohim could create such a harmonious artistry of physical and spiritual unity between man and wife.
The sound of a monstrous bellowing roar brought them to their feet. It came from the direction of the vine-covered crevice where Methuselah and Edna had been. They threw on their clothes and ran as one to the spot. They grabbed up their weapons, leaping through the vegetation into the ravine. It was a passageway through the mountain wall. They followed it.
Methuselah screamed at the top of his lungs. The roar burst over them again. It was so loud, it shook their insides.
How big was this thing? thought Lamech as they ran toward the sound. They knew their patriarch was in trouble.
They burst through the other side and found themselves in the mountain territory just outside the secret valley.
Methuselah knelt on the ground, cradling Edna, covered in blood, weeping.
Mere cubits away, a gigantic creature the height of a huge temple building staggered around. It tried to shake a javelin from its eye. It stood upright on its hind legs, though Lamech was not sure that was its natural posture. It had a tail the size of a cedar tree, bulging muscle on bones of iron, and teeth like iron swords. Its head looked like a hideous reptilian bull. It was some kind of amphibious dragon. It roared again and came down on all fours, revealing a deformed hump on its back. It turned to lunge at Methuselah and Edna.
“Father!” screamed Lamech.
Methuselah did nothing. He just held his beloved in his arms.
Immediately, Lamech and Betenos raised their weapons. Betenos launched an arrow at the great beast. Her makeshift arrow hit it in the face near the javelin. Lamech’s stone broke one of its teeth with a loud cracking sound.
It roared again. They realized they were only making it angrier.
Lamech and Betenos ran to Methuselah. They dragged the patriarch and Edna’s limp, bleeding body back into the covered ravine opening.
The colossus shook the javelin loose and launched after them. It snapped at their feet as they cleared the entrance into the ravine. But it was too large to fit through the opening.
Betenos launched one last arrow into the dragon’s mouth. It buried itself in the creature’s tongue. It roared with rage and actually tried to force its way through the crack of the mountain.
Lamech felt the very mountain shake. Rocks fell loose and the earth quaked. But the dragon could not get through.
Lamech tried to compress the wounds where the teeth had penetrated Edna’s body, but there were too many punctures and they were too deep.
Methuselah knew it was time. She gazed up into his eyes. She managed a slight smile of love. She was in more pain than he could imagine, and she could still smile in the face of the only man she ever knew. She tried to say something. Her lungs were punctured. He leaned in close, putting his ear to her lips.
“I — will — see you in time, my be-beloved.” Every word was painful and prophetic. “Enoch’s m-mantle is now — yours. Our son — m-must live.”
And Edna breathed her last.
Methuselah wailed. It echoed across the valley like a ghostly hound. It made Lamech think of the very beast they just escaped.
Betenos came back from the forest in resignation. She knew it was over.
The three of them lay over Edna’s body and wept. Wife, mother, servant of Elohim, she was now with her Creator.
They buried her body near a large terebinth tree by the brook. Terebinth were sacred trees that were considered places of communion with deity. Edna had been a conduit of communion with Elohim for Methuselah. She was the most powerful proof of God’s presence and goodness to him. Through her he came to understand grace, goodness, strength, perseverance, and a faith that he did not have in himself. She had been both submissive wife and godly inspiration to him, his perfect ezer. He would never have known happiness but for her. He would never know happiness again without her.
They laid the stones upon the resting place as a memorial, and prayed to Elohim, and wept and sang songs of hope. Then they ate a meal together.
Late night drew over them. And still they sat in silent memories.
Betenos looked up at the full moon. She sat close to Lamech with silent empathy. He labored to fix the triple blade weapon his mother had made. It had been damaged in the attack. Lamech’s eyes were red from hours of painful recollections of his mother. The joys, the happiness, the hard work and discipline of family. He could not understand why Elohim would allow such a seemingly random thing as her death, after all they had been through. He had started to think they were invincible, God’s chosen ones. That nothing would stop their righteous cause. Now, his pride crashed down in humble brokenness. He did not know what he believed. Would Elohim allow us to get this far, only to snatch our lives one by one, never to be found or remembered in this uninhabited godforsaken mockery of paradise?