The Host also moved through the camp, causing the men to strike out at anything that moved. Michael sent some angels to the edge of the camp and threw the elephants into a panic. The great beasts cut a bloody swath through the center of the camp in a wild stampede that trampled tents and started fires.
The angels under Rugio’s command fought to regain order as well. With the knowledge that the Angel of the Lord was leading the attack, they managed only some brief skirmishes with some of Michael’s angels. Nathan himself went after Michael, but the archangel swung a hard blow with his sword that sent Nathan falling backwards into the camp. The impact of the warrior’s fall caused a huge fire to break out in one of the storage tents. The Host, in the guise of Israelite soldiers, were everywhere to be seen. Assyrians struck blindly at the phantom enemies, with the result that they began killing each other!
Understanding what was happening, Rugio took his sword out and cut deeply into one of the angels. The angel yelped and moved back. Rugio grinned a malevolent smile at the angel, whose Israelite disguise had vanished. The angel positioned himself to dodge Rugio’s next blow when suddenly a light shot out from the center of the camp, blinding every human and wicked angel throughout the camp.
The light went straight up into the air like a gigantic fountain, and cascaded to earth in streams of brilliant, white, downy light. As the light fell upon the camp, humans began dropping dead where they stood. Devils scattered in every direction, screaming that “the Angel” was going to destroy them. Even Rugio bolted from the camp, cursing the Lord as he went. Then the light disappeared.
Nothing remained but bodies. No explanation to Hezekiah’s men, who investigated the next day. No clues as to what terrible thing had happened to the Assyrian army. Just bodies—some 185,000 dead Assyrians. As they rooted about, an Israelite foot soldier came upon one of the Assyrians who was undoubtedly a sentry. He had stood near a hut used by the guards posted on the extreme edges of the camp.
The Israelite saw something in the man’s hand that gleamed in the morning sun. It was a large reddish amulet that had broken off the man’s neck. He looked at the man—a young man about his own age. For some reason the Israelite felt compassion for the Assyrian. Turning him over, he saw that the soldier had fallen on his own sword. Something had apparently frightened him so much that he had killed himself!
Bethlehem, 4 B.C.
Gabriel recalled that bloody day outside Jerusalem. It was interesting to hear Eli’s description of the battle. How different the perspectives of humans and of angels! Looking now into the sky, which was filling with angels and creating a milky haze over Bethlehem, Gabriel could only think of how many more angels were here tonight than on that bloody night when Sennacherib’s army was destroyed.
He looked at Bakka, who was now seated next to Daniel. He was glad to see that Bakka was beginning to take a greater interest in his assignment. Bakka looked up at Gabriel and smiled.
“I am learning a great deal about this man,” said Bakka. “His family is one of the Levites. They had been in the priesthood but left it at some point.”
“Yes, I know,” said Gabriel. “I told you that he was an interesting assignment.”
“But I’m not certain what the assignment is yet,” said Bakka.
“Keep learning,” said Gabriel. “It will become evident.”
Eli looked down at the two boys who were now both asleep.
“Looks like my stories were not interesting enough to help them make it through the whole evening,” he said humorously.
Daniel looked down also. Both of the boys’ fathers were taking their watch at that moment. The other shepherds were also asleep. Daniel looked around as if wanting to make sure that they were quite alone. He leaned in to Eli.
“My fathers were part of the reason for our nation’s destruction,” he said, almost whispering. “I bear that shame.”
Eli considered the man with whom he was speaking. Daniel had always been an outsider among the shepherds—never entering into fellowship with the others, keeping mainly to himself. Now he seemed to be opening up as a result of the conversation that had been going on all night.
Perhaps the images of Israel’s holy history in which man came so close to having a relationship with his Creator, only to throw it all away, had touched a chord in his failed heritage. If indeed Daniel’s family had been in the priesthood, then the burden he carried for the nation’s destruction was understandable, though without real complicity. Eli hoped to encourage the man for whom he was beginning to have compassion.
“How is it that one man’s family could bring down a nation?” posed Eli in a very general way, as if he himself were trying to figure it all out. “The prophet said that we all like sheep have strayed from the Lord’s fold—not just one family.”
Daniel nodded that he understood Eli’s direction.
“I know that my family is as guilty as any other in Israel,” said Daniel. “And I know that they are no more guilty than the rest of the nation.” He looked at Eli intently, tears welling up in his eyes. “But I know that one person can make a difference in a nation’s history. You have spoken of such men and women this night. I only wonder why someone in my family could not have made a difference.”
He stood up and turned away from Eli toward Bethlehem. He pointed at the star that loomed overhead. Eli looked at the star as well.
“Some people point to such things as that star, which has recently appeared, and say that it is a sign of great tragedy to come; or perhaps that it signifies some great event that will occur. I wonder if perhaps we should look within…maybe the answer we seek is somehow in our hearts and not in our history?”
Eli was silent for a moment.
“Daniel, you are more philosopher than shepherd,” he said amusedly. “Perhaps the heritage of your family cannot be so easily dismissed—there is very much the priest alive in you.”
Daniel managed a sincere smile—albeit a halfway one.
“By that I mean you are speaking like a prophet yourself!”
Daniel looked at Eli with a curious expression.
“Jeremiah,” said Eli. “He too spoke of knowing the Lord through the heart and not just through custom. ‘I will give them a heart to know Me,’ he said. ‘They will be My people and I will be their God, for they will return to Me with all their heart.’ Sounds very much like what you are saying.”
Daniel thought about this for a moment. How wonderful it would be to know God in one’s heart rather than through men and temples and law and…Yet how could that happen? Apart from the law and traditions of their fathers there was no other way to the heart of God.
“Yet we have strayed like lost sheep,” said Daniel. “And our nation is no longer free. We are a captive people. Look at Bethlehem—filled beyond capacity because of the whims of an emperor who declares a census throughout his realm. How can such a divided and conquered people hope to know the God they abandoned so long ago?”
“How indeed?” said Eli. “And yet, Daniel, we must have hope that someday the Coming One shall present the answers to us. We must believe the prophets. Like that star—perhaps one day the King will appear and bring light to a darkened nation.”
“Perhaps,” said Daniel sullenly. “But they did not hear the prophets. Will they now welcome the King who comes?”
Eli had no answer. He had wondered the same thing many times. He could only hope that when the King arrived, He would set things right as only He would be able to.
“I can only hope, Daniel, that when the King arrives, we shall know it,” Eli said. “I hope that it shall be on a day in which we are all looking for Him. I hope that it will be as obvious as that star you keep speaking of.”
“And just as bright,” said Daniel, looking up into the sky.
Michael had ordered his angels to fan out in front of Mary and Joseph as they entered the town. Only a few townspeople and some soldiers were out and about. Roman officials who were assigned to Bethlehem for the census s
at at a table outside a small tavern. In front of them was a long line.
Joseph left Mary and walked to the official, who was taking information from an older man. The official looked at Joseph.
“Get to the end of the line,” he barked.
“I am Joseph, of the tribe of Judah. I am here to report for the census. The woman who is with me is not well,” he said. “Might we move to the front of the line?”
The official looked at a soldier who came over and escorted Joseph back to the end of the long line. Mary remained on the donkey in obvious discomfort.
“I’m not sure how much longer,” she said. She was beginning to perspire heavily.
“I will find us a place to stay,” Joseph said. “Then we’ll take care of the census.”
“Hurry, my love,” said Mary.
Michael remained with Mary as Joseph disappeared into an alley to seek out a place where she might have her baby. The angels gathered around Bethlehem numbered in the thousands. He had done all that he could to protect this couple—especially the woman who carried within her the hope of the world.
“Michael! Michael!”
Michael turned to see Gabriel, surprised to see the archangel in Bethlehem. He knew that Gabriel had been with the shepherds nearby.
“Gabriel,” said Michael. “Welcome. What a glorious night!”
“Yes, glorious,” agreed Gabriel. “Many lives will change this night. But I came to tell you something of great interest. Something about Lucifer!”
“Lucifer?” asked Michael. “What has he to do with this night?”
“He is here,” said Gabriel. “And he wishes to meet with you.”
Chronicles of the Host
Judah’s Disgrace
The hope we had in Hezekiah was dashed by his son, Manasseh, who turned the nation of Judah away from the Most High and back to idolatry. Back and forth went this nation of proud and stubborn men. And the prophets of God continued their message—the same as they had delivered to Israel: Repent and turn from your wicked ways or be destroyed.
Even in the midst of such despair, the Lord also held out the hope of the one who would make things right—but it was lost on a people bent on self destruction. And within a very short time, during the prophet Jeremiah’s ministry, the nation of Judah fell into the hands of a new menace—Babylon.
Nebuchadnezzar, a proud and powerful ruler from the east, had moved into Jerusalem two times and had placed leaders on the throne who might be commensurate with Babylon’s dominance. But compromise was not enough for Lucifer; he needed the utter destruction of the nation to get advantage on the Seed.
So it was that, guided by Pellecus, who loved the wisdom and black arts of these Chaldeans, the nation of Babylon was set upon a course of complete destruction of Judah. It was a time of grief and shock—both to the men who had felt they were secure in the city that housed the Presence of God; and to the Host, who had long held and hoped that such an event might never happen. How could we have known that the salvation of God was not bound by political boundaries and the heritage of kings?…How could we have known that the end of a nation was not the end of the promise?…How could we have known that the stem of Jesse would find its fruit years later in Bethlehem?
Babylon, 587 B.C.
The temple of Marduk, in Babylon, was Nebuchadnezzar’s proudest achievement. Ever since taking the throne from his father, Nabopolasser, who had founded this newest and greatest Babylonian empire, Nebuchadnezzar knew he was destined to play an eternal role in human history. He wanted to be remembered not as a conqueror, but as a civilizer—one who brought Babylonian culture to the world and transformed the world into a Chaldean image!
Since the destruction of Assyria at the battle at Carchemish, the empire had been expanding steadily. Syria, Palestine, even Egypt were under the control or influence of Babylon. Surely his father would be proud of how things were going. All of this brought Nebuchadnezzar back to his thoughts of the great temple of Marduk.
Strolling along the balcony of his palace, the king looked over the city of his fathers. Since his first days as king, Nebuchadnezzar had set himself to recapturing and surpassing the former glory of Babylon. He had built great ziggurats that served as both temples and astronomical observatories. Most impressive of all was his recreation of the famed Tower of Babel, an enormous tower some 295 feet tall, which dominated the Babylonian skyline. The famous Hanging Gardens, a complex of concentric squares with lush palm trees and green shrubs that he was ever tinkering with as a gift for his wife, had become a legend throughout the world. He had much to be proud of. And yet….
As he strolled the balcony of his palace, Nebuchadnezzar looked south toward the ziggurat complex of Etemanki. There, beside the southern wall of that enclosure, was the great temple. He had done all he could to honor Marduk, the chief god of the Chaldeans. The temple was a marvelous structure with two outer courtyards, a number of inner chapels, and a separate sanctuary that honored the god Marduk’s father, Ea. But most magnificent of all was the shrine to Marduk himself.
Located on the western wall, the shrine was entered through an intricate and beautiful façade that towered over the entry. Nebuchadnezzar had covered its walls inside with sparkling gold. The shrine housed a figure of Marduk, also made of gold and seated upon a throne made of gold. Beside the figure was a golden table. Outside the shrine were a golden altar and beside it a bronze altar, on which frankincense was offered every year at Marduk’s chief festival.
Was the god pleased with his efforts to honor him? Nebuchadnezzar wondered if there was more he might do to ensure the continued favor of the god who was sometimes capricious in his dealings with humans. The high priest seemed to believe that all was well, yet the king had been having troubling dreams lately. Looking about him to make certain he was alone, the king got on his knees.
“Marduk, great god of the Chaldeans, what is it that I am to do?” pleaded the king in a whisper as he looked at the great temple in the distance. “I have conquered the world in your name. I have humbled many kings and their gods. I have built for you a great temple that is incomparable. What have I left undone? Send me a sign, great one, that I might know your…”
The sound of a thud nearby made the king look around. There beside him on the balcony lay an eagle, dead. The king looked about to see if someone had tossed it at him.
“Who is there?” he demanded.
A servant came running up the stairs upon hearing his master cry out. The servant bowed low before the king awaiting his command.
“Who has been up here?” Nebuchadnezzar asked.
“You are alone here, great king,” said the shaken servant. “Nobody has passed your guard upon the stairway.”
“Summon Ashpenaz, my chief advisor,” said Nebuchadnezzar. “And bring wine! I will meet him in my chambers.”
“Yes majesty,” said the servant, who just then saw the dead bird. He bent down to pick it up, but the king stopped him.
“Leave it,” said the king.
“A dead eagle, majesty?” responded the servant, quite puzzled. “A message,” said Nebuchadnezzar, looking at the dead bird.
After the king left the balcony to meet with his advisor, Pellecus and several wisdom angels with him strolled the same spot. Pellecus looked down upon the dead bird.
“A message in a bird,” he said sarcastically. “Something of a poem in there: How feeble is the mind of a human king to look at such nonsense and divine a great thing.”
The others laughed aloud at Pellecus’s words.
“Babylon is indeed a great city,” he said. “These people are fairly advanced as humans go. Their knowledge of the arts and sciences and of sorcery is unmatched, even in Egypt. Of course the sorcery comes easily when it is being manipulated by our demons, but it still impresses and captures human minds.”
“So the strategy at this point…” began Drezzan.
“The strategy as always is to use this man to destroy Judah,” said Pellecus. “After
all, the Lord’s own prophets have predicted it. Why disappoint Him?”
Laughter.
“And how do we achieve this?” asked Tinius, who had found his way back from disgrace in Lucifer’s eyes. Pellecus had always liked Tinius’s questioning of Lucifer; it flew in the face of decorum at Council. So he had recently courted Tinius and appointed him as one of his own aides.
“Excellent question, Tinius,” said Pellecus. “Lucifer was always disturbed with your incessant questioning. I find it refreshing—to a point. But in answer I must tell you of a very encouraging report I have received from Jerusalem.”
Tinius and the others looked at Pellecus with anticipation of hopeful news from the city they hated. Pellecus began:
“As you know, twice Nebuchadnezzar has entered Jerusalem to put down rebellious behavior. The first time he dealt with Jehoiakim, that Egyptian puppet who took the throne when Josiah was killed in battle. Nebuchadnezzar took many captives and brought them here to Babylon. Then he had to deal with Jehoiakin, who had replaced Jehoiakim. Again he moved in and took many captives. He then replaced the king with a man named Zedekiah, one of Josiah’s brothers. Now, it seems, this man is rumbling about rebellion against Nebuchadnezzar. This time when he moves in, I will make certain that the prophecies foretelling Jerusalem’s destruction will be fulfilled!”
“The problem is that with the captives he also brought the faith,” said Tinius. “These exiles are the nobles and the priests. They have brought it to Babylon with them and are organizing in secret meetings. I think it is dangerous!”
Pellecus nodded in agreement.
“True, the exiles are a bit of a challenge,” he said. “And yet I believe that faced with the luxury of Babylon and the purse of the king—who is willing to train them up in the culture and arts of Egypt in service to Babylon—most will be assimilated relatively calmly.” He scoffed and added, “They have been idolaters for years. This would simply make it official!”
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