Empathy for the Devil

by J R Forasteros

  Now the Strength did laugh, deep and joyful, though the Accuser’s joke had not been particularly funny. “Wine indeed! The humans are not all bad. Are they, my friends?” He paused. “But come, Accuser. You alone have spoken with The Name since he became flesh. Truly you are The Name’s favored son, though you are made and not begotten.” The Strength laughed as heartily as before, this time at his own wit.

  “I doubt very much my report will please The Name this day, Strength.”

  The Healer frowned. “You have come from testing him, yes? Did something happen? What is he like in person? Is he—much changed from before?”

  The Accuser frowned. “No. He’s not different. I mean, he is different—of course he’s different but—” The Accuser struggled for words. “He is The Name.”

  “It is time.”

  Before the Accuser could continue, the Incomparable strode past him toward the throne room. The three exchanged a wry look but said nothing else. They fell in behind the Incomparable, followed by their legions in tight ranks, wings furled.

  As they entered the throne room, a familiar awe eroded the Accuser’s worry. No matter how often he entered into The Name’s presence, no matter how many millennia since his first report, every moment he stood in the throne room he felt as though every atom of his being sang in perfect harmony with the whole of creation.

  The Favored flew around the throne, chanting as always, their great animal forms shifting constantly—now a lion, now an eagle, now a human. Below them, the Burning chanted a countermelody, deep and powerful. But the light of their flame paled in comparison to the dancing pulses of light emanating from the throne in a rainbow of color. The throne itself flickered with lightning, and shockwaves of thunder rippled through the air, booming harmony to the chanting of The Name’s angelic attendants. As the Accuser neared, he knelt, his gaze falling reverentially to the floor, a beautiful mosaic of gold and crystal.

  The Name called out, beginning the old ritual. “Hail, Accuser! Where have you come from?”

  The Accuser could hear the joy in The Name’s greeting, and his worry ebbed further. He replied, as always, “From roaming about on the earth. From circling it whole.”

  “Rise, Accuser,” The Name called. The Accuser complied and suddenly was at the foot of the throne, in the very seat of The Name. Welcome exuded palpably from The Name, a warm bath washing the dust of the earth from the Accuser’s thoughts.

  This was the moment for which the Accuser always longed—that feel of coming home, being washed clean, the stain of humanity rinsed away. No matter how far he traveled, no matter how foul the deeds to which he bore witness, to return and to kneel before The Name was to be renewed.

  The Name whispered to him in tones reserved for secret conspirators, for brothers and mischief-makers, “You have done well, Accuser. You have outshone yourself today.”

  “I was defeated. I failed you.” He knew his failure pleased The Name. The faithful are his favorite—not because they do what he says, though that is good, the Accuser thought. The Name revels in humans who possess the strength of character to resist their baser desires. The Name loves the contest, the victory hard-won. Perhaps he loves them because they are so rare.

  “We could not discern his vice,” he added. “The tests I prepared were not adequate. Next time I shall not fail.”

  The Name grinned, and his voice overflowed with delight. “Accuser, never has one of your tests been so carefully crafted, so perfectly tuned to human desire. That we did not fall is no failing of yours.”

  “I thought I had him. I was sure that atop that mountain, when he saw how easily he could have the world, he would fall. Power corrupts everyone, especially those born to be kings.”

  An old sadness diminished The Name’s smile, if only for a moment. “You are nearly right, Accuser. Power corrupts most. It is a most delicious fruit. But we know the price of unearned power. Still, you did well, my faithful servant.”

  The Accuser frowned. “I took responsibility for his testing myself and did not discern his vice. Even Job did not pass every test. I will think on this and try again. Jesus is human. He cannot but fail.”

  “No.” The Name voice was stern, woven through with joy and pride. “He is human. To be human is not to fail, but to soar. It is true, Adam’s children have fallen. But he is the new Adam. His sons and daughters will be what they always should have been. You have proven him ready for what is to come. Now he must begin. Watch, Accuser. Watch and be amazed.

  “Now, what of the rest?”

  As always, the Accuser began his report of Israel’s high priest. “Caiaphas is condemned for his pride, greed, and groveling. He licks the dust from Rome’s boot, fills his storehouses, and then spits on his own people, all the while promising it’s for their own good. Speaking of Rome, Pontius Pilate is condemned for his schemes and plots. Every person is a piece he moves about the board of his ambition. He loves only his wife.”

  At this, The Name smiled warmly. “Ah, Accuser, is his love for her not a thing of beauty? Would that it could be fanned into a fire that consumed his ambitions.”

  The Accuser frowned more deeply, but acquiesced. “Of course. A thing of beauty.” He continued his report, every name a son of Adam or daughter of Eve. Every name a carefully accounted condemnation of their sins prepared by his legions. From time to time, The Name interrupted to comment on this person or that, each comment a wistful hope. No matter how vile, how wicked those humans were, The Name seemed only to see the good in them.

  When the Accuser finished, The Name thanked him. “You do essential work, Accuser. Go with my love.” And with that, his audience was over, and the Accuser found himself kneeling again, warm with the light of The Name’s approval.

  The Name proclaimed loudly to the assembled legions, “Behold, the Accuser, my faithful servant. I am well pleased with him.”

  The Name called, “Hail, Strength. Where have you come from?” But the Accuser barely heard it, his thoughts already turned to Jesus.

  As the other archangels offered their reports and received their blessings, The Name’s words echoed in the Accuser’s mind: “He is the new Adam.” What game is The Name playing at now?

  AFTER THE RAISING OF LAZARUS

  The Accuser arrived to find the Healer and the Strength already talking excitedly together. When they saw the Accuser, they rushed to him. The Healer spoke first. “Four days Lazarus was in the grave, Accuser! Four days before The Name raised him! I have never seen such a thing. Even the widow’s son was not dead three days before Elijah raised him.”

  The Strength growled his admiration as well. “Truly Jesus is awesome to behold. The unclean spirits flee before him, though he wields no sword. And he instructs the sea as he did in Egypt—indeed as when he first stretched the firmament and shaped the lands.”

  The Accuser frowned at them. “Yes. Jesus is—formidable. But he is not cautious. His enemies weary of having their hypocrisy exposed before their fellows. They have begun to conspire together. He forgets that flesh is more vulnerable than deity.”

  The Strength laughed. “What need has The Name for caution?” He swept his arm behind them. “Can he not summon all my legions at a word?”

  The Incomparable strode in through the gates, his wings settling about his shoulders in a glowing cloak. He strode past, and the Healer rolled his eyes playfully. “Father has arrived; playtime is over, my brothers.”

  The archangels fell in behind the Incomparable and entered again into the throne room. The Accuser knelt and was summoned. “Hail, Accuser! Where have you come from?”

  “From roaming about on the earth. From circling it whole.”

  “Rise, Accuser,” The Name called. The Accuser complied, and in a moment he was in the midst of the throne. “Have you been watching, Accuser? Tell me what you see.”

  The Accuser related much the same report as he had given his compatriots. Everywhere Jesus went, life and flourishing followed. To trace his path was to trace crac
ks in the world through which The Name’s kingdom leaked.

  “But now he approaches Jerusalem. His enemies are numerous and powerful. Soon their hatred for him will overshadow their hatred for each other.”

  “Yes, all powers focus their gaze upon us. It is a heavy load to bear, Accuser.”

  “Can he—can you prevail? Your Twelve make for poor generals.”

  The Name laughed as deeply as the Strength ever did. “Accuser, always you tell the unpolished truth. Poor generals, you say?”

  The Accuser frowned at The Name’s mirth. “None of them is particularly intelligent. Nor are they charismatic—certainly not compared to Jesus himself. They are deeply flawed. Simon is condemned for his pride. His brother Andrew is condemned for his cowardice. Too often he will not speak up in the face of injustice—no surprise with a brother like Simon. The other two brothers are condemned for their wrath. Their tempers are as dry and fire-ready as kindling. Nathanael is condemned for faithlessness. He refuses to see good, even when it stares him in the face.”

  “Do you think so little of them all, Accuser?”

  “How long did it take them to see he is the Messiah? And only then because Jesus asked them directly, ‘Who do you say I am?’ And now they squabble like hens over seed for who will be at his right and left. But they are not prepared for Jerusalem. They’re village boys, not fit for the pits the city vipers haunt. Only Judas has any political savvy, and he is too pious by half to put it to any good use.” The Accuser dropped his gaze. “My apologies. I know you love them.”

  The Name did not chastise him. “I do love them, Accuser. And you are not wrong about them. But perhaps you are blind to the good in them. They do not see yet, either. But they will soon. Soon everything will change.”

  “I know the kingdom is coming. But I cannot see how your Twelve can accomplish it. They are weak and divided. Does not your temple require righteous pillars? The house Jesus builds needs but the slightest breeze to bring it crashing down.”

  “Now, more than ever, Accuser, I need you. Do not fail me. Do not shrink from your testing, no matter the cost.”

  The Accuser straightened his back and shook his wings. “Never. I am yours.”

  “I know, my son. Now finish your accusations.”

  AFTER THE CRUCIFIXION

  The Accuser staggered into the portico outside the throne room. He had not waited for his legions to assemble. He did not see whether his compatriots had arrived. He took no notice of the Favored walking in small, aimless circles, nor did he note that the only light came from the Burning. The Burning did not chant, and the void of their voices swallowed the last of the Accuser’s hopes.

  The Accuser saw only that the great doors to the throne room were closed. The Incomparable stood at the doors, a stone-faced sentry, massive arms folded across his chest. The Accuser had not known the great doors could be closed; they never had been in the long eons of his existence. The Accuser half ran, half flew to the doors, only to be barred by the Incomparable’s strong arm.

  “The throne room is closed, Accuser.”

  “I have to see him, Incomparable. Get out of the way.”

  “The throne room is closed.”

  “Why are the doors closed?” he shouted. “Where is The Name? What is the meaning of this?”

  “The throne room—”

  Before the Incomparable could finish, the Strength crashed into the portico, lightning made flesh. His legions followed like a spring flood.

  “Accuser!” he thundered. “What have you done?” His voice held no joy, no mirth, no trace of laughter. Only rage. In an instant he stood before them and grabbed the Accuser’s robes. Effortlessly he threw the Accuser against the doors of the throne room. “How could you?”

  The Accuser couldn’t speak. He had witnessed the Strength’s great fury—they all had—but he had never been the recipient, and it was fearsome indeed. As the Accuser struggled to marshal his thoughts, the Incomparable’s massive hand fell on the Strength’s shoulder.

  “You forget yourself, Strength,” the Incomparable said. “There will be no violence in this place. Not among our brothers.”

  The Strength turned his wild eyes up to the Incomparable’s passive visage. “Have you not heard, Incomparable? Jesus is dead. Dead. It was this one”—the Strength spat at the Accuser—“who arranged his death. He united Jesus’ enemies against him. He enticed one of the Twelve to betray Jesus to them and another to flee his trial rather than give testimony. He ensured Pilate ignored his wife’s vision. He persuaded the people of Jerusalem to call for his blood. At every turn, it was this scourge who enticed and plotted and schemed so that Jesus is even now being prepared for burial.

  “Tell me, Accuser, Betrayer of your maker, God-killer—tell me why I should not pull my sword now and send you to the abyss to dwell with the unclean spirits?”

  The Accuser stammered, mind still reeling. “I—I only did—The Name commanded—I did as I was instructed.”

  The Incomparable rumbled agreement. “We all heard that, Strength. The Name told him to test the Twelve, to test the leaders and the people of Jerusalem, to test Pilate. The Accuser did as his maker ordered. What of you?”

  At that, the Strength sagged, releasing the Accuser and falling to his knees. He began to tear his robes in grief. “Every angel in my legion stood ready. Such a host has not been assembled since we sang of his birth. I prayed with him in the garden. I cheered when Simon attacked the guards. I followed him to his trial. When they began to beat him, I watched and waited for his command. As he was paraded through the streets, I walked every step with him, begging him to call on us. When they nailed him to the cross, when they raised him up, I and all my legions waited.

  “I watched him die, all the while waiting for him to call us down.” The Strength wept openly, and his grief rippled throughout the gathered legions, who all began to tear their robes and wail with him. Their grief touched even the Favored and the Burning, who finally raised their voices as well.

  The Strength’s condemnation rang in the Accuser’s ears. “Betrayer of your maker. God-killer.” He found himself shouting above the din of mourning. “I told him. I warned The Name that the humans could not be trusted.” Someone tried to shush him, but he turned on his peers. “No. Listen to me. I will not shoulder this burden.

  “You do not have to walk among them. You do not know their wickedness. Always when I condemn them, The Name makes excuses for them—insists I do not see the goodness in them. But there is no goodness left in them. Their sin has rotted them to the core. They deserve judgment. They deserve condemnation.

  “The Name refused to heed me. Instead he became one of them, and he insisted I test them. So test them I did. I whispered in their ears, manipulated their desires, played on their fear. Even when they threatened Jesus himself, I did this because—unlike them—I will be what I was made to be. I will be faithful to The Name.

  “You dare call me God-killer, Strength, you who stood by, sword in sheath, as he died? If I am guilty, so are you.

  “But we are not the God-killers. It is them—his beloved humans. Do you think my tests were difficult? I assure you they were not. Do you think I had to whisper long to Caiaphas before he decided one life was worth the security of his people? Or to Pilate that no one would miss one more pretender king? They are all so filled with evil, they hardly need my help to find sin. They chase after it.

  “How much better had The Name never formed Adam from the clay! How much better had Noah never built his ark, and humanity was washed from the earth! They to whom he shows endless mercy are the God-killers. They who break his covenants again and again are the betrayers of their maker.”

  The portico had fallen silent before his rage. The Accuser unfurled his wings. “Save your condemnations. I am a good son, a faithful servant.”

  With that, the Accuser fled the portico. He gave no thought to where he would go, but only to what he fled.

  AFTER THE ASCENSION

 
The Accuser landed hard on the portico, and his legions swooped in, close and tight behind him. He stalked past the Healer and the Strength, ignoring their shouts of greeting. The doors stood wide open once more. So it was true.

  The Favored again flew about the throne, chanting in counterpoint to the Burning below. The rainbow surrounding the throne gleamed brighter than ever, and the lightning and thunder crashed and rumbled. The Spirit’s flame danced all around the throne, among the chanting hosts. The Name was seated on the throne. Jesus was there too, again, yet not as before. The Accuser recognized his human body, and even from there could see the wounds of his crucifixion marking his hands. Scars from thorns marked a halo on his head.

  The Accuser marched toward the throne, so intent on his purpose he missed the legions upon legions; he did not hear their song. The Accuser did not kneel, but before he was even halfway to the throne, he found himself caught up as if for an audience. Suddenly he was in the midst of the throne, with The Name and the Lamb, the Spirit’s fiery tongues dancing in circles around them.

  They spoke as one, their voices a beautiful harmony. “Hail, Accuser! Where have you come from?” Their words stirred a love in the Accuser he quickly smothered beneath his mighty anger. He spat, “From roaming about on the earth. From circling it whole. I have brought a list of sinners who stand guilty before you.”

  “You have done well, my good and faithful servant, as always. I am proud of you.”

  The Accuser barely heard The Name’s accolades. “Simon son of Jonah stands condemned. He disavowed you.”

  The Name smiled, and Jesus spoke. “There is no condemnation for Peter. I have forgiven him.”

  “James and John stand condemned. Andrew and Nathanael. Bartholomew. All the Twelve stand condemned. They abandoned you to death. They are faithless.”

  Jesus spoke again, his voice warm and kind. “There is no condemnation for the others. I have forgiven them.”

  “Caiaphas, high priest of Israel, stands condemned for conspiracy, collusion, and bearing false witness against the Messiah. Pilate, governor of Judea, emissary of Tiberius, Caesar of Rome, stands condemned for abuse of his position, for exploiting the poor, for idolatry. Herod Antipas stands condemned for taking the wife of his brother, for failing to keep the way of his people.”