fact of the matter. Humans can swing at us all the livelong day, but you cannot actually touch us. The only warfare weapon you have against us it to entreat God to dispatch the warring heavenly angels against us on your behalf. Fortunately for us, most of you never figure it out. Demons have extraordinary strength and are cunning and invisible. You humans are weak by comparison, not all that bright in my observation, and clearly visible. What kind of contest is that? Unless God has some idea of a better line of defense for you somewhere down the road, you cannot possibly win. Tell the truth—at least some of you from time to time must have thought that God set you up for failure. Certainly Satan has tried telling you that for years.
I stood beside Moses, scrunched my eyes shut, and pretended I had no supernatural powers, could not fly, and was made of flesh and blood. Then I opened my eyes and beheld Karnak, the city of the pharaohs. I have to tell you it was impressive. Although it was built entirely by humans, the temples, the architecture, the sheer grandeur of it all almost overwhelmed me, and I had the perspective of paradise to compare it with.
Then I looked at Moses. Five feet eight inches tall—five-nine tops—one hundred sixty pounds more or less, weathered skin of a shepherd, and long gray beard and hair of one who has fought the desert all his life. Not all that impressive. Certainly he didn’t look like a man in search of a midlife career change. I wondered if he felt as small as he looked.
He stood there a long time staring at the city. At a minimum he must have been reevaluating the whole idea. I wondered if he was thinking how this would be a good time to turn back before anybody realized he was back in town. God had appeared in the earth realm as a burning bush and declared him to be the deliverer of Israel. So, what of it? No one else saw it, and no one else would ever have to know, save those few elders he talked with, and who really cared what they thought about anything?
Moses continued staring at Karnak, and I continued staring at Moses. I couldn’t figure it out. Why would Moses at eighty years old, a person who had escaped death and slavery and had ended up in a desert oasis with a pretty good life, care anything at all about what happened to the humans who remained in bondage in Egypt? I don’t get that about you people. Why do you humans care about the sufferings of other humans? More than that, what motivates you to try to do something about it?
Here’s how I would have handled the whole situation. If I’d been Moses and God showed up to tell me how the sufferings of the slaves were of concern to Him, I would have suggested to God—very respectfully, you understand—that He go get them Himself or at least send a SWAT team of angels to do it. I would have pointed out the logistical nightmare of what He was proposing. Here’s what I would’ve said:
“So, sovereign Lord, let me see if I heard You right. You want me to lead two million Hebrews into the desert to have a party and worship You, and Pharaoh is going to go right along with the whole idea. I can see how You are about worship and all that, but say, did You have some sort of follow-up plans for after the prayer meeting? Or were You thinking all the AWOL slaves and I would just wing it after that? Where did You say this Promised Land is, and how many demonized tribes are already living there? Of course, You’re probably planning to have them surrender to us when we get to the border, right?
“That’s only fair if Your idea is to send me into the middle of them with just the slaves, who, I might point out, make a lousy conquering army. Why don’t we just sleep on this tonight and see how we feel about it tomorrow?”
Yes, that’s what I would have said. I looked to see if Moses might be thinking the same thing, but he was gone.
He was halfway to the city gate by the time I caught up with him again. I thought about going
I stood beside Moses, scrunched my eyes shut, and pretended I had no supernatural powers, could not fly, and was made of flesh and blood. Then I opened my eyes and beheld Karnak, the city of the pharaohs. I have to tell you it was impressive. Although it was built entirely by humans, the temples, the architecture, the sheer grandeur of it all almost overwhelmed me, and I had the perspective of paradise to compare it with.
Then I looked at Moses. Five feet eight inches tall—five-nine tops—one hundred sixty pounds more or less, weathered skin of a shepherd, and long gray beard and hair of one who has fought the desert all his life. Not all that impressive. Certainly he didn’t look like a man in search of a midlife career change. I wondered if he felt as small as he looked.
He stood there a long time staring at the city. At a minimum he must have been reevaluating the whole idea. I wondered if he was thinking how this would be a good time to turn back before anybody realized he was back in town. God had appeared in the earth realm as a burning bush and declared him to be the deliverer of Israel. So, what of it? No one else saw it, and no one else would ever have to know, save those few elders he talked with, and who really cared what they thought about anything?
Moses continued staring at Karnak, and I continued staring at Moses. I couldn’t figure it out. Why would Moses at eighty years old, a person who had escaped death and slavery and had ended up in a desert oasis with a pretty good life, care anything at all about what happened to the humans who remained in bondage in Egypt? I don’t get that about you people. Why do you humans care about the sufferings of other humans? More than that, what motivates you to try to do something about it?
Here’s how I would have handled the whole situation. If I’d been Moses and God showed up to tell me how the sufferings of the slaves were of concern to Him, I would have suggested to God—very respectfully, you understand—that He go get them Himself or at least send a SWAT team of angels to do it. I would have pointed out the logistical nightmare of what He was proposing. Here’s what I would’ve said:
“So, sovereign Lord, let me see if I heard You right. You want me to lead two million Hebrews into the desert to have a party and worship You, and Pharaoh is going to go right along with the whole idea. I can see how You are about worship and all that, but say, did You have some sort of follow-up plans for after the prayer meeting? Or were You thinking all the AWOL slaves and I would just wing it after that? Where did You say this Promised Land is, and how many demonized tribes are already living there? Of course, You’re probably planning to have them surrender to us when we get to the border, right?
“That’s only fair if Your idea is to send me into the middle of them with just the slaves, who, I might point out, make a lousy conquering army. Why don’t we just sleep on this tonight and see how we feel about it tomorrow?”
Yes, that’s what I would have said. I looked to see if Moses might be thinking the same thing, but he was gone.
He was halfway to the city gate by the time I caught up with him again. I thought about going
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