*Note: Although I understand that this post MIGHT fit into the short story category, I felt it would fit better here...because my goal isn't to JUST to immerse you into the account...it's to encourage anyone who felt the same way I did.
(There are times when a set of scriptures simply doesn't fully open up UNTIL I put it into the format of a story...and this was one of those times.
Isaiah 46 has been on my mind quite a bit lately...not because I came to some huge personal "revelation" about it...but simply because the opening verses came up in a portion of my personal study, and for the first time in quite a while...they sort of sprang to life in my brain... and this is what eventually came out:
Babylon woke with a strange trembling that morning. Not from marching armies, but from inside the city itself...from the temples, from the priests...from the sudden panic spreading through people like tiny cracks through stone.
And then suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere...the two weary, worn out Israelite men emerged from a dirt path they had been walking into a small clearing and stumbled onto a scene that filled them with equal parts fascination and horror:
The great idols of Babylon...life‑sized, rigid, plated with gold and silver, crowned with horns...dragged out of their temples in desperation amidst a wash of moaning onlookers wailing and beating their chests.
Bel’s massive form swayed as priests tried to strap him onto an ox that could barely stand beneath him. Nebo’s wooden body lurched awkwardly on the back of a donkey, its legs trembling under the weight...both animals bellowing in protest under the massive amount of weight being thrust upon their backs.
The animals staggered...the idols sagged and slumped over, helpless and unaware...and the priests, well the priests just continued to scream and shout orders in growing anger and frustration as the humiliating task grew harder and harder.
All the while the Israelites stood there, silent, watching the gods that had once towered over their captivity...become pathetic burdens the moment their own "life" grew heavy.
It was such a strange sight...so pathetic and humiliating, so opposite of everything Babylon projected...that it suddenly brought the prophet's words to mind.
You see, Isaiah had spoken of this day.
He had said these gods would be loaded onto animals, unable to rescue themselves, carried away like cargo.
Beside the clearing, one of the weary Israelite exiles shook his head in disgust and rubbed his aching shoulders, his voice thick with contempt as he glanced at his companion. "Look at them sweat. It takes a whole city just to keep their "protectors" from face-planting into the mud."
Then...pausing suddenly, he sighed heavily...looked down at the ground and ground one toe into the dirt in frustration. "But honestly? Some days, I feel just like those priests. This exile has been SO LONG. No more temple...no more homeland...sometimes I feel like if I don't push harder, if I don't strain every muscle, my spirituality is going to...to just fall apart. Like I'M the one carrying this relationship with Jehovah on MY back."
The older exile next to him watched as an ox buckled under Bel’s golden frame, it's bellows growing louder, more panicked as the priests screams rose and fell in the distance.
He turned, placing a firm hand on his friend's shoulder.
"Look closer, brother," the older man said gently, urging his brothers face upwards, back to the scene playing out before them. "What you're describing is THEIR religion, not ours."
He paused, staring deep into his brothers eyes. "That is Babylon's illusion. False gods have ALWAYS needed to be carried, there's no mystery in that!"
He pointed to the straining animals. "But do you remember what Isaiah said about Jehovah? He doesn't ask us to haul him through the dust. REMEMBER Isaiah's words, my brother:
"He said, 'Until you grow old, I am the same. Until your hair is gray, I will bear you. I have done it, I will carry, I will bear, and I will rescue.'"
The younger man nodded in agreement...but just then, both men's attention was diverted as the ox collapsed and Bel's massive idol lurched sideways, crashing into the dirt as the priests scrambled in a panicked frenzy to get the bulging eyed, frothy mouthed animal back to it's feet. Whips cracked against the animals back...priests thrashed about as they cried out for more ropes...more servants...more HELP!!
Shaking their heads in sadness...the two exiles turned away from the horrifying display and began to walk back down the dirt path, away from the sights and sounds of Babylon beginning to fall apart around them...and Isaiah's words ringing in both of their ears.
True, their circumstances hadn't changed...the walls of Babylon were still standing...and their knowledge of what was coming may be incomplete...but their understanding of Jehovah had just shifted.
They were not the ones carrying their spirituality through the exile...and they never had been.
Both men suddenly understood one fact: Jehovah had ALWAYS been the one carrying them.