TAKEN--A Metaphysical Fantasy Audio Drama

DIVIDED: #20 - The Queen and The Sacrifice

May 06, 2021 V. Morrow Season 2 Episode 20
TAKEN--A Metaphysical Fantasy Audio Drama
DIVIDED: #20 - The Queen and The Sacrifice
Show Notes Transcript

SET YOUR MIND on things above with TAKEN--A Metaphysical Fantasy Audio Drama. AND NOW the ADVENTURE CONTINUES with DIVIDED--The Days of Peleg.

Bow to the Image! Has the whole world gone mad? Or is there something wrong with a statue that speaks and the giant man who makes the people worship it? Peleg is virtually alone in his misgivings. Meanwhile, all the rest of Shinar follows the mighty hunter Nimrod in building a Tower to reach the gates of heaven and even the Ancient One Himself. Could the mysterious encounters and cruel whispers heard since the Tower Temple's construction lead to something good? To Peleg the matter is simple, find someone who remembers the truth, someone who still hears The Voice—before it's too late. So, Peleg embarks on a journey to learn the secrets his great ancestors Methuselah and Enoch knew. Little does Peleg realize, Enoch—the very one, taken so long ago to a dimension outside space and time—and his son Methuselah are both working just as fervently toward the same goal. With the aid of a wise, old King, the tales from the stones, and the "knowing" that burns, Peleg may be mankind's only hope to stop the darkness descending from the Tower. Never again will a Flood destroy the earth, the Ancient One promised—next time it will be Fire!

Also please check back for upcoming chapters on this Podcast channel. 


Remember, “Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, Nor have entered into the heart of man, The things which God has prepared for those who love Him.”  PLEASE share this UPLIFTING READ with your friends and get ready to SOAR. THANK YOU AGAIN FOR LISTENING and MAY THE FAVOR OF THE ANCIENT ONE BE ON YOU.
 Want to know the Beloved? – Visit - https://youtu.be/Bn4M7t69mB4

Chapter 20 – The Queen and the Sacrifice


Methuselah’s Time: Location—Seti of Seth, Adamah. First Dimension.

“There is no way I am letting you go back there!” Methuselah said. “It is my fault this happened in the first place. I never should have left you alone.” Methuselah paced back and forth outside Father Seth’s abode, while he and Tiph’arah waited for the Council’s decision.

Tiph’arah cleaned all her blades, knives, arrows, and an assortment of other sharp objects to calm herself while the Council deliberated on whether Methuselah should take his father’s place as Bearer of the Seed. The debate was heated. The wall separating them from the Elders was thin—

“Why did he not kill it when he had the chance?” one argued.

“From the sound of it, he was outnumbered and surrounded,” another responded.

“Would not the Bearer know in advance to take a group of men?” 

“The Bearer of the Seed is chosen by the One Mind, but he is not the Seed. He is still a man, and still fallible.”

“If he was the bearer, surely, he would have known that Mother Eve’s garment was to be protected at all costs, regardless of who was wearing it?”


“Did you hear that?” Methuselah stepped away from the door. “Even the Council sees my folly.”

“This is not your fault,” Tiph’arah said. “Mother Eve warned me that the fallen wanted it. I do not know what came over me. I was so confused when Tubal-Cain asked me for the garment. It was like I could not remember what was right and what was wrong. It seemed like a reasonable request. Giving him the garment seemed like the right thing to do—until I did it.”

“Tis’ devilry is what it is,” Methuselah said. “We have not encountered this type of attack before.” He stopped pacing and pressed his ear to the door again to hear more.

“I felt the confusion too, Tiph’arah,” Methuselah said quietly. “The fallen even have the ability to sway the mind. The Voice of the One Mind warned me repeatedly to focus on killing the giant-child-thing, but I was distracted when I needed to focus the most.”

“So, what is to be done now?” Tiph’arah said. “From what I hear, Naamah the ‘goddess’ is heavily guarded and so is that giant Zin.”

“We learn from our mistakes and regroup,” Methuselah said. He felt the fire return. It burned within him, this time giving him wisdom. “If the enemy can confuse us. Then perhaps we can confuse the enemy. I will just ask Naamah to give the garment back. After all, greater is He who is with us, than those fallen ones in this world.” 

Tiph’arah smiled. “Now you are sounding like Enoch.”


Methuselah’s Time: Location—Seti of Nod, The Queen’s Seat at El Tevah, Adamah, First Dimension.

Naamah yawned in the heavy wooden chair, stretching her legs. “Semjaza, must we sit here much longer?” She tossed her long dark tresses over one shoulder. “I do tire of this.”

“My darling, it is your duty,” Semjaza reminded her. “You are like a queen to these people now. Your presence here reminds them of the blessing of their covenant with the B’Nai Elohim.” Semjaza gave her hand a reassuring pat. “Come now, they dote on your every word.” 

They sat on the platform at El Tevah in two chairs nestled between the two main pillars. Behind them stood, Zin—content to busy himself with carving intricate images into the wooden pillars—for now. 

Naamah squirmed in her chair, shifting her body weight to distract herself from the burning sensation. “Semjaza, do I have to wear this garment? It is most uncomfortable.”

Semjaza studied her flushed face. “You must wear it!” he answered sharply. 

Tears welled up in Naamah’s eyes.

“Come now,” Semjaza said in a softer tone, “You must keep it on until your full strength has returned. The essence needs time to work. You would not want to go back now, would you?”

Before Naamah could respond, Semjaza was already speaking with some craftsmen about enhancing the former Elders’ Seat at El Tevah. Now that the B’Nai Elohim would be ruling in the Council’s stead, the building would have to reflect the grandeur they were accustomed to. With Semjaza busy, Naamah decided to focus on Zin. Distraction helped take her mind off the constant pain from the garment.

Naamah peered over the back of her chair to gaze at Zin’s work. “That is rather good, Zin,” she called out. “We must get you more wood to carve.” He had perfectly carved her and Semjaza’s likeness into the wooden poles. Now he was adding images of the Watchers as well. At the top of each pole, he whittled a likeness of his own head, so each pillar looked like the giant himself, minus the arms and legs. 

Zin nodded and bared his teeth in a smile.

Naamah stretched her legs and squirmed in her seat. The weight of the garment was becoming unbearable. It was hot and felt as if it was burning her skin. Oh, if I could just take it off for a little while.

Naamah looked at the long line of people waiting patiently in front of the platform. A group of men came with caged animals in exchange for tools, weapons, and strange mixtures from Semjaza. They even brought gifts in exchange for the use of Zin’s brute strength.

“My darling, goddess,” Semjaza said. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “This negotiation may take a while. Can you manage on your own?”

“No, I—” Naamah was about to refuse, when a sharp pain like pins and needles pricked her skin. The pain made her pause. She smiled and said, “Of course, I can. Take your time.” The words seemed to come out of her mouth of their own volition. This happened whenever she tried to do anything on her own, like talk to Mother Zillah or say a kind remark. She wondered again about that dark dream, about that dark lord, about the knife, the oath, and the blood from her hand. It must have been a dream. Here I am alive and well. Tis’ too much sun is all.

Semjaza and Zin left the platform and followed the men to a large shed to discuss the exchange further.

Naamah felt her irritation grow. Dozens of expecting mothers stood, toting platters in their arms, waiting for a touch from her, a blessing that would keep them alive during the birthing of their childling. 

“For you my goddess,” the next young woman said, almost dropping the heavy plate at her feet. “A touch for my well-being is all.”

“Indeed, all is well,” Naamah said absently. She rolled her eyes. “May your labor be fruitful.”

The young woman bowed, but as she was placing her tray on the table, Naamah stuck her foot out and tripped the young mother-to-be. The contents spilled across the platform and down the steps. The young woman hobbled to pick them up quickly. She was not fast enough. The produce burst causing the juice to ooze down the stone steps. The bread fell into a patch of mud.

“Oh my!” Naamah said, with feigned concern. “How horrible! I am not sure that a spoiled offering will bless your labors.”

The young woman just nodded. Tears brimmed up in her eyes. She muffled a sob as she scurried out of the way.

Naamah laughed. It was good to laugh. These little pranks were the only thing that brought joy without pain now.

“Well, this is quite a set up you have here,” a familiar lilting voice said. 

“Tiph’arah, my dear friend,” Naamah said smiling brightly, “How sweet of you to come and see me. And just what is it you are seeking?”

“Why, I be seeking my garment back,” Tiph’arah said, as sweetly as she could. “You have so many gifts of skins here, you could not possibly need to borrow mine any longer.”

“Greetings, Naamah,” Methuselah interrupted, stepping from behind Tiph’arah. “I am truly glad to see you looking so well.” 

Naamah was glad to ignore Tiph’arah and focus on the handsome fellow. “And I am glad to see you looking, Methuselah,” Naamah said. She smiled brightly. Her eyes fluttered, making her long lashes stand out even more. “Or shall I call you Bearer now? Semjaza tells me you have taken your father’s place, no?” She stood up from her wooden chair. Her long dark hair cascaded around her face and the garment clung to her form. “You are all dismissed,” she said casually. She held a firm hand up to the line. “It is time for a repast. We will resume after sun’s peak.”

Naamah brushed past Tiph’arah without a word and took Methuselah’s arm into her own.

Tiph’arah rolled her eyes and followed behind the two of them past the guards. Since they were with Naamah, she and Methuselah had no problem getting past them.

“I for one am glad that you are head of the sons of Seth,” Naamah said. “I have always admired your skill as a tracker.” Naamah walked with him arm in arm toward the tent on the raised platform. Her tone was as sultry as the mid-day sun. She ushered him inside. “Your father Enoch would surely be proud of your accomplishments. I am sorry to hear he is missing.” 

Naamah led him toward a low table. “But now we all have a chance to benefit from your wisdom and perhaps renew close relations with your tribe.”

Methuselah took a step back. He had been expecting defenses—not charm. The familiar fire stirred inside him. The Voice spoke: Say what I say. 

“Shall we dine?” Naamah asked sweetly, noticing his hesitation.

“That would be most kind,” Methuselah said, “Tiph’arah and I have had a tiresome journey.”

“Of course,” Naamah said coolly. “I will serve—” She stopped and winced.

“Are you okay?” Methuselah asked. “I hope our arrival did not inconvenience you.”

“I am fine,” Naamah said. She hesitated and then looked over her shoulder toward the door. She answered in almost a whisper. “It is just this garment,” she said. Naamah gripped Methuselah’s arm as he gently helped her to the table. “The garment is quite uncomfortable.” This time Naamah’s knees buckled, and she almost lost her balance.

Tiph’arah stepped forward too, grabbing Naamah’s other arm. She opened her mouth.

Methuselah silenced her with one look.

“Oh?” Methuselah asked casually. “How so?”

“Well,” Naamah said, glancing again at the door, “It is just so prickly,” she spoke quickly and quietly, “It feels as if I am wearing a blanket of pins and needles. For truth, I do not see how Mother Eve could bear it all these years.”

“Indeed, how unusual,” Methuselah said. He unlaced his water skin from his side and handed Naamah the pouch. “Take a bit of this alroue tonic,” Methuselah said, “it may soothe your discomfort.”

Naamah did not hesitate. She clutched the pouch with both hands and gulped the liquid down as fast as she could. 

Suddenly, Naamah doubled over. “It burns!” she threw the pouch down and spat the liquid out. “Oh, it burns!” she sobbed and rocked back and forth from the pain.

Tiph’arah came to Naamah’s side quickly and held her while she rocked back and forth. “Methuselah do something!” Tiph’arah said. “Go get Medici Yabbesheth—”

“No, no,” Naamah said urgently, as she looked toward the door. “Do not do it. I feel—I feel better.” Her flushed face returned to its normal tone. Her eyes were calm and as deep as the River Gihon. She smiled at Tiph’arah. “I feel much better now that you are here.”

Tiph’arah smiled back. “Now you are the Naamah I remember,” Tiph’arah said, examining her eyes closely. “My friend, I am glad to have you back.”

“Truly, I am glad to be back from that dreadful place and the horrible whispers,” Naamah said. Tears flowed down her face as she continued. “Please stay here.” She clutched Tiph’arah’s arm. “When you touch the garment—the pain goes away—” Naamah struggled to continue. Her voice came out as if she were gasping for air. “I—I can say what I want now—and do what I want—when you are near.”

Methuselah felt the fire again in the pit of his stomach as he watched the two friends talk. The Voice spoke again: Open your mouth. Say what I say.

Methuselah did not know what else to do. He looked toward the door too. Semjaza and the other Watchers would surely come looking for Naamah soon. This might be his only chance.

Methuselah opened his mouth. “Naamah, you can trust us,” Methuselah said. He continued, surprised at his gracious tone. “We can help you.” Methuselah hesitated as he waited for the next words. None came. So, he opened his mouth again. Words tumbled out. “You are bearing the heavy weight of Mother Eve’s trespass,” he said. “This garment was made by the Ancient One to cover her rebellion. Yet, you have not repented of your sins, nor have you offered a sacrifice for them. The garment from the Hidden Father is prolonging your life because life is in the garment. But, since you have no right to wear that garment, it torments you. The garment can only be worn by someone whose sins have been atoned for by sacrifice.”

Naamah cried more and clutched her arms to her chest. “It hurts here—it burns.”

Tiph’arah placed a hand over Naamah’s heart.

Naamah sighed. She spoke once more, “I dreamed—I remember making a vow to someone when I was gone—I swore I would serve him—I did not really mean it—I just wanted to get out of that horrible place.”

“What place?” Methuselah kept the question to himself, knowing that it would be difficult for Naamah to talk much. He felt helpless watching her writhe in pain. This reminded him of his dream. In his dream he saw Naamah burning and screaming in pain. He opened his mouth again. More words came to his rescue. “Naamah, the Hidden Father loves you. You need not go to that place of torment. Sheol was not created for you.”

Naamah winced again when he spoke those words. Tiph’arah wrapped both her arms around Naamah so that she touched the garment in as many places as possible. Naamah sighed and relaxed a little.

Methuselah continued, “No matter what kind of oath you made to that Wicked One, it can be renounced by the power of the Ancient One who created you. He has made provision for your redemption since before our world began.”

Naamah was struggling to focus on his words. Her voice trembled as she spoke, “What must I do?”

“Do what Father Adam taught,” Methuselah said simply, “Repent of your wrong-doing. Return the garment to me and bring me an acceptable sacrifice like that of Able. Then, as Bearer of the Seed, I will offer it on the altar of fire for your sins.”

Naamah cried out and clutched her side to ease the pain. She spoke “What—what is the acceptable sacrifice? I—cannot remember.”

“You must bring a spotless lamb without blemish. The lamb should be the best you can find.”

“I do not know if we have any lambs left. Zin—Zin is eating a great deal of our livestock. I—I would have to ask Semjaza for one.”

Tiph’arah shook her head vehemently. “No, Naamah,” Tiph’arah said, rocking her as she spoke. “There is no need to trouble Semjaza. I can get a lamb for you. You can give me some grain in exchange for it. Would you like me to do that?”

“Well—I think I would,” Naamah said. She cried out again. She was starting to shake from the pain. “The garment—it burns so.”

“There is one more thing I must tell you,” Methuselah said, as he obeyed the urging of the Voice. “Once the garment is removed, you will die.”

Naamah eyes grew wide. “No—no—I cannot go back there. I want to stay here—I want to live—”

“Naamah,” Methuselah said, with an authority beyond him, “You will go to Paradise, a place of peace and protection inside Sheol and rest with Father Adam and Mother Eve. The Wicked One will not be able to harm you there.”

Naamah relaxed. There was a glimmer of hope in her eyes again.

“But you must repent and return the garment,” Methuselah said.

Naamah furrowed her brow and squeezed her eyes shut. Methuselah could not tell if she was in deep thought or great pain. 

“Would you like me to offer the sacrifice for you?” Methuselah asked.

Naamah’s eyes rolled in their sockets.

“Naamah!” Tiph’arah said, shaking her roughly. “Can you hear us?”

“I can hear you.” Naamah was trembling.

Methuselah asked Naamah the question again. “Would you like me to offer the sacrifice for you?”

Naamah was about to answer when there was movement at the entrance of the tent.

Naamah’s entire body tensed. “Semjaza?” she asked. Her voice was weak. “Is that you?”

“Oh, many pardons honored ones,” a ruddy young boy said, as he stumbled through the doorway. “I did not mean to disturb. I was bringing livestock to Captain Semjaza for Zin.” He tried to back out and bow at the same time. “I thought he was in here. I am most sorry.”

“Young lad, wait!” Methuselah called out. The fire burned strong within him. 

“Yes, my lord?” The boy hesitated.

“Would you happen to have any young sheep among your animals for trade?” Methuselah asked.

The boy’s eyes widened. “Indeed, I do,” the young man said. “I have some of our best right here. I was hoping to make a trade today. I can bring it round if you would like.”

“Naamah, what say you?” Methuselah waited for her answer, praying. “Shall he bring it round?”

The boy chattered with excitement. “I have nothing but the best here for the goddess,” the young man said as he bowed low. “I have even brought beautiful flowers and our best produce for our Divine Mother.” 

“Naamah—see how he adores you. You are Divine—a goddess among women,” something whispered.

Another raspy voice added, “Yes, a goddess indeed. You will be honored for all time.” 

“These two want to steal that away from you,” the first voice hissed.

More voices spoke now. 

“Do not listen to them.”

“Tell them to go away.” 

Their voices mingled together, ranting, and raving nonstop. “That woman is just jealous of you—she wants to steal your glory—she is jealous that you are the Divine and she is not—”

Suddenly Naamah sat up. 

Tiph’arah almost tumbled over from the abrupt movement.

Naamah shook her head and stood to her feet. “Thank you, my son,” Naamah said graciously. Her tone was smooth and solid. “I appreciate your kind offering. But my stores are full right now. I will call for you when the need arises.”

“Are you sure, my lady?” the young boy asked, “Tis’ no trouble for me at all. I would be more than happy to—”

“No,” Naamah held her palm up, dismissing him. “That is all for now.”

“Very well then.” The boy’s shoulders drooped as headed for the door. “A very blessed day to you.” 

Naamah sauntered over to a table with various grooming tools on it. She picked up one and began brushing her hair. She completely ignored them, moving fluidly about the room as if she had never had a twinge of pain in her life.

Tiph’arah glared at Methuselah and silently mouthed the words, “Do something!”

After a few moments, Methuselah finally spoke, “Well I suppose we should be on our way as well.” The fire flowed through him and spoke again: “Ask her again.”

“I can offer the sacrifice for you before I leave,” Methuselah said. “I can find the boy and bring one of his lambs back.”

“I will stay with you, Naamah,” Tiph’arah added, “so you will not be alone.”

Naamah stopped brushing her hair, winced, and shook her head again. “I will think about it,” she said finally.

“Very well.” Methuselah sighed, not knowing what else to say. He opened his mouth, surprised at the wisdom that came forth. “Only do not delay much longer. Just know this. No matter what that Wicked One promised you. He is a liar. He always was and always will be—a liar.”

Naamah dropped her brush. Her eyes grew wide again. “Perhaps I should—”

“Naamah, my darling!” Semjaza threw back the folds of the tent, glaring at Methuselah and Tiph’arah. “What is going on here?” He rushed to Naamah’s side. “Are you hiding, my little goddess?”

“Not at all, my love,” Naamah said, trying not to wince from the pain. “These two old friends were just paying their respects and bringing greetings from the tribe of Seth.”

“I see,” Semjaza said. “It is time to say farewell to your old friends. You should be out there greeting your subjects. The line grows long and the day shorter as we speak.”

“Of course, my love,” Naamah allowed Semjaza to escort her from the tent.

Semjaza glanced over his shoulder and smirked. “You two can show yourselves out.”


“Well, that’s showing her,” Tiph’arah said, as they walked along the path to Medici Yabbesheth’s abode. “I thought you were going to just take the garment back if she was not willing to return it.”

“Tiph’arah,” Methuselah said, “I am the Bearer of the Seed now. I do not do my own will, but I do the will of the One who chose me.”

Tiph’arah was silent. They both walked without speaking for a time.

“Methuselah, I am sorry.” Tiph’arah finally broke the awkward silence. “I did not mean to criticize you. If it had not been for you, we probably would never have been able to speak with Naamah alone. For a moment, I really thought she was going to give you the garment.”

“So, did I. Now we will have to move to the other option.”

“What is that?” Tiph’arah asked.


“No,” Tiph’arah said, pointing to a tall wooden pole at the top of the hill, “What is that?” Several people were bringing trays of aloti cakes and produce and laying them at the foot of the pole. One man was even tying a lamb to the pole.

“It looks similar to the pillars we saw at the old Elder’s Seat at El Tevah,” Methuselah said. “But what are they doing?”

“I saw these people earlier while we were waiting in line to see Naamah,” Tiph’arah said. “I think they are dropping gifts off here to avoid the line at the Elder’s Seat.”

One woman rubbed the pole with the palm of her hand. She was crying, praying, and calling out for Naamah to save her daughter. Heat surged through every part of Methuselah’s being simultaneously. He had never felt such rage. “Stop!” he yelled. Before he knew it, he snatched the whip from his waist pack and lashed out at the pole. The people jumped out of the way as the whip lassoed the wooden pillar. The fire inside gave him the strength of ten strong men. With one pull he jerked the pole out of the ground. It toppled over scattering all the gifts and almost killing the lamb. “This is not the way!” Methuselah bellowed.

“Father Adam would rend his garment if he could see you now,” Methuselah said. “I thank the Hidden Father he is not here to see this foolishness.”

The people were stunned into silence. He had their full attention.

“The Bearer Enoch has been taken up to Heaven’s Realm, but he passed his mantle, the mantle of Father Adam, to me. If you want your prayers answered, I will offer your sacrifices to the Ancient Father here and now.”

The woman who had been crying, shouted out, “How do we know who to believe? The Elders of Cain says Naamah is Divine and can intercede for us because she was dead and is now alive. They say Semjaza is the chosen son of God and we must go through him and His Watchers for our every need now.”

Tiph’arah answered before Methuselah could stop her, “Naamah cannot even intercede for herself—she is in tremendous pain and only devilry keeps her alive now.”

“Come now!” a man yelled. “You are Father Seth’s daughter. Of course, you would speak evil of the daughter of your father’s enemy!”

“No!” Tiph’arah tried to defend herself. “It is true. We were just with Naamah. We tried to help—”

“Pardon me,” a female voice spoke from the rear of the crowd. 

It was Medici Yabbesheth. “I can vouch for what she says. Tiph’arah speaks the truth. I was with Naamah when she died. And—I am sorry to say it. I was there when she came back. She is not the same Naamah—she is tormented day and night by the fallen. There is nothing she can do to help you. She cannot even help herself.”

“But the goddess Naamah helped my daughter deliver a healthy baby boy,” one woman insisted. 

“And just how much does that baby boy eat?" Medici Yabbesheth asked. “How big is he?” Is he the size of an infant? Does he coo and cuddle like a normal wee one? Did your daughter live through the troubles?”

The woman dropped her head. “No, my daughter passed to the Shadow Lands two eves ago.” Her voice trembled. “We do not know what to give the little lad. He is as big as a child four sun cycles old and he eats nonstop. We are almost out of food.” The woman started sobbing again.

“Please,” Methuselah said. “I come in peace to bring aid to everyone needing the grace only the Hidden Father can give. But you must not bow down to a pole nor bring sacrifices to piece of wood. No image made by man can help you. If any of you want me to offer a sacrifice by fire, say so now,” Methuselah said. The fiery heat simmered in the pit of his stomach. The Voice spoke: Build an altar.

Methuselah hauled stones from the hilly embankment, stacked them where the pole had been, and then placed wood on top of the stones. Methuselah poured the incense his Father Enoch had left him over the stones. Then Methuselah turned to face the crowd. Only a handful remained. 

I would like you to pray to the Hidden Father for my daughter,” the man said, holding out his lamb. “She is with child. For truth, I am afraid of what she might deliver and for her very soul. I will do anything to help her,” He gave the animal to Methuselah.

Methuselah bound the lamb and laid it on the altar.

“How will we know the Hidden Father has answered?” the man asked.

“He will answer by—” Methuselah jumped back. Lightening flashed from a clear blue sky and struck the wood. It burst into flames instantly.

“Oh my!” The man dropped to his knees to worship.

Methuselah spoke with boldness. “Behold! This lamb has covered your sins and provided for your daughter’s need. Go in peace,” Methuselah said, “You will find your daughter made whole.”


Outside Time: Location—Department of Progressions, Heaven’s Realm, 3rd Dimension.

Enoch pushed away from his desk, allowing his favorite chair to roll half-way across the golden floor. He stopped its motion with his foot and rubbed his eyes. He was trying to make sense of what he had just seen on Eye 1704. 

“Beloved?” Enoch asked. “I have a question.”

“Yes,” the Beloved said, with an amused grin. “You always do.”

“Why a lamb?” Enoch scratched his forehead. “If that girl has married a Fallen One and is now with child—a Nephilim child at that—how in Adamah can her sins be forgiven by sacrificing a lamb? Her sins are too great. I just don’t get it.”

“Well, you don’t get it because your sight is limited,” the Beloved said.

“What am I missing?” Enoch asked.

“Come and see,” the Beloved said. He called Eye 1704 forward and brought up an image of the man’s pregnant daughter. “Look at the previous events. First, she was taken by force and there was no one to help when she cried out. The action was against her will. Two, her father was not consulted and never approved of the union. The action was against the will of the one in authority over her. And three, the resulting life was never approved by the Father—Elohim and human marriages are forbidden. Therefore, in this instance, the Ancient One has allowed that Nephilim seed to miscarry. So, the young woman is forgiven and made whole.”

“I see.” A smile spread across Enoch’s face. “That is fair. If it had happened to a daughter of mine, I would have wanted no less.”

“Indeed. We are righteous in Our judgment,” the Beloved said.

“For the second part of your question—you wanted to know how a lamb can take away sins.” The Beloved stood up. “That, I will show you. Follow Me.”

Enoch hopped out his chair.

The Beloved took one step forward—

Enoch instantly found himself standing inside a crowded pavilion, facing a raised platform. At the top stood a leader with trimmed hair and fair skin. He was a king of a man in elegant garb. Next to him, stood another man—if you could still call him that. He also wore an elegant robe of purple, but his robe was bloodied and torn. His crown was not golden like the leader. Instead, a wreath of thorns donned his head, making it bleed. His skin faired far worse. It was shredded and oozing blood and pus. 

The leader said to the crowd, “Behold the Man!”

Enoch covered his mouth and tried to close his eyes. He did not want to look, but he had to. Something about this man made him want to look. Maybe it was the eyes. There was no hatred or fear in them—only sorrow and to his surprise—love. Enoch muttered, “What could he have done to deserve this?”

The crowd was more like a mob. They chanted, “Crucify him. Crucify him!”

The elegant leader responded, “You take Him and crucify Him, for I find no fault in Him.”

Enoch breathed a sigh of relief and thought. Good. They will let this man with the innocent eyes go.

Another man in a heavy white robe with a striped sash answered for his comrades dressed in similar garb. “We have a law and according to our law He ought to die, because He made Himself the Son of God.”

This made the leader on stage very afraid. He tried to release the tortured man, but the robed elders insisted on more punishment. The crowd agreed and screamed for death.

Enoch stumbled to stand upright as the crowd jostled him along. He watched as they forced the man to carry a heavy wooden beam through the stone paths leading to the outskirts of the city. With a little help from a bystander along the way, the battered man finally made it up the hill. Once there they threw him to the ground and onto the wooden beams. They bound him to the wood, not with ropes, but with heavy metal stakes. 

Enoch cringed and began to pray to the Hidden Father for this Man. Tears rolled down his face. Enoch did not feel the usual fire he felt whenever he prayed to the Ancient One. Enoch tried again, this time dropping to his knees and travailing in prayer. He felt absolutely nothing. It was as if the Hidden Father had disappeared. What is this? Enoch wondered. Has the Father no sympathy for the man with the gentle eyes? What did He do? A few women and a young man stood sobbing near the foot of the broken man on the wooden cross. They wailed, as if they were nailed, but He was silent. Enoch looked across the distance and stopped. Who is that woman? She seemed familiar Enoch searched his brain, trying to remember. Could it be? Enoch remembered the scene from Eye1704 showing the beautiful young couple with their precious newborn in the little town called Bethlehem. She has aged, indeed, but for truth, that is the same woman! The young man hugged the grieving mother, trying to comfort her as best as he could. Maybe there is something I can do to help them. Enoch rushed toward the woman.

Then, the voice of the man on the cross made him freeze in his tracks. The broken man said, “Behold your mother!”

Enoch knew that voice.

Enoch gazed up with wonder. He watched the Beloved on that wooden cross suffer for hours. Enoch’s throat ached with sobs. His eyes were swollen from crying and still he could not look away. 

Finally, the Beloved said, “It is finished.”

At that, Enoch found himself back in his office in Heaven’s Realm. He was sitting at his desk, peering into Eye 1704. The Beloved sat across from him.

Enoch stared into the Beloved’s eyes. They were the same as the broken man’s eyes on the cross—no fear—no hatred—just sorrow and more love than Enoch could fathom.

Enoch fell out of his chair and onto his knees, “Lord,” he said, sobbing, still grieving over the gruesome death.

“The lamb on Methuselah’s altar is a substitute,” the Beloved said simply, “I AM the Lamb that takes away the sins of the world.”

“Do you believe my blood is payment enough for the young woman’s sins?” the Beloved asked.

“Indeed, my Lord,” Enoch said, still prostrate before the Beloved. 

“My Father has agreed to exchange my life for the sins of all Adamah,” the Beloved said. He leaned over and touched Enoch’s shoulder. “Rise, friend. It is my joy to give my life.”

Enoch took the hand the Beloved offered and stood to his feet.

“There is no need for sorrow, for this is Good News, Enoch. When The Seed is sown into the earth, many sons of God will arise.”

Enoch smiled. “Like the dandelion, Lord?”

“Indeed,” the Beloved said with satisfaction, “Nothing will stop My Seed from spreading.”