Ziklag 12.17 - The Day Siloam Fell

Obadiah had a dream.

Obadiah had a dream.

The pool shimmered in the late morning sun, waters perfect blue, still, like glass.

Obadiah’s sandals scraped on the rough stone path as he looked up at the tower—a slender, man-made vision defying the heavens with its height. The angels, they said, stirred the waters here at its based, and once in a great wonder someone was healed by it.

So they said.

Obadiah tilted his head, watching the pilgrims—crippled, blind, hopeless—crowding the pool’s edge, waiting for the next stir, the moment of magic. He’d never seen a healing, not once. There were plenty of whispers. There were always stories, even among the Sidonians. Stories kept people coming.

“Stories kept people paying,” Judas said.

Obadiah adjusted his cloak, looking up at his Apostle, the man who had brought him to Jesus. The solemn, middle-aged rabbi scanned the streets, waiting, a man with a secret. Judas always smiled, and it was always serious and true. He always knew something you didn’t, and he found joy in the game. He patted Obadiah’s shoulder, eyes darting toward the pool. “Still wondering if the magic water might still work, are you?”

“I’m wondering what will happen to them,” Obadiah muttered. A child’s cry rang out somewhere. A woman’s voice shouted for mercy from the heavens. A pauper begged people to help him get in the water. “This tower—this pool—this economy—it’s all a lie. Stones and water turned into promises of eternal bread.

Judas’ grinned. “Messiah comes to fix all this. You know that.”

At that moment, the ground rumbled under his feet. First, a crack—sharp, splitting. Then screaming. Crashing. Obadiah turned and watched in his horror as the entire tower teetered, leaned, and then, hanging almost in the air for an eternal, silent breath—fell.

And, great was the crash of it.

Dust choked the street. People ran and yelled in every direction, tripping, crawling away. Obadiah stumbled, ears ringing, debris in his eyes—shards in his lungs.

“Judas!” he shouted, coughing. “Judas"!”

He couldn’t see. He could barely breathe. Broken sounds, wailing, dying, ghosts in the rubble. Blood in the water as it bubbled and frothed.

Where were the angels now?

Judas appeared at Obadiah’s side, face pale, mouth wide. “We must get away from the wreckage,” he said. “Everyone dies for something,” he said quietly. “But we don’t need to die here today.”

“What about the people?”

“You saw it yourself. Folly is proven by her outcomes.”

“Do you think they were worse sinners, Judas?” That voice. The voice.

Obadiah froze.

Jesus stood between them. When had He come? He acted like He’d been there all along. The other eleven and their men were with Him.

Jesus’ looked to Obadiah.

“What was your prayer, Obadiah, as you watched them blaspheme? Do you think they were worse than these there, crawling away, or the wealthy men in Jerusalem who built larger barns rather than repair the foundations of the fellowship?” Jesus’ voice carried with piercing clarity, like the light streaming through the dust. “I tell you no.”

Obadiah remembered the words. “Unless you repent…”

“I see,” Obadiah said. “Man builds towers that cannot stand. We chase waters that cannot heal. We place trust in images and stories told by men who betray us.” He swept His arm across the ruins. “This is what man has made of himself without God.”

Judas stood up strong, “The new Reign will be different.”

Jesus turned to him. “Yes, Judas? Truly, I say to you, you speak true. But when it comes, will the Son of Man find faith amongst his own? I have, after all, called you friends.”

He turned to Obadiah. “Friends,'‘ He said again. “I have not come to condemn the world, but to save it.”

“But what about them?”

“I know what I’m doing Obadiah.”

“So they deserved it?”

“Yes.”

“And so do I?

“Yes.”

“Then why me?”

“Because I’m here now, and I’m no mere angel.”

Obadiah awoke with a start.

His heart pounded, and the room was dark save for the faintest light creeping through the window. The sound of morning prayer greeting the dawn on the speakers that ever awakened the city. He sat up, gasping for breath, feeling the sweat on his brow.

Obadiah didn’t know where to go or what to do. But he knew one thing:

He needed to see Jesus Christ again.