His Pride Before the Messiah :: by Joe Southerland

The wide gate opened as he stepped onto the vacant high perch overlooking his kingdom. With the exception of recent star that had appeared in the Eastern sky, the night’s darkness held much promise for rebellion. “What little light remains to beat back the darkness,” he said aloud.

The cool evening was warmed by his welling pride as he reflected in silence upon his triumphs. “My plan is working; my forces are prevailing. Nearly four thousand years have passed and where is he? Where is this One who will bruise my head?”

He began to slowly pace. Soon his minions would begin reporting.

“The predicted king never appeared during my first round of battle. My triumph was nearly complete. At first they knew God, but I lured them away as I appealed to their imaginations, and they darkened their hearts. The teaming millions gladly gave themselves over to the lusts of my temptations; readily following their own selfish desires as their thoughts became continually evil. All but eight slipped through my hands, the rest drowned like the rats that they were.”

“And just like rats these humans breed; in no time repopulated my dominion…more souls for the slaughter. Ah, and then I loosened from my bow Nimrod, my mighty hunter of souls, who nearly had all mankind under his mighty thumb in another of my glorious rebellions.”

He stopped; looking down upon the nations…he continued his stroll and musing.

“Yet even when the babbling fools were scattered, most remain seduced by the worthless gods and goddesses I gave them. Man loves my religion. Few escape my gods of stone and wood, of lustful fertility rights, riotous drunkenness, and indulgent gluttony. And oh, how my dark priests can craft what their itching ears want to hear. They so want to believe in something, these stupid shepherdless sheep. They even elevate mere mortal man into a god to worship.”

“Hail Caesar!” He laughed out loud, breaking the silence of the night. The pace of his long strides slowed, as he flexed his powerful, lustrous wings.

“Very few, like Job, are willing to give praise to a god who chooses to remain nameless and faceless. And why? Of what appeal is a God who allows calamities to fall upon its believers? Only rarely does their God even care enough about them to build a hedge to keep me at bay. When pressured at all by me, most just curse God and die.”

His face unfurled a tight smile.

“Instead I offer them something more tangible, more solid to believe in; something they can see, touch, taste, hear and smell! Most men are easily overcome by these appeals to the flesh. They have little chance to stand against my insidious traps and snares. For only God’s spirit may keep my influences at bay, but Adam broke his spiritual union with God, never to be mended; man is spiritually separated and alone, and so vulnerable before me.”

His head quickly turned and his nostrils flared to breathe deeply a whiff of smoke mixed with blood and fear. “Ah, that is more like it…rape and pillage are afoot tonight. Marvelous!”

He closed his eyes savoring the smell, and the images it brought forth of the countless blood lust orgies he had inspired in the past. A sharp gust of frigid air jarred him back to the present. His jaw suddenly set, and his eyes squinted in anger as his thoughts moved on.

“And Abraham…oh Father Abraham, what a sorry actor he was. Trying to make believe he would actually give up his son Isaac’s life for his God. What a deceiver! And God tolerated that charade!” he chuckled to himself. “Who would ever willingly give up his beloved, only son’s life?”

A chill ran up his spin as another brisk breeze arose from below. “Too cold, these Judean nights; a warmer climate would be welcome,” he said to the dark, returning to his silent ruminations.

“Since Abraham, I have patiently stood before Israel, ever waiting and watching for this would-be king, this Deliverer. Deliver them from what?”

“King or no king, no mere man will challenge my kingship of this earth!”

“Man is so weak, so utterly pathetic. A little flash of smooth, soft flesh; an appeal to the pride; the allure of power; that is all it took to move a man onto the path of full rebellion. A few men may resist for a while, but eventually all men miss the mark; all fall short.”

“My patience wears thin for this righteous king!” he blurted out sharply, slamming his clinched fist into his open palm.

His pace quickened. A tight, toothy smirk spread across his flawlessly beautiful face.

“Even David, that oh so perfect anointed king; so prized by God as ever seeking the Lord’s own heart? I easily turned him into a lustful, lying, whoring murderer with just a flash of beautiful, sensual flesh.”

“And the false Jewish prophets said David’s throne would reign forever. What a lie! My fiery arrows pierced the generations of his seed; ensuring the Kings of Judah are no more! When I was through with them, God was so disgusted he placed a curse upon David’s rebellious and twisted bloodline. They stood no chance against me!”

“What a riotous day it was as King Zedekiah’s sons were slaughtered before his eyes, and then he was blinded. His death in captivity was rather droll, but the result was undeniable. Now no man will ever sit on David’s throne!”

His mind churned as he paced to and fro, and up and down, tucking his hands under furled wings into the small of his back.

“It has now been nearly six hundred years since that bloody day, and the Jews are now firmly under the thumb of Herod, the black-heartened, lackey of my beloved Romans. Yet, why do I feel so unsettled? Everything is going well. That is it?”

He stopped. His eyes squinted, unfocused into the darkness.

“I do not trust God. He is always planning, ever patient, yet never resting. What is he doing?”

“Despite all my glorious success, my dark angels send ever increasing reports of this rumored usurper, this coming king, this deliverer, this Messiah. Where is the promise of his coming? Everything remains the same.”

“MESSIAH! MESSIAH! MESSIAH!” He fumed, spittle shooting forth with ever increasing fury at each utterance of the name.


Reaching his crescendo of foaming rage, he roused himself, his knotted fist still shaking toward the heavens along with his fully extended, powerful wings. As he retrieved his defiant fist, he looked upon it, flexing it, before it disappeared into his shadowy cloak. His wings soon followed.

His tensions released some anger, at least for now.

He could sense his henchman coming in the distance.

His fiery gaze turned back upon his kingdom, and he said under his breath, “Would this king ever coming?”

Then he noticed a twinkle in the dark sky; again that new star in the East. “Did it just brighten?” His voice whispered. He turned back into darkness.

J&J Ranch Ministries
“But as for me and my [ranch] we will serve the LORD” (Dueteronomy10:12).